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hurthermore · 5 months

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»»------► 𝙰 𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 (18+) - 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙽𝚒𝚗𝚎

Pairing: 𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗!𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary: 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗. 𝚂𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘.

Word Count: 𝟺.𝟹𝚔

Warnings: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝟷𝟾+ 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚐𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚢, 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝. 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜.

𝙳𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚝, 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚡𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢, 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚒𝚏𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎

𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝, 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚢!

𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝, 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚍��𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚎 <𝟹

You vividly remember the accursed day that Alastor was to visit you, the day after he had so passionately kissed you; pressed himself fully against you as though he would die without feeling your touch. You were exhilarated as you had waited so patiently for his appearance to grace your presence, heavily anticipating what would transpire and bloom between the two of you after sharing such a promiscuous and intense act of pure infidelity.

The muscles in your body tingled with a sensation similar to a swarm of butterflies fluttering within as you couldn’t excrete the memory of the kiss from your mind; and regardless of how morally wrong it may have been due to your affiliation in marriage, it played on loop within your psyche like a broken record. It was unlike anything you had the pleasure of experiencing before, nothing like the kisses you were forced to share with your husband. You craved to feel his ravenous lips against yours again, craved to feel his voracious body as it pressed against you once more. It was all you could find yourself thinking of as you sat so patiently, waiting for his arrival.

Yet as the clocks in your dead home began to depict the time of midday, those ditzy inducing thoughts began to embed a sense of anxiety deep into your core. Initially, you brushed it off as him simply being tardy; something you could easily forgive him for despite how rude you found it. Yet as you attempted to delude yourself into believing he was merely unpunctual, an hour had passed before you could acknowledge it. Anxiety only doused you; engulfing every fibre in your being as malicious thoughts of what ifs and maybes consumed the constraints of your mind.

Had something happened to him?

Awful and disturbing scenarios of what may have happened to him only plagued you, vivid imagery of him being in trouble or perhaps dead wouldn’t stop playing like a mentally conjured picture show in your mind. It was devastating, having to handle such disturbing visions of the man you had found yourself harbouring deep emotions for. But as you continued to spend the next few hours in a state of sheer trepidation, your hands had begun pulling on the roots of your hair erratically as your lip became bloodied from the harsh pressure your teeth placed on them.

Despite the distress that encumbered you, your heart still remained optimistic, giving you hope that you would soon reach the light at the end of the tunnel; that Alastor would turn up, and everything would be fine. Yet as the light in your house began to dim as the sun began to process of setting into the western skies, that small amount of hope shattered, breaking everything within you before tears naturally cascaded from your oculi.

Instead of images of something happening to him, thoughts of self-hatred began to embed within your psyche, feeding you voices that echoed eerily in reality, speaking spats of insecurities and self doubt.

Had he merely toyed with you?

Did he realise he did not reciprocate how deeply you felt for him?

Or had he remembered the fact that you were a defiled and taken woman?

You never knew something could destroy the chambers of your heart so heavily, like a hand etching its fingers around your beating organ, squeezing it with the intention of exploding it within the confines of your flesh. It was not only unimaginable, but surprising; you were one of the many unfortunate souls that had the displeasure of having to endure numerous types of abuse as if you were merely someones punching bag; yet this sensation killed something inside of you, causing little tiny cracks of insecurity and distrust to form on the figurative image of your heart, the organ that was supposed to represent the very thing that was currently causing you pain; love.

The distress of Alastor’s absence not only affected your psyche with grief and agony, but also affected your physical form in ways you weren’t expecting. The muscles within your body would not cease twitching, similar to the breakdown you had experienced before attempting to end your husband's life, forcing your wrists and neck to convulse; causing you to only cry harder as you just wanted everything to stop.

Everything was too much.

It took a while; a long while. But eventually, you managed to stabilise yourself before your husband, the man whom you were supposed to love, entered your shared home, and as he did, you allowed the contemplation of whether or not your husband had set the whole ordeal up to weave its way in your brain; if he had gotten Alastor to pretend to be your friend, pretend to harbour feelings for you, to kiss you before leaving you in the dust, all to simply psychologically damage you.

You wouldn’t put it past him.

But as he walked in with petulance, you could only laugh at yourself for even entertaining the notion that your moronically abusive husband could have ever attained the competence to plan something out so meticulously; he was too vacuous to conjure something up that would affect you to this extent. He was a manipulator at his core, a vile abuser who hid his criminal acts so carefully; he was smart in that regard, but you were aware that Vincent simply didn’t have the mental capacity to think of enacting this scenario, mainly due to his jealousy, but partly because he simply lacked the intelligence.

Even as Vincent sat next to you, as he placed his sloppy and wet lips on your bared shoulders; a sensation that felt disgusting, especially compared to Alastors divine kisses, it didn’t register in your mind that Vincent had begun touching you inappropriately. You could only focus on Alastor and the heartbreak that he had caused you as your husband's touches only exacerbated; It wasn’t until he had released his grip off of your body that you had realised he had forced himself inside of you. Yet you couldn’t find yourself caring or fretting over your husband's assault due to the mere consumption that devoured your heart as you allowed your line of sight to intake your naked and descreated form.

Despite your dissociation, you had fallen into your usual routine of serving Vincent; cooking his food that you barely got to receive for yourself, despite making the damned dish yourself, cleaning his dishes as god forbid he do them himself, all whilst giving him whatever he wished to take from your body. And for the sake of your own sanity, you allowed yourself to become distracted by those tasks in an attempt to rid not only your husband's abuse, but also Alastor from the depths of your mind.

But it was futile.

Through the week you had known the radio host, you had stupidly allowed yourself to be deluded with thoughts of him saving you, idiotically allowed yourself to indulge in a hot and messy kiss that inevitably made you an adultress; all whilst being unaware of the fact that Alastor had the capacity of hurting you, until he did. You were foolish to allow yourself to believe he had harboured any emotions for you; moronic to believe that he actually cared for you. He had played you like a fiddle with mastery; breaking your walls down, causing you to fall for him, then making you believe he felt the same when he had kissed you so passionately; only for him to abandon you after it, like you meant nothing to him.

Why had you ever allowed yourself to believe Alastor could actually like you? Let alone love you.

Looking over to your husband as you laid in the dreadful captivity of your bed the night of Alastors absence, intaking all of Vincent’s conventionally attractive features that you yourself found absolutely disgusting and vile, you knew you would never attain the sweet release of Vincent’s grip. You had to accept the reality that you would most likely have to stay in the abusive grasp of your despicable husband until death finally granted you or him in the loving embrace of its cold dead arms.

As your thoughts consumed you, the days passed by slowly as the sun continuously rose and set, each passing day only making the pain in the chamber of your heart increase as Alastor still refused to make an appearance before you, destroying any hope of everything simply being a misunderstanding. And once it had reached the five day mark since you last saw him; since he had begged for you to kiss him, you began to truly hate Alastor; despite how your love yearned for him.

You felt angry, betrayed, and incapacitated.

The desire of peace was all you craved for, the simple release to experience contentment was all you wished for after all the pain you had suffered and endured, not only from Alastors abandonment, but from your husband's consistent abuse. That well deserved peace was to embrace you in the form of a week away from Vincent as he was to travel to New York the following day without you; simply to establish potential businesses he could build in the big apple before officially moving the two of you into the city. But even that was apparently too much for your husband to grace you with as you sat beside him, sat like a doll as soft jazz played in the background.

“I think it best you come with me; to New York.”

You disagreed, obviously. Only giving him a slight glance before you sipped on the drink held within the grasp of your hands as you said nothing, acting as if he didn’t exist.

“Don’t ignore me, doll.” Refusing to allow the sigh that you heavily desired to release from your larynx, you set the drink down onto the low table before you. Moving your hands into your lap, you reluctantly shifted your body to face the man who demanded your attention. “Wouldn’t you like to see the place you’re moving to? We could make it into a vacation; I’ll even let you wear some of those promiscuous flapper dresses that are the craze nowadays. You’d look ravishing in one of those little numbers.”

Looking down, you listened to his insistent rambling, merely saying nothing in return, again. The thought of having to wear one of those revealing dresses before your husband just to feed into his sexual pleasure and capricious fantasies made you feel utterly nauseated. You didn’t want to wear anything that Vincent chose for you; despising how he always took pleasure in dressing you up as if you were a mere object.

A doll.

You couldn’t help how your eyebrows furrowed whilst your mind spoke words of repulsion toward your husband. Yet despite your thoughts of disgust, your mind began to imagine wearing something like that, something so licentious for Alastor instead. Your expression only growing more malicious at the mere mental pictures of that fantasy; standing before Alastor, wearing a sexualised dress as he craved to enrapture you. Shaking your head internally, you cursed yourself for thinking of such sensual desires; wishing not to think of him, despising yourself for even allowing that absentee man into the grace of your psyche.

Gripping your fingers into the cloth of your dress skirt, your teeth clenched together as you failed in ridding Alastor from your mind, your fingernails twitching into your thighs through the cloth as you grimaced from all the thoughts that swarmed you.

“Fine, be a little bitch about it. You’re coming whether you like it or not; you don’t get a choice.” You wanted to laugh at his words, words that alluded to a falsity as though he had ever given you a choice in anything prior. Looking at your drink on the table, you heavily contemplated on penetrating the glassed object against your husband's thick and pathetic skull, perhaps shoving a shard that was to inevitably break from the collision into his face to disfigure him before he died.

As much as you wished for Vincent’s life to cease to exist, you were heavily aware of the great factor that you simply did not have the competence to kill him; even now, after one of the primary reasons for not ending his life being due to Alastor’s perception of you, you still found yourself caring about how the said radio host would perceive you for murdering another living being, despite how you were slowly etching hate into your heart toward him.

With all your thoughts consuming your mind, you hadn’t registered the words you had spoken into the reality of the world until you had heard your own voice echo into the room. “I don’t want to go with you.” Tensing up as your own voice reverberated in your ears, your eyes flickered toward your husband.

His gaze was malevolent.

A truly disturbing and exasperated expression doused his face. You hadn’t intended on antagonising him; hadn’t meant to anger him to this extent with words you hadn’t registered in your head. “Care to repeat yourself, doll?” He sat eerily still, the soft glow that emitted from the lamps caressed his face, making his eyes appear more dulled out and darker than usual.

What could you do in this scenario? In the reality of Vincent; the man who could very easily batter you with a blink of an eye, your thoughts searched for everything you possibly could to get yourself out of this situation, to alleviate the punishment that was to come. It was then that you began the fabrication of a story, something that was a rather pungent thing to deceive a person with, but you were desperate, and your husband deserved none of your kindness, so without hesitation, you said two words that would inevitably cause you trouble in the future.

“I’m pregnant.”

You were aware of how Vincent valued and desired the award of children, how he craved to have his own offspring; so feeding him the illusion of an unborn child that did not exist was the only thing you could conjure in the depths of your mind as you attempted to avoid oncoming conflict. “I’ve known for a few weeks now.” You continued to lie, evading yourself from having to look at Vincent’s expression as you deceived him. “I didn’t wish to tell you until the three month mark, incase of miscarriage.” It was unfathomable to even yourself how you had managed to evoke something so mendacious.

Refusing to meet your husband's gaze, you wondered if he was able to discern your lie; and what actions would be provoked from such clarity. And as you heard his steps closing in on you, you began to shake, preparing yourself for the inevitable.

Only, you grimaced as his arms wrapped around you instead of harming you. Clearly, he had bought your lie without doubt. Cringing ever so slightly as he sniffed your hair, you wished to pull away, wished to get away from him. “Oh, doll, it’s about time.” He smirked into your hair; a smirk you could unfortunately feel as you craved to roll your eyes and hurl up bile from the pits of your stomach from his incessant touch.

Trying to get him off you, you spoke. “That’s why I don’t want to go- why I can’t go, it could be detrimental to our child.”

Perhaps you would have to excrete the unsettling bile that swam in the depths of your gut; the words you had to fabricate alone was making you incredibly nauseated, let alone your husband’s vile grubby hands.

As he leaned back, his fingers wrapped around your jaw, forcing you to look into his eyes. “Fine.” He said rather softly; something that was incredibly rare for him. As he leaned into you, he forced a kiss onto your lips as you attempted to withdraw from him; you refused to grace him with a kiss of your own. His hands gripped the back of your scalp as he shoved your face further into his, smushing you to him uncomfortably as the need to vomit was becoming a bit too real for you.

It wasn’t Alastor who was kissing you; it wasn’t the man who you truly craved for. Despite how much you held distaste for him as he abandoned you, you could only compare Vincent to Alastor, could only wish that it was Alastor who was holding you, wish it was him who met his lips against yours.

You couldn’t help but feel as though you were cheating on Alastor as your husband forced himself onto you.

The need to cry only overwhelmed you as your pained thoughts of Alastor mingled with the ones of fear and disgust toward your husband.

Had Alastor thought about you since his absence?

Had he craved to see you, to touch you, kiss you just as you craved him?

As the tears finally left your eyes, wetting your cheeks and jawline, your husband dragged you to your shared bedroom, locking you behind the closed door that forced you to endure everything within the confines of a room so sickly. “Take your clothes off.” Vincent whispered into the skin of your face before pulling away harshly, waiting for you to enact his demand. And you did. Like a trained dog, you submitted to his request; your body filling up with self-hatred as you did.

You took it like a trained animal too as your husband defiled your body yet again; a routine you believed you’d never escape from.

It was a nightmare, one that encumbered your reality, your entire life and existence. It pained you, pained you that this was what you were reduced to; a bought product for a man who would force himself on you for the rest of your life.

Sleep was a thing that wouldn’t grace you that night, yet contrastingly, you felt elevated despite all the hardships you had to endure; you would be free from Vincent for an entire week.

As the darkness of the night made room for the lightness of the day, you only allowed a small amount of sleep to consume you before Vincent had jolted you awake; stating that he was leaving soon.

But not soon enough, in your opinion.

Things moved oddly fast as you went about your morning, making Vincent breakfast before his departure, a smile etched onto your face as you anticipated the moment he finally left.

“I think it’ll be a boy.” Your husband's voice echoed throughout the room.

You had forgotten about the lie you had fabricated to avoid his assault.

Fiddling your fingers together, you only nodded with a hum as you avoided the subject all together, yet Vincent wouldn’t grace you with contentment as he continued his speech, listing potential names for an heir that was to never come, and as he continued, the time to his departure only approached.

Before you could even acknowledge it, Vincent had kissed you farewell before getting in his car, driving off into the horizon of the road.

Walking back into the emptiness of your home, you squealed ever so slightly as you laid against the sofa in your parlour.

The thickness in the air that carried alongside Vincent seemed to disappear, vanishing as only breathable and rich oxygen filled your lungs, giving them the much needed pure air that was free of tension they craved for.

You wondered if Vincent would die in a car crash on the way; it was a long journey after all.

A smile etched onto your face as you imagined him dying, not noticing you had fallen into a slumber of a short nap until a loud rumbling of thunder shook the walls of your home, startling you in the wakefulness of consciousness. Moving towards the nearest window, you watched as rain poured from the unreachable sky above, dark and gloomy as it pattered down harshly.

It was contrasting to the beaming sun that shone earlier from when you were awake, but the serenity of finally being graced with the freedom of the presence of your husband made you fall into a deep appreciation for the damp weather. And as the rain began to heavily splatter against the windows and wooden drywalls of your home, you looked at the clocks in your home, only to be surprised at how late it had become. Allowing yourself to relax again, intending to grant your body a sleep that didn’t require you to be on edge for once, you sank yourself into a chair, gazing out of the window that overlooked the back of the property as you watched the heavy rain drizzle the world in its essence.

Yet the soft glow of the electrical lights in your home shut off as a flash of light struck from outside, a loud rumble of thunder slowly echoing after the flare of lightning. Grabbing the armrests, you pulled yourself up as your home became doused in creeping shadows and haunting darkness that hid the contents within, the only light being the natural glow from the moon that hid behind the clouds of thunder and rain.

As you moved to retrieve some candles in your dresser to give your home some light, dread permeated within your being as a loud rhythm of knocks banged against your front door. Turning around ever so slightly, your vision focused on the door; seeming to shrink away from you as panic overtook you, vertigo ever so present before the door was banged again ever so slightly more harsher than the original set.

You vacillated on opening the door, wondering who would be at your home at such an hour into the night, and in this dreadful weather. Slowly grasping for the door knob, your breath hitched as you unlocked the door, only leaving the chained lock secured; you weren’t about to let someone barge into your home.

As the gap in the door began to reveal the contents of the outside world, the blood in your face dropped; the heart in your chest didn’t know whether to burst from relief or anger as you took in the appearance of the man who had disappeared for numerous days.

Alastor Hartfelt.

He looked awful, regardless of how the pouring rain had affected him; forcing his usual fluffed hair to stick against his warmed beige skin, how it fogged up his glasses and drenched the exact same clothes he had worn when you had last seen him, the skin under his eyes were darker, as if he had hardly slept, and his appearance indicated he hadn’t bathed himself for a few days, possibly since you last saw him.

Your heart clenched in agony as you saw the state he was in as he panted as though he had ran to your home from god knows where. Yet the echoing voices in your mind that reminded you that he had very much abandoned you consumed you, conflicting your emotions as you stared up at him through the gap in your door.

He spoke your name with desperation as his hand pushed against the door, attempting to open it further, yet the chained lock prevented him from forcing the door to widen. “I’m so sorry-” He almost whined, the look in his eyes seemed anguished as he looked at you, but as those words came out of his mouth, you couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.

Did he realise how much distress he had put on you for the former days he had abandoned you?

How many breakdowns you had to endure?

Slamming the door quickly, you shut it in his face, only to hear him bang against it yet again, more frantically this time as his voice seeped through the cracks of the hinges of the door. “Darling, just let me explain-”

“Go away, Alastor!” You screamed, interrupting him. Betrayal was all you could devour in the moment; the heightening emotions of his absence and how it had affected you was all you could comprehend. “You’re despicable, and I truly never wish to see you again.” A lie; you knew it to be, but you wished to hurt him as he had you; you didn’t know why. Despite everything he was still the only person who had shown you kindness, even if he had abandoned you.

How could you treat Alastor this way and not your husband?

Probably because Alastor had never hurt you in ways your husband had.

He just broke your heart instead.

Running up the stairs as you wished to leave the dreaded area of your door; the same one where the man you harboured feelings for stood behind, you flinched as he began banging the door with such force you were certain he was kicking it; attempting to break it down.

Screaming at him to stop it, he ignored you, and before you could begin to walk down the stairs to attempt to halt him from breaking your door down, the front entryway was quite literally torn from the hinges that held it; parts of the wood from the door shattered into splinters; scattering across the floorboards as the door itself hanged from the wall, still connected to the drywall via the chained lock.

As you looked at Alastor as he took a step into your home, the dark shadows of the night caressed his entire body, hiding his facial expression from you as you could see small glints of his eyes and smile reflecting towards you; a truly horrifying sight, one that had your knees trembling ever so slightly. Taking a step back, you watched as he made another step towards you, his shoes harshly slow walking echoed throughout the home, and as a struck of lightning flashed behind him, the goosebumps on your skin erected, forcing a bone chilling sensation to douse you.

One that had you unable to dictate if it was from fear or lust.

Not once did you take your eyesight off of him as he stood there, your breath hastening as he simply stared at you.

“I told you never to walk away from me like that again, darling.”

← 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 ✦ 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 →

✦ 𝙰𝙾𝟹 ✦

Quick PSA:

The sadomaso won the poll, YALL HORNY so I will be writing that next, hopefully I can get it out tomorrow!

ALSO, I wasn't expecting my last assignment to be so difficult, so I will only be able to realistically work on Misconduct and any other fics during the weekends, fortunately, I will probably have my assignment done in like 2 weeks max as I can get shit done when it needs to be done, so don't fret if I'm not as active! I'm still here and I'll return to my normal upload speed once i've finish with this year at uni.

If you've stayed long enough to read all my bs, let me know how you felt about this chapter! And also... Congrats! You get a little treat... >.<

The next Chapter is going to be in Alastor's POV.

»»------► 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

@cherry-cola-100 @hana-en @undrgroundtheme @roxxie-wolf @mutifandomkid @gentle-aesthetic-bby @itsmskeisha @k1y0yo @d34dl0ve @reikamasama @taygirl24 @alastorssimp @ieatcocoa @tremendoushearttaco @spottypug @bishiglomper @marcysbear @zazamagicaldonut @little-slyvixen @wendigonamecaller @schiz0preniczz @trippoverrt @reader3 @kittyandbluey @xinhar @sol3chu @yuckypuppie @forest-knights @ivebeenthearchersstuff @feellaaya @babesway22 @straows @blobin456drawz @saccharine-nectarine @blakeaha @nishayuro @impulsivethoughtsat2am @zarabethe @petrichorvzlia-blog @burninupa-star @alastorsaries @saints-wrapped-in-plastic

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor #reader insert #x reader #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel #alastor smut

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sukirichi · 1 month

Text

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 018 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. angst, infidelity, defamation, forced incest (please read the chapter first before you come at me 😭), reader uses a gun, alcohol consumption, emotional manipulation, toxic characters and toxic relationships, iris pov (just for a short part), mentions of murder, car accidents

notes. YOOO can you guys believe we are so close to the ending!! thank you guys so much for being so sweet and supportive to dtd! even though ik most of the readers are away and busy with school now (as am i) i still hope you guys enjoy this update hehe. the next chapter drop should be around the regular dtd tuesdays <3

wc. 13k

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[ EIGHTEEN ] no matter how easy things could be if I did, and no matter how guilty I still feel saying it. I wish I hated you.

In hindsight, the day began like any other day in the glorious kingdom of Inarizaki.

The early morning sun cast its golden glow over the streets that bustled with people, the shops opening with smiles and greetings to the familiar faces of loyal customers. The air was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread and brewed tea, the distant chime of church bells signalling the start of a new day.

But beneath this serene facade, a storm was threatening to blow – one that would shake the very foundations of the already fragile throne. Iris knew this, too – she could feel it, could extend her hand and have her fingertips brush against her inevitable end.

As the first rays of light filtered through the windows of homes and cafes, Iris watched as the kingdom’s most widely read newspapers hit the stands. The headline had been bold and dramatic, splashed across the front page in large, black letters enough to garner heads turning its way. Who Is The Real Iris Amari? it read, accompanied by a series of photographs that left little to the imagination.

The citizens of Inarizaki began their mind-numbing routine, unaware of the bombshell waiting for them in the morning news. It started slowly, with a few early risers picking up the newspaper and gasping in shock. Unsurprisingly, the scandal spread like wildfire.

The younger ones scrolled through their phones, stopping in their tracks as the news popped up on their screens. The article quickly went viral, shared across social media platforms in the speed of light. It seemed that everyone had something to say about the explosive revelation – Iris’ official portrait decorated on it all.

In a cafe Iris had once loved visiting when she was still a teenager, where morning coffee was usually a time spent with light-hearted chatter and gossip during a faraway era when she still had friends, the atmosphere grew tense and charged. She could’ve been one of them, she thinks, a group of young people huddled together, their voices hushed but urgent. “Did you see the news about Princess Iris?” a woman whispered to her companion, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Her mother involved in a murder? I can’t believe it?”

“Now that they mention it,” mumbled the man next to her, stroking his chin in thought. “It was rather odd that she got married to the Second Prince out of nowhere.”

All across the Kingdom, people gathered in small clusters – their faces a mix of shock, outrage, and disbelief. The photographs shown in the article were damning, capturing moments that painted a grim picture of Princess Iris’ past. One image showed her mother, Kate Amari, in a heated argument with the Late King. Another depicted Iris herself at a lavish party, her expression one of defiance and rebellion.

She’d remembered that party, could recall how the events went crystal clear. She’d been so young, barely nineteen and out of high school, when the impending doom of her fate grew ever near. A few years from now, she would’ve been forced into a marriage with a Prince whose affections she could never win. And what better way to accept her fate than make her mother outraged? So she’d partied, drunk herself to nearly the point of no return, and stumbled back home crying because she’d known. Her fate had been decided from her the moment the Late King slipped from her mother’s grasp, and into the arms of another woman.

She could have never escaped it.

She was nothing but a painful reminder of what her mother could’ve had. I could’ve been his concubine, her mother would cry herself to sleep, screaming those words over and over. Glass would shatter on the walls as she threw another empty bottle of wine over Iris’ head. He said he loved me! He said he would take us home and we would be together as a family!

Such dreams were shattered in the blink of an eye. No matter how much she wailed, and ran after the Late King, it never changed the fact that her mother was the daughter of a lowborn servant, and the Late King had always been majestic from the day he was born.

We were in love, she would tell Iris, brushing her hands through her dark locks – the same shade as the King’s. He’d always loved me, you see. Before the Crown forced him to marry her, you know? The Queen? The one who never smiles? He doesn’t love her, my dear, but he has us. You and me, his precious girls.

Iris thought his mother was delusional. She knew all about it, of course. She’d read her mother’s journals, the love letters the King had penned. She hadn’t been lying that he loved her, once.

The King, merely a Crown Prince at the time, aged sixteen when he first crossed the borders and paid an official visit to the humbler towns of Itachiyama where he met her mother. They’d been young, and foolishly in love. And her mother, illiterate and innocent, had captured the Prince’s heart. He thought her an ideal woman; unstained by ideals, untainted by the law. She knew only how to love him, and for once in his life, he’d felt more of a boy than he was a Prince. He’d made promises he couldn’t keep, promises of running away to the ends of the earth where they could be together.

Like a fool, Iris’ mother held onto his promise. She kept her loyalty even after he’d married the current Queen. She kept chasing after him even after the First Prince – a bastard child – was born. She’d loved him, through and through, until he returned to Itachiyama and made her believe he’d returned for her, only to stumble in the same sheets as Kiyoomi’s mother.

Her mother hadn’t been the same ever since.

She grew obsessed with revenge, throwing herself into a path where redemption couldn’t exist. She’d studied, made a name of herself, and flew to Inarizaki the moment the King had drunkenly put a child into her belly. Not that the King could remember – hence why he never accepted Iris as his own.

But she’d find herself amongst her true family. That was Kate Amari’s promise before the Queen betrayed her, and put her behind bars.

On the busy streets of the capital, pedestrians paused to check their phones, their reactions intense. Some stared in disbelief, while others shook their heads in disgust. A few young people, who had grown up admiring Princess Iris, felt a deep sense of betrayal. “I always thought she was different,” a teenager muttered to his friend. “But this... this is something else.”

The Palace was thrown into chaos as the news spread.

Inside the grand halls, staff members whispered amongst themselves, casting anxious glances towards the royal chambers. Courtiers and advisors rushed to convene emergency meetings, their faces pale and drawn. The Queen, upon hearing the news, simply sat down and pressed her lips into a thin line.

In the markets and town squares, debates broke out as people tried to make sense of the allegations. Some defended Princess Iris, arguing that the writer was anonymous, and the photographs could be doctored. “You can’t believe everything you read,” a shopkeeper insisted, waving his hand dismissively. “This could be a plot to discredit the royal family.”

The others were not so easily convinced. “Look at the evidence,” a customer countered, pointing to the newspaper. “The photographs, the timeline – it all fits. How can you ignore that?”

