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yinyuedijun · 5 months ago

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TOKYO VICE | part 2

“Do you remember,” Suo begins, voice light, “how our master always talked about how important it is to engage with each other’s feelings?” You tense. “No,” you blurt out, and Suo laughs. “Of course not,” he plays along. “You were always so terrible at it. But I've been doing a bad job too, lately. So”—he reaches beneath your dress, hooks your thong with his fingers and starts pulling the fabric down your sticky thighs—“I wanted to have an honest conversation with you.” (Or: Tired of your lies and self-deception, Suo takes matters into his own hands and forces the truth out of you.)

12.8k words. suo x fem reader. deeply unserious yakuza au ft. yandere suo. mostly unrepentant smut, comedy, angst. warnings: sex work. nsft tags: afab reader, emotional sex, fingering, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, pussyjob, just the tip, creampie. suo is mean and makes you cry but there's no degradation, he's just a bastard lol. he also manhandles you a lot and you sit in his lap. dividers by @/cafekitsune!

part 1 here

You're surprised at Suo’s indifference to your sex life.

A month has gone by, and he’s made no comment on your habit of sleeping with customers, nor on the hours during which you come home—which are now even later than usual, since you have express permission to sleep with people and have no need to rush back to the penthouse after your ‘appointments’. And it isn't as if he's ignoring the reality of your late nights either. In a stunning show of respect for your personal freedom, he now actively offers to arrange for someone to pick you up from whichever love hotel you'll end up at. (You always decline, of course—if you're going to pretend to be his wife, you'd rather pretend to be a faithful one.)

Ironically, you had initially thought that Suo’s approval wouldn't matter either way. You had found the sex with your clients to be so uninspiring that it made you miss celibacy, so you were planning on stopping. But it turned out that you were deeply affected by the experience of sitting in Suo’s lap as he talked about his expectation of deciding whose cocks you should be allowed to take. It did something horrible to your sex drive, and thus you turned to work as your only outlet.

You spent around three weeks desperately trying to find a customer to satisfy your urges—or at the very least, to fuck you in a way that could get you to stop thinking of Suo whenever you got even a little horny. You were faced with utter failure in this pursuit, and in the end, bleakly resigned yourself to the reality that your shameful attraction to your best friend is incurable. You’ve now given up on the love hotel visits and simply take care of your needs with a vibrator instead. At least this way, you can actually say Suo’s name while you cum, rather than constantly reminding yourself to say your customer’s name instead.

The freedom of letting yourself fantasise about Suo has been exhilarating, but terrible for your friendship. It’s just difficult to sit across from him at breakfast and act like you haven't touched yourself at the table while he was gone, fantasising about what it would be like if he bent you over it and fucked you dumb. But you are a decent actor—hostessing demands that of you—so you don't think Suo has caught onto your carnal desires for him. Hopefully, he never will.

Another couple of weeks pass like this. Things are so calm that you come to believe that Suo is genuinely fine with you having some degree of sexual freedom, at least at work. This, however, turns out to be nothing short of naïvete.

After all, Suo is never forceful when he's upset with your decisions—but he also never fails to redirect them.

One spring evening, you show up at the kyabakura and are told that you’re only to see one customer tonight, and that it will be a private session.

“But we don't do private sessions here,” you say, blissfully unaware of your imminent suffering, “and we don't even have private rooms at this establishment.”

To this, your mamasan responds that the club is making an exception for this one guest, and that this guest has rented out the rooftop bar just to see you. When you ask just who this person might be, a look of mild panic flashes through her eyes. She grabs you by the shoulders and tells you to be careful. Just keep him happy and go home after, okay? she says. Don't go out for drinks, and definitely don't go to any love hotels. Don’t tell him your real name at any cost. You don't want to involve yourself with a man like him.

A sense of dread fills you as you step into the elevator.

A cool breeze greets you when you step onto the rooftop patio. Normally bustling with a raucous crowd, it almost feels eerie in its emptiness. Aside from the glow of the red light district beneath you and the city skyline in the distance, the only light is coming from the candles lighting one of the booths.

Your anxiety intensifies as you approach it.