The debate raged on, with emotions running high on both sides. Some citizens called for Princess Iris to be stripped of her title and brought to justice, while others urged caution and a thorough investigation before jumping to conclusions. It was evident that the Kingdom stood on the brink of a social and political upheaval.

Even as the palace attempted to manage the fallout, the scandal showed no signs of abating.

News channels broadcasted special reports, experts weight in with their opinions, and social media buzzed with speculation and outrage. The Kingdom of Inarizaki had never seen such a scandal, and it seemed that everyone had been swept up in the maelstrom.

In the midst of the chaos, Princess Iris remained secluded within the palace walls, shielded from the public eye as she held a hand to her belly. But the damage was done. The question on everyone’s mind was how the royal family would recover from such a devastating blow – a question not even Iris had the answer to.

She knew one thing, and one thing, only.

She was a Princess, and she’d do anything to keep her place within the Palace walls.

Iris stood by the window of her – your – lavishly decorated room, staring out at the gardens she had once found solace in. The vibrant flowers, the meticulously trimmed hedges, the majestic fountains – all of it seemed like a distant memory now, a world that no longer belonged to her. Instead, a hollow numbness settled deep within her chest, a void where her hopes and dreams once resided.

When Iris first laid eyes on you on the day Rintaro picked you out in a crowded room, she’d thought you were harmless. Dull. Plain. You spoke only what needed to be said, and made no unnecessary movements. Stiff, and boring. She would’ve never thought, or seen it coming, that her damnation would come from the hands of a poor, lovesick girl who’d been lied to.

The heavy footsteps of the guards echoed in the corridor outside, growing louder with each passing second. She knew they were coming for her, to escort her out of the Palace for the last time.

The ornate mirror on the wall showed a reflection Iris could barely recognized – the same as her mother’s eyes had now lost their spark, a face that aged overnight from the weight of the scandal.

The door opened with a creak, and the guards stepped in. She felt their presence more than she saw it, their stern faces and impassive conveying the gravity of her situation. They waited silently, giving her a moment to gather herself, but there was nothing left to gather. Her spirit felt fragmented, her resolve shattered. Now, all she felt was anger hidden underneath a layer of numbness. Don’t look at me like that, she wanted to sneer, I am your Princess. I am the King’s only daughter!

She turned from the window, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she were in a dream. Her heart was a heavy stone in her chest, each beat a reminder of the life she was leaving behind.

The corridor stretched out before her, each step echoing with a finality that was almost suffocating. The opulence of the palace, the tapestries, and gilded frames, all seemed to mock her now. She had once walked these halls with confidence and grace, but now, every step felt like a march towards her end. It was all hers – all could’ve been hers – if you never stepped in and took it all away from her.

As she descended the staircase, the memories of simpler times haunted her. The laughter, the never-ending banquets and stock of wine, the promises of a future that had been her birthright – they all seemed like a cruel illusion now. She could feel the eyes of the palace staff on her, their pity and curiosity cutting through the numbness like a knife. Still, she kept her head high, determined to maintain her dignity in these final moments.

The guards flanked her as she reached the main entrance. The heavy doors were already open, revealing the world beyond the palace walls. The bright sunlight was almost blinding. She paused at the threshold, taking one last look at the place that had been her home, her prison, and her battleground.

With a deep breath, she stepped out into the light. The doors closed behind her with a final, echoing thud, sealing her fate. The guards guided her towards the waiting vehicle, their hands gentle yet firm on her arms. She climbed inside, her movements robotic, her mind still struggling to process the enormity of what was happening.

As the carriage began to move, the palace slowly disappeared from view, replaced by the bustling streets of the city. She saw the faces of the citizens, some curious, some indifferent, and a few sympathetic. But none of it mattered anymore. Her life as Princess Iris was over, and what lay ahead was a life she never deserved.

The numbness returned, a merciful shield against the overwhelming reality. She leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes, letting the gentle sway of the carriage lull her into a state of detached calm. The future was uncertain, but for now, all she could do was endure.

Summoned by the royal advisors and members of the council, Iris made her way to the council chamber. As she approached the large, intricately carved doors, two guards pushed them open, revealing a room filled with stern faces and accusatory eyes.

The room was a stark contrast to the rest of the palace. It was dimly lit, with long shadows cast by the flickering candlelight. The heavy wooden table at the center was surrounded by the kingdom’s most powerful and influential figures, all of whom had been convened to address the scandal that had erupted overnight.

“Princess Iris,” one of the senior advisors began, his voice cold and devoid of empathy. "Do you understand the gravity of the situation? The article has not only tarnished your reputation but has also brought disgrace upon the entire royal family."

Iris stood before them, trying to maintain her composure. Her eyes met those of the advisors, seeking any hint of understanding or compassion, but finding none. She nodded, unable to trust her voice to remain steady. She’d already figured this would happen.

“We have no choice,” another advisor interjected. “The people demand accountability, and the council has decided that you must be stripped of your title. This is a necessary step to restore faith in the monarchy.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Stripped of her title. The enormity of the situation began to sink in, and she felt a wave of humiliation wash over her.

“You can’t,” she croaked out, her throat growing dry. “I-I am married to the Second Prince, and my title is secured. You cannot separate us as divorce is illegal, and if you do so... that would be saying the Prince loses his title, too.”

The advisors shared a look with one another, processing the gravity of her words. “While what you say is indeed true, this is one of those occasions where we must make... necessary adjustments,” the senior advisor said, his glasses pushed up to his nose. “We have already taken measures to fact-check the article and–”

“And?”

The senior advisor glares at her for interrupting. The entire change in attitude was impalpable; now that she’d been scandalized, everyone suddenly lost respect for her. “–And we found that everything written in it was true, just as the photographs are real. We also found records confirming that your mother, Kate Amari, was imprisoned years ago for murder. The King’s murder.”

A bitter, sardonic laugh bubbled from her throat. “I do not deny that, but did anyone ever investigate why she killed him?” A round of gasps echoed through the room at the revelation. “I am willing to bet on my whole life that none of you know how important I am in the royal family, that if it weren’t for me, all of you would be losing your positions and jobs as we speak! It was I who kept all the secrets, the one and only reason you are all able to live your pathetic, worthless lives because none of you know anything! You don’t even know that the Queen you worship reverently is–”

The grand doors of the courtroom creaked open, and the air seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. All eyes turned towards the entrance as the Queen, clad in a dark, regal gown that seemed to absorb the light, stepped into the room. Her presence commanded an immediate, oppressive silence, freezing everyone in their places.

Her gaze, cold and calculating, swept across the assembly, landing on each individual with the weight of her authority. The air was thick with tension as courtiers and officials alike dared not to breathe too loudly, lest they draw her scrutiny. Iris felt her heart seize in her chest, her earlier numbness replaced by a paralyzing fear. The Queen’s entrance had turned the room into a tableau of silent dread, each person awaiting the inevitable judgment that her arrival heralded.

“That is enough,” her cold, heartless voice sweeps across the room. “The final decision has been made. You are no longer allowed to speak another word unless I, the Queen, permits it.”

“Traitor,” Iris sneered, baring her teeth and lunging at the Queen when the guards held her back. “You’re a traitor! This isn’t what we agreed upon!”

The Queen, unfazed, sighs. “Take her away from here.”

Before Iris could protest further, a pair of strong arms escorted her to the grand hall for the public ceremony. The grand hall, usually a place of celebration and state affairs, was now filled with a somber and judgmental crowd. Nobles, courtiers, and even some members of the public had gathered to witness the spectacle. The air was thick with anticipation and whispers.

The whispers grew louder with each step she took. She walked with her head held high, determined not to let them see her crumble.

The queen, stood at the front of the room. She held a scepter in her hand, a symbol of the authority that was about to be wielded against Iris. The ceremony was swift, almost mechanical in its execution.

“Princess Iris,” the queen began, her voice echoing through the hall. “You have brought dishonor to this family and to this kingdom. By the power vested in me, I hereby strip you of your title and all the privileges that come with it.”

With those words, the queen raised the scepter and tapped it on Iris’s shoulder. The symbolic gesture felt like a final, crushing blow. The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, a mix of shock, satisfaction, and pity. Meanwhile, Iris stood, her eyes drawn to the ground as she fought back against the tears that threatened to fall.

She couldn’t believe it. The Queen had broken their agreement, turned back on her word like she did with her Mother. She’d promised her mother to place her within the royal family, then banished her overseas without another word. Now, she betrayed Iris too – arranging her marriage with Kiyoomi, her brother, and took it away from her.

The queen continued, her voice unwavering. “You are no longer Princess Iris of Inarizaki. You are hereby banished from the royal palace, and your marriage to Prince Kiyoomi is annulled.”

The crowd gasped, the severity of the punishment sinking in. Iris raised her head, unable to stop the tear slipping down her cheek. Quickly, she wiped it away. She had to remain strong, if only for the sake of her dignity, because what could she say now? That she was pregnant, and Kiyoomi had to continue with the announcement of ‘the happy news’? She couldn’t – she was stuck in a dead-end corner, and judging by the slight smile playing on the Queen’s lips, she’d already calculated this potential move.

She’d known Iris would never bring up the baby to save herself. Iris would never subject herself to an unwanted pregnancy, keeping up this pretend of sickening act of husband and wife with her brother any longer. If she did, the Crown would pressure her to have another child – one with Kiyoomi this time around, assuming that Rintaro would be disposed of soon enough.

Iris couldn’t go that far.

The Queen, as always, got what she wanted and won.

As the ceremony concluded, Iris turned and walked out of the grand hall. The heavy doors closed behind her with a resounding thud.

Her mind raced with thoughts of what to do next. Where would she go now? Her mother was gone, and she had no allies, made no friends. Maiko could’ve been someone to run to, but even the foolish kid had been too enamoured with you to ever have any loyalty for her. But she refused to let it end like this. She had to clear her mother’s name, to reveal the truth about the queen’s crimes.

She wasn’t going to let it end like this.

With her title stripped and her future uncertain, Iris vowed to fight back. She would uncover the secrets buried deep within the palace walls, expose the queen’s treachery, and reclaim her honor. As she walked away from the palace, the whispers of the crowd still echoing in her ears, Iris walked onwards with newfound resolve. She might have lost her title, but she had not lost her spirit. The battle for her mother’s honor and her own redemption had only just begun.

She would take back what was hers.

The palace was sent into a whirlwind of chaos after Iris’ deposition.

You and Kiyoomi stood in the hallway of Belleview Manor, observing the frenzy. Servants moved like automatons, their faces set in grim determination as they hauled the remnants of Iris’ belongings out of her quarters, tossing her clothes and personal items into hastily arranged piles.

You watched as delicate dresses were carelessly bundled, precious trinkets thrown aside, and keepsakes unceremoniously discarded. Your eyes fell upon a particularly cherished item – a framed photo of a younger Iris and what appeared to be her mother. Their faces were lit into smiles, Iris’ smaller hands held tightly within her mother’s. It struck a chord of guilt within you, and you stepped forward, halting a servant who was about to toss it aside.

“Leave it,” you mouth silently, taking the photograph from the bewildered servant’s hands. Clutching the frame, you held it tightly to your chest, looking up at Kiyoomi with wide eyes.

It’d been less than a week since the news spread of Iris’ abrupt leave. The Queen had stripped her off her title, and the entire Kingdom had been harsh in their glee over it. It was ruthless, needless to say, how easily they turned on Iris – who was once their Princess – the moment the article had been released. She went from being adored to being shunned to the point that even Itachiyama had closed its doors on her.

But wasn’t that what you wanted?

You’d been so desperate to keep Kiyoomi away from her grasp. Now, you’d succeeded. Iris had left, your room was now yours again, and any traces of the brunette finally disappeared.

And yet... why did none of it feel good? You weren’t proud, weren’t happy.

Outside, the commotion was no less intense. The air was thick with whispers and hurried conversations, the scent of scandal permeating every corner of the palace grounds. Meanwhile, Kiyoomi watched it all unfurl with a cold dispassion, as if he was merely an observer.

Your heart ached with a pang of pity as you glanced at him, but there was no time to dwell on it. In the span of forty eight hours, he’d lost his wife, and was pushed to being another pawn again. That part you hadn’t thought through – Kiyoomi may have been freed from Iris, but who was to stop the Queen from marrying him off to another woman? The political crisis between Itachiyama and Inarizaki was temporarily resolved the last time he’d went there, when you went there, but that had been months. And now, with the recent issue of Itachiyama being shamed for having such ‘lowborn people’ like Iris, none of it was getting better.

A small voice in your head urged you to find Iris, to offer some semblance of comfort or understanding. Gripping the photograph tighter, you make your way to your car, wondering where Iris might have gone after experiencing such a public humiliation.

Just as you were about to open the car door, a firm hand grabbed your arm. You turned to see Kiyoomi right behind you, his face etched with a mixture of confusion and concern. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I have to find Iris.”

“No,” his grip tightens with urgency, already slamming the car door shut behind you. “You shouldn’t go anywhere. It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous? What’s going on?”

“She’s not going to let this end,” he murmurs silently, pulling you into his chest as he looks around warily. He didn’t need to elaborate; the gravity of the moment was clear. The scandal, the disgrace, it was spreading like wildfire. There was no telling where it would end or what further damage might be done.

“Kiyoomi... Did I do the right thing?” you ask him, brow furrowing as your palms grew sweaty. “I-I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I know it would’ve gotten your marriage annulled with her, but... I don’t know what they’re going to do her, Omi. Will she be alright out there?”

Kiyoomi’s lips press into a thin line. “She will be, but I can’t guarantee things will stay the same,” he pauses, as if hesitating, then reaches to comb his hair back. “Listen. Iris is not going to take any of this lightly. There’s no telling what she will do next, but I can guarantee that none of us are safe here.”

You bite your lip, pondering it before you decided, “I still need to go.”

“Where will you go?” Kiyoomi lets go of your hand, not wanting to stop you, but not entirely willing to let you leave either. Instead, his shoulders sagged, his eyes pleading. “Just... Stay here with me. Or at least let me accompany you.”

You shook your head. You’d just freed Kiyoomi from the ties that bound him; if you dragged him with you again, then this would never end. This was something you had to solve for yourself, but if Iris couldn’t be found , then you had to start with him. “I need to find Rintaro. He still has a child with her, Omi. We don’t know how he’s handling the situation right now.”

Kiyoomi’s lips pressed into a thin line. Sighing through his nose, he seemed to have an internal debate before he closes his eyes. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”

“No, it’s...” you insisted, “I think you should stay behind.”

Silence stretches between you both. For a moment, it looks like Kiyoomi wanted to say more, but chose not to. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt you – the way he closed off on himself, his walls put up so high you could barely look past it. But what could you do? And Kiyoomi, too, must’ve known this was a losing game. Forcing a smile on his face, he nods.

“Call me if you need anything.”

You smile at him gratefully, photograph still clutched to your chest before opening the car door. Then, you sped out of the driveway and called Rintaro, unsurprised that it went straight to voicemail. You tried asking the twins, even Kita, anyone who might’ve known where your husband was. But alas, none of them had the slightest clue. The last they saw of him was just before Iris was taken away by the guards, hovering behind her with an impassive look on his face.

He’d shortly disappeared after that. None of your texts and calls came through.

Jaw clenched, you turned on the location tracker you’d placed on his phone that time before you left for Itachiyama, mindlessly turning on the radio in case there’d been any reported sightings. You tuned in, letting the music fill the space in the air.

You gripped the steering wheel, your knuckles stiff with tension. You’d been driving for what seemed like hours now, eyes scanning the roads and alleys, searching for any sign of Rintaro. Fatigue weighed heavily on you now that the sun had long set, your eyelids drooping and your body aching from being sat for so long. Still, the tracker on your phone remained stubbornly blank, offering no direction to head in.

Just as you decided to turn back, the car radio crackled to life. The unmistakable voice of Iris filled the vehicle. You immediately went still, your heart pounding in your chest. You quickly pulled over to the side of the road, your breath catching as you listened intently.

Greetings, citizens of Inarizaki. It is I, Iris Amari, your former Princess and representative of Itachiyama. As you all know, I have recently been stripped of my titles now that the history behind my mother’s sudden disappearance has been uncovered.

A short pause.

I confess that I am guilty of manipulating the Crown Prince out of my boredom. The truth is, I was in a loveless marriage with the Second Prince, and I was lonely in the Palace when my husband would leave me to entertain myself for weeks, sometimes months on end. A lonely woman could only endure so much, and the Crown Prince was always there – warm, welcoming, and as lovely as he’d been when we met during our school years. I couldn’t help but seek out his company, even when he’d already married the Yuzuru heiress. After all, I knew my marriage with the Second Prince was hopeless. He would never speak to me, much less look my way – an arrangement I was satisfied with as long as it meant I could remain being a Princess.

You leant back in your seat, gnawing at your lip as you hung on to every word she said.

Now, to answer the question everyone has been dying to know: how did a no-name foreigner like me marry into the Royal Family? The truth is simple. I am the King’s only daughter, and Her Majesty the Queen manipulated my desperate, lovesick, and heartbroken mother to do her bidding. They’d both been victims of the King, their hearts toyed with until they were fueled with anger.

Your grip on the steering wheel loosened. Glancing at Iris’ photograph on the passenger seat, you stared hard at her features – green eyes, loose and dark wavy hair, almost with the same pattern of Kiyoomi’s curls. Looking at her now, Iris had always looked so... familiar. And that thought – or realization – alone, had your mouth drying.

But if they were both the King’s children, and they were married... A gasp fell from your lips.

Was that why Kiyoomi refused to touch her? Why he’d looked at her, repulsed and paling like she was vermin? It hadn’t been because she was, but rather because she was his sister.

The Queen, having had enough of her husband’s affairs and mistreatments, ordered my mother to murder him under the promise she would welcome me into the Palace. My mother did as she was told, concerned only with securing her daughter’s future, but the Queen betrayed us. Shortly after the King died, the Queen banished my mother from Inarizaki and put her behind bars to ensure her silence.

As a last resort to somewhat keep her end of the deal, she then enrolled me in Inarizaki Private Royal Academy to learn about how to run the country as a future Princess. Years later, after I graduated, she arranged my marriage with Prince Kiyoomi, my half-brother.

Now this all begs the question regarding the recent cheating scandal of the Crown Prince: if I’d known all this time that I was the King’s daughter, did I not seduce my own blood and flesh?

You may think so, but the Queen keeps a plethora of lies to keep this Kingdom running – one of her secrets being that she never had a child with the Late King, and Crown Prince Rintaro is nothing but a fraud. He is not of royal flesh and blood. He is nothing but a boy picked up on the streets to become the Queen’s puppet.

When the announcement ended, the music previously playing stuttered before continuing to where it left off. You sat there, stunned in silence with your mind reacing.

The sound of your heartbeat filled your ears, loud enough that it pulsed with the vehicle’s hum. Suddenly, your phone flashed with a notification – the tracker had located Rintaro. Adrenaline surged through you, and you slammed your foot on the gas, the car lurching forward as you sped off.

Now that Rintaro’s secret was out, you needed to find him first before the police did.

You drove through the dimly lit streets, your surroundings growing increasingly desolate. The familiar cityscape gave way to the outskirts, a labyrinth of abandoned warehouses and crumbling buildings. Shadows loomed large, casting eerie shapes that seemed to dance in the periphery of your vision. Your anxiety grew with each passing mile, the unease settling like a heavy weight in your chest.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, you forced yourself to take a deep breath.

The once smooth road turned rough and pitted, each bump jarring your already frazzled nerves. The neon glow of the city was long behind you, now replaced by the flickering, sporadic streetlights that only deepened the shadows.

After what felt like forever, you’d finally reached your destination – a decrepit building that looked to have been abandoned for years. The windows were boarded up, and graffiti marred its exterior. Despite its appearance, the low thump of music resonated through the walls, a steady, booming pulse that hinted at life within. You parked your car and stepped out, your eyes darting around the unfamiliar surroundings.

The building loomed over you, dark and foreboding. You balled your fists at your sides, trying to steady your frantically racing heart.

As you approached the entrance, you were greeted by a hulking figure. “You got a pass?”

You blinked your eyes up at the bouncer, standing guard. He was imposing, his large, hulking arms crossed over his chest. “Uh,” you licked your dry lips, vaguely realizing a little too late that you’re inappropriately dressed for this event – pearl necklace, diamond earrings, and a silk below-the-knee champagne coloured dress. “N-No, I don’t.”

“Then I’m sorry, Miss, you can’t enter. This is an invite-only party.”

You’re already fiddling with your purse. “How much?” you raised your brows, daring the bouncer to continue smirking when he noticed the seriousness on your face. “Name me your price.” He was quick to mention the numbers, and without sparing him another glance, you shoved a wad of cash – with extra – to his tattooed hands.

The bouncer’s smirk grew wider, satisfied as he pockets the bills. “Welcome to Ecstasy. Enjoy your stay. If you don’t have a mask yet, someone at the counter will give you one. At the right price.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed past him and through the doors. The music grew louder as you neared, its relentless beat matching the pounding of your heart. You squared your shoulders, prepared to face whatever lay behind the doors of this unsettling, hidden nightclub. What the hell was Rintaro doing here?

The deeper you entered the club, the louder the music got. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something else you couldn’t quite place. The interior was a chaotic blend of darkness and vibrant neon lights, flashing in sync with the pounding bass of the music – loud enough to give you a headache. The colors danced erratically, casting shifting shadows across the grinding bodies across the room.

Everywhere you looked, people were hidden behind masks, their identities obscured in a surreal modern-era masquerade.

The masks ranged from simple to elaborate, animal-themed, Venetian, some grotesque. Yours was a simple bunny-mask, its ears protruding at the sides and the nose wide enough to cover a fraction of your eyes. You understood now why Rintaro chose to be here – the anonymity gave the revelers a sense of freedom, their movements uninhibited and wild. Everyone danced with abandon, bodies pressed close together as they moved as one with the beat. In the corners, couples were locked in passionate embraces, their hands trailing in places it shouldn’t be – completely oblivious to the world around them.

Discomfort washed over you as you navigated through the crowd.

The noise was overwhelming, a constant assault on your senses. Your formal attire, elegant and out of place, drew curious and sometimes hungry stares from the masked partygoers. Your feeble attempt in donning the bunny mask did little to hide your unease.

You pushed through the crowd, determined to find Rintaro.

Men in masks turned to watch you, their gazes lingering too long for comfort. You quickened your pace, ignoring the murmurs and the eyes that followed your every move. The flashing lights made it hard to see clearly, but you couldn’t back out now. You’d already reached this far. There was no way you were going to leave this hellish place without your husband in tow.

Finally, you spotted a tuft of dark, unruly hair.

Rintaro sat slumped at the bar, nursing a drink as his head bobbed in time to the rhythm of the music. He looked weary and lost, a stark contrast to the frenzy around him. Relief washed over you as you made your way beside him, the chaotic energy of the club seemingly fading in the background. You reached out to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder in hopes to draw him out of his stupor and back to you.

When he finally turned to you, you were met with his familiar hazel eyes – ones that bordered more on green than brown. He looked exhausted; dark circles visible even behind his wolf-shaped mask, the whiskers nearly comical as it draped on the sides. You grinned at him, relieved to have found him safe and sound. Throwing your arms around him – or more like attempted to – you found yourself gently shoved back, your lower back connecting with the stool behind you.

“Don’t touch me,” he sneers, his words slurred. “My wife won’t like it if she sees you.”

You frowned at him, rubbing at the sore spot at your back. “Don’t be stupid. We need to go home. Now.”

Rintaro throws his head back in laughter, gesturing to the bartender for another refill. Once his glass was full again, he took slow, deliberate sips – his face impassive and his eyes cold. “The night is too young. Why would I want to leave?” he murmurs more to himself than you, his gaze narrowing at your hunched figure beside him. He stares, hard, making you squirm beneath the mask. But Rintaro simply sniffs, pointing his drink in your direction. “You look awfully familiar.”

“That’s because I’m your wife. Now let’s go.”

“My wife, huh? Now I know you’re lying,” he shakes his head to himself, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he downs his drink in one go. “My wife would never look for me, and she’d never come to a place like this. She’s a little too good for everybody. A little too great for the likes of us. Even for someone like me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re not going to believe this, but I recently just found out that I’m–” he closes the distance between you, close enough that his cologne and the stench of alcohol overwhelms you. Then, he cups his palm around his mouth as if to say a secret, his mouth dangerously close to your ear as his voice drops. “–Adopted. Or kidnapped, if we’re going to be precise. Fucked up, right? But you want to know what’s even more fucked up? It’s that I genuinely thought I was this great, praise-worthy Prince who deserved no one better but my wife. And I–” his chuckles grew louder, the humour in them absent, “–I ruined it. Ruined her life. Because she doesn’t even know that she married some stupid, lowborn gardener’s son.”

You frowned at his words. Crossing your arms against your chest, you spun on your stool and faced him directly, snatching the glass from his hand before he could ask for another refill. This time around, Rintaro doesn’t protest. Just slumps further against the bar’s counter.

“Don’t talk like that. I’m sure she doesn’t think of you any differently.”

“She already does. She can barely stand to be in the same room as me,” he sighs, his head buried in his arms before him. Sleepily, and drunk out of his mind, he gazes up at you under his lashes – the sadness deep and prominent within his eyes. “She could’ve married someone else if I never came into her world, you know? She could’ve married a Lord, or-or a Duke. Hell, she could have been a Princess from another Kingdom. She deserved all that and more. Instead she’s stuck with me and I–” his breaths stuttered, “–I’m no one.”

That was it. You’d had enough of his pity party. Did he really come all the way here just to feel bad about himself? Sliding the glass towards the bartender’s way, you grabbed Rintaro by the arm, heaving at his nearly dead weight. “Rin. Please. Let’s go home.”

“I have no home,” he whines, and it’s only now you notice the tears glistening in his eyes. “I don’t have a wife, I lost my girlfriend who’s pregnant with my child, and I – where would I go? There’s no place for me here.”

“You could go with me.”

“You’re not my wife. I don’t want to go anywhere without her.”

“Rintaro, I am your wife,” you repeat, shoving your left hand right in front of his face. He’s immediately entranced by the sight, and leans into the curve of your palm. “We wear the same rings, see? It’s me.”

The sigh he lets out is dreamy. “Yeah, I’m not sober enough for this. Now I’m seeing her too.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, you lead him back to the bar, and help him sit down without falling on his bottom. “Okay, how about this? I get you a few more drinks, and then I’ll take you back to your wife, alright? I heard the Princess was looking for you.”

Rintaro’s sniffles grow louder as he avoids your gaze. “Why would she? She’s happier now that she’s with Kiyoomi. He’s the better man, anyway, better than me in all aspects.”

The memory of Kiyoomi’s lips flashed through your mind. Faintly, you wondered if this was considered hurting Kiyoomi’s feelings – running after your husband, and tending to him when he was not in his right mind. Just the thought of Kiyoomi patiently waiting for you back at Belleview Manor broke your heart. Or maybe he paced back and forth, anxiously opening his phone every minute to check if you’d updated again – you hadn’t.

But you would return, that you knew. The past few days with him – no, everything had made your decision clear. Regardless of whatever happened next… if Rintaro would be taken away by the police, or if the Queen disposed of him first, you’d already made your mind.

You were going to choose Kiyoomi.