You aren't very surprised at the sight of Suo lounging on a leather couch, dressed in full criminal regalia—infamous eyepatch, tassel earrings, and all. Sakura once mentioned that this club is connected to some colour gang, so you figure that the manager likely recognized Gui Yanzhao on sight. He probably suffered a minor angina when he did. The mamasan herself has no criminal ties to your knowledge, but she was probably informed that one of her girls was to entertain a high-profile yakuza, and she was likely worried that you'd been maimed in the process. Gui Yanzhao has a bit of a reputation for being a sadist, after all.

While you appreciate her concern, it is not Suo’s history of violence that scares you, but his history of antagonising you. On good days, there's nothing that delights him more than seeing you flustered or off-kilter. On bad days, there’s nothing that consoles him like spiteful retaliation against whomever's managed to piss him off—and you have, without a doubt, managed to piss him off.

You groan as soon as you see him, fearing the worst for your mental health.

“What are you doing here,” you say, and Suo smiles.

“Oh? You're not happy to see me?”

“No,” you moan. “How are you even here right now? Aren't you worried about being assassinated or something? Who did you terrorise to get an entire rooftop bar to yourself?”

“I have a very cordial relationship with all the major organisations on Keisei Street and was promised immunity during my visit tonight,” Suo says neatly. “And I didn't terrorise anyone. I simply walked into this fine establishment and politely asked for a private space to enjoy with my preferred hostess.”

Neither of you need to mention that the sight of the tassel earrings alone would be enough to terrorise someone. The manager probably felt like he was being extorted just from being on the receiving end of Suo’s smile. Actually, you currently feel like you're being extorted too.

You spend a good few moments giving him a look of open distress, to which he smiles.

“You know,” he says, “for a top-ranking hostess, you're not showing much hospitality right now.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

You force yourself to stop, remembering that you are, in fact, at work. Despite your mixed feelings about your industry, at the end of the day, you pride yourself on your work ethic. You take your job very seriously, and your job right now is to entertain your customer—even if said customer is your fake yakuza husband who is toying with you as a cat would a mouse.

Resigning yourself to a night of probable humiliation (one of Suo's greatest passions in addition to lying for comedy), you walk over to sit yourself next to him. And just like in Red Dragon’s lounge, Suo overturns the decision by pulling you into his lap. Your eyes go wide as he settles you on top of him—because unlike the intimate space of that crime scene, this is expressly forbidden behaviour at your club.

Also, unlike that other night, you are currently wearing the shortest dress imaginable and the tiniest thong you own.

You find yourself shivering as Suo's hand settles on your lower back, which is fully exposed thanks to the cut of your dress. You try not to focus on the calloused press of his fingers against your bare skin, but this is an exceedingly difficult endeavour, as his touch has been featured in your sexual fantasies for the past several weeks. Worse yet—your dress is now riding up your ass, and your thong isn't doing much to cover you. Whatever material his pants are made of—light, delicate—feels incredibly good against your thighs too.

If this continues, you might cum on the spot.

“Wait,” you say, and Suo raises a brow.

“Oh?”

“You aren't supposed to touch the hostesses here.”

He smiles. “I'm sure this place might be able to make an exception for me. But only if you are personally willing to, of course.”

“...”

Making an exception for him, in your current situation, would be among the worst decisions you've ever made. But after two of the most sexually frustrating months of your life, you’re ready to make horrible decisions.

“Fine,” you say. “But you better not cheap out on the drinks. The mamasan will only overlook this if you make it worth our while.”

“Of course,” Suo says. “Though I think she’d overlook a lot of things for me regardless.”

Suo makes good on his promise and orders a great deal of alcohol. All top shelf, of course. He laughs that his goal is to bring you to the number 1 ranking with his patronage alone tonight. It’s a hideous display of wealth.

As you pour him an absurdly expensive drink (a Hibiki 30 year-old blended whiskey), you reminisce on how little money you both used to have as teens. He had to be so careful with his wallet whenever he felt like visiting you—or rather, checking in on you—at work. Especially after your master passed. The two of you were very good about staying financially independent, but there was something comforting about your master’s promise to support you if anything ever happened.

With him gone, you and Suo had only financial paranoia and each other.

You guess that might have affected Suo more than you thought. Perhaps he didn't join the yakuza to spite you, but to support you. Certainly, he seems to enjoy spoiling you right now—treating you to drinks that would easily clear a year of his salary as a teen, buying out an entire night of your time at a high end club, renting out a whole floor just so that he can have you to himself. When you point out that his tab must be getting catastrophic, he only laughs.

“I did always say that I wanted to spend money on you,” he recalls. It had been a running joke during your days at the girls’ bar, when you scolded him for paying 3000¥ per hour just to visit you. You hated that he was wasting money on the red light district; he always replied that it wasn't a waste, because it was money spent to see you.

You feel your stomach flutter at the comment. You didn't think he'd remember words from so long ago. As a teenager, you had a tendency of clinging onto small, inconsequential moments with him because they brought you so much joy. You’ve always assumed he would have forgotten them, writing them off as instances of shallow teasing—but if he remembers, then surely they meant something to him too?

This would all make you feel sentimental if you weren't outrageously horny.

Suo has kept you on his lap the whole evening, even as you pour him drinks. Every movement to serve him has you involuntarily rubbing on his thigh, and you're quite certain at this point that he's been lifting your skirt up inch by inch with every casual touch on your waist. You don't bother accusing him of it, though. He'd just give you an innocent look and say that it was an accident. What a horrible man.

Accident or not though, it doesn't change the fact that your nearly bare cunt is pressed right against him. You keep trying to shift positions to pull down your skirt or lift yourself off him, but each attempt only makes it worse—brings the soft fabric of his pants right against your pussy, or makes your clit drag against his thigh, with only your thong separating your bodies. You try to suppress your arousal, but to your overwhelming horror, you can't seem to control yourself. You feel yourself getting wet, folds quickly becoming slick as you’re forced to grind on him. Your body, already warm from all the cocktails and shots, grows even hotter as you squirm on his lap.

In a desperate move to regain some control, you fully get up to reach for another drink. But then you feel a pair of hands on your waist, and Suo pulls you back onto his leg—this time forcing you to straddle it. You can't help the whimper that leaves you as your dripping cunt is spread and pressed against him, your clit throbbing against his thigh.

You pray that he doesn't notice the noise, so of course he does.

“Hm? Is something wrong?” Suo’s hand drifts over your waist and down to your thigh, where it ghosts over your bare skin. He leans in, and his voice is silky as he speaks into your ear: “You're moving around a lot. Do you need to get up?”

He’s giving you an out. It's quite considerate of him, as staying like this would not be a good decision. But for better or worse, you have a tendency to make bad ones.

“...no, I'm fine.”

“Good,” he says. “Let me know if you’re uncomfortable at all. I'm happy to move if you'd like.”

As if demonstrating, Suo shifts the leg you're sitting on, directly rubbing it against your core. You try not to shudder, feeling yourself get even wetter, clenching around nothing.

Trying to ignore how empty you are, you grasp for other topics of conversation, something to distract you. A little scrambled from the alcohol and catastrophically aroused, you of course land on the one that's been making your sex drive unmanageable.

“Remember a month ago,” you say, “how you talked about choosing who gets to touch me?”

“Yes.” His palm is warm against your thigh. He isn't moving it, so there's plausible deniability, but the amused tone of his voice suggests that he knows what he's doing. “Does that bother you?”

Of course it should bother you. It's a level of control that's appalling even to your anxiously-attached ass. But it’s also making you wetter right now. You try not to cry—from misery or sexual frustration, you're not sure.

“Well, yeah. Come on, Suo—even you should know that's really weird of you.”

“I do,” he says, smiling like he isn't admitting to deranged behaviour. “But how else am I supposed to know you're safe? Or even aside from being safe—if your needs are being met.” His hand runs up and down your thigh before settling at the hem of your dress. “I wouldn't want you to go unsatisfied. Who knows what kind of people you'd seek out if that happened.”

You actively stop yourself from putting your face in your hands. The gall of him saying this after forcing you into extended celibacy is beyond words, especially as you're being forced to rub up on him, effectively ruining every attempt you've made not to think about him sexually for the past several years. There are many materially consequential reasons for your decision to not fuck Suo—you should not be soaked through your panties, your thighs sticky with need, as you sit on his lap.

“That's,” you say lamely, “not very normal of you.” Trying for a less sensual conversation, you go for the reliable topic Sakura’s romance radar: “Also, if satisfaction was your concern, why did you choose Sakura? I love that guy a lot, but he has literally no experience. And I think he'd blue-screen trying to keep a friend with benefits. You know he can't handle a fuckbuddy.”