But tonight… tonight, Rintaro needed you. Cupping his face in your hands, you levelled his gaze with yours, putting on your warmest smile – just like how you always did whenever Rintaro ran to you, worried and burdened with his day’s work. Even if he couldn’t truly recognize you, at least your touch would – hopefully – be familiar enough. “She’s worried for you, and she sent me here to take you home. She said she wants to talk.”

“She still wants to talk to me?”

Your heart ached. You’d never heard Rintaro sound this… helpless before, and at the same time hopeful. “Of course, Rin. Always.”

“Fine,” he relents, “but you’re paying for my drinks.”

You discreetly signal to the bartender, sliding over a generous amount of cash to cover all the drinks he’d ‘ordered.’ Thankfully, he understands your silent plea, nodding and begins to serve him water instead. Rintaro, too lost in his own world, didn’t seem to notice the change as he continued to down glass after glass.

Once he had reached his limit, you gently took his arm, guiding him away from the bar and through the club. To say the journey back to your car was arduous was an understatement. Rintaro kept leaning heavily on you, his weight almost too much for you to bear. His stumbling steps made your own balance precarious, especially in your delicate kitten heels. You gritted your teeth, determined to keep you both upright as you navigated the crowded, uneven terrain outside the club.

The rocky pavement outside made the task a lot more challenging than it should be. Each step was a battle, your husband’s larger frame swaying with each faltering step. You glanced around, spotting one of his cars parked far away, but you ignored it and focused on bringing him to yours instead. You’d just have to take care of the traces he left later.

With great effort – and a lot of sweat – you finally managed to get him to your car. You opened the back door, easing him inside. Rintaro whined and resisted, but you persisted, swatting his hands away to get him settled.

You managed to manoeuvre him into the backseat, checking twice to ensure he was comfortable enough before closing the door. Before you could, Rintaro suddenly reached out to you, his fingers tugging at your sleeves. “Wait,” he pleads, his eyes huge and vulnerable.

“What?”

“Need to... need to look good,” he rambled on, stretching his long legs at the backseat and tugging at his own shirt. The material is already wrinkled beyond belief, the top buttons undone. He keeps fidgeting with it, grabbing your hands to help him fix it. Stunned, your hands hover awkwardly over his chest – unsure if buttoning it up for him would be enough to satisfy him. “Do I look good? Don’t wanna – don’t wanna look drunk. She’ll get mad. Don’t want my wife seeing me like this.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words. Sighing, you reached over and closed the top buttons, patting his chest down as if to say ‘there you go.’ “You look fine. Stop grumbling.”

Convinced enough, Rintaro stops fidgeting. You were about to close the car door once more when he suddenly pulled you next to him. You squealed, barely catching your balance as you fell beside him. In one, swift movement, Rintaro had laid down and rested his head on your lap, his long legs awkwardly curled beneath him. There, he sighs, his large hands fisting your dress as you sit still – unable to move.

“Just a few more hours, please? I want to sleep.”

You agree, finding it difficult to say no when Rintaro was so… clingy like this. It wasn’t like you could return to the Palace, anyway. Rintaro would most likely be a target of the Police, and the entire government now that everyone knows he was a fraud. He didn’t need to go back to that. You’d rather keep him here – in your lap, safe and sleepy and warm. Unable to help it, you run your hands through his hair, carding your fingers through the strands and raking your nails against his scalp. It causes him to purr like a cat, the sound entertaining before he buries himself closer to your stomach.

“...Nice.”

“What?”

“Said you smell nice. Smell like my wife.”

The morning sunlight filtered through the car windows, its warmth gently jostling you awake. You blinked blearily, momentarily disoriented as you realized you’d fallen asleep. As you tried to move, you noticed the weight on your lap.

Rintaro was asleep there, his face relaxed and peaceful. The harsh lines of stress and pain that usually marked his features were smoothed away as he slumbers, making him appear younger, almost innocent.

You stared at him for a little longer, captivated by the rare serenity in his expression. Your fingers began to move on their own accord, gently caressing his cheek. His skin was warm under your touch, and you marvelled at how different he looked now. In sleep, he seemed free from the burdens that weighed so heavily on him during his waking hours. But now? Your heart softened as you traced the line of his jaw, wishing you could freeze this moment in time – preserve this fleeting glimpse of the man you had once fallen madly in love with.

You hesitated in waking him up, choosing instead to let him rest a little longer.

Carefully, you reached for your purse, digging through it to find your phone. The screen lit up with several missed calls and a flurry of texts from your parents, their messages frantic and pleading for you to answer and tell them where you were. Amongst the many notifications, messages from Kiyoomi caught your eye. His last message read, “please… please tell me you’re safe.”

Your heart ached at his worry, but another message drew your attention. It was from Kuroo, his message short yet ominous: “Princess, I didn’t write this, but I think you should take a look.”

With shaky hands, you clicked on the link. As the article loaded, your anxiety surged – a cold dread settling in the pit of your stomach. You glanced down at Rintaro, still peacefully asleep, oblivious to the turmoil that awaited you both.

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐄𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐤𝐢: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐲, 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐚’𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝

In a dramatic turn of events that has left the kingdom of Inarizaki reeling, the Queen has been seized by government officials following the revelation of her involvement in heinous crimes. The charges against Her Majesty are severe and include conspiracy to commit murder, kidnapping, and fraud. This unprecedented upheaval marks a dark chapter in Inarizaki's royal history. The Queen stands accused of orchestrating the murder of her own husband, the late King, in a desperate bid to retain power. This shocking revelation came to light after a thorough investigation uncovered irrefutable evidence of her culpability. Additionally, it has been revealed that the Queen kidnapped an innocent baby, presenting him as the Crown Prince to solidify her control over the throne. This child, now known as Suna Rintaro, has been living under the false pretense of royal blood. The official charges against the Queen include: Conspiracy to Commit Murder, Kidnapping, Fraud, and High Treason. Government officials have acted swiftly, seizing Her Majesty and beginning the legal proceedings that will determine her fate. The palace is in turmoil as the full extent of her crimes comes to light. As the kingdom grapples with the Queen's treachery, another scandal has emerged, further destabilizing the royal family. Hours after former Princess Iris publicly revealed her true lineage, incriminating photos of Princess Suna, wife of Suna Rintaro, have surfaced. These photos, taken within the privacy of Belleview Manor, show Prince Kiyoomi and the Crown Prince's wife in a compromising and passionate embrace, confirming longstanding rumors of a cross-marriage affair. The scandal does not end there. Additional evidence has surfaced showing Princess Suna meeting with Kuroo Tetsuro, the notorious journalist responsible for exposing Iris and Rintaro’s affair. In these meetings, Princess Suna is seen paying Kuroo substantial sums of money, effectively funding his comfortable life abroad. It is now evident that Princess Suna orchestrated the recent articles that have shaken the kingdom, making her a clear threat and an enemy of the Crown. The public and government officials are now united in their stance: Princess Suna and Suna Rintaro must be stripped of their titles and exiled from Inarizaki. Their actions have sown discord and threatened the stability of the kingdom, and such betrayal cannot be tolerated. As Inarizaki faces this turbulent time, the hope for a restored and honest royal lineage is strong. The kingdom looks to the future, determined to heal and rebuild in the wake of these revelations. This story is still developing, and we will continue to provide updates as more information becomes available.

Panic surged through you as the article’s revelation settled in.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps, each one more frantic than the last. You felt your chest tighten,, your heart pounding so hard as if it would burst. Desperation clawed at you, and you knew you had to get out of the car.

As gently as you could, you pushed Rintaro’s head off your lap, careful not to disrupt his sleep. He stirred slightly, but otherwise remained unconscious. You opened the door and stumbled out onto the pavement, your legs barely supporting you as you fell to your knees. The cold, hard ground bit into your skin, but the sensation was distant – the pain faint compared to the panic that was now beginning to consume you.

Your breaths were coming in ragged, uneven bursts now, your vision blurring with tears.

You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady yourself as the world spun around you. You knew, without a doubt, that your own Kingdom had already turned against you.

With trembling fingers, you fumbled for your phone. You needed to hear his voice – the one person who could ground you, who could make you feel safe in the midst of all this mess. You found his contact and dialled, holding the phone to your ear with a grip so tight your knuckles turned white. Finally, the call connected, and you breathed out, letting the faint sound of Kiyoomi fumbling in the background like a lifeline.

“Kiyoomi?”

“Thank God you picked up. You weren’t answering any of my calls.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on each word, each comforting tone as you anchored yourself in the present. The world around you began to slow, your breathing gradually evening out. You took a deep, shaky breath, drawing strength from Kiyoomi’s presence, even if it was just through the phone.

“I-I don’t know what to do, Kiyoomi. What’s going on?”

Kiyoomi sighed from the other line. “It’s just as the news said. The Queen is being held by the government to answer for her crimes and you... you’re no longer allowed to return to the Palace. You’ve been deposed.”

“But that’s – that can’t happen. There should be a procedure, a legal procedure before they can strip me off my title!”

“I know, but with everything going on in the country right now, the officials have all decided to skip the formalities and proceed with making any unjust royal family member out of the Palace as soon as possible. You included,” more shuffling rings through the phone, and you hear a car door slamming shut. “But don’t worry, I’m heading out of the Palace right now. Tell me where you are. I’ll come find you.”

Nodding even if Kiyoomi couldn’t see it, you move to send him your location when your phone was suddenly ripped out from your hand. You watched, mouth agape, as Rintaro throws it to the ground and crushes it with the weight of his foot. You scrambled to stand up, fire raging in your veins as you looked at him – Rintaro was now awake, his hair still messed up from sleep, but his eyes were big and bright, like he’d been riding on a high.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I should be asking you that,” Rintaro glared at you, all the previous softness disappearing from his face. “Are you out of your mind? The news said we’re exiled. And you’re just giving our location to Kiyoomi like that?”

“That’s Kiyoomi! I trust him!”

“He’s a Prince, a member of the Royal Family – the same family you’re no longer a part of. I don’t care if you think you can trust him, there’s nothing he can do for you.”

“Oh, but you can do something about it?”

Rin flinched like he’d been slapped. Still, he kept his composure, his hands planted on his hips as he sighed and looked around you. You were nearly in the middle of nowhere – in the outskirts of the city, far from the inquisitive gaze of the Palace. It was almost hard to believe how so much had happened in such a short span of time, but Kiyoomi was right. Iris wouldn’t let it end there. If she was going to fall, she was going to take everyone down with her.

“I can’t help you, but you heard what they said. I’m exiled – I’m leaving this damned country.”

Your husband slammed the car door shut, and began to walk towards his car. “Rin,” you called out to him, taking two steps at a time to match his pace. “Rin, would you please just stop? Let’s talk!”

“There’s nothing to talk about!”

You stopped in your tracks, surprised when he’d turned your away. Rintaro’s face was flushed red, the vein on his neck prominent. “Why are you so angry? Oh, is it because your plans have been ruined and you can’t become King anymore, is that it? Because Iris is gone now, and you can’t have her?”

“Seriously? After all this time, you still can’t get over that?”

The laugh you let out is incredulous. “How can I? You kicked me out of our room a few days ago because you said you wanted to take care of her!”

Rintaro’s face hardens. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Well, thank you so much for telling me, because that totally changes everything,” you throw your hands up in the air, stomping to where he stood just to sneer at his face. “You really expect me to believe you stopped caring about her? The moment your girlfriend was kicked out of the Palace, what did you do? Oh, right. You went to some dingy, ‘exclusive’ anonymous nightclub and got drunk out of your mind. I think its crystal clear you needed a distraction from the pain of losing her.”

Rintaro scoffed, baring his teeth as he takes on your challenge and comes closer, your noses brushing. “What pain? I couldn’t care less that she’s gone. She never loved me anyway.”

“Then why drink yourself half to death last night? You could’ve been in real danger if I didn’t come looking for you.”

“You shouldn’t have, then.”

“A thank you would suffice.”

Rintaro’s face hardens. He takes more steps, forcing you to walk backwards until you were back to where you started – your back hitting the edge of your car. He looms over you, his eyes shining with something you couldn’t decipher. “Why did you look for me, huh? My mistress is gone. She’s out of your hair, and you could’ve had everything you wanted. Why else bother looking for me when all I did was hurt you?”

He practically forces the confession out of you. “Because I was worried about you!”

In an instant, Rintaro’s heat disappears. He flings himself backward like you’d burned him, frowning as he stares you incredulously. Then, he lets out a laugh that sounded more like a pained choke. “You are many things, but I never thought you could be a liar.”

“Liar? What are you talking about?”

He meets your gaze, his eyes cold and daring. “You don’t care about me.”

“Yes, I do!”

“No, you don’t! You know the truth, Y/N. I’m not a Prince – never have been, and never will be. You couldn’t possibly care for a fraud. You know it, too. I’m a nobody, and you were always better than me.”

Rintaro’s words hung in the air, each one landing with a weight that nearly suffocated you. Was that how he thought of you the whole time? That you’d... hated him? Thought of him differently because he wasn’t the King’s son? The very notion left you appalled. The ground beneath you felt like it shifted, your heart clenching painfully at the broken expression he wore. Shame, guilt – it all swam in the dark pools of his eyes, mingling with sorrow as you stared at him.

How could he think that, after everything?

His voice carried defeat, almost as if he wanted you to hate him, as if he believed it would make things easier.

The realization itself twisted something deep inside you. You didn’t hate him – not even close. Maybe you hated what he did, the lies that he’d kept and the facade he’d put on, pretending that he’d loved you when he didn’t. But him not being the King’s son? What did that change? Stood before you was still Rintaro, not Suna, the man you’d adored and cursed from the moon and the back. The thought that he’d been carrying this belief, suffering under it, cut you more deeply than any betrayal. Somehow, this hurt more than finding out he had another.

The fact that this whole time, Rintaro truly believed you looked down on him for not being a Prince. How could he have been so wrong?

The breath was knocked out of you, your shoulders deflating as every muscle in your body softened. “You may not be a Prince, but you’re still my husband. I still care.”

You watched the change in his expression as the words left your lips.

His eyes widened in shock, the disbelief evident against the relief that slowly unfurled across his face. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest, his breath catching in his throat. But beneath that relief, confusion lingered, the doubts overshadowing your confession. It was as if he was trying to convince himself that you were wrong, that you should hate him, that your kindness was a mistake.

You could see it all – how Rintaro desperately wanted to believe you, yet he still clung to the pain of his insecurities like it was all he knew.

“If you care so much,” his voice broke as he spoke, “Then why did you kiss Kiyoomi?”

His question struck you like a blow to the chest. The words echoed in your mind, rendering you frozen in place. How could you answer that? How could you justify what you’d done? You could say you didn’t mean it, that you’d regretted it, but that would be a lie. You’d wanted to kiss Kiyoomi. It was a long overdue kiss, and until now, you still wanted to run back into his arms and have him tell you everything would be okay.

And that must show in your face – your blatant infatuation with the Second Prince. Rintaro’s face was a mixture of hurt and confusion as his gaze landed on your lips, probably picturing the way you’d kissed someone else. It made you feel small, like a child caught with their hand deep in a cookie jar. Your mind race, searching for an explanation, a way to make him understand, but all you could feel was the crushing sense of betrayal you’d inflicted on him – on both of you.

The truth was too messy, one that you couldn’t explain yourself. You cared for Rintaro, would do anything to protect him and save him from the mess he’d been tangled in. But you also loved Kiyoomi, loved tangling your hands in his curls, and laying your head on his chest to hear his heartbeat. You would fight a far for your husband, but when that war was over?

You would run straight home to Kiyoomi.

Still, you wanted to reach out. To say something, anything, that would take away the pain in his eyes, but the words were lodged deep in your throat. All you could do was stare at him, realizing too late you had hurt him in a way that might never fully feal.

“So you love him,” he concluded, and when you didn’t refuse, Rintaro nodded to himself – letting the words sink in. One of his hands were planted on his hips, the other fisted on his lip with his brows furrowed. “Was it... was it after I kicked you off to Belleview Manor? Or has it... have you liked him for longer than that?”

Since Itachiyama, you wanted to say, almost apologetically, since the day you kept choosing her over me.

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, a distant rumble interrupted the silence, growing louder and more distinct with each passing second. You barely had time to process it before Rintaro moved, his hand suddenly gripping your arm with a firm urgency.

Rintaro pulled you down, hiding you both behind the car. You followed his lead, heart pounding in your chest as you pressed your face against his back, the creases of his shirt bundled in your palms. Crouched low, the cold pavement pressing against your knees, you watched as he cautiously peeked over the car’s hood, his eyes narrowing in concentration. The sound of engines grew louder, more ominous – like the sound of your end nearing. You dared to peek from above Rintaro’s shoulder until you could make out the distinct patterns of royal emblems on some of the vehicles, followed closely by the flashing lights of police cars.

Fear gripped at you. You could feel your heart pulsing all the way up to your tongue, your breaths coming faster as you glanced at your husband. Rintaro’s expression mirrored your panic, eyes wide and intense.

The vehicles were closing in, fast and steady, like predators hunting their prey. You both knew that your time was running out, that you were no longer Prince and Princess. Exiled. Dethroned. Hunted like the lowly criminals you both were.

Rintaro wasted no time. He yanked you up as gently as he could by your wrist, guiding you into the passenger’s seat before he slammed the door close, and hopped onto the driver’s side. His movements are frantic as he started up the car, letting the engine hum fill the vehicle. “Wear your seatbelt.”

“But Rin, you were just drunk last night–”

The engine roared to life as Rintaro slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. “I’m fine now, and I drive faster than you. You know that. Wear your seatbelt.”

The car lurched forward, tires screeching against the pavement. You felt your body press back into the seat as your heart pounded in time with the racing vehicle. The world outside blurred into a streak of colours as you shot down the road, the cool morning air rushing in through the partially open windows.

You could hear the shriek of sirens behind you, the vehicles in pursuit closing in fast.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, sharp and intoxicating, as your mind raced to keep up with the unfolding chaos. This was real. This was happening. You were no longer just royals entangled in a web of lies and deceit – you were fugitives now, running from a government that once hailed you as symbols of hope and power.

Rintaro’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he weaved through the narrow streets with a precision born of desperation. Each sharp turn sent her stomach lurching, the tires skidding dangerously close to the edges of the road. You cried out his name, and Rintaro hissed as he swerved back to safety. You could see the cityscape flashing by in jagged, disorienting bursts – the familiar landmarks rendered alien the further you flew away.

The vehicles behind you were relentless, engines howling as they sped after you with unyielding force. The sirens were deafening, mocking.

You glanced over at Rintaro, seeing the intense focus etched into his features, the slight tremor in his jaw as he pushed the car harder, faster, willing it to escape the grip of your pursuers.

The realization hit you like a physical blow – you were criminals now. Your life of luxury, of duty, and privilege, it was all over. Everything you had known, everything you had believed in, was crumbling away behind you, left in the dust of your panicked escape. There was no going back now, no return to the life you once had. You would have to leave everything behind – the Palace, the titles, your parents, Kiyoomi.

The car swerved violently as Rintaro took a sharp corner, the tires screeching as you fought for traction. The chase had spilled deeper into the outskirts of the city, where the streets were narrower, the buildings older and more decrepit. The vibrant pulse of the city was fading, giving way to a desolate stretch of road that seemed to go on forever, before it disappeared into the horizon like a thin thread of hope.

Beside you, Rintaro’s face was set in grim desperation, his eyes locked on the road ahead as the car surged forward, fuelled by the desperate need to escape. You could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken understanding between you that this was your only chance.

And with that, you accepted your fate.

This was the path you had chosen – no, the path that been forced upon you. The chase continued, the world outside becoming a blur of speed and danger. You braced yourself for whatever lay ahead, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.

“They’re getting close,” Rintaro said through gritted teeth. One glance at the rear view mirror confirmed your worst fears; they were closing in on you, and that meant the end was nearing. You knew without a doubt that as soon as the government laid their hands on you, everything was over. Rintaro would be exiled, or worse, executed for infiltrating the sacred walls of the Palace – even if it hadn’t been his fault. And you would lose everything, everyone, that you ever cared about. You couldn’t let that happen. “Fuck! I need something to get them off my tail!”

You moved without thinking.

Reaching for the gun secretly stashed in the glove compartment, you quickly rolled the windows down, the upper half of your body carefully sliding out as you unlatched the seatbelt. “Hey!” Rintaro shouted, “What are you doing? Get back! It’s not safe!”

“I’m still the General’s daughter. They won’t shoot,” eyes narrowed, you aimed at the nearest police car who’d been hot on your heels. There was only a few inches left before they could bump into you. “But I will.”

There was no time for hesitation, no room for doubt.

The rush of the wind whipped through the car, pulling at your skin and stinging your eyes. Your finger hovered over the trigger, the world narrowing down to the police car’s tire, spinning so fast it seemed almost like a blur.

You fired.

The crack of the gunshot echoed in your years, the sound so loud it was deafening. You watched as the bullet hit its mark, the tire exploding in a burst of rubber and metal. The police car veered wildly, the driver losing control as the vehicle swerved violently across the road. Then, with a sickening lurch, it tumbled over, metal screeching against asphalt as it rolled, flipping end over end before it crashed into the guardrail. The screech of tires and the crash of metal filled the air as the cars behind it desperately slammed on their brakes, unable to avoid the wreckage. One by one, they collided, a chaotic pileup of twisted metal and broken glass until the entire road was blocked.

You slid back into your seat, your breathing ragged, your chest painfully tight.

Your hands were still shaking, the gun trembling in your grasp. Cold sweat dotted your skin, the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you stared at wreckage left behind you. The pursuing cars had been held back, unable to continue the chase.

The road was clear.

Rintaro pressed down harder on the gas, sending the car forward with renewed speed. The roar of the engine filled the car, its sound fierce and almost primal. You could feel the velocity pulling you back into your seat, your body slamming onto the leather.

As the wreckage disappeared from view, the chaotic noise behind you fading into the distance, you let out a shaky breath. You glanced down at the gun in your hands, the metal still cool against your skin despite the heat of the moment. It had been necessary, but the reality of what you had done settling heavily. You exhaled, trying to calm the trembling in your hands.

Rintaro eyed you from his seat, his jaw clenched before he glanced back at the road. “Do you know what you just did?” You nodded, tears now brimming at your lash line. “You’ve just officially declared that we’re at war with the country. They’re never going to let us go.”

“I know,” you were crying now – the tears unstoppable as you pressed your palms against your eyes. “I know.”

Rintaro was quiet for a moment. So quiet you wondered if he was still there, and he was. The tension never left his face, and he never once slowed down in his speed. But he was calmer, in some ways, his face set into a determined frown. “We can’t go back. We can’t say goodbye to anyone anymore.”

You couldn’t say goodbye to Kiyoomi.

“Where are we going, Rin?”

“Far,” was all he says, and the road that stretched before you suddenly seemed endless. “Far, far away from here where they can’t hurt you.”

“You mean us.”

“Of course,” he stole a quick glance at you, surprising you when you saw how his face had softened. Almost as if he’d already accepted that the life he’d lived was never his, and he had nothing but the future ahead of himself. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise. But if you... if you tell me to turn back, I will. I’ll find a way to get you back to Kiyoomi–”

“No,” you interjected, and Rintaro’s eyes widened. “I... I’m staying with you.”

Rintaro’s eyes scanned your face, looking for the answers. “Are you absolutely certain? You don’t have to, you know. This country can still forgive you, they can love you still–”

“I’m staying with you.”

“Okay,” he nodded, his face unreadable under the faint morning light. “Okay. It’s you and me.”

The decision to leave wasn’t easy.

It clawed at you, gnawed at the very fabric of your being, but you knew – deep down, in the place where love was both cruel and kind – that you couldn’t stay. You wanted to fight, to clear your name and prove to the world that you were innocent, to stand in front of the kingdom with your head held high. You wanted to see your parents again, feel their arms around you, hear their voices assure you that everything would be okay.

But even as these thoughts plagued your mind, they were outweighed by something stronger, something inescapable.

You thought of him – Kiyoomi, the Prince you ended up falling for. The one who’d stolen your heart, not with grand gestures, but with quiet moments, gentle touches, and promises whispered in the dark. You still remembered the warmth of being in his arms, the way he looked at you with eyes that saw through your soul, the comfort you found in his presence, and the future you’d dared imagined together. You had given him his heart when it felt all was too late, and he had given you his the moment you laid your eyes on his. Each one of you were willing to sacrifice so much for the other – it just never occurred to you that you would sacrifice Kiyoomi now.

And it hurt.

It hurt more than you could have ever imagined. The thought of leaving Kiyoomi behind, of crushing the trust he’d given you, of severing the bond you had formed – was a pain so deep it nearly made you want to ask Rintaro to turn back. At least let me say goodbye. Let me look at him one last time. You wanted to stay with him, to choose him, to finally build the life with Kiyoomi that he’d promised, but you couldn’t. He didn’t even have the littlest idea that that had been your last conversation, the last time you’d hear each other’s voices.

Because there was another man – Rintaro, your husband. The one who, despite everything, still held a huge fraction of your heart.

He was the one who needed you now, and he didn’t have anyone else. You’d seen the despair in his eyes, the loneliness that consumed him, the way his eyes didn’t quite match what he said as it held the silent please for you to not abandon him, to not cast him aside like everyone had. You knew him well enough to understand that if you left, he would disappear – not just from the world, but from life itself.

Rintaro would slip away, fade into the shadows, and you would never find him again. You couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t lose him like that.

So you chose him.

You chose to run away with him, to leave behind everything you’d known, everyone you’d loved. It was a choice born out of duty, of loyalty, and of the twisted love that still tied you to him. It was the right choice, not that it made it any easier. The ache in your heart would remain and scar you forever, haunted by the knowledge you would never see Kiyoomi again, never hold him, never tell him how much he’d meant to you.

It was a loss you would carry with you for the rest of your life.

But you couldn’t do it any other way, couldn’t have gone a different path and not think of Rintaro still. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you’d left him alone, if you let him slip away into the darkness that beckoned him. Even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness, even if it meant leaving behind the one person who’d taught you to love again. You had to choose Rintaro, even if it came with the price of letting everything else go.

So you did.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and made the choice you knew would tear you apart. You ran away. And as the world blurred around you, as you fled into the unknown, hand-in-hand with your husband, you couldn’t stop thinking of the Prince you’d left behind – the man who would always hold your heart in his hands, even if you could never return to him.

“You and me, Rin.”

#suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarou x reader #rintaro suna x reader #kiyoomi x reader #suna x you #suna rintaro x you #kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #cw: incest #cw: gun #suna rintarou x fem! reader #suna rintaro angst #suna x reader angst

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bradshawssugarbaby · 6 months

Text

Heavenly Kind of State of Mind - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley takes you out to thank you for taking care of him when he broke his nose. He didn't expect dinner to turn into something else.

pairing: baseball!Bradley x reader (Angel)

warnings/content: depictions of broken nose, Bradley being a manwh*re, sexual references, fluff, awkward first date.

word count: 2.3k

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted @sorchathered, @sarahsmi13s, @hangmansgbaby, @djs8891 @primroseluna @silversprings-mp3 @drxgxnslxyer @gardenavenue @seitmai @unhinged-bitch @mattyskies

Bradley wasn’t the dating type.

At least, that’s what he told himself on the drive over to the San Diego pier.

As Bradley crossed the bridge from quiet, serene Coronado into the bustling downtown core, he tapped his hand against the steering wheel, nervously drumming the beat to a classic rock song. He pulled up into a parking space, looking around the parking lot for your obnoxious little car with its pink interior that he’d been thinking about since you took him to get his nose checked out. The break had healed nicely, unable to tell that two weeks prior, his nose had met with the fist of a grown man. Bradley sighed as he realized you weren’t here yet, adjusting his sunglasses in his rearview mirror.

He didn’t date.

It wasn’t his thing.

The awkward small talk. The painful silences. The uncomfortable stage where you waited to see how the other person wanted to proceed, all for it to fall apart in the end anyway. He knew dates were just a stop gap to heartbreak. He was the expert, in fact. In the years since his marriage fell apart, he’d skipped dating all-together, resolving himself to one night stands and quick hookups as a means of bypassing the inevitable heartache he’d be faced with if he’d gone the dating route.

After his marriage, he didn’t know what he wanted. He’d wanted kids, he thought, but then again, kids meant his career got less focus. Kids meant he’d have one of two choices — retire and become a picture-perfect dad, working a normal career and being the doting husband and father he knew he’d want to be, or, stay playing baseball, continue his dedication to his career, and always feel guilty for not being home, fielding the upset accusations of his wife, telling him he was doing it as an escape, running from his responsibilities.

Being alone gave him freedom. It gave him the ability to further his career and focus his attention on whatever the fuck he wanted. And he liked it that way.

However, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop you from occupy every thought that he had over the past two weeks. Being unable to play didn’t help — doctor’s orders had him benched for two weeks until his nose had healed.

He’d attended practices, worked out at the gym a few extra times for good measure, and even took a guest spot in the commentator booth for a game over the past fourteen days to keep himself busy, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about you.

Every time he thought he was comfortably distracted, focused on something else, his brain would circle back around, coming back to you each and every time.

It was exhausting.

He tried so hard to push it off. Too hard, in fact. As he sat in his Bronco, hands still drumming on the steering wheel as he listened to the radio, now blaring The Beach Boys through his car, he hummed along to the familiar tune, hoping that it would provide him a little reprieve from the all-encompassing thoughts of you.

Just as he closed his eyes, letting his imagination take him to the beach, walking across the warm sand, cool waves lapping at his feet as he stepped towards the ocean, he heard a gentle tapping on his window. Snapping back to reality, his eyelids fluttered, eyes opening wide as he spotted you gently tapping your knuckles against the window.

He turned the car off, pulling the keys out of the ignition and stuffing them into his pocket as he hopped out of the driver’s seat. Your warm, friendly smile was enough to make him weak in the knees and he could barely keep himself together when he saw you standing there in that sweet, pretty little sundress you were wearing. He just hoped that his light-washed denim jeans didn’t betray him and give away how tight they were getting.

“Thanks for inviting me out,” you smiled as you looked at Bradley, hand raised to gesture at his healing nose, “Looks like you healed up nicely, Bradshaw.”

“Not having baseballs flying at my face for the last two weeks might have helped. Stayed out of bars too, wasn’t about to risk having another drunken baseball fan taking swings at me.”

“You just didn’t want to lose another bar fight, did you?” you teased, pursing your lips as you looked around at the pier.

“There’s like four different restaurants here, I figured I’d let you take your pick. Reservations aren’t an issue,” Bradley explained calmly, giving his head a gentle nod as he surveyed the parking lot.

“Wow, you have that much influence here? Aren’t they used to pro-athletes?”

“That’s not what I meant. I made reservations at all four. Just in case.”

“Wow, never had you pegged as a people pleaser, Bradley. I’m impressed.”

“I’m not,” he replied stubbornly, shaking his head. “I just didn’t want to pick something and find out you were deathly allergic to seafood or something. Killing you with a food allergy didn’t seem like an appropriate way to thank you for helping me the other night.”

“You’re right, unexpectedly poisoning me doesn’t sound like a good thank you. You’re in luck though, no food allergies.”

Bradley let out a sigh and looked around again, looking more vulnerable than ever. He looked uncomfortable, nervous even, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“Steak?” You hummed, raising an eyebrow as you tried to break any tension between you. “I could go for steak.”

“Steak works,” he grumbled, nodding his head. He leaned in towards you, his lips just milimeters from your ear as he whispered softly, trying to be as quiet as possible before being spotted.

“Photographers are over there, they��re gonna want to snap a few photos of us. Are you ok with that? We can either play it up or downplay it. Up to you. I can always walk in ahead of you if you don’t want the attention.”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he whispered into your ear, the hairs on the back of your neck standing at full attention. Craning your neck to look above his shoulder, you spotted a white Escalade with a short, weasel of a man sitting in the front seat, camera poised and ready to capture a shot. Your eyes flitted back to Bradley as you nodded your head.

“Give them a show,” you nodded, granting him permission to play up the dinner, “Maybe it’ll help stop people from watching you for a reaction now that your ex’s upcoming nuptials are plastered over every glossy magazine there is. I can’t even read Cosmo without seeing her—”

Bradley grumbled something at you, interrupting your ramble. He took you by the hand and nodded his head, looking back over his shoulder towards the camera before his gaze landed on you once again. Before a word was spoken between the two of you, Bradley’s large hand was on the small of your back, pulling your body in against his. Lips pressed together, you felt your body melt back into his hand.

Although you’d never admit it to his face, you’d thought about kissing Bradley Bradshaw’s lips over and over and over again since you met him two weeks ago. You’d thought a lot about Bradley, more than you’d care to admit. You thought about those large hands of his, picturing his rough, calloused palms cupping at your tits, feeling their weight as he gently squeezed at them. You’d pictured his lips on your skin, soft and slow, pressing hot kisses over every inch of exposed flesh, unable to keep his hands and mouth off of your body.

Bradley Bradshaw had you tangled up in a crush that rivalled the ones you’d held in high school. And weirdly — you found yourself refusing to give it up. Since that night you dropped him off to get his nose examined, bloodied and battered and vulnerable in the passenger seat of your car - you’d been completely head over heels for him, whether you liked it or not.

As Bradley’s calloused hand held yours, enveloping it in his large fingers, his expression softened, lips forming into a gentle smile. The two of you walked hand in hand towards the restaurant, with Bradley giving his name to the hostess as he approached. He gave another glance towards the photographer behind him, furiously snapping photographs from the seat of his car, headlines practically writing themselves in his eyes as he watched Bradley closely.

Bradley didn’t want to admit it, but you agreeing to give the press a little show was helping his career more than anything - appearing to be on a genuine date would help quell the rumours about his long-storied sexual escapades since his highly publicized divorce.

When his marriage crumbled, he went through a series of bad decisions. His temper was already the stuff of legends in the game, with stories about locker room fights and fines for unsportsmanlike conduct, but those rumours proved true when his life began to fall apart around him. He’d been caught, on more than one occasion, with a pretty blonde in a compromising position with him. Dancing in bars, drunken stumbles in hotel lobbies, walks of shame the following morning. He’d earned the nickname Bradley “Hit-It-And-Quit-It” Bradshaw for crying out loud, and while it wasn’t something he was proud of, it sure wasn’t something he chose to dispute either.

As Bradley tucked your chair in, he leaned down to whisper in your ear once again, his hand resting gently on your shoulder as he spoke.

“Let me know if this gets uncomfortable for you,” he nodded slowly.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, shivers running up and down your spine.

Bradley took the seat across from you, smiling politely at the waitress as she took your drink orders. Moments later, his hand wrapped around his beer glass, raising it to his lips as he took a long sip, the frothy head brushing against his mustache as the liquid passed his lips. He watched as you looked out at the pier, eyes gazing at the sunset over the horizon, the sky painted shades of pink and orange.

“It’s nice view sitting here, isn’t it?” Bradley nodded in agreement as he spoke. “It’s my favourite. I haven’t come in a while though.”

An awkward silence washed over you both.

The kind of silence that reminded Bradley why he hated dating.

An uncomfortable pause later, Bradley cleared his throat, nodding his head towards you as he forced an uneasy smile. You looked back at him, sensing his discomfort and wanting to smooth the tension as best as you could, you said the only thing that came to mind as a safe topic of discussion.

“Are you ready for the game tomorrow?”

“Hmm? Yeah, yeah,” he nodded casually, sipping his drink. “I’m excited to be back on the roster. Did you hear the excuse they came up with for how I broke my nose? PR said a bar brawl wasn’t a good look, so they said I did it during practice.” He scoffed, laughing softly.

“Practice? What’s the story they came up with?”

“Mhmm, said I missed a rogue line drive, caught it with my nose instead of my glove.”

You shook your head and laughed, cocking a manicured eyebrow up at Bradley as he spoke. Another awkward pause hung in the air as you took a sip from your wine glass. Your eyes drifted back to Bradley, sensing his nerves.

“Alright, enough of this,” you laughed, shaking your head, “Why do they call you Rooster?”

Bradley’s eyes went wide as he set his drink glass down on the table. His dark brown eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked at you. A strained laugh escaped his parted lips, his dark brown curls moving as he shook his head.

“It’s not exactly dinner conversation,” he said simply.

“What—you’re joking,” you retorted with an incredulous laugh. “There’s no way.”

“‘Fraid so. Rooster Bradshaw. It’s not because I’m up early for practice every day.”

“It’s because you’ve got a big—”

“Not at dinner,” Bradley warned, shaking his head.

“So, the whole, you know,” you frowned slightly as you thought over how to word your inquiry, your voice dropping down to a whisper, “Bradley-hit-it-and-quit-it-Bradshaw thing, that’s connected to it?”

“Unfortunately,” Bradley grumbled, shaking his head, “It’s not something I’m proud of.”

Another awkward moment passed, the clinging of silverware against a dish was the only sound emitted from the two of you as you sat there. Between bites of steak and sips of wine, the odd question would slip out, basic small talk that no one enjoyed on dates, facts about the two of you that weren’t important to anyone. You had to remind yourself at several points that this was never a date - it was never intended to be. It was a thank-you. A half-hearted gesture of kindness from Bradley in exchange for you not running to the papers about his bar-room brawl and his broken nose. A gesture of thanks for not fuelling the already tainted reputation he had for himself.

Between the breakdown of Bradley’s marriage, his subesquent outbursts that he was prone to devolve into at any time on and off the field, the heated locker room exchanges that got him traded between teams, and the now infamous, and probably over-dramatized accounts of his sexual conquests, his life was falling apart around him. You keeping his broken nose a secret was the first kind-hearted gesture anyone had made towards him in he didn’t know how long.

All Bradley knew was, despite the clumsy awkwardness, the silences and pauses, the uncomfortable pressure he was putting on himself despite reminding himself it wasn’t a date. Bradley was left wondering.

Maybe he wished it was.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw au #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw au #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw au #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x y/n #top gun maverick au fic #baseball au

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 months

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Found Family

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!dentist!reader

Summary: When you finally meet Luca's team, you aren't expecting to run into a man you haven't seen or heard from in years.

Warnings: r is Hicks' daughter, brief depiction of anxiety, angst to fluff

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

“Will it hurt?” the dental patient waiting beside you asks.

“No,” you assure with a kind smile. “You’ll feel a little pinch, maybe, and then all of the pain will go away.”

He nods, grips the sides of the chair, and closes his eyes as you slide the mouth mirror behind his top molars.

“Hey, doc,” one of the receptionists calls. “We need you at the front when you’re done here.”

“Got it,” you reply quickly, keeping your eyes and mind on your patient. “There we go,” you murmur when you find the cause of the sudden tooth decay. “Here comes the pinch.”

Using the cotton pliers from the dental hygiene set, you extract a small object lodged between teeth fourteen and fifteen, or as you explain to the patient a piece of food that wasn’t removed by flossing or brushing and embedded itself between the back molars.

“How’s it feeling?” you ask once the tools are removed from his mouth.

“Much better,” he answers. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Wendy, your hygienist, will be right back to finish cleaning, then we’ll apply a dental sealant to ensure there’s no further decay or wear on your enamel back there.”

As you stand and discard your gloves, you wave Wendy over to finish the cleaning process. She politely reminds you that you’re needed at the front. However, her knowing look is enough reprimand that you promise to pay more attention without neglecting your patients.

The walk to the reception area is short, but before you reach the end of the hall, you hear a familiar voice.

“Officer Luca,” you greet with a smile. “Are you bothering my receptionist again?”

“No, sweetheart,” Lucille, the receptionist who has told you more than once she thinks Luca is the sweetest little gentleman she’s ever seen, assures. “But you’ve left poor Luca here waiting.”

Luca smiles as he extends his left arm to hug you. “I’ll forgive you,” he whispers against your temple.

“How kind of you,” you tease. “What are you doing here?”

“You said you wanted to leave early today.”

“And she can!” Lucille interrupts. “Her last patient is nearly done.”

“But I…” you begin, though you trail off when Luca looks into your eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

“There, uh, there was one other thing I wanted to ask,” Luca adds. He shifts on his feet, a movement that anyone else would have missed.

“Are you okay?”

Luca smiles and nods but gestures toward Lucille. You smile, take his hand, and lead him to your small office at the back of the building. Once you’re alone, you turn and give Luca a proper hug before you lean back against your desk and encourage him to tell you what’s bothering him.

“We’ve been dating for a while,” Luca says.

You nod and refrain from commenting about being there because you want to know where he’s going. The hug he gave you a moment ago makes you confident he isn’t ending the relationship.

“I want to introduce you to my team. If you’re okay with that.”

You lick your lips and push yourself to stand before him as you ask, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Besides, you might as well meet them before the wedding.”

Luca shrugs as you laugh. When you talked several weeks ago about how serious you were getting, you didn’t anticipate he’d start talking about marriage so quickly. However, you both know that’s what you want, so it doesn’t scare you.

“I would love to meet your team. Especially Street, since I’ve heard so much about him.”

“Sorry,” Luca responds, though his smile doesn’t drop.

“No, no, I support your bromance.”

Luca rolls his eyes as he pulls you against his chest. You lay your hands on his shoulders and look into his eyes as you smile.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“Right now?” you reply. “I thought you meant-“

“Whenever you want,” Luca amends. “I just mean ready to go.”

“We can go now. If you want.”

“There’s one thing I have to do first.”

Before you can ask what that is, Luca tilts his chin and kisses you.

“Should I be nervous?” you ask as Luca helps you out of his truck.

“No,” he answers quickly. “Are you?”

“Not really.”

Luca laughs at you, and the sound makes you smile. You tighten your grip on his hand, then follow him into SWAT HQ. Several men are working out, officers are walking through, and people are waiting for various meetings. Most greet Luca, but he continues to lead you through the large common area.

He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand as he pushes a door open. Inside, there’s a large kitchen and sitting area, and five people. They look up when the door opens, greet Luca, then look away again. The woman is the first to realize she needs a second look, and a smile breaks out on her face as she jumps over the back of the couch and rushes toward you.

“Luca!” she yells.

That draws the attention of the men, and when Luca grunts from her well-aimed punch to his shoulder, they follow her lead and join you and Luca.

“Guys, this is my girlfriend,” he begins before introducing you to each member of 20 David Squad.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say after shaking their hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Good things?” Street asks.

“Not about you,” Tan interjects.

“Mostly good things,” you agree.

“So, how long have you two been together?” Deacon asks.

“Almost six months,” you answer.

“What took you so long, man?” Hondo asks Luca. “I thought you were with Deac on the whole ‘when you know, you know’ thing.”

“I am,” Luca replies. “And I’ve known for months, I was just waiting for the right time.”

“What made now the right time?” Chris adds.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” you say.

“Duke,” Luca answers.

You nod in understanding as the team waits for further explanation.

“Duke likes me more than him,” you explain, ignoring Luca’s grunt of disagreement. “Somehow, he managed to get in my car and go home with me without either of us noticing. When I brought him back the next day, he didn’t want to let me leave.”

“Sounds like someone trained him well,” Tan says.

“Yeah, how long did that trick take, Luca?” Street inquires. “And were the treats homemade or store-bought?”

“Look,” Luca interrupts, drawing attention back to him rather than Duke. “Now was the right time because things are getting serious, but I don’t feel like I left you out of anything.”

“Romantic,” Hondo mumbles.

“Gross,” Street adds, nodding.

“We’re not mad about the wait,” Deacon assures you and Luca. “And you’re right, we didn’t miss anything. Except maybe the story about Duke, that would’ve been nice to hear right after it happened.”

“If anything, I was robbed,” you point out. “I’ve been hearing stories about you guys without any reference or anything.”

“Apologize,” Chris demands.

“Sorry,” Luca says, though it sounds more like a question.

“We should do something,” Street proposes. “Like go out to dinner or something. Let you ask all the embarrassing questions about Luca you can think of.”

“Or…” you counter. “We could make Luca cook for us all.”

“Okay,” Luca interjects. “Either work, but I am standing right here.”

“There you are!”

You stiffen when you hear someone else enter the kitchen. Luca and his team look toward the door to greet Hicks, but you keep your eyes on Luca.

“This is our commander, Bob Hicks,” Luca tells you. “Hicks, this is-“

You turn toward Hicks but don’t raise your eyes to meet his. He says your name before Luca can, and your shoulders draw up toward your ears.

“You’ve met?” Hondo deduces.

“Yeah,” Hicks answers carefully. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You, too.” You look at Luca and mumble, “I need to go.”

Luca’s brows pinch, but he nods and watches you step past him and walk a wide path around Hicks. He looks at Hicks for several seconds, then rushes out of the kitchen to follow you. 20 David Squad watches your sudden departure, then looks to one another for answers, which none of them have.

Hicks steps toward the door you just exited, but Deacon raises his hand over Hicks’ chest and says, “I think you’ve done enough for now.”

“Anything you want to share, Commander?” Chris asks.

Hicks sighs before he turns toward the five SWAT officers now staring him down.

After you exit the building, you step to the side and take a few deep breaths. Things were going so well before Bob Hicks walked in, and now Luca’s team will probably never want to see you again. As if he needed to ruin one more thing in your life.

“Hey,” Luca says softly. “Can I touch you?”

You nod eagerly, raising your arms slightly so you can hug Luca. His hugs feel like home, his arms strong around your waist and his head by your shoulder, in the perfect position to whisper calming and loving words in your ear.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against him.

“Don’t apologize,” he replies, rubbing one hand along your upper back. “It’s okay. Just keep breathing.”

With Luca, you don’t usually realize when you’re getting anxious, but Hicks has a unique effect on you.

“Luca,” you begin. When he nods and pulls back without removing his arms from around you, you admit, “Robert Hicks is my dad.”

“You said you were raised by a single mom,” Luca remembers.

“I was. My mom married… him, they had me, all that. But when I was little, so little I barely remember what he was like before, he divorced my mom. After it was finalized, he cut us off completely. We never heard from him again.”

“That must’ve been hard.”

You nod and wet your lips. “I knew I was losing my parents as a couple, but I didn’t expect to lose my dad completely.”

Luca hugs you again, and as your breathing and heart rate return to normal, you take a deep breath.

“I know I’m overreacting,” you say with a sad chuckle. “Sorry, Luca.”

“You’re not,” Luca promises. His hand raises to your shoulder as he brushes his fingers along the back of your neck. “What can I do for you?”

“You’re perfect,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Luca smiles before he kisses your forehead. His shift is nearly over, and he decides about what he’d do if he had to choose between Hicks and his job or you.

“Let me tell them that I’m heading out early and I’ll take you home. Maybe Duke can comfort you a little more,” he suggests.

“I’d like that. Can I… can I come in with you?”

“If you’re sure. No one in there is going to be mad at you for this.”

You nod and take Luca’s hand to follow him inside. His team is waiting just inside, and your father is nowhere to be seen.

“I’m sorry for rushing out like that,” you tell them.

“No worries,” Hondo assures.

“I’d run like that if I thought I could get away with it,” Street says.

“You heading out?” Chris asks Luca.

“We are,” Luca answers. “But dinner is still on the table. Not literally, but…”

“We’ll do it soon,” Deacon replies. “And you,” he tells you, “are welcome here whenever you want. You are part of this family now, and if anyone has an issue with that, they can leave.”

“Thank you,” you say softly. “All of you.”

Hondo nods at Luca as you leave, and though you don’t understand that it’s about your dad and how he’s grown as a person, you trust your boyfriend and new family. Plus, when you get home and are sandwiched between the loving cuddles of Luca and Duke, there isn’t much to be anxious about.

#dominique luca x fem!reader #dominique luca x reader #dominique luca #luca x reader #swat x reader #swat cbs #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

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steviesbicrisis · 2 years

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Seeing a lot of Step dads being asked to adopt officially their step kids today on Tiktok and it made me think of Eddie doing something like that with Wayne.

We don’t know if Wayne officially adopted him, maybe he’s just in temporary care and now Eddie is old enough to not need an adult to look after him but when anyone asks him about his parents he always talks about Wayne so he might as well make it official, right?

Steve helps him prepare the papers in time for Christmas and he even asks Jonathan for his camera so he can capture the moment.

Despite being sure, Eddie feels a little nervous. He knows that Wayne loves him like a son, but he also knows that taking care of him wasn’t something he chose, more like the right thing to do when your brother is a fuckup and goes to prison leaving his kid to fend for himself.

Steve cheers him up by threatening him that if he doesn’t ask Wayne to adopt him, he will. Somehow that’s the weirdest and sweetest threat Eddie has ever received.

Eddie gives the papers to Wayne on Christmas, carefully folded inside a box, under a very ugly mug he knows Wayne will love in case the adoption papers aren’t well received.

Wayne opens the box and huffs looking at the dog-shaped mug “you’ve outdone yourself son, might be my new favorite one”.

He notices the way Eddie flinches at the word “son” but he shrugs it off and turns to Steve, gesturing at the camera in his hands “is this all? Wanted to take a picture of this ugly ass mug?”

Steve tries to use a neutral tone, but it comes out fond nonetheless “I think there’s something else”.

Wayne frowns, turns to Eddie who’s bouncing on his place “look at the bottom of the box” Eddie points at it.

He picks the piece of paper, unfolds it and, after giving a suspicious look to the both of them, he reads quietly.

If they didn’t know Wayne, they probably wouldn’t have noticed his eyes getting a little watery and his hands lightly trembling.

Eddie and Steve exchange a knowing look and a big smile, Steve takes it as his cue to snap the first picture.

The second depicts Eddie putting his hand on Wayne’s shoulder and his uncle -or better, his dad- looking up to hold back the tears.

The third one, everyone’s favorite, has Wayne enveloping Eddie in a bone-crushing hug and Eddie’s surprised face.

A while later, when everyone has calmed down and Wayne has signed everything he needed to, he asks “so, what about Steve?”

The boys give him a surprised look “what about me?” Steve wonders.

“Either you two get married or I adopt you too” he says simply, sipping his coffee from his new favorite dog mug.

Both Eddie and Steve get red and ramble about how it is way too soon and that gay marriage being illegal anyways.

“Im just saying, son” Wayne dwells a second on the word, as it has taken a new meaning for him “that Steve is part of the family too, and if you don’t make it official then I will.”

Eddie doesn’t give Steve any time to react “No fucking way, man” he jumps out of his seat and points at his boyfriend without looking at him “I’m asking him as soon as marriages are legal!”

“We’ll see” replies Wayne, just to rile him up, which works perfectly.

“Are you challenging me?” He turns to Steve, scandalized “don’t you dare become my step brother Steve!”

Steve winces just at the thought of it “of course-“

“How do you expect Steve to say yes to marring you if you’re this controlling?” Wayne interrupts him.

“Me?? I would be a great husband! The best!” Eddie replies, looking outraged.

Steve covers his face in his hands and mutters “oh my God” as Wayne keeps poking at Eddie and the latter takes every bait.

It takes Eddie approximately 45 minutes to realize he had been talking about being Steve’s husband in front of him the whole time despite never having that conversation between them first.

His embarrassed expression once he realizes is Wayne second’s favorite Christmas present that year.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve and eddie #steve x eddie #steddie headcanon #wayne munson #eddie and wayne munson #Wayne Munson is a great dad #headcanons #ficlets #sbc writes

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failing-to-write-again · 1 year

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Baby Photos Part 2!

Part 1

Since the lovely asker @lilithram did say to pick between Sakamaki baby photos or reader baby photos, I chose both. While the previous part was less overall fluff and more early relationship I decided to make this one closer to an established relationship. I’m a bit nervous about making the boys ooc so any feedback on parts that are good and in character or those less in character would help me work to tailor my writing.

I worked under the ages proposed by @diabolik-shu-lover from this post.

Shu Sakamaki

Visiting le château de Heinz wasn’t your ideal vacation spot if you were to be completely honest. Unfortunately a major downside to dating a crown prince is how business minded people are going to be about your relationship. Shu had delayed taking you here, sharing his wish to live a more ordinary life until his accession, and even then he still wanted to have a more “normal” relationship. So far your little trip had consisted of a dinner with Shu and his father where he quizzed you on your life, followed by two days of loneliness where Shu was kept away by business of some kind with his father.

Waking up to day 3 of being alone you elected to at least try to find some evidence of Shu’s childhood you could tease him on. There had to be some silly sailor uniform or ruffled collar from when he was a small Victorian lad. Wandering the halls the castle was a thousand times creepier than the Sakamaki manor had ever been, especially when you were left without a lazy vampire keeping an eye on you. Karl Heinz had requested that his sons not kill you but that was before you began dating the son most likely to be forced into some arranged marriage. It didn’t help that the staff weren’t hidden familiars, they were standing in every room just looking… creepy.

Eventually your exploration landed you in a gallery, paintings decorated the hall with spotlights above each painting. Many seemed very old and depicted pretty women in the castle gardens at night. One of these paintings had a woman you were convinced was Shu and Reiji’s mother. She was under a gazebo in a red dress staring lovingly at someone standing somewhere behind the painting.

“This must’ve been back when they were all in love before Cordelia.” You mumbled to yourself, turning away and continuing down the hall. You found some more imposing portraits of men, a few being Karl Heinz himself, and some more general landscape paintings.

After nearly 2 hours of this you found a new hall of all six Sakamaki sons in a series of paintings, VICTORY. It’s always a bit weird when you get obvious reminders of your boyfriend being 387 years old even though he looks like a 19 year old. Seeing paintings of him in severely dated clothes and poses was just bizarre, snapping a picture of him in a wig from the Georgian period was a good form of pay back for his abandonment of you these past few days. There was one painting of him unlike all the others, he looked roughly 3 or 4 and was sat in his mother’s lap with a silver rattled as he peered down at a bundle in Karl Heinz’s lap, the raven coloured hair giving it away as Reiji. He looked so curious and his father looked so happy. He was cute, with blonde curlier locks and a big round face, he looked like any modern day child meeting their younger sibling. Seeing him with eyes so awake and full of life, and no animosity between the two oldest sons of Karl Heinz.

“She kept scolding me for not sitting still.”

Shouting in shock as you turn to see your MIA boyfriend with a shit eating grin on his face at your reaction.

“What’s with that face woman, girlfriend’s are meant to be happy when they see their boyfriend’s not scream like a banshee.” Teasing you as he stepped closer, moving his hands to sit comfortably at your waist. In response you let your head fall with a thud into his chest, wrapping your arm around his back.