You are not trying to be mean. What Sakura objectively needs for his first time is someone sweet and emotionally competent and, most importantly, not an absolute freak like you. This is a failure of your character, not his.

You can hear Suo’s smile in his reply: “I don't think you're giving him enough credit.”

“He has the social skills of a feral cat.”

Suo genuinely laughs. “Sure, when he first came to Makochi. But he's much better now. Plus, you have no room to talk. I mean”—his breath sweeps over your ear—“you used to be pretty wild yourself. I've just domesticated you is all… though you've been misbehaving lately.”

His words do something horrible to you. Trying to distract yourself from the mounting sexual tension, you turn to him to give him a biting retort, but you're abruptly stopped by the look in his eye. Distinctly hungry and unrepentant in its desire, his gaze roams openly and shamelessly along the curves of your body.

You feel like you're being eaten alive.

Plenty of customers have looked at you in such a way when you wear this outfit, but none have had this effect on you—which is to say, making you clench immediately.

You try not to cry. You actually will cum on the spot at this rate, and you don't think you could be subtle about it. You're barely keeping it together right now, with how your pussy keeps fluttering and dripping. Coupled with the way that the alcohol is melting the edges of your self-control, you're shocked you haven't at least moaned yet.

In a last ditch effort to save your friendship, as well as your rental (house arrest) situation, you slap a hand over his mouth.

“Stop that.”

Suo laughs. He grabs your wrist, lifts your palm away. “Why?”

Why? Because if you keep talking like that, I'll bend over and start begging you to fuck me! you think. But even in your inebriated, horny state, it feels like a poor idea to admit this aloud. You end up saying, “Hostesses aren't paid to flirt like this. Strictly speaking, we’re paid to be conversational partners.” You frown at him. “You're breaking a lot of club rules right now.”

This reprimand backfires on you, as you are suddenly filled with intrusive thoughts of breaking every single rule in this establishment with Suo, including the ones preventing you from climbing on top of him and riding him raw. You squirm at the thought, wishing you could close your legs rather than making a mess of your underwear (now a lost cause), but Suo’s grip stays firm on your waist.

He, himself, is unbothered by your scolding. “Okay,” he says simply. “Then I won't speak to you as a hostess. I want to speak to you, seriously, as a friend.”

His smile is so disarming, it makes you nervous. But he sounds earnest enough for you to be curious, and anyway, you're desperate for something to distract you from your wet cunt.

“Alright,” you acquiesce, “What do you have to say, as a friend?”

“I just have one question.”

“Sure. Shoot.”

His hand comes to rest in your thigh again. He leans in, breath so hot against your ear that your heart jumps.

“I can accept that you wanted to see customers just to satisfy your urges. But tell me why you didn't come to me first.”

You freeze up. Look at him, wide-eyed.

“Wh-what?”

Suo just smiles. Looks so fucking innocent you wonder if you misheard, but his voice is sharp when he replies: “Let me put it another way. Why have we never slept together?”

For some reason, you’ve never thought that he'd ask you this question point blank, even though you've asked it to yourself many times. It takes you several moments to piece together a response, during which Suo’s expression turns distinctly wicked. A sign that he smells blood.

“Why would you think we would have?” you ask carefully.

“Because we’ve both clearly thought about it. You especially.”

You try to keep a straight face. “No I haven't. I don't know what you're talking about.” You raise a brow. “How would you even know?”

“Because,” he says, hand inching up your thigh, “you’re so wet that I can feel it.”

You're mortified.

Shame floods your body, first because of the accusation, and then because you know it's true. You were tipsy enough not to think about this, but now—sobering up from sheer panic— you're acutely aware of how you've soaked through the fabric beneath you. Something that Suo had certainly known, and chose to encourage.

What a horrible man.

When you don't reply, he tilts his head. “Don't tell me you haven't noticed. Do you want me to show you?”

His hand is moving so slowly, you know he's giving you another out. You could easily get off his lap. You could even slap him and call him a sleazy drunk and grouse at him to go home. You could forgive him in the morning for coming onto you and say he'd obviously made an inebriated mistake, as opposed to a very calculated decision. Your friendship would stay mostly intact. His grip on you might tighten, but that would be fine. You would still get to stay with him.

And that's all you've ever wanted. Just to stay with him.

But you're so wet, so empty, so aching