“Well boyfriend’s aren’t meant to tell their girlfriend’s they’re going on vacation to then vanish off for days. We never get time together in the manor without your brothers hanging around and now your dad is keeping you busier than you’ve ever been.”

Sighing, Shu buried his nose in your hair wrapping one arm around your shoulder and another around your lower back huddling you close. “I’m sorry. That guy wouldn’t stop talking about all this protocol and other crap about properly introducing you as my chosen queen. He wanted to rush everything.”

Pulling back just enough to look up eyes wide at what he was saying. Queen, you a queen? Not to mention having to meet more creepy vampires. Sensing some of your unease, Shu smiled.

“Relax, I managed to get him to agree to a much slower schedule, you won’t be rushed off to a ball anytime soon. For now the worst of it will be seeing some property we own and meeting his close advisory staff and my other’s old staff. After I have you to myself for another few months we’re going to graduate first.”

Letting out a sigh of relief you lay your head against his shoulder, staring back up at the painting. “As a kid you were pretty cute Shu.”

“Not as cute as you as a mini ballerina,” he shot back, absentmindedly rubbing little circles against your back as he also stared at the portrait.

“If I do end up as Queen you’re not allowed to marry anyone else, I refuse to deal with the whole situation with your mothers. And you can’t ever let our kids have such a poor relationship like you and Reiji.”

“Not if, when, princess and don’t work yourself up over stupid things. You’re mine, I'm not letting some woman try to take me away ever. Seriously such bothersome thinking.”

Leaning down he gently kissed you, as if you were so delicate and precious. Looking up at blue eyes finally looking awake and closer to that childhood Shu then he had in centuries.

Reiji Sakamaki

“The box I’m looking for is about as big as an envelope, and has a leather strap holding it shut. Let me know if you spot it.”

“Alright, anywhere you’d prefer I don’t look. I don’t want to run into some secret Laito porn stash up here.”

You hear Reiji chuckle at that. “Laito doesn’t come up here, too many spiders. I do not care where you go, we are partners, we agreed no secrets right.”

That made you smile, your relationship with Reiji was the fruit of a long journey of trying to reach an understanding. For a while you were both not fully able to understand each other, and while no relationship is perfect, especially yours, hiccups that would’ve caused serious arguments before were now easier to settle over tea. It felt good to feel like a respected partner.

Looking through the attic for this mystery box was a good time to find mementos to learn more about Reiji. Looking through older books and boxes of clothes or unused houseware most of the items in this portion of the attic seemed unimportant. Reiji focused his search on the opposite side of the room where the ceiling was higher, you were shorter than the 6ft man so were less uncomfortable searching where the roof sloped down. A small dusty window allowed some of the early morning light to stream in. Reiji had begun waking later during holidays to allow you both to have a day that had more sunlight for you. He claimed it was to reduce risk of seasonal depression or vitamin D deficiency, with the added benefit of allowing you both to go to museums and other date locations. Waking at 12am gave you the opportunity to see sunrises daily, and if you were honest the view of your boyfriend in the hazy early morning glow was always a welcome sight.

“You’re staring.”

“I see nothing wrong with admiring my boyfriend”

He let a smile sigh pass his lips as he smiled, shaking his head. Looking back down at the stack of cardboard boxes he was rifling through. You pull your eyes away and back to the room around you, you spot something sticking out behind a shelf. Pulling it out you find a handful of photos and a small box. The photos were black and white, Daguerreotypes, on metal sheets. The images showed a younger Reiji taking what looked like test photos. Some were of him, slightly blurred from incorrect technique, others of items. The last photo was much clearer and was of Reiji sitting in a chair with a book in his lap. He must’ve gotten a familiar to take the photo.

“Hey Reiji can I take these down? I don’t know how to store such photos though.”

Looking up Reiji walked over, taking the photos from you to look through. He picked up a box placing them inside before handing them to you,

“I will have the familiars store them properly and make scans so you can have more stable prints of them. If you wish to have images of me to display however, I would prefer you take more modern photos with both of us.”

Smiling down at the box of photos, Reiji spoke again.

“Smiling over such trivial things as a few photos, you should be harder to please.”

“You’re probably the first man to ever say that Reiji, besides it’s nice to have childhood photos of each other. I only have my locket but what happens when your children ask to see what you looked like as a child?”

“Our children will have plenty of paintings of me to see at my father’s castle, and if we are so lucky your only response will be that they look exactly as you did as a child.” Adjusting his glasses Reiji knelt down and picked up the box you had also pulled out with the photos. Meanwhile as his words set in your face flushed slightly.

“Our children…Reiji you shouldn’t say that stuff so casually. Besides, why would you want them to look like me? I'm human.”

That was not a response he liked, gently lifting your chin with his thumb and pointer finger Reiji looked you in the eye as he spoke. “Our children should be as pretty or handsome as their mother. I’m insulted you think, after all we’ve been through, I have not grown out of the belief that blood is a final decider in terms of superiority. You are superior, you are who I want, you alone are my partner and equal so strong as to be able to hold my heart in your hands. Am I clear?”

Your blush darkens as Reiji flusters you further, you can only nod your head in response to such strong compliments said so earnestly. Smiling Reiji’s thumb gently swiped over your bottom lip before leaning in to kiss you. Reiji always kisses you with the aim to convey all of his feelings for you, as if you will never be able to kiss him again. Moving in tandem you ended up leaning against a shelf with Reiji’s arm pinning you there, your arms holding onto his collar to prevent him pulling away too soon.

Unfortunately, Reiji has to ensure you take in air so moves back. Opening the box, he removes a key, turning it over in his hands.

“This key is to my father’s laboratory here, he used it when he was visiting us as children. I sealed it off years ago and elected to use my room for my experiments. However, due to the chemicals it is not safe for you to sleep there so they must be moved.”

“What’s wrong with my room?”

“It is a guest room, I’m not going to sleep every night in a guest bedroom in my own home. No, my room must be altered to fit its needs and to do so I shall reclaim the laboratory as my own to allow you to rest safely.”

All you could do is follow along as Reiji began to return back downstairs, gazing down at the box of pictures. Looking at the sad younger Reiji you couldn’t help but compare him to the cool, confident man he had become.

Ayato Sakamaki

Ayato had demanded you meet him in the garden of the castle that evening, something about having something special to show you. You weren’t sure what to expect really, surprises with Ayato were often either very nice or sweet but messy failures. Breakfast in bed when you’ve never cooked before was a bad idea in hindsight, even he had to admit. Still as the night started to fade into dawn you made your way to the gardens, examining the sights around you as you went.

The father of the Sakamaki’s had summoned them to return for some festival of sorts. Ayato had been vague in describing it, rather unhappy to be returning. It seemed like some carnival was being set up, you hoped it was a carnival anyway. As you ponder the pros of encouraging Ayato’s competitiveness to win you stuffed toys you eventually reach the garden. Opening the glass doors you see Ayato sitting on a blanket, under the stone gazebo and some candles lit around. He had a few plates of your favourite deserts around as well as takoyaki. He grinned as you approached, arms crossed and pride beaming from his face.

“I set this all up, yours truly is the best boyfriend ever, and I have a present for you.” Pulling out a box with a bow stuck on the lid, he gestured for you to open it. You sat down cross legged, opening the box to reveal a collection of photos.

Lifting some out you realise these were the photos Ayato had burnt after he had first met you, before you had started dating. They looked untouched. Ayato, not trusting your silence, began to speak again.

“Ore-sama got the familiars to find copies and I had those losers in the tech club at school print them. They couldn't say no to yours truly. Do you like it?”

“Why did you do all this, you threw them into the fire.” Ayato blushed before looking away, a hand on his neck.

“I…felt…bad about making you cry like that. It’s only fun when you cry from my bites, not over that stuff.”

Your sniffling brought his attention back to you, panic spreading across his face. Pulling you into his lap and holding you close as his brain froze trying to find the best course of action. Your hands rising up to hold his cheeks as you attempted to calm down, a smile on your face.

“It’s ok, they’re happy tears. I’m happy Ayato.”

“Are you sure, don’t lie to yours truly.”

“I’m not, I swear! Thank you Ayato, these photos are important to me.”

Sighing in relief, Ayato leant back letting his head thunk against one of the gazebo pillars.

“Damn it, you’re not meant to cry when Ore-sama gives you gifts.”

Running his fingers along your back. You began rifling through some of the photos noticing some new additions to the collection. There, between the photos of a younger you were pictures of you and Ayato on various dates. You, completely unaware of the camera while Ayato was looking and seemingly taking each photo. There was also one picture of a painting, it was of three boys with the child on the left resembling a much younger version of your boyfriend.

“I didn’t know you had any childhood photos of Ayato.”

“It’s the only one, you can’t have a collection of photos without one of yours truly to admire.”

Giggling you sit back leaning against his chest while you both began to enjoy your picnic and company.

Laito Sakamaki

You were currently facing a big problem, for some reason the 2nd year history department had decided to assign a project discussing your family history…in detail. So you were currently stressed out of your mind trying to figure out how to worm your way out of this one. Laito was covered, his family history well laid out as a royal and all of his ancestors having false human lives, it basically wrote itself. Yet here you were unable to write anything. It’s not that you were necessarily ashamed of your orphan status, and your close companions now also ‘brides’ of the Sakamaki’s were virtually sisters and you could maybe write about them. But people always got weird about orphans, and while you weren’t ashamed to be one by any means, being Laito’s girlfriend let alone a Sakamaki girlfriend involved gossip, it came with the territory. Extra rich boys in a school full of rich kids would always mean they were an aim for many girls and their parents alike, let alone Laito’s colourful past meaning he’d slept with basically any 2nd year heiress he could say a word to. All of them convinced they’d be the one to make him want to stay, and all of them feeling the same disappointment or satisfaction when one failed. Then in comes a girl under a sponsorship by said extra rich kid’s father who then ends up dating each of them effectively removing them from the market, and meaning every single girl, generally all conventionally very attractive and whom most men would gladly keep as girlfriend, being ‘beaten’ as they saw it by someone with no assets.

So to put a long story short, while you weren't super torn up about not having an easy to explain family tree, you weren’t ready to deal with everyone’s response to that little tidbit. All of this led you to now, sitting with Laito as he brushed your hair listening to your predicament.

“Like whatever about the teacher getting weird, I’ll gladly take the free pass to ask for extra stuff. But you really made everything difficult. I can handle snide remarks from Hana, Aoi, and Emiko; they're mostly harmless. Yet, if they get it in their heads that I don’t have parents to cause any issues they might get worse.” You stopped to pick up some popcorn, holding your arm backwards to give Laito some. He took the opportunity to lick your fingers, snickering as you pulled your hand back, wiping it on your jeans.

“Don’t be nasty, I'm having a serious talk. I just… some of the 1st year girls were horrid to Subaru’s girlfriend just for finding out she had been at a boarding school. They cornered her in the bathroom and stuck gum in her hair. Gum! Like yeah me and the girls tore them a new one but…gum!”

Humming thoughtfully, Laito placed down the brush switching to running his fingers through your hair. He moved to rest his head on your shoulder, letting a comfortable silence sit over you while he thought of what to say.

“If you want, I can get you a family tree in full detail”

“How would you even do that, if you just make people up and anyone finds out then it's worse.”

“We could always make one~”

A pillow to the face shut that idea down, laughing as he fell backwards against the cushions while you were glaring at him.

“Be serious! What am I meant to do?”

Sitting back up, Laito took your hand pulling you up.

“Follow me.”

Walking through the manor, Laito took you to a less well maintained wing. Cobwebs littered the hallway and the wallpaper was peeling slightly in patches, there weren't any electrical lights either, only wall sconces with candles Laito lit as you walked by. Laito was silent for most of the journey, only giving a hand squeeze of reassurance whenever you caught his eye. You weren’t sure if the squeeze he gave passing a portrait of Cordelia was to reassure you or him, whenever you even heard of that woman it sent shivers down your spine.

Paintings became more common the further you walked, most were of adults with a vague similarity to Laito and his brothers, others were portraits of women in beautiful dresses with a characteristic pale visage. Finally stopping in front of a picture of three young boys with a signature red and purple haired look.

“This is the only painting or picture of me and any of my brothers together. Me and the other triplets don't argue as much as Shu and Reiji but we aren’t close,” he turned, taking your hands in his. “You have sisters, actual sisters who you have stories and pictures with. Anyone who disagrees, I will handle.”

“Gum in my hair Laito. It’s not a good look.” Laito sighs, pulling you close before you hear him mutter.

“Theirs will look worse when I cut it all off.”

Kanato Sakamaki

“Dolly, why are you in here?”

Turning to greet Kanato from where you sat in the quiet wing of the Sakamaki manor, placing your sketchbook back down beside you and making room for your boyfriend to sit nearby.

“I come here to sketch the portraits since I can’t get a good wifi connection to look up references. I really like this painting, it’s of you right?”

Kanato sat down looking up at the painting then to your sketch. It was different to the painting in many ways, the main difference being that it was a younger him alone with teddy. You had changed his posing too slightly to make him look less nervous. He was pinching his fingertips though, a sign he was uncomfortable that he picked up from the exercises he had copied you doing to help regulation. You could see he was struggling to find his wording. Scooting closer you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to reassure him you cared and were listening.

“It’s pretty, but dolly I don’t like you being here.”

“Why Kanato? It’s nice here, nobody comes here to interrupt or be loud and there's all these pretty paintings. What’s wrong?” Continuing to play with his fingers, he moves closer to you turning to face you straight on.

“This is where…her room used to be. We have to leave me and Teddy hate it here.” Immediately you were filled with questions. While you knew Kanato, Ayato, and Laito killed their mother and have mixed feelings towards her, you had never seen Kanato spooked. It did explain why this area was not well maintained. You had to bring a brush with you during your first visits to the wing to remove some of the largest cobwebs and first from your seat. However, you had to admit that with the newfound knowledge that these halls were where your boyfriend had been tormented by his own mother for centuries it changed the atmosphere. Suddenly the quiet was now tense, the weathered appearance of the halls becoming creepy signs of lifetimes long since passed.

So you went along with Kanato’s instruction, returning to the more familiar manor where Reiji had familiars ensuring everything was organised and dustless. Following behind while mulling over the best way to approach this particular conversation. He led you to his room, sitting on his bed with your sketchbook and flipping through it. Pacing the path from his bedside locker to his balcony doors slowly, Kanato watched you. Around your fifth lap he gently grabbed your forearm guiding you to sit next to him, playing with the pages of your sketchbook. He turned to one of your favourites, you had drawn Kanato sitting in front of a backdrop of rose bushes. A small smile on his lips and a glint of childish glee in his eyes.

“I’m hanging this one up.”

“That one isn’t fully vanished, it's only a sketch.”

“But I like it, so it’s finished and I want it on my wall. And I want a matching one of you to go beside it.”

Sighing in acceptance you took his hand winding your fingers with his. It was probably better to shelf some questions anyway, while you were well past the stage of Kanato stabbing you with a fork for too many questions it was still not always easy to bring up sensitive topics.

Subaru Sakamaki

“Oi, idiot the car is outside. Are you ready to go or what?”

Grabbing your earrings and standing, you began walking over to your boyfriend in a new sundress and short heels for a lunch meeting with Christa at some new vampire restaurant she had taken a liking to. In the years following yours and Subaru’s relationship, both of you had begun to put work into helping both Subaru and his mother move forwards in their lives and reducing the impact their past traumas had on them. It was a slow and difficult progress with what felt like 100 steps back after every step forward but Christa had reached the point where her good days outnumbered her bad ones with the help of a team of specialists and patience.

Within the last half a year Christa had begun to travel short distances from her home, a fairly new cottage Subaru had built her close to the manor after we graduated from Ryoutei Academy. Today’s trip was to a cafe she had been to numerous times with her trusted hand maids, so it was an obvious choice for the first excursion you and Subaru were joining in on. On Subaru’s part you had nothing but admiration and pride for the strides he had taken, he still had periods of self doubt often linked to birthdays and when his father was involved. However, such episodes were short and he had grown into more healthy responses to these thoughts, that still didn’t reduce his worries when interacting with his mother in environments that could trigger an episode. It took reassurances from Christa and her therapist to show that there was a set of precautions to ensure her safety before he agreed to this lunch.

That brought you to today, where your boyfriend adjusted the collar of his pale grey shirt and looked at you with eyes that clearly showed his trepidation about this trip. Looping your arm around his as you made your way to the car you offered reassurance.

“She’s been looking forward to this lunch, she goes there every week at this point it's basically the same as when we have dinner with her.”

“The first time we had dinner with her she started screaming at your halfway through thinking you were a thief, before she tried to cut your hair off.”

“That’s not a fair comparison and you know it. Christa has found medicines that work and worked with Dr. Estelle for years now.”

“You know she wants you to call her mum.”

“She’ll be mum when you get on the ring choosing we both agreed last time at dinner remember. She even offered to help you plan everything.”

Grunting, he looked away squeezing your arm while opening the passenger side door of his porsche. The ride was mostly quiet with you running your shared spotify playlist with Subaru mentioning concerns for you to counter with considerations made to address them. Once you arrived at the cafe Subaru relaxed quickly seeing Christa behaving normally.

As always, you were greeted with hugs and excited interrogations as to the going ons of your life since your last visit. Christa had been so kind as to give recommendations based on your individual tastes, having an excellent grasp on the menu. She was also so kind as to bring an album of photos her staff had made of Subaru growing up to allow her to feel more included in his life while locked in that tower.

“Oh my goodness! He looks so cute here, when was this one?”

You pointed to a photo of a roughly 8 year old Subaru sitting on a wooden table licking a spoon covered in some batter. Smudges of the batter were on his cheeks and shirt as a fire was lit in the background. It was a cosy image and something you had seen Subaru do before. Anytime you baked anything he insisted on spoon cleaning duty to ‘make it easier to clean’.

“Ah, one of my ladies in waiting had that painted after she heard me talking about how happy I was during that visit.”

“I love it, Subaru was such a cute kid!”

“I don’t see what's so cute, I’m just stuffing my face there.”

“Oh shish Subaru. She’s right, you were an adorable kid with cute little cheeks.” To emphasise her point she pinched his cheeks while cooing at him. Subaru only scowled in response, but it held no actual malice behind his glare.

While leaving the cafe, after nearly 5 hours of catching up, Christa pulled you aside to give you the picture claiming she had hundreds more. During the drive home Subaru kept looking at you admiring the photo.

“You can always take pictures of me ya now. You don’t need to use a kid photo of me for that.”

“I have photos of you, I just like this one, it's special.”

“You’re such a weird woman.”

“Would you have me any other way?”

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers imagine #reiji sakamaki #shu sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #laito sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #shu sakamaki x reader #reiji sakamaki x reader #laito sakamaki x reader #ayato sakamaki x reader #kanato sakamaki x reader #subaru sakamaki x reader #diabolik lovers headcanon #diabolik boys

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knighthelm · 1 year

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Last two of Henry VIII's wives, two more K/Catherines! I'm all finished with this project!

Katherine Howard was Henry's fifth and youngest wife, and second to die by execcution at her husband's hand. She was cousin to Anne Boleyn, and like her, rose to the king's favor as a lady in waiting to Anne of Cleves. Her age at the time of their marriage being speculated to be between 15 to 21-- her husband was 49. The crimes levied against her at her arrest were primarily to do with two alleged affairs that the king was not aware of at the time of the union. History has not been kind to this young woman. Thankfully there has been recent retreadings of her story, and more scruitiny has been called upon to the older men who claimed to have loved her. She reportedly loved to dance, which is why I painted her mid-step. I also wanted to show off some Tudor era garments, so the lift of her dress is greatly exagerrated.

Katherine Parr was Henry's final wife. At the time of their marriage she had already been widowed twice, and was in service to Mary as a lady in waiting. Katherine was a staunch Protestant, perhaps even more so than Anne Boleyn, as she fervently supported the Reformation, and even spoke to Henry about finishing this work (at this point Henry himself lived as a quasi-Catholic, and was comfortable in the state of limbo he left his realm in by not defining Anglicanism further), which famously almost cost her her head. Katherine is actually quite notable for being the first named female author published in England, and she has three works credited to her. After Henry passed, Katherine made a swift marriage to her one-time lover, Thomas Seymour, which caused a great deal of scandal and pain to her step-children. She died after giving birth to a daughter only about a year after Henry. The dress she is wearing is based on a Tudor portrait by an unknown artist. It seems to be depicting the queen in a more relaxed attire than formal court attire, but, I have to say, I wish I had chosen a different outfit. Since making this design there has been a brilliant discovery of another portrait of Katherine, and if I ever will return to Katherine, I'd like to base her on that one. The portrait I referenced in this picture is dated to the late sixteenth century, but Katherine died in 1548, so I can't help but wonder if the dress is innaccurate. Curiously, there is also speculation that she had originally been painted wearing a French Hood for the piece, which was painted over later-- but it's only a theory.

#art #henry viii #tudors #six wives of henry viii #katherine parr #katherine howard #artists on tumblr #illustration #watercolor #ink #renaissance history

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lovelytsunoda · 9 months

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tell me something girl (are you happy in this modern world) // tom “iceman” kazansky

summary: after thirty years of marriage, heather kazansky reflects on the time she spent and the love she shared with tom as she prepares to write her eulogy and say goodbye to her husband.

pairing: tom kazansky x wife!oc (named heather)

warnings: canon character death (Tom) and mentions of gooses death from the original movie, depictions of grief, mentions of mental health and medication,

authors note: this is the fic I firmly believe I was put on this earth to write. I wanted to do so much more with it, but honestly would have ended up with like 16k words or something like that.

April 2022, Miramar, California.

“is that the admirals wife?”

“jake, shut the fuck up.”

heather kazasnky had never thought of herself as an impressive woman. she always found herself timid, shy and a little anxious. it wasn’t until the first offshoots of gray started to sprout in her hair, and she’d watched all three of her children grow up that she truly thought sh had done something impressive with her life.

she sat alone at a table in the corner of the hard deck, oblivious to the wandering eyes of her husbands trainees as her slender fingers navigated the keyboard of her MacBook.

“heather?”

she started at the voice, cheeks marred with the flush of someone who had just been sobbing as she turned to look at the speaker.

“peter,” she hummed. “it’s good to see you, maverick.”

heather got to her feet, pulling the other pilot in for a tight hug. “nice to see you too, heather. how are you doing.”

“the best I can. the kids are supposed to be coming up tonight to help with the funerals.”

there were always going to be two funerals. the first was the formal military funeral, where her husband would be buried in the same cemetery as nick bradshaw, and the other was more like a reception, something more human and less structured. for the people who knew him not as admiral kazansky, but as tom.

“I miss him, mav. the house feels strange without him in it. I’ve spent so long being heather kazansky, I don’t know how to go back to being just heather.”

maverick shook his head, taking a seat next to her. “you’re still you, heather. you’re still a mother to three incredible kids, and grandmother to two.”

“with another on the way.” she coughed, somehow managing a smile. “joshua’s new girlfriend is expecting. he told tom before he died.”

“congratulations, heather. how are the kids doing?”

“as well as can be expected. as usual, mitchell is the glue holding us together. cassie’s a wreck. she always was her father’s daughter. and for it to happen so soon after she had jamie just seems cruel. tom was going to retire, did you know that? he was ready to put his papers in, we were going to go to greece. it was finally us time again. he gave so much of himself to this country, and I was so excited to finally have him back.”

pete rested a hand on heathers shoulder, squeezing it through the fur of her cardigan. she was strong despite her age, still well built and sturdy, face marred with laugh lines but not a single telltale old woman wrinkle. “I’m so sorry, heather.”

“thank you.”

she turned back to her laptop, showing the other pilot what she was doing. “I’m gathering pictures for the reception. but most of them are of me. tom always had his fucking camera with him. I should have let the kids do this part. all I’m doing is making myself cry.”

she cast her eyes back to her laptop screen, resisting the urge to reach out and run her finger over the photo, soaking in the good memories as they came flooding back. in the picture, she and tom stood on one side of the kitchen counter, laughing with each other as they cut gingerbread cookies.

it had been their first christmas together.

“oh my god,” maverick laughed. “is that iceman in a cable knit?”

“he was so nervous about meeting my dad for the first time. I had to talk him out of wearing his dress whites.”

December 1985, Richmond, Virginia.

they had been together for six months, give or take the few weeks his team had spent deployed in the gulf, and nothing had intimidated tom kazansky more than meeting his girlfriends father. he had wanted to wear his navy dress whites in an attempt to make a good impression before heather had laughed and made him change into jeans and a sweater before they left the apartment.

even then, he had changed sweaters four times before setting on the white cable knit he was currently wearing.

iceman knew how stressed his girl got during the holidays. her family could bring out the worst in her, and they were both highly strung when they walked in the door.

now, she was off to the side with her sister, cradling a mug of hot coco in her hands as she watched him with a smile, chuckling as he dropped a cup of flour down the front of his jeans.

“you really like him, don’t you?”

heather looked back at her sister, who raised her eyebrows as she took a sip of her hot chocolate.

“I do. I really do, abigail. he makes me feel like I’m worth loving, if that makes sense. everything with tom is just so…easy.”

abigail frowned. “he’s a lieutenant, isn’t he? that means he’s going to be deployed a lot. are you sure you can handle that?”

heather sighed, taking a sip of her drink. “we’re trying. he was out in the gulf for a few weeks in september, and we got through it.”

“he’s barely taken his eyes off you since you got here. and when he looks at you, I don’t see anything other than pure, unfiltered love. I bet he’s got a polaroid of you in his cockpit.”

heather laughed, a warm and giddy feeling in her chest. it was clear how much her family loved iceman, and how quickly they were welcoming him into the fold.

“you know I’m losing him for two months in the new year. he’s off to california, got into some fancy fighter jet training program.”

“you can still go see him, right?”

“yeah, I’ve got a few vacation days saved u- oh fuck.” heather cursed, thrusting her mug into abigail’s arms as she saw what her boyfriend was doing. “give me one second, I’ve gotta stop him from screwing up the gingerbread.”

she pushed up the sleeves of her jacquard sweater, socks skidding across the kitchen tiles as she loosely knotted her hair behind her head.

“kaz, sweetie, give me the rolling pin. you’ve gotta knead the dough.” she smiles softly, putting herself between the pilot and the counter.

one of tom’s flour coated hands came to rest as her waist, his chin on the top of her head as she watched her dip her hands into the bowl of flour, and proceed to knead the gingerbread dough by hand. her lovers hands came to rest over hers, his lips soft and warm against her skin as they kneaded the gingerbread dough together.

“see, you don’t always know everything, lieutenant.” she hummed giddily, running her thumb over his wrist.

“yeah, but I know I love you, and that’s all I need.” Tom laughed, gently using his finger to guide her head towards his and placing a soft kiss on her lips.

April 2022, Miramar, California.

heather paused, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "i loved that man so much, pete."

the hard deck was getting busier, off-duty pilots and seamen flooding in from the base at miramar as shifts changed for the day. heather knew all about the dagger squad and the hazy series of events that brought pete mitchell back to the academy, often having to speak for her husband in meetings once his first cancer operation had left him unable to speak for himself.

"auntie heather!" a familiar face looked over from the pool table. bradley bradshaw was a spitting image of his father, right down to the way that his moustache was trimmed.

for heather, it sometimes felt like seeing a ghost.

"brad!" she perked up, waving him over to the table. "how are you?"

when she first came to visit her husband at miramar, somethign about carole bradshaw had pulled heather in. she hadn't known the bradshaw's long, but by the time that goose's accident happened, she felt like she had known that family her whole life.

she did what she could to help carole out afterwards, especially when it came to raising bradley, but as rooster got older and time flew by, it was so easy for carole and heather to fall out of touch.

"you look just like your dad." she hummed, hugging the pilot. "it's like seeing nick again."

bradley nodded solemnly. "i was sorry to hear about admiral kazansky."

"thank you. it had been a long time coming, but there's no way to properly prepare to lose the man you love."

rooster gestures to the group behind him, the mismatched group of people coming to meet him at the table. “aunt heather, I’d like you to meet the dagger squad: jake, natasha, robert, reuben and javy. we knew the admiral well.”

“hi.” heather said weakly, introducing herself. “I’m heather, the admirals wife. or, widow, I guess. I’m still not used to saying that.”

“are you getting ready for the funeral?” jake asked, promptly getting jabbed in the rib cage by natasha.

“what hangman means to say is: we all respected your husband very much, and we would be honoured to help you plan his memorial service.” phoenix corrected, taking heathers hand between both of her own.

“thank you for the offer, natasha.” heather smiled. “bradley, I want to show you something.”

she sat back in front of her laptop, using the touchscreen to pull up a video taken the first summer she came to visit miramar. she had timed the visit to coincide with her birthday, a small selfish part of her unable to fathom spending her birthday without tom.

bradley pulled up a chair next to the table, watching as the screen crackled to life, the date stamp in the corner reading june of 1986. they were inside the o bar, the video opening with heather resting her head on tom’s shoulder, then panning over to the massive birthday cake and sparklers set in front of her. carole bradshaw sat on one side of her, and charlie blackwood was at the head of the table, sitting next to maverick.

“is that my mom?” Bradley smiled fondly. “she looks so full of life.”

“she was.” heather laughed. “and you might remember charlie, she was one of mavericks many lovers.”

“hey!” pete scoffed. “things just didn’t work out.”

“she was always too good for you, pete.” heather laughed, pointing to another space on the screen. the group was singing happy birthday, supported by a rockabilly piano backing track. “bradley, there’s your dad.”

goose was sitting in front of the grand piano, a toothpick hanging between his teeth as he hammered away at the ivory keys, aviator glasses over his eyes.

“happy birthday dear heather, happy birthday to you.”

the camera panned back to heather and tom as she blew out the cake candles. tom pulled her in to a soft kiss while the rest of the table cheered, and then the video cut to black.

“mitchell has been digitizing all of this stuff for us. I caught tom watching our wedding videos before he died.”

“remember when slider and wolfman got absolutely shitfaced at your wedding and tripped down the reception stairs?” maverick laughed to himself “did anybody ever get that on video?”

heather shook her head, a bright smile on her tear stained face as she hunted through the original wedding folder. “I’ve got you one better.”

September 1987, Monterrey, California.

mrs. heather kazansky. she could get used to that.

she was sitting with her sister and tom’s parents, the former two who were conversing with each other in polish. she twirled her wedding band on her finger, face flushed and spirits high as she looked on at her husband.

tom was with maverick and slider, the group of aviators dressed in their best white uniforms, beer bottles lifted high as they drunkenly hollered the words to an old rod stewart song.

“and I know your name is rita, because your perfume smells sweeter.”

abigail was filming, zooming the camera lens in on heather as she asked: “are you sure you don’t wanna back out now? till death do you part, you’re bound to this dumbass now.”

heather laughed, playfully smacking at the camera. “yes, I’m sure!”

“stay with me, come on stay with me!”

sliders voice was three decibels louder than everybody else, and he was also significantly drunker. one of the bridesmaids had her eyes on him, and there wasn’t a doubt in anybody’s mind that ron kerner would have somebody in his bed that night.

iceman’s face was flushed, his arm thrown around maverick as they rocked on their feet, skin sweaty and hair mussed.

but in the midst of all this chaos, he still managed to look over at his new wife, blowing her the softest kiss. she smiled, catching the kiss in her hands and pressing it to her heart, a moment her sister was able to capture frame for frame on digital video.

tom had watched the video hundreds of times as he sat alone in his office, struggling to come to terms with the fact that he’d be leaving not just the love of his life, but his three beautiful children as well.

April 2022. Miramar, California.

“that’s the kind of love that people only dream about.” natasha smiled softly. “you’re lucky you got to spend as much time with him as you did. most couples don’t make it as long as you guys did.”

heather smiled shakily, reaching for her drink. she’d left the sprite so long that the ice had half melted, condensation dripping down the glass.

“he was so good with the kids, you know. I was on and off depressed for a while after joshua was born. my mental health had never been perfect and I was on a low dose anti-anxiety medication for a long time. but after Josh was born, everything just got so much harder and I could barley get out of bed in the mornings. tom would take the kids to school, make their lunches. he was teaching full time at top gun by then, so he took a few days off to stay with me, make me feel like myself again.”

“he was a good man.” robert smiled, rubbing her shoulder.

“yeah, he was.” heather bit her bottom lip, pulling a photo up on her laptop that had the dagger squad letting out a chorus of ‘awe’s’

the picture was taken in 1989. tom was dressed in a gray waffle knit shirt, a pair of pit viper sunglasses on his forehead as he held a smiling baby in his arms. mitchell’s wide eyes looked up at his dad, his tiny fingers wrapped around in of tom’s larger ones.

his name was mitchell ronald kazansky, because tom had made a lame bet with maverick and slider (that he lost) and had to name his firstborn after both of them (because he was a fucking idiot at times, but she loved him anyways).

the boys were both easy children, but cassandra? she was a daddy’s girl through and through, and tom would have moved heaven and earth for his little girl. whatever cassie wanted, she often got, well into adulthood even. she was the spitting image of her father, from her honey blonde hair right down to the birthmark on the underside of her jaw.

when tom walked her down the aisle at her wedding three years ago, he cried all the way to the altar. but not half as much as he sobbed when he held his granddaughter for the first time, cancer-stricken and barely able to speak, but still brimming with joy as he held jamie to his chest.

“he lead a good life. one he was proud of. he used his last words to tell me as much.” heather choked out, overwhelmed by emotions. “I just wish we’d had more time.”

pete placed his hand over hers, squeezing it reassuringly as natasha rubbed her back, and rooster gently squeezed her shoulder.

there was still so much love that heather kazansky still had to give.

still so much love that she was surrounded by.

and maybe that was tom’s way, even from the grave, to tell her that everything would still be alright.

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @httpiastri @sidcrosbyspuck @twinkodium @sidcrosbyspuck @oconso @thatsdemko @lorarri

#top gun x reader #top gun imagine #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky x reader #top gun fanfic #tom kazansky #tom iceman kazansky imagine #top gun (1986)#top gun fanfiction #iceman x reader

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huramuna · 6 months

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banshee's lament - chapter 8.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.7k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

i've been planning this chapter for months now, i hope you all enjoy! there is a surprise in this chapter 👀

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, talk of chronic pain and illness

story playlist

It was slowly nearing half a year since Shera and Cregan arrived at King’s Landing– she still hadn’t gotten used to the heat but she had finally, somehow, begun to adjust to the people, the looks, the whispers and sneers.

She, albeit slowly, was losing care in such things. She had been spending more and more time with the people she cared about– the ones who made her happy. She still visited Helaena and the children once a day and sometimes would even stay overnight and giggle under the covers with the princess like they would when they were children.

Her mornings started by watching Aemond spar with Ser Cole. She didn’t hide from it anymore– as she felt… somewhat liberated from showing her eye to him. She couldn’t exactly explain, to herself, much less anyone else, why she felt warmer than usual when watching him clash swords with his mentor. Sweat dripping from his face, the little sneer he plastered on when he was particularly concentrating. It felt like butterflies were trapped in her stomach, beating against her skin to get out. It was unfamiliar at first, the feeling– but now it’s become a recognized acquaintance, even if she couldn’t exactly name it.

Aemond, as well, had taken it upon himself to make more effort to spend time with Shera. His days before she returned to King’s Landing were very structured, very planned and scheduled. He would wake up, spar with Cole from morning light until lunch with his mother, then back to sparring until early evening when he would wind down by reading in his chambers, eat dinner, and then go to bed. ‘Going to bed’ didn’t really indicate sleeping, however. He didn’t need much of it to function and found the dreams (and nightmares, to his chagrin) that came with sleep uncouth– so he laid, usually for hours, until his mind drifted into the lightest of sleep cycles. He valued organization and repetition– impromptu changes to such a rigid routine were unwelcome.

Except for Shera– a very impromptu change to his life on her own. Mayhaps unwelcome at first, his outward antagonistic behavior to her was improper and came from a place of, surprisingly, regret. Regret and self-loathing. Usually, he attributed the feeling of self-pity and self flagellation in association with his brother, who was in all rights, a pathetic example of a man (but still his brother and wouldn’t tolerate such talk about him from anyone else) but when Shera came back, walking down that hall– she had looked so small, like she was a fragile heirloom on the verge of breaking at any moment. She could hardly walk without guidance and hid herself.

When his mother said she was returning, as vague as it was, he felt some sort of resentment bubbling up in his gut. What gave her the right to return now? He fully expected her to be the epitome of a Northern lady, hardy and strong, unyielding. The letters ‘she’ (unbeknownst to him at the time, the words were fabrications of Cregan) sent after Driftmark, painted the picture of someone who was fine, who was well adjusted, who didn’t have to go through moons and moons of relearning how to be a person. The image of Shera he had concocted into his mind, and onto paper– an icy woman with fiery hair who would come to blows with someone rather than shed a tear– was not what he saw.

No, what he had seen in that hall, who he had seen– he didn’t recognize her. Then, seeing the small curl of copper hair, the fur stole, the wolf. It struck him like a bolt of lightning, spurring every cell in his body into action, setting them on fire. Blood pumped in his ears and he could hardly hear her (whispering voice aside).

She was broken. Harsh, yes– but it was true. She was a shell, behest to the terrible experience they both suffered.

Regret flooded through him. She was this way because of him, because he dragged her along in the middle of the night to watch him claim Vhagar.

I should have killed them. I should have killed them.

And he retreated from her. He hardly remembers his words to her after she came out from his mother’s chambers– they felt vile in his mouth, like spewing venom. The primal part of him, the dragon, was unruly and restless.

He couldn’t stop lashing out at her–

But what did he really feel?

He fucking missed her. He missed her more than he could ever profess. He wouldn’t admit it outloud, of course, he had to maintain some form of self-preservation.

After their night in her room, after seeing her eye– there was a shift. They spent more time together and she became a fixture of his schedule.

Wake up, spar with Cole and have Shera watch him until noon, they would lunch together three days out of the week with Helaena. He cut his afternoon sparring in half and spent that time with Shera. At first it was awkward, but they melded into one another like their youth quickly.

She begged him to teach her how to draw, to help strengthen her eyesight.

“It… it hurts to focus.” she sniffed, looking up at him. She didn’t wear her veil when they were alone, which he made sure they were when they were drawing. Her blind eye was red rimmed slightly, twitching.

He had set up a vase on a small table for her to draw– it was a simple clay vase with a depiction of two nightingales in flight. They had just moved on from plain objects to something a bit more detailed, albeit only by a little bit.

“Don’t strain, Shera. Just… look at it normally. It’s blurry in some places, right?”

“… yes.”

“Okay. You looked at it up close for a good five minutes. Do you remember what was on the side?”

“The… the nightingale imprint.”

“You can see it in your mind, but it’s not clear to the eye. Use your memory to fill in the blanks.”

“Aemond— this… this is just a test of memory. How is this helping my eyes?”

“Trust me.”

She started off shaky, her first slew of sketches no better than his were when he had first started, but she fell into it quickly. She developed her own style, straying from the charcoal that Aemond used exclusively, and opted for more colorful tools– she had woad paste pastels imported from Dorne. They would sit and depict the same thing and come out with completely different results.

It was so easy to forget that she was betrothed to another. That she was to leave soon.

That she was to be his nephew’s wife. His nephew who didn’t give a shit about her. His nephew who was there. Did no one else think it a bit sick that she was to be the wife of someone who took a part in her mutilation?

Was he the only sane one?

He sighed softly as they finished up their drawings for the day. They had been sketching the coastline of Blackwater Bay– Shera went with a color scheme of blue and green and sparse spots of orange and yellow.

He stuck to his monochromatic charcoal.

“Rhaenyra’s name day gala is… in a fortnight, right?” Shera hummed, using her foot to pet Moongeist, who was at her feet.

“Mm,” Aemond responded, flicking some errant charcoal powder from his doublet. “A mummer’s farce, if you ask me.”

“... I don’t care much for events– but at least… your mother and sister are getting along,” she tilted her head as she wiped her hands off.

Rhaenyra and Alicent had been working together to plan the event and were in high spirits. They were frequently seen chatting lightheartedly.

“Half-sister,” Aemond clarifies, giving her a pointed look.

“Half-sister,” Shera says, brows raised. “I suppose it is a send off, too– since…” her voice trails off slightly, not really wanting to talk about her impending wedding to Jacaerys. She hasn’t spoken much to her betrothed as she didn’t feel the need to– she let him run around with her brother and do what he liked. She imagined it wouldn’t be much different when they were married.

An uneasy silence settled over them. There were many words on the tips of their tongues that they just couldn’t say– it would make it real.

“Shera-,”

“Aemond-,”

They spoke at the same time, standing up simultaneously. Moongeist made a warbling chuff sound that sounded like a laugh.

He must be sick of our antics.

“I should get back to my chambers– before dinner. Cregan wants to… eat with me, for some reason.” she shrugged her shoulders.

“Hm,” Aemond hummed in his usual manner.

—

Shera sat across from Cregan, leg crossed over the other as she fed Moongeist scraps under the table.

“What did you want to speak about?” she broke the silence, glancing up at him. She had put her veil back on– to her dismay, as she had come to like not having it on… around Aemond, at least.

“Do I need a reason to want to dine with my sister?” he asked, clenching his jaw slightly.

“... no,” she mumbled, flicking her nails against one another. “But you don’t usually dine with me.”

He chewed on his piece of mutton slowly, regarding her. “I’m leaving, Shera. I need to go back North.”

“Why?” she blurts out, a bit more emotionally than she wanted to. She and Cregan didn’t have a great relationship, but they were… siblings. There was familiarity.

“I’ve stayed too long already, there is a keep to run, things to do, Shera,” he narrowed his gaze. “Will you be alright… alone?”

Her lip caught between her teeth. “... I suppose so.” she and Cregan had their moments– she thought he was a huge idiot most of the time, but that was her brother. She had been by his side for the last ten years and he nursed her back to some semblance of health when she returned from Driftmark. No matter the choices he made, the ones he made for her– they were all one another had, really.

Her chest ached slightly that he would be going back North and leaving her here. She wouldn’t be alone, per say, but… her blood would be so far away.

“Will you… attend the wedding?” she asked then, drawing little circles on the table with the tip of her nail.

“Yes, I’ll return to Dragonstone for it.”

“Dragonstone?” Shera looked up, slightly alarmed. “I thought the wedding would be in King’s Landing?”

Cregan stopped chewing, suddenly looking sheepish. It was unbecoming of him. “I… yes,” he cleared his throat. “Jacaerys said that after his mother’s name day gala, they will move back to Dragonstone.”

Why does no one tell me anything? “Hm.” she grumbled, sounding much like Aemond– she’s picked up on his little mannerisms and made them her own, it seemed.

“You will be going with them and will be wed soon after.”

She made another noncommittal noise, scraping the remains of her plate to the floor. She’d lost her appetite.

She would be alone sooner than she thought.

—

Returning from a luncheon with Helaena, a few days after Cregan’s departure, she discarded her veil right away as soon as the door was closed behind her.

She waved her hand in front of her face, despairing in the heat of the South. Moongeist agreed, his tongue lolling out in a pant as he lapped at a small tub of water at the foot of the bed.

“It’s too hot for us here, dovey,” she whimpered, wiping sweat from her brow, beginning to strip the various layers of clothing she had on— she did have somewhere to be later in the day, but she would simply have to redress. “I hope Dragonstone is more breezy, lest we melt.”

The layers flew off of her, pooling upon the floor like a puddle of dark ichor. It likely didn’t help that she only wished to wear dark colors, attracting the heat of the sun to her poor constitution. Her cheeks flushed red with the errant warmth and she wondered if this was how those with Targaryen blood felt all of the time— constantly huffing, puffing, warm and sweating. It was terrible.

Finally in nothing but her shift and underclothes, she walked to the bed, hand reached out to peel back the blanket when something shiny caught her eye.

Investigating further, she found a small velvety box, opened to reveal a silver choker, inlaid with three sapphires. Blinking profusely, Shera carefully pried the piece out of its holdings and inspected it. It was, to say the least, flawless. It matched her silver earrings that she always wore almost down to the exact detail, the engravings even the same— long, flowing tendrils into the metal, outlining the gems like garlands. Pearls hung from the bottom of each sapphire. Her thumb roved over the center sapphire, the largest one and the most prominent. It was cool to the touch.

Gently placing the choker down, she dismantled the box looking for a note or any indication of who might have left it. She guessed it to be Jace— did he intend for her to wear it to the gala? She would have to find a garment to match.

Shera descended to her wardrobe, rummaging through until she landed on something that would go swimmingly with her new necklace. It was a dress she hadn’t worn at all, and had been tailored for her shortly before leaving Winterfell. It was a silver and blue dress with intricate embroidery akin to that of a Godswood, but the leaves were a cool toned blue rather than red. She had a pearl-laden head garment, imbued with a silken veil and ringed headdress of sorts, with silver moons hanging down on each side.

Curious.

–

“You… must stay outside, lovey,” Shera murmured to Moongeist. She had received a missive– unclear from who, but either Alicent and Rhaenyra– that they would prefer if her wolf was not in attendance to the gala. She wanted to cry, leaving him outside of the ballroom. Contrary to popular belief, she didn’t really command her companion– their relationship, as impenetrable as others may see it, was the culmination of years of hard work and trust. They were so attuned to each other, Moongeist knowing when she was pushing herself too far, when she was in distress, and when he needed to step into a situation. He was, on all accounts, very polite and well-mannered – for a wolf. He had never bitten anyone who didn’t deserve it. His good conduct thus far and impeccable record was apparently not enough for him to be admitted to the event. He whined as Shera snuffed into his fur, murmuring soft nothings into it. “I’ll return as soon as I can,” she whispered. “I’ll come get you when everyone leaves and you shall have all the scraps you’d like.”

Tearing herself from him, he sat dutifully outside of the glass door that led from the gardens into the ballroom. She willed herself not to cry, not to cry.

She was unsteady on her own feet, hoping to find someone familiar to steady herself on. The last option of familiarity presented itself first. Jacaerys spotted her right away, putting a hand on her waist. “Shera,” he smiled warmly. “You look… wonderful tonight. Mother is going to be so happy to see you in attendance.”

“Jacaerys,” she responded, willing a smile on her face. He was better than no one. She steadied herself by putting a hand on his shoulder. His eyes, usually sparkling with mirth, were a bit dim. He seemed… forlorn. “We don’t have such lavish events like this much– up North… apart from feasts. There usually isn’t much dancing.”

He swallowed, his brow furrowing minutely. “May I interest you in a dance, then?”

“Mm,” she hummed as they descended to the dance floor. She thought about her dance with Helaena and Aemond on the night of her betrothal dinner– it all felt so far away now. She tilted her head slightly as they danced. Jace’s head was looking to the door, as if he was waiting for someone. “As annoying as he is– I miss him as well.”

Jace looked slightly bewildered. “Pardon?”

“I may only be able to see from one eye, but I’m not completely blind,” Shera murmured. “You’ll see him again.”

The prince softened slightly, nodding his head. He was grateful for the words.

They danced a bit more and mingled, more so Jacaerys talking to people and stringing Shera along. Somehow, through it all, she became separated from him, walking on her own through the throngs of people. The heat, even with her less thick layers than usual, was stifling– from all of the bodies.

She suddenly felt… panicked, like when she was lost in the tunnels that one evening. “Excuse me,” she whispered hurriedly as she pushed through people, who didn’t even seem to see her there. “Pardon m–”

Her voice was cut off by a strong arm pulling her around her waist. Her anxiety damped right away as the familiar smell of sandalwood and leather took over her senses. Aemond looked down at her. “Lost again?” he was wearing a black and deep purple button-up doublet, with a long overcoat. It had a flared collar. He looked nice– it wasn’t much different color wise to his usual garb, but it absolutely wasn’t something he would spar in. He was even without his sword– but a brush of Shera’s hand near his waist revealed he did have his dagger strapped to his belt.

“... mayhaps.”

“And where is your guide? It is unlike your dog to abandon his post.”

“He wasn’t invited to the gala,” Shera frowned.

“And you’ve… been left alone?”

“Jacaerys was–”

Aemond held up his hand. “You don’t need to tell me any more,” he rolled his one eye. “He wouldn’t be able to keep track of you if you were the size of a dragon.”

They fell into an easy sway– he was much more relaxed than he was when they first danced. But Shera couldn’t shake what her brother had said– they… Rhaenyra and her brood, which included Shera now, would be leaving a few days after the gala. She hadn’t told Aemond, she didn’t know how.

“You’re worried,” he tilted her chin up to him so their gazes could meet. “I can feel your unease from here.”

“... I…” her mouth felt dry, her hand clutching his inner elbow shakily. “We’re leaving.”

Aemond stayed silent.

“Jacaerys and I… are to be wed upon Dragonstone– and we are to leave… in a few days.”

Aemond still declined to speak.

“Aemond,” she pressed her thumb into his skin.

“You can’t leave again,” he stated. He did not ask, nor plead. He stated it, as if it was a definitive fact. “I won’t let you.” the same moment of rage she had seen before was there, bubbling under the surface. A vein in his neck bulged out and she could feel the control he was trying to keep over himself, over the situation. He gripped her face with both hands now, boring into her with a surprising and sudden placid smile.

–

With a hand over her swollen belly, Rhaenyra scanned the crowd. It’d been so long since she properly enjoyed an event. The planning of it with Alicent had been… more fun than she thought it’d be, and the two women quickly fell back into a rapport, akin to when they were girls together.

It felt right.

Her eyes eventually fell upon two familiar faces— Shera, her veil pulled back slightly by Rhaenyra’s half-brother, Aemond. His hand gripped her face softly, but with intensity as the two locked gazes, lips pursed, brows furrowed, clearly in a heated conversation. It took Rhaenyra all but five seconds to be teleported back to her own wedding to Laenor, all those years ago, where she and Daemon had been in the exact same position— where she had dared Daemon to cleave through her father’s men, steal her away to Dragonstone and make her his wife.

Fuck.

–

“They think you are tame and controlled— but I can see it, the blood welling and boiling just under the surface of your skin. You’re hardly holding it together,” she whispered harshly. “Do you not think I’ve tried to devise everything I could… to stay? To stop any of this?”

“Quell me, then. Let me take you to marriage and let me cut your lip, taste your blood in the ways of old. Dampen my molten blood. I’ll do it in an instant, under the heart tree, in the molten halls of the Dragonmont– anywhere,” his nail pressed into her cheek, angling her head upward to look directly at him. No escape from madness, look me in the eye, he seemed to taunt silently.

It was overwhelming. She was overwhelmed with the warmth in her stomach, the butterflies she felt– they bursted into ash, searing into her like a brand. Shera felt the world around her chill, her extremities cold. “A-Aemond,” she croaked, her hand grasping at his shoulder with all of her might, but it’d only came through as a light tug. “A-Aem—“

Coldness spread through her, her vision fading to white. Then she was warm, extremely so— like she was on fire, panting and spewing hot breaths from her open maw.

Blinking her eyes— she was outside, her heavy wisps fogging the glass pane on the door. Wait. She had full vision, not just the one. It felt odd, so wrong for her to be able to see all around her like she was whole and normal.

Why was she outside? Just let me in, Godsdammit, let me in! She growled low, hands coming up to scratch at the wood and glass, nails digging into it. Her nails were longer than normal and much sharper, a deep black in color.

She wanted in, in, in, in— her hands, no— her paws and claws shredded at the door, eyes peering into the crowd. They were gathered around, shifting slightly to let her see what was going on—

They were gathered around her, eyes rolled back in her head as she laid limp in Aemond’s arms. She saw Jacaerys storming over, already hurling accusations towards Aemond.

No, no, he didn’t do this, stop! She screamed, barking and howling, her teeth biting into the wood and beginning to rip it apart, splintering and cracking the glass.

Shera watched in horror as Jacaerys unsheathed his sword. Aemond was still holding her, loathing to give her up—

Stop, stop, stopstopstop! She bursted through the weakened door, glass and all, feeling it tear at her fur and skin. Patrons gasped around her as she mulled through them towards the center, snapping and snarling.

“Moongeist, calm down!” Jacaerys said, his eyes wide in surprise as she sat between him and Aemond.

So she was Moongeist— that is why it felt so familiar. She, no, they drew their lips back in a growl, hackles raised. Back off, back off, back off! They screamed, snapping at anyone who got too close.

‘That wolf has gone mad!’

‘Is that the prince’s intended?’

‘Yes, but not the prince that’s holding her.’

‘How wanton.’

They panted heavily, still feeling a deep rage within them. Everyone was too close, too close– the sounds of the gala drowned out as they looked to the upper windows of the ballroom. A familiar sight to behold– the cream colored blur and siren’s song of a voice.

A beige and cream colored barn owl sat atop the eave of the window, staring down at them with wide eyes.

‘Now you know, dear Shera.’

–

Shera awoke later, still cold as ice. She was back in her own body but still felt the remnants of itching fervor from being in Moongeist– not ‘in’, it had a word. Warg. She heard children’s tales about it, how a man can enter the mind of a beast and become one with it.

She glanced around the room. Aemond was pacing– she was in… her chambers. Jaw clenched, she sat up from the settee with surprising vigor.

“Shera–” Aemond sputtered, stopping his pacing.

“Hush, come with me,” she grabbed his wrist and strung him along, feeling more lively than she had in ages. Moongeist padded alongside them, hugging to her leg just in case.

She led them down to the weirwood, not letting go of her grip on him.

“You cannot lie to me, Aemond Targaryen, not here. Do you see that?” she gestures to the face etched in the bark of the Great Oak– staring back at the two of them.

How silly they must look.

“Do… not… lie to me,” Shera pleaded. She approached him, her hand skimming the edge of his jaw. He was so warm, always so warm– he permeated through the cold she always felt. “You can lie to everyone else. Keep… those walls up and don’t let anyone in. But not… not to me. Never to me,” she was trembling with the weight of what she was asking, her fingers drumming against his skin. “Did you mean it? Did… you mean it? You want me here with you?”

He stilled her by covering her hand with his own. “I wouldn’t–,” Aemond murmured, his free hand coming up to unhook his eyepatch. Her breath hitched as he discarded it. The moonlight caught the concaves of the gem first, expanding over the flecks of blue, all shades of it.

A sapphire.

She palmed the matching stones on her mysteriously gifted choker. “You… you… your eye…” Shera stumbled slightly, her knees wobbling beneath her.

Aemond held her upright with one arm, slung around her waist. “Hm?” he asked in return, a playful lilt to his voice– something only reserved for her.

“It’s… it’s blue!” she squeaked, pulling his face closer to her, observing with the same scrutiny that she had when they were sketching together. “And… and…” she kept babbling, tugging at her gifted choker. “And this? You… you git! You… cad! Oh, you’re incorrigible.” her words were inflammatory in nature but she… was laughing– as much as she could anyways. It was a quiet giggle, like the soft trill of a small bell.

It made Aemond chuckle in return. The two of them soon devolved into a fit of joviality. “I quite like you in blue, Shera. In my color,” he leaned down to whisper in the shell of her ear. “I had to let Jacaerys know… exactly…” he punctuated each word as his hand made a home on her jaw, inching closer to her lips. “... where and to whom,” his thumb pulled down her bottom lip. “You belong.”

Every nerve in her body was on fire. She’s never felt so warm, so hot in her life. Is this what it felt like to be a Targaryen? Gods, it was fucking stifling.

“And… to be clear,” he continued. “You belong here. With me.”

Her mouth parted, she was barely breathing. She… she wanted… she wanted to kiss him. She wanted him, more than anything she’d wanted before. She was mad; this was mad. Even on shaking legs, she pushed herself on her tippy-toes, pressing their lips together.

She felt… elated. More than elated, it felt like she was flying, skimming the clouds like a dragon, wings spread… free.

Aemond melted into her right away, pulling her closer as they melded together. His tongue swiped against her lower lip as he caressed her so softly, so gently– more gentle than she could ever imagine him being.

This was the first time she ever took something– something she wanted, and she got it. It was selfish, she knew– selfish and dangerous and reckless and just… hers. This was hers. He was hers. “Mine,” she whispered as they caught their respectful breaths. “If… I’m yours, then… you are mine, right?” she clarified, a bit less confident than her previous possessive declaration. “Quite right, little wolf.” he hummed, pressing another kiss to her temple.

In a brazen show of exuberance, she captured his lips once more.

Things were forgotten. Namely, everything that wasn’t them in this moment. Their individual turmoils, their shared despair. All notions of her mysterious collapse, Aemond’s scuffle with Jacaerys, Shera’s impending marriage to the said prince, tensions rising between two sides of a family–

This was for them.

The only time that either of them had taken anything for themselves in the last ten years.

a/n: ART IN THIS CHAPTER BY @lonelymagpies who, as always, was LOVELY to work with! they captured the scene perfectly.

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 6 months

Text

Vampire's Kiss | Chapter Two

Pairing | Vampire!Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 4,4k

Warnings | +18, MC feels a lot of anxiety but Jimin is there for her, she feels inferior under the gaze of the Park family, Mr. Park and Mrs. Park are horrible people, Jungkook enters the scene 👀👀👀👀, attraction (for now only this)

⤷ Summary | Humans have finally unveiled and accepted the centuries-old existence of vampires, in a modern world people share their lives with these peculiar and mysterious creatures, but it is not all roses.

Will two souls belonging to such different species be able to be together?

➢ Author's Note | The second chapter of Vampire's Kiss is here, and Jungkook finally arrives! 👀 Let me know what you think of the story, it is very important to me 🥰❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @peterstarkchrishiddleston

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Previous - Next

You are nervous, strolling through your living room back and forth, waiting for the boy who would accompany you to the party, you have worn a simple little black dress for the occasion and heels of the same color, you are the picture of understated and elegant simplicity, your hair instead is tied up in a soft bun that leaves your neck free, except for the thin silver necklace you are wearing.

Yet you do not feel beautiful, whatever you wore would not have served with the Parks, they would always see you the same way, as trash unworthy to stand beside their only son.

In some ways it's for the best, Jimin will get what he wants right away and you'll get out of the way, but it still hurts to be judged that way by people who don't even know you.

You hear the doorbell ring and check yourself one last time in the mirror in the main hallway, your lipstick and mascara are also in place, you take one last breath and go to the door, finding Jimin in all his glory in front of you.

He is wearing a white shirt that is slightly open across the chest, with smartly cut close-fitting pants and a jacket of the same material, his hair is pulled back, leaving his perfectly distended forehead exposed. He is a vision.

He is also wearing a necklace, the pendant of which depicts a silver dagger.

"Wow ... you look simply stunning," he says with a huge smile that brings his eyes to smile in turn.

"Thank you, you always are," you chuckle in response, he shakes his head.

"I'm used to girls giving me compliments, but when the compliments come from you they taste better" a subtle reference to whether you were such a bitch that you rarely gave him any?

Possibly.

He extends his arm to you, which you gladly take and together you leave your apartment.

"I'm sure the best are your girlfriend's," you say casually, curious to see how he would react. You are not surprised by the devoted look that outlines his features. That's just the way Jimin is, he gives the impression of being a hardened playboy, but he gives his heart and soul to his better half.

"Yes, the best ones are Nari's."

From there on, the walk to his car, an Audi TT Coupe, is fairly quiet on both of your parts, only the sound of your heels tapping on the asphalt bridges a bit the little space that divides both of you, you clasp your stole over your shoulders, not because you feel cold, it's a way to protect yourself from whatever would happen. It is strange to stand arm in arm with Jimin, dressed up and ready to threaten his parents with marriage if they did not heed his wish. It is strange to stand arm in arm with Jimin knowing that he has a real girlfriend awaiting his triumphant return.

Nari. She sounds familiar, you've heard her name before.

You can't think beyond that, Jimin unlocks the doors and the scent of new and clean welcomes you inside the Audi, Jimin adores the car just like a daughter, and you wouldn't be surprised to learn that only a few people have had the opportunity to climb aboard.

The boy makes the turn and finally gets behind the wheel, the sound of the engine being started catches you slightly off guard, Jimin gives you a mischievous look.

"Excited?"

You stare at him with wide eyes, "You shouldn't say such things now that you have a girlfriend, you know?" Jimin's smirk disappears immediately, and there you feel guilty.

"Wow...my human girlfriend bites like a wolf," he whispers, a boulder settles on your chest when he says so, "Hey...it'll be okay, I told you it's just for tonight, yeah?"

You nod, but you still have something to ask him.

"Does she know? That I'm going to pose as your girlfriend, I mean."

The last thing you want is to antagonize his real girlfriend, too.

"Of course she knows, she said anything goes as long as it works," he sighs looking at the traffic in front of him, "You're our last hope for a happy ending, if this doesn't work either.... it will mean that I will give up my name and my rights as an heir, I have a job and my boss is also my best friend, no matter what, I won't be in trouble" he mutters darkly.

Of course, Jimin does this for his parents, even if outdated, he loves them and wants to have a chance to stay by their side, how can you blame him.

You also love your father and mother, even though your father does not see eye to eye with vampires and is influenced by your sister. In spite of everything, they remain your only family and you owe them a lot; they adopted you even though they knew nothing about your previous life; they are good people who care about them and your welfare. For many years humans have been prey to vampires; so it is natural that a man of your father's age should feel some fear and hatred for them, you only hope that he will soon adapt to the new age, he cannot remain locked in his memories forever.

You gently squeeze his arm, as if to comfort Jimin in a way, "I hope for you that this 'plan' succeeds as best as possible."

He gives you a look, before giving you a little wink.

"You are not a human, but an angel."

You giggle, losing your gaze outside, among the speeding cars, the pedestrians waiting on the sidewalk for their bus, as the city lights brighten the entire environment. Your reflection in the window returns your glance, you're tense, you've never teased anyone and you're also a bad actress, you even told Jimin, but he insisted that you just have to stick to what he would say, that's all.

Jimin turns right and before you is the intriguing and luxurious appearance of the hotel hosting Seokjin and all his guests.

"The party will have already started, we'd better hurry."

The guy gets out of the car and runs to open the door for you without you asking him, you are pleasantly impressed and let him take you inside without a fuss, even though you are actually dying to imagine who knows what scenario. Will you be the only human? Or will you find some of your own kind? Will Jimin's parents freak out in front of everyone?

Shaking your head, you need to calm down.

"Don't be like that, I can smell your agitation," Jimin whispers as he leads you into the lobby, shows his invitation to a waiter who smiles politely at you, making his way to the area dedicated to the restaurant, it's crazy, everything is decked out in warm colors and silk ribbons, it looks more like a wedding than an engagement.

You peer through the crowd of people talking, everyone is seated at a table of four, further along is a longer table, and seated in the center next to a woman is Seokjin himself, his profile is ravishing, as is the skin that seems to be made of porcelain, he brings a goblet of wine to his lips as he nods at the words an elderly man is murmuring to him. The woman next to him is ethereally beautiful, you can tell right away that she is a vampire, both of them seem meant to be together.

"This way, baby" Jimin's serious expression alarms you, you look across and see them, father and mother Park.

They are both sitting at a practically empty table, their faces stiff and stern, but also remarkably beautiful. Park Sr. is practically a slightly older Jimin, while looking at his mother you realize where her son inherited those magnificent rosy lips from.

"Mother..." Jimin bows slightly, giving a faint kiss on the hand that his mother promptly extends to him, his father on the other hand nods in greeting, but neither parent shows that they have noticed your presence. You are about to vomit.

"Father, this is Han Y/N," Jimin says, gallantly shifting a chair to seat you in front of the woman who stares at you casting baleful glances.

"I know who the young lady is, Jimin ... you already introduced us to her several years ago," the father replies, at least he doesn't display the blatant disgust his wife is addressing to you instead; he's good at hiding it, "But I don't understand what she's doing here."

You tighten your lips, trying to moisten them somehow, and take advantage of a waiter's arrival to ask for water; you don't feel like drinking alcohol that night.

You glance sidelong at Jimin, but he smiles with absurd naturalness.

"I wanted to take the opportunity to give her a chance to have a word with Jin."

"How so?"

People start clapping and you see Seokjin get up from his seat laughing at something the woman said to him, you are sweating.

"Work stuff," the young man says vaguely, you venture to stare at Mrs. Park, she has not looked away from you, she is aware that there is more to it, a mother's instinct is rarely wrong.

"Just this?" the father then inquires, you huddle in your shoulders.

Jin began his speech.

"I thank you all for being here today, as you may know I have developed with the help of my trusted friends a dating site..."

The older man narrowed his eyes, "Well, Jimin?"

"It's getting harder and harder to find love nowadays, Vampire's Kiss was born for just that, to help lonely hearts find their missing piece..."

"You are right, there is more."

"And with happiness I am pleased to announce that unexpectedly I have also found my missing piece."

Jin takes the hand of the woman sitting by his side, and leaves a sweet kiss on her wrist, the hall erupts in loud applause filled with joy, "She is my fiancée," he thus drops the bombshell.

Amidst the congratulations of the guests, Mr. Park stares at you with huge eyes, while his wife cannot resist any longer.

"What?!" she exclaims horrified, "Are you out of your mind! You already have a perfect woman to marry! You can't do this to us, idiot son!" she growls breathlessly, her husband trying to calm her down with short pats on the hands.

"Darling, calm down...I'm sure we heard wrong, there was applause, Jimin definitely said something else" he sends a warning to his son with one expression, but Jimin is not intimidated.

"I'm afraid not, father... you two understood my words very well, she is my fiancée," he says with a confidence that you definitely do not have at that moment.

Father's face turns granite, he immediately shifts to you and you almost squeak, "Is that true? Speak up, damn!" he blurts out imperiously, your guts twisting, but before you can even respond, Jimin jerks up.

"I would appreciate a calmer attitude from you, you are scaring her and I don't like that," he hisses in their direction.

"We, on the other hand, would like to talk to you privately" Mrs. Park takes her husband with her, prompting Jimin to follow them, but before going the boy lightly hugs your shoulders as if to give you some sort of security.

"Go ahead, I'll be fine," you say with a smile, then see him disappear behind a door.

You're left alone watching couples and families talk about this and that, some have gotten up to greet Seokjin personally and you feel like a fish out of water, you can't even go and talk to him about the deal, it's not the right situation for such a topic, he seems so happy... and you're so nauseated by what just happened. You are grateful to Jimin for not letting you talk, because you surely would have been a stammering mess.

You sigh as you get up, maybe a breath of air is what you need to recover a little from all the fuss that has surely been raised, even as a fake girlfriend you suck.

You go to the balcony, it's nice and big and the hotel treats itself well, it overlooks a vast flower garden with a fountain that surely in the morning the birds use to freshen up, the moon high in the sky illuminates the whole area, casting mysterious shadows around, it all seems so...

"... beautiful."

You look around with wide eyes, was it you who said that?

No, it couldn't have been you, the voice sounded nothing like yours, it had a timbre ... masculine and hypnotic.

Looking suspiciously at every corner of the balcony, only to catch a glimpse of a tall figure in the shadows, you inhale deeply.

"Excuse me?" you ask, incredulous. How long has it been there? And why didn't you notice anything?

"I'm sorry..." a man comes out of the shadows, "You didn't get scared, did you? I didn't mean to scare you."

The first thing you think of as you look at him is that he could not have been human like you. His appearance is as bewitching as it is extraordinary.

His pupils have been engulfed by the darkness of the night, they are so deep that you feel a strange attraction draw you into those eyes, you cannot look away from his. But aside from the hypnotic coloring, the shape of his eyes gives him the sweetest look, despite the piercings that decorate the entire arch of his ears, his right eyebrow and even one side of his lower lip, fleshy and scarlet... inviting.

The well-defined jaw line and powerful physique make you think he is the kind of person who works out regularly to stay strong and healthy, he is really beautiful.

Such a man has to be a vampire, a forbidden dream.

You shake your head suddenly, remembering his words.

"N-No, you didn't scare me! Just surprised... I wasn't expecting someone here, they're all talking in there."

His face breaks into a shy smile, in your stomach butterflies begin to flap their delicate wings.

"I noticed it too, but I only know Seokjin and didn't see any other familiar faces, so I preferred to admire the moon.... it's beautiful, isn't it?" his gentle voice is a boon to your ears, after the sharp and inquisitive looks of the Park family, this boy is giving you some peace.

"Yes ... really beautiful" you smile, then extend a hand, "I'm Han Y/N, nice to meet you" you introduce yourself in a lively tone, but he stares at your hand for a few seconds, so long that you think you've done or said too much. You try to withdraw it uncomfortably, but to your surprise he reaches for it, and instead of a handshake as you expect, you see him politely bow his head, leaving an imperceptible kiss on the back of your hand, it's barely a brush, but a flush of heat reaches your cheeks and you feel a strange tingling sensation there where he lightly placed his lips, you've never experienced a hand-kiss, and few knew how to do it nowadays, but he was perfect, not at all vulgar or slimy.

Before fully raising his head, he lifts his eyes nailing yours, from that angle his gaze takes on a predatory hint, which disappears in a flash when he returns to a more natural position.

With surprise you have to breathe deeper to stop your arousal from rising, you don't know if vampires can feel such a change, you hope not.

"Oh...I didn't expect that," you giggle in embarrassment, he follows.

"My mother raised me that way, in her time it was a pleasant duty" he explains, and that is the certainty you were looking for, he is a vampire, "My name is Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook to be exact."

Jeon... Jeon... Jungkook?

Of course, you remember now. He's Kim Seokjin's manager, he handles most of his work commitments, maybe you could ask him for a little help.... No! You can't. You're at an engagement party, goodness! Jimin would take care of it, as he has already promised.

The guy in front of you looks around, "Did you come here with someone or do you know Jin?"

Okay, you came here as a fake girlfriend and technically you should support your best friend's plan, but looking at Jungkook something tells you that you shouldn't tell him such a lie, you don't know why-something in your brain says to seize the moment.

"I'm here with a friend of mine, he didn't have anyone to accompany him so I offered, did you?" you ask, his smile growing brighter and his perfect skin darkening the moon itself.

"I came alone, I had no one to ask," he shyly shrugs his shoulders and almost squeaks with tenderness, how can a guy so attractive and with such a size, also be infinitely cute?

The rhythm of a foreign song began to resound from the hall, you cast a quick glance at the stained glass windows and besides the reflection of the two of you you see numerous couples holding hands and moving to those notes, Seokjin is there too, he must have opened the dance. You envy them all. Even those who didn't know how to dance most likely threw themselves boldly onto the dance floor, you on the other hand are just good at blocking yourself like a piece of marble.... Jimin often teases you for this reason.

A little embarrassed you look at the tips of your shoes, not sure how to continue the conversation, you're such a dork.

"Do you want to dance?"

That question sends you into a tizzy.

You like Jungkook so much, but you don't know how to dance, and your instincts are screaming at you to tell him a sharp no right away, but the butterflies in your stomach want to push you to accept.

"Here... I would gladly accept, but I don't know how to dance and to tell the truth I always freeze, I'm not suitable," you chuckle sadly, but he tilts his head slightly, in his eyes you can see a spark of amusement.

"You only talk like that because you've had the wrong dance partners, give me a chance" he is firm in what he says, but you know you would only look like an idiot.

"I'd make you look bad, I don't want to ruin the reputation of a guy I just met" you try to joke, Jungkook takes two more steps toward you, you find him practically with his chest inches from your face, he's damn tall.

"In that case I will pretend to be a bad dancer, and then everyone will look at me, I will take responsibility for everything.'

'They'll look at you anyway, and wonder why a walking bag of blood is hanging from your divine arm' you think regretfully.

You sigh, only to find yourself nodding, there's no harm in trying, and then when would you have a similar encounter again?

Jungkook gives the impression of being one of those guys you only meet once in a lifetime.

You earn a smile from him with his teeth firmly in view, not only are they as white as the best porcelain in the country, but among them, two in particular have the typical sharp points that make vampires deadly predators, you feel the urge to reach out a hand and feel under your fingertips how sharp they can be, you stop only because he was quick to take you to the dance floor before you can change your mind, and with the light of the room you finally get a chance to study his clothes, he's wearing a cream-colored silk shirt, it comes down soft and loose but does nothing to hide the hard lines on his back and chest, his pants instead are tight against his skin and highlight the full power of his thighs.

Shit, you won't get out of it.

"It's a slow dance, you just have to put your hands here" gently he brings your arms around his neck, your hands graze his shoulders and your heart misses a beat, his sweetest eyes don't leave your face for a single moment, attentive to your reaction when his arms encircle your hips, "And then you have to follow the song, accompanying your body to mine" he whispers in your ear, you are trembling and hope he doesn't notice, a weight is falling on your legs, it's happening again. You are afraid to dance, people's judgment has always upset you, you will make him look bad.

You try to pull away from Jungkook, who in response just tightens his grip, now you're both an inch away from touching each other completely and his eyes seen from so close are absolutely a sight, oh god... his dark lashes are so long and his skin glows with a life of its own.

"Hey, hey... take it easy and look around, no one is paying attention to us, just move as your instinct tells you" you barely understand his words, his lips are in the foreground and you can see every scarlet ripple of their soft, shiny skin, you notice every little mole adorning his face, you swallow hard.

That's right, no one is looking at you to your relief, you nod and begin to move slowly, simply following his body. You frown, it's not so bad.

Well, it's still a slow one, you just have to rock a little and....

"I'm sorry to ask you like this and maybe I'm sounding intrusive-" he lowers himself to the crook of your shoulder, inches from your neck, his icy breath sparks little shivers on your skin and your nostrils are invested with his captivating, fresh scent, "Is there anyone in your life yet?"

Your eyelids begin to flicker, caught as you are by his scent you almost choke on your own saliva at his words.

He gives you a worried look, "Sorry, - he chuckles uncomfortably - I don't usually do that."

"No! I mean, I mean, relax! You didn't sound strange or intrusive," you quickly set the record straight, what sounds strange is your figure clasped in the arms of such an absolutely wonderful being as he is, "Anyway.... define 'someone' " you try not to look around the room, if you had seen Jimin's parents you would have died instantly.

You see him tighten his lips into an absolutely adorable expression, "I don't know… like a boyfriend, or a husband ... or someone you're dating," you think of Jimin, technically for that night you're his girlfriend, but you can't fake it in front of Jungkook, even if it's a stranger you'll never see again.

"No, actually no...what about you?" you choose honesty, plus you're curious too, does he have someone to go back to?

His smile returns to relax features once contracted with worry, afterwards he shakes his head.

"Neither have I, I've just had bad experiences, unfortunately," he pauses in the middle of the room, at first you don't understand what his intentions are, you see him move a few inches closer to you and everything about him screams a certain amount of seriousness, "But seeing you there, under the moonlight, I-"

"Baby!"

You widen your eyes, see Jungkook freeze and inside you scream in despair, why? Why did Jimin have to come right now?

Jungkook was saying something important, you feel it, and now he is simply walking away from you. A chasm opens in your chest. You want to kill Jimin, and then drown yourself in the valley of your own tears. You turn to cast a furious glance at the one who calls himself your friend.

"Jimin..." you hiss, he must have realized he's interrupted something because you notice him pale, more than he already is.

"Um... Jungkook?" he turns to the boy next to you, which makes you wince since he looks anything but pleased at the interruption. His contracted jaw gives him a dangerous air that you didn't think was possible in a sweet guy like him. But after all, you've known him for a little over half an hour; anything could have been possible.

"Do you two know each other?" he asks stiffly, before Jimin can answer him, you get in the way.

"Yes! He's the friend I accompanied to the party, rather ... do you two know each other too?" you feel nervous, not expecting such a turn of events.

Jimin nods, "We've been friends for years and we also work together."

Oh, great. Now you can go bury yourself. You're Jimin's fake girlfriend and you've ambiguously spent time with one of his friends.

"I didn't expect to find you here, you usually never attend events like this... you say couples make you lonely," Jimin teases him, but Jungkook just shrugs.

"My instinct was telling me to come, at least this time..." he casts you a brief glance, "But I think it's getting late for me, I'll leave you to your knight" with the last sentence he turns to you, and you don't miss his facial rigidity, you want to ask him to stay, but the words don't come out of your mouth. You have to stick to the plan; it would have been strange for the Parks to see their son's girlfriend dancing with another man all evening.

You watch him walk away into the crowd with regret, Jimin coughing slightly.

"I'm sorry... did you like him?" he asks cautiously, you sigh.

"No, it's okay... it's my fault, I got too carried away when tonight was all about you," you reply.

"Don't say that, you make me feel like a monster" he whimpers, a feeling of emptiness takes hold throughout your body, "I could arrange for you to go out together" he proposes, but you shake your head in denial.

You feel somehow that you have let Jungkook down, you don't know why, but you won't have the courage to talk to him again.

You turn to Jimin, "What happened with your parents? Did you tell them what your intentions are?"

The boy returns an apologetic expression to you, "In truth..."

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #jungkook fiction #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #vampire jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bts vampire au #bts smut fanfiction #bts smut #bts fanfiction smut #bts x reader #bts x you #jungkook x you #vampire bts #bts ff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut

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melis-writes · 1 year

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Moth to Flame (Part II) [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 42 – Matrimony.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 41 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

“You’re a Corleone woman now, after all." / “You’re my bride. You deserve that and all the more, do you understand?”

You married Michael Corleone in the summer of 1949, binding the allyship of your two families together but sealing your matrimony with love, bliss and trust. Falling in love, compatibility, love languages and a change in your lifestyle met you in an instant, and being Mrs. Michael Corleone altered your life forever. You can still remember how you fell for him and every bit of affection and intimacy shared from the beginning. You remember; you remember it all, and as you look into the past to compare it to your present and expect for your future, you realize nothing remains changed.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions of virginity/loss of virginity, nudity, sexual themes & depictions, heavy touching & kissing, fingering, mentions of pregnancy & planning for children, sex.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The first in-between chapter of Moth to Flame: Part II is finally here!! 😫🙏🏻 I'm sooo sorry for such a delay in posting this chapter, but life has been extremely hectic and busy. 😭 The Vichael girlies are going to adore this chapter is all I'm going to say! We delve into Victoria and Michael's marriage from the very beginning! 🤭❤️‍🔥 This is filled with romance, fluff and domestic wholesomeness. How Victoria and Michael fell in love to how their lives changed as husband and wife and more is all included. I wanted this to be very romantic and sensual before we dive back into the action of current day Moth to Flame! 😳

1956. Your name is Victoria Ferrari Corleone, and you’re the wife of the most powerful mobster in North America–Michael Corleone. A lifestyle of crime and secrecy is all you've known and ever wanted to know, complimenting the cruelty of Michael Corleone's influence in the United States. With your enemies fallen before you and all loose ends tied up, you continue your life and marriage with the Corleone family while refusing to look back on your past. Yet it's the skeletons in your closet that a shine a light on revealing you're a true mafiosa. Ensnared in the shadows just as much as Michael is, you find yourself betrayed by the unexpected with all of your secrets ready to spill–especially ones you've hidden from Michael. With more than one pair of eyes watching your every move, you find yourself trapped amidst potential scandals and a familiar, lovesick secret admirer adamant on removing Michael out of the picture to have you all to himself. Like a moth to a flame, you've reached the point of no return and the light that breaks down the darkness threatens to take you next.

Bouquets of pink and white roses, white silk, lilac adornments, angel food cake, the lace finishing over your wedding gown, and the taste of Michael’s lips over yours; you married Michael Corleone in the summer of 1949.

Planning for your wedding was one of the few and only times in your life when you felt you had a million things going through your mind at once.

After weeks of careful planning, the hardest part—the wedding itself—came in bliss and resonated perfectly with everything you had in mind for your perfect wedding day.

The colors you chose for your wedding ranged from an equal hint of décor in baby pink, lilac, and beige, whereas peonies, lilacs, and dahlias were your flowers of choice.

Silk tablecloth, handcrafted Italian furniture imported from Sicily, seven-tier angel food cake, seven varieties of cannoli from pistachio to limoncello, over a hundred bottles of wine—Grilo, Inzolia and Grecanico just to name a few—aged at least ten years, French champagne, little pastries of sorbets and mini cheesecakes served throughout and freshly squeezed juice from the fruit from the Corleone garden itself were just some of the highlights of your wedding day.

Even your wedding gown itself had been custom designed and tailored with the finest Italian silks and fabrics, following a lengthy session of perfecting your hair, makeup, and manicure with your mother, Mama Corleone, Connie, and Sandra down to rehearing how you would walk down the aisle to which sets of jewelry with diamonds and pearls suited you best.

Everything was planned and executed to perfection—to say the least. Scarcely were there moments throughout the planning period where the wedding wasn’t mentioned in one way or another; it was the only topic on your mind for days to come.

Consummation of your marriage was expected next from all through tradition and customs, but it wasn’t a concept you and Michael personally believed in.

Although you were a virgin before you met Michael, he most certainly was not. After his brief marriage with Apollonia, the concept of no intimacy until marriage let alone time spent together or some form of physical affection before marriage was seen and strictly enforced as heavily taboo in Sicily only reminded him of how backward he believed the concept to be, as did you.

Of course, you and Michael were both anticipating and thinking about the intimacy you’d share with one another after your wedding celebration, but not immediately after. That would be eagerly waiting for the both of you at the end of the night.

With the wedding cake having been cut, final drinks served and last dances shared, both of your families collected together all of the bridal gifts, thanked and said goodbyes to every guest they could get to while the wedding staff began to clean up.

Michael and you stood for more photographs by and with guests, thanking them for attending as well before you both made off with security to the vehicle that would take you to your first estate.

You’d both arrive at your new estate by the time security did a full sweep and search of the Corleone manor and all festivities had officially come to an end.

Before you and Michael would settle down for the remainder of the day after the wedding, you both went to meet with your families and new in-laws.

Tomorrow morning there’d be the wedding reception to look forward to after all, but there was more than enough for both you and Michael to think about and do before then.

Upon stepping out of your chauffeur’s vehicle at your new estate’s grounds, the first thing your eyes found were those of your bodyguards surrounding your new estate.

Noting the heavy yet inconspicuous security around, it was only a split second longer before you blinked and a warm smile crossed over your lips in reaction to Michael standing by your side; his hand laced with yours as you both began to make your way inside the estate.

Just a few feet from the front door you could already hear the cheerful voices and banter of your parents and in-laws in the foyer; you couldn’t help but feel your exhilarated mood amplify with excitement once more.

“Victoria! Michael! Sweetheart!” Your mother beamed, extending her arms out as she skipped over to the both of you.

Hugged, congratulated a dozen more times, and kissed by your parents and new-in-laws, happy tears are shed once again for you and Michael as a newlywed couple.

“Promettimi che mi chiamerai se ti serve qualcosa!” (Promise me you'll call if you need anything!) Carmela gently squeezed your shoulder after pulling away from a hug, smiling at you.

“Home sweet home,” your mother cooed, bewildered by the grandiose luxury your new estate has to offer just by standing in the foyer alone. “How wonderful.”

“We’re looking forward to that wedding reception,” your father grinned, redirecting his gaze to Michael. “It’ll be an honor to dine in the newlyweds’ home.”

“It’s an honor to host,” Michael agreed, giving a small, quick smile. “I look forward to it, Don Ferrari.”

“Mm,” Vito nodded, approaching both you and Michael. “And the bridal gifts… I had them arranged to be placed in your guest room. Humble gifts as they may be from our family friends, but they’re close to overflowing.”

“A problem I’d actually like to deal with,” you giggled back. “Thank you, father.”

Naturally, the gifts you received from attending friends, family, and guests aren’t exclusive to gifts newlyweds would benefit from, but a wide variety of items ranging from cash bills to jewelry almost as if the givers were trying to appease you and Michael directly.

Without even having to look inside all of the bridal purses and open each individual gift, you already assumed to yourself there are thousands of dollars worth of gifts there alone waiting for you and Michael that may very well take days to completely open.

Your families deliberately didn’t stay for long to give you and Michael as much privacy as possible today, and you and Michael were more than happy to see them out with waves and smiles before settling down for the rest of the day.

“It’s not over for them,” Michael commented by the gates of the estate, loosening his tie.

“No, it isn’t,” you let out a light laugh, smoothening down your wedding gown. “Not until after the wedding reception, at least.”

Michael chuckled—a rare first time he’s in a somewhat lighthearted mood for the entirety of the day. “Do you need anything, darling?”

“No,” you blushed, gesturing down to your dress. “Only to get this lovely gown off of me in one piece and my makeup at last.”

Just a split second later, you both heard a sharp whistle come towards the gates of the estate which prompted you and Michael’s attention immediately.

“Hey, Mikey!” Sonny hollered from the gates, leaning against his car and waving at both of you. “No invitations for Tom, Fredo, and I to see the new place, eh? Come on down!”

“I’ll be right with you,” Michael glanced back at you.

You nodded understandingly, relieved you’ll at least get the time to quickly undress and take off your makeup before finally getting to spend some time alone with Michael, and you’re more than happy to have Michael bond with his brothers before retiring for the rest of the day with you too.

The endless amounts of gifts and stuffed bridal purses crossed your mind once more as you entered the estate, imagining you and Michael would more than likely have to get Tom to secure any precious assets or cash bills while the other items remain secure.

You carefully slipped out of your wedding gown and let the lacy, tulle fabric pool at your feet as you grabbed a white, silk nightgown to step into; careful not to let any of your makeup smear against the fabric.

You’re not one to wear a full face of makeup on any regular day, but outings, special events, and evenings—especially your wedding—remain exceptions each time you enjoyed getting dolled up, but your daily beauty routine only consisted of your normal skincare steps, light eye makeup, a bit of eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick.

Upon Michael’s return inside the estate and to the bedroom to undress and unwind, it was his first time gazing upon your face without any makeup as you cautiously stored your nightgown away in an empty closet.

You hadn’t even noticed Michael’s eyes on you at first but picked up on his presence immediately; right then and there, Michael had found himself admiring your beauty and looks, stunned by your natural appearance.

“More congratulations?” You smiled shyly, turning around to face your new husband.

“Something like that,” Michael answered, tossing his tie onto the edge of the bed. “Nothing we both haven’t heard enough of.”

You held back your laughter, “then I hope you don’t mind I retired my glamor for the night already.”

“Not at all,” a ghost of a smile crossed Michael’s lips as he slowly began to approach you. “I’m sure the bridal gifts have nothing but your name on them, after all. I don’t think I need to go and see for myself.”

“Oh, please,” you felt a blush stinging your cheeks as you gazed up at Michael.

“You look beautiful,” Michael murmured, tilting your chin up to face him. “You know that?”

Your skin gave a healthy glow under the evening light as Michael admired every inch of you from the shape of your cheekbones to the color of your eyes, the curve of your lips, and your body language towards him filled with desire.

You expected then and there for Michael to lean in and kiss you, and he did, but gently upon your forehead as he let his warm lips linger over your skin.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment and embraced your husband, taking in the scent of his heavenly cologne as your heart began to race in your chest against his.

“You should expect all of this, you know,” Michael spoke to you in an ushered voice. “You’re a Corleone woman now, after all. Those gifts want nothing more than to appease and impress you, I’ll make sure of it myself.”

Michael’s intention is to spoil you to no avail and not only with material gifts but your every request; the luxurious lifestyle you can expect to live with him as Michael’s wife and the future mother of his children holds you on a separate pedestal next to being Don Ferarri’s wife, and Michael will continue to keep it that way.

The very gifts with your name engraved upon them awaiting you consisted of everything from cosmetics, luxurious perfumes, oils, and creams, full sets of dazzling jewelry set with diamonds and precious stones, congratulatory letters, towel sets followed by pacifiers, bibs, baby bottles, and cloth diapers that made you blush as you unwrapped them—knowing all would be expecting the news of your first pregnancy next.

An amused look crossed Michael’s eye as he wrapped his arms around you seeing you open the final present for today a set of two pacifiers, he saw a look of excitement over your own expression but also blush spreading over your cheeks as the two of you made eye contact once again, knowing the rest of the night began to the both of you.

The first home you and Michael owned together and settled in was a grand estate in Long Island but outside of the Corleone mall unlike Connie and Carlo’s home and that of Sonny and Sandra’s that were inside the gated family community.

Still, your new home was not far from Michael’s family or yours, and you could make the commute in twenty minutes.

The plot of land in which your new estate would be built was purchased immediately on the day of your engagement ceremony with construction where your father and Vito had given the green light for construction to begin the day of.

Normally for the size of your estate, it would have taken a good construction crew six months with daily work, but the home was completely finished in just one. Bringing in extra of the best workers and paying a premium always worked well in the end.

Your grand estate stood at just slightly over five thousand square feet with state-of-the-art architecture, taking inspiration from Modern American design to Italian fixtures and marble imported from Rome.

Your estate was two stories, finished with an attic consisting of a master bedroom with a walk-in closet designed to be almost the size of a small bedroom for you and Michael, a study that was half a private library, two guest rooms downstairs, a nursery upstairs, a wine room in the basement, full front and back yard, three other extra bedrooms, an office for Michael and four bathrooms.

A mid-sized swimming pool was built in the backyard where your home’s carefully curated and trimmed garden surrounded the sides and fences protected your family’s privacy so one could neither look into the estate grounds nor out of it.

Twenty-four-hour surveillance was always to be expected with varying bodyguards and a careful selection of specific windows—such as the ones in Michael’s office—were selected and built to be soundproof.

Your bathtub had 24k gold claw-finished, quartz countertops as well as in the kitchen, marble floors, a foyer in the front of the estate fit with a French handcrafted chandelier, a private exit to the gardens and plenty of storage with a full laundry room at the end of the hallway downstairs.

Crown fixtures adorned the kitchen and a wide spiral staircase decorated with a blood-red carpet led upstairs to where one of two hidden emergency exits only you and Michael knew how to activate could be found.

The price of your home came to a grand total of $250,000 and was exactly where you and Michael wanted to be; exactly where the two of you planned to start your family and raise your children.

Michael and you had both grown up in Long Island; meaning nothing short of symbolic with the feel of home settling into your first house in New York together.

You and Michael only had a brief discussion about where your first home could be since the two of you came to an agreement so quickly to choose Long Island to stay in.

At the time, thoughts of buying another home elsewhere or even moving in the future were not on your mind although Michael had begun to think of Nevada and a villa in Sicily almost immediately on; the latter being a familiar and mutually agreed upon idea to you.

Of course, both you and Michael’s family knew just as well as the both of you why you didn’t have a honeymoon after your wedding, and there were no questions asked or teasing to be made.

Going on a honeymoon with Michael after your wedding was in your mind just as much as your wedding was, but the same could not be said for Michael who was much too preoccupied with the danger and threat of another family war, especially with hostility coming from the Ricci family.

Going outside of New York—let alone going to Sicily—would paint a clear, red target over both your and Michael’s backs and especially create vulnerability within the Corleone family considering Vito was semi-retired at the time.

It didn’t matter if you and Michael decided to visit Rome, Venice, or anywhere else in Italy just for the sake of visiting home but staying away from Sicily; the mafia families including the Ricci’s still had power stretching there legitimately.

Naturally, both you and Michael yearned to take a true honeymoon trip to Sicily and Sicily only. Even with the rest of the world as a choice to visit, you would have rather continued to postpone your honeymoon until you could safely visit Sicily again without having to worry about anything but how to spend quality time with your husband.

You’d very well have your honeymoon with Michael a little after your first anniversary together, somewhat defeating the purpose of a true honeymoon but with the threat of your lives and your family on the line, it was all very worth it with a legitimate reason to delay.

In Michael’s second marriage now come hell or high water he would never risk a slight chance of you being anywhere where there’s a notion of danger, even if you begged him to.

“Well,” you bit your lip, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m a little disappointed, but I understand.”

“I know, darling,” Michael raised his water glass to his lips, taking a sip. “I feel no different than you do.”

You brushed your fingers against the fabric of the window’s curtains and glanced over to Michael again. “They’ll know, won’t they?”

Michael’s eyes met with yours almost instantly; his expression appeared grim knowing you referred to the Ricci family, but with the Barzinis and Tattaglias to worry about as well.

“As they do,” Michael replied and set his glass down. “Does it bother you?”

“Not exactly,” you shook your head and faced the window—blushing as you felt Michael’s presence approach you from behind. “But it’s been on my mind again and again these past few weeks. I can’t shake it off.”

“And on mine,” Michael lovingly embraced you from behind and lightly pressed his chest against your back. “As much as I would like to degrade them to such, they’re not animal enough to disgrace a wedding, even without an invite.”

“They should know better,” you murmured under your breath.

“And they more than likely do,” Michael nodded and moved his hands down to your hips to tenderly caress them. “None of those men deserve further justifications, but above all, they’re curious about you, and just who you are.”

You placed your hands over Michael’s and gave them a soft squeeze as you remained quiet.

“If it’s about safety—” Michael began.

“I feel safe with you,” you told him as you turned around.

Michael’s eyes locked onto yours as he gave you a small nod; you swore to yourself for a moment that you could see a glimmer of a brief smile over his plush lips.

“I do,” you continued, “always. And as you can guess…” You blushed sheepishly, “I was thinking about our honeymoon too, and we can’t even go.”

“We will soon enough,” Michael rubbed up and down your arms gingerly. “When we are able to and when we can. You know it’s not something I want to put aside to forget or neglect.”

“I know, baby,” you smiled back shyly. “I believe you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Michael lowered his tone of voice and pressed a warm kiss over your forehead. “I promise I will. None of what our family is going through now will last. I personally guarantee it,” as Michael moved back from the kiss, he tilted your chin up to gaze directly into his eyes. “You’re my bride. You deserve that and all the more, do you understand?”

Blushing furiously and feeling a wave of butterflies rush to the pit of your stomach, you nodded at Michael before leaning up to give his lips a sweet kiss.

“I’ll wait until you say we can go,” you whispered against his lips as you wrapped an arm around Michael’s shoulders.

“Until then,” Michael murmured and closed off the distance between both of your bodies, ensnaring you in a deep kiss once more.

Michael’s changed lifestyle to a mafioso and your continued one as a mafiosa would never change. You both married one another knowing what your lives are and would continue to be, but also remaining unaltered.

You’re a lawyer, after all, and a skilled prosecutor with a name made for herself—reputation and all—in New York. Your career is more than something you see to corrupt and use for your “family business”, but is also a passion; something you want to continue doing until you feel ready to retire.

Michael was always impressed as to how you were able to find a passionate career that also benefited both sides of the family business.

Through being a lawyer, you also bonded well with Tom and had another fellow lawyer as a brother-in-law to bond with.

Regardless of whether you and Michael choose to have one child a fear down the line or four back to back, Michael has no intention of interfering in your career or keeping you from it; the same can be said for any of your other passions and hobbies.

You already know your maternity leave from work and raising an infant will take priority in your life which will result in a break from work, but you’ve accepted it and will make it happen.

Perhaps if you weren’t a mafiosa yourself from a powerful crime family, you would have fit the bill as a mafioso’s housewife better but Michael recognizes your true talents and abilities just as well as you know yourself.

Now married, you attend trials and continue with your cases at most three times a week. After all, you’ve always been careful in choosing which cases to get involved in while maintaining a flexible schedule for yourself.

You built a reputation with your prowess this far without Michael and his family’s influence, which begs the question of what Michael’s lifestyle has become after marrying you.

Michael is always working, even when he’s not. More than ever, Michael spends time with his father and brothers. Even when Michael is alone in his own office, he’s talking over the phone to his men or family and constantly keeping himself preoccupied until he’s with you.

Michael’s unwavering dedication to the family business, his loyalty, and his work ethic don’t bother you. As a matter of fact, it’s everything you expected from Michael and saw coming before you married him.

What you love about Michael’s work with the family business is that he can separate it and he will separate it very well from his personal life.

Michael does not mention anything related to his work when he’s with you regardless of how casual the circumstances or if your own curiosity arises since your family is also almost always involved.

You know then and only in those scenarios would you ask Michael a question if you had one and your family could not answer; you know your boundaries and where the line remains when asking Michael about his work.

To Michael, any mention of what he does and what he is outside of work is nothing but severely unpleasant and he would rather avoid it altogether; something you respect and agree with.

At dinner one evening, you saw Michael’s tension settled within him as he ate—sitting across from you in silence.

Michael sighed quietly and took a sip of his red wine before his eyes met yours; seeing curiosity spark in your expression.

“Ready to settle down, baby?” You asked with a soft smile.

“Something like that,” Michael nodded, continuing to eat his risotto.

“Everything alright with your father?” You asked and rose up from your seat to begin cleaning up.

“He’s fine,” Michael’s answers were dry and to the point on purpose. “We’re working on it.”

“Alright,” you gathered a pile of empty plates, brushing off crumbs upon the tablecloth next to Michael.

Only a split second later did you look back up at Michael and catch his eye—almost feeling embarrassed for asking but you neither see annoyance nor discomfort in Michael’s expression.

You understood Michael didn’t want to talk about this with you and you didn’t push it. You also knew last night he didn’t come home from his father’s estate until 2 AM, and you had no intention of bothering him about it now.

You’ve always had more than enough to do for yourself and for the home regardless of how long Michael worked in or out of the manor.

You’d have your own day to worry about; cleaning up after breakfast, prepping for lunch, tidying up the house, laundry if required, getting any other daily errands done, focusing on a bit of your own work projects, then relaxing with a good book or in front of the television with a glass of wine.

You could step out into the garden for some fresh air, pull weeds, water the lawn, go for a walk or a dip in the pool; you balance your work and life well and you’ve never felt neglected or lost without a sense of purpose.

The compatibility between you and Michael is like none other and the two of you have always recognized this; there is no lack of transparency or intimacy, and there is no elephant in the room blocking the two of you from bonding with one another.

You and Michael could and always will make it work.

When it came down to planning to start a family with each other, having children was brought up immediately between Michael and you; a crucial concept and the second step into a married life with one another.

Of course, the brief conversation that only consisted of asking one another if you wanted children when you and Michael had first met did not count as a real and insightful conversation, it did strike you that Michael was a mature and serious man, ready for fatherhood and expecting to start a family in the very near future.

Michael would not have minded waiting a year or two before having children, but he would personally not wish to delay it any further past that.

To Michael, it was as if he had an urgency of some kind to start a family but there was no reasoning behind it or pressure coming from anyone. Still, you came to appreciate how much Michael anticipated entering parenthood with you, regardless of his reasons.

Perhaps you did sense Michael’s urgency when he first met you and asked if you wanted to have children in the future, but you simply had brushed it off for all that it was—a simple question.

You were twenty-five years old when you met Michael, and you were the second youngest sibling in your family and the only daughter.

With your little brother Dante being fifteen years younger than you, you practically raised him alongside your brothers and because you came from an equally large extended family, you loved children for as long as you could remember.

Just as you and your brothers had grown up, you knew the importance of proper parenting and how love would mold a child’s life forever.

Michael believed children were the products of their parents’ discipline, love, and behavior, saying, “If adults can bring out the worst in each other, they can do the same for children”.

Michael himself was twenty-nine when he met you and neither of you had objections of any kind to starting a family immediately after getting married.

Coming from the families and reputations you both grew up in and had, things such as time and money would simply not be an issue for you and Michael.

It was more of a matter of readiness and active parenting heavily required from both of you equally, not just yours as the mother.

You also knew Michael would be a stricter parent than you, but this did not imply anything harsh or along the lines of cruelty whatsoever.

Michael is not the type of man to ever raise a hand against a child or even raise his voice; calm, and collected, and with thorough explanation comes discipline and understanding. Michael knows how a child’s mind copes and works.

You are most definitely not the kind of parent to yell, threaten, let alone glare at children to have them respect or tolerate your fear let alone beat a child.

Neither Michael nor you ever faced such things growing up, but you both saw your fair share growing up with other children at school and in the neighborhood who did not have the same childhood as you two did.

Any type of abuse or psychological manipulation was a severe hard line; it was something you and Michael would never subject any child to, ever.

From being the only big sister to your little brother Dante, you knew there were a million ways around teaching and disciplining children without being physically, psychologically, or verbally abusive—even to children who have behavior issues.

You and Michael had been stressing to yourselves subconsciously the need to be nothing but good, loving parents teaching your future children manners and discipline early on without fear of repercussions or pain, but simply just to learn and understand.

Just a week ago you walked down the aisle and faced your lover—for the last time only as a lover before becoming Michael’s wife, wedded as Mrs. Corleone.

Now as you gazed at yourself in the mirror, the role of Michael Corleone’s wife had already truly embedded in you; seeing your husband clasping a new diamond necklace around your neck gently.

You blushed as you caught Michael’s eye in the mirror, placing a hand over your necklace carefully.

Michael admired the glistening diamonds over your neck; his eyes adoring the very shape of your collarbones before he leaned toward your shoulder and planted a soft kiss over it.

With a bit of arousal having flared up in you, you shivered from Michael’s warm touch as he let his hands linger around the back of your neck before he placed them on your hips.

“Mm,” your eyes fluttered shut as you took in the brief moment, feeling Michael’s breath over the side of your neck.

Michael’s hands slowly made their way over to your stomach where he rubbed tenderly, watching as your body language submitted to how good he was already making you feel.

“Are you late?” Michael murmured over your shoulder.

Butterflies churned in your stomach and blush stung your cheeks at the very question. “I think it’s still too soon to tell, baby.”

“Mm,” Michael nodded and began to massage your sides.

“Why do you ask?” You slowly opened your eyes and spoke to him in a soft, ushered tone. “Do you suspect I am?”

“Perhaps,” Michael answered, “I want to be the first to know.”

You cracked a shy smile, “and you will be without a doubt.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Michael took your hands in his, turning you around to face him directly before he pulled you into his embrace. “Although you never did tell me how many you wanted.”

“I can tell you now,” you rested your head over Michael’s chest and nodded. “Four little ones… That would be something.”

“Mhmm,” Michael kissed the top of your head. “A topic better suited for the future after we have our first.”

“Boy or girl?” You grinned and looked up at your husband.

“Doesn’t matter,” Michael told you. “But ultimately a son somewhere down the line to succeed our family.”

‘Of course.’ You knew it must have been the same with Michael’s father as it was with yours; one son at the very least to carry the family’s legacy under his name. ‘Understandable.’

“If you’re not…” Michael’s hands touched your hips again; his eyes beckoning to you. “Then we can try again.”

“And again?” You teased back, giggling. “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” Michael murmured and pulled your hips into his.

“As many times as we need to, hmm?” Your breath hitched as you bit down on your lip.

“As many times as you want to,” Michael corrected before he sealed a kiss over your lips.

The intimacy and love continuing to blossom between you and Michael unfolded in feverish desire and yearning. Like the beginning of an eternal and dangerous addiction, neither of you could get enough of the other.

Michael knew your love language was physical affection and words of affirmation just as you knew he was spending quality time with you and touching.

Michael couldn’t care less for material gifts and preferred experiences above all, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t care, enjoy, or appreciate either.

“Ah…” A breathy moan escaped your lips as your hand clutched over Michael’s back; feeling his firm, flexing muscle as Michael remained leaning down and hovering over your naked body.

Between the sounds of Michael’s lips leaving a trail of hot kisses over your neck, you heard his breathing hitching as his throbbing erection pressed against your stomach.

Barely a week into your marriage and filled to the brim with insatiable love and desire, Michael was unable to get enough of his new bride and her beauty.

“Ohhh…”

Inhaling deeply, Michael took in your scent as he nuzzled your neck; now glowing pink with the love marks he left behind as you had let your free hand roam through Michael’s tousled hair.

“Look at me,” Michael whispered against your lips as he grazed his thumb over your mouth, parting your bottom lip. “Look at me when I make love to you.”

‘Oh God, yes…’

The first three months of marriage may as well have been a fever dream for both of you.

Of course, none would be surprised at the sudden stamina the new bride and groom have for one another although some teasing and a dirty joke here and there would be in order, but if it wasn’t a night out or quality time spent with the family, Michael and you were doing nothing else but getting lost in one another again and again.

You’d lay in bed naked with the blankets barely covering yourself as you’d watch Michael strip down right in front of you before approaching you on the bed, and Michael enjoyed every second of undressing you himself with his own hands; the way the curves of your hips and fullness of your thighs felt against his hand as your skin was hot to the touch, brimming with passion and your body begging for pleasure was nothing short of ecstasy to Michael.

With your bodies intertwined with one another, you could practically feel Michael’s heart racing against yours; nothing but toe-curling, eye-rolling, intense orgasms, and memorizing every part of each other’s bodies filled your evenings for days to come.

You woke an urge tailored to your pleasure inside of Michael he could not ignore. Even after a night of ecstasy, if you approached him half-naked in the living room and begged Michael to fuck you again, he wouldn’t say no.

You straddled Michael’s lap and let your lace panties slip off your ankles as you felt the smooth, Italian silk fabric of Michael’s suit brush against your bare skin.

On his lap, you let out a whimpering moan as you pressed your hips against his and ran your hands up Michael’s half-unbuttoned dress shirt; his chest hair brushing past your fingers as you clutched onto his shoulders.

Michael leaned his back against his seat comfortably; his hands ran from your calves to your upper thighs before he cupped your ass and gave it a greedy squeeze.

Michael’s eyes expectantly looked at you. “You play the innocent, sweet role well…”

“Mm—” You whimpered as you pressed your lips against Michael’s neck from him giving your ass another harsh squeeze.

“But I see right through it,” Michael whispered to you—his tone low and husky.

“I…” You breathed shakily against Michael’s skin before planting a deep kiss over it; your free hand roamed through his black, silky hair.

You heard a barely audible, soft moan escape Michael’s lips which only intensified the feverish arousal coursing through your veins as you continued to hungrily kiss up and around Michael’s neck.

Michael wrapped one arm around your waist and kept his hand over your ass; his eyes half remained half-opened as he let you get lost within him, taking and getting everything you want.

Your kisses grew wet, hot, and sloppy around Michael’s jawline as you moaned through them yourself; severely aroused to the point where you thought your wetness pooling over the fabric of your panties was soaking through Michael’s trousers.

“Mine…” You cupped Michael’s cheek and turned his face to look him in the eye directly. “All mine…”

“Yours,” Michael said back before his lips sealed over yours in a crushing, needy kiss.

Your pussy throbbed from arousal over Michael’s knee; it practically had a heartbeat of its own from how horny you were feeling towards your husband—so much so that it was almost criminal.

“Look at you,” As Michael pulled away from the kiss, he gripped your throat with his free hand and let his thumb trace the outline of your bottom lip. “Can’t get your hands off of me.”

“You’re mine,” you panted back and took Michael by pleasant surprise as you licked his thumb. “

“That’s right, baby,” Michael murmured before pulling you back to him by your throat to give you another wet, rough kiss over the mouth.

As you fully straddled Michael’s lap and began to slowly grind your hips, gyrating them against Michael’s pulsating erection, Michael let his hands slip up through your skirt and play with the band of your panties.

Lost in insistent, passionate kisses, Michael pulled at your panties only to let it snap back against your skin as you were distracted between his lips.

Michael let his fingers go further, parting your dewy pussy lips to spread your wetness with one hand while squeezing your breast and massaging your nipple with his fingers on the other.

Aside from such fiery, mutual infatuation and lust, there was more; there was and always will be more.

The love between you and Michael blossomed so naturally that it could never feel forced like it was some sort of obligation that had to be fulfilled.

In public, despite the two of you being not so fond of blatant displays of affection, held hands or had Michael wrap an arm over your waist in casual but adoring affection you craved and yearned for always.

Just one touch from Michael—let alone his presence—was more than enough for you. It did nothing but thrill you all the more knowing this man is yours and you’re his; you’ll have all of Michael whenever you want and however you want.

Distance makes your heart grow fonder when Michael’s away on his business trips or doesn’t come home for a night. You’ve never felt insecurity, unsafe, or any sort of lingering sadness about Michael’s consistent absences to begin with.

Even at the end of a long night with little time to yourselves to follow another eventful one, you’d have just the same satisfaction in Michael’s embrace without the sexual intimacy.

Some of your most loving, romantic nights with Michael were the two of you skin-to-skin on the rooftop, naked and exchanging soft kisses as Michael smoked a cigarette.

Saying, “Yes, I do” and signing your marriage papers, your legal name became Victoria Ferrari Corleone; a unique love and lover to Michael in the sense that Michael could never treat you the way he treated Apollonia or Kay, but exponentially more protective, loving, and open to you in all aspects.

Your compatibility with Michael only resulted in him being all the more open with you; not feeling obligated to because you’ll get upset or ask, but because Michael wishes to—because he wants to.

There’s simply no entitlement; only love and caring. You could not describe your marriage to Michael Corleone in any other way.

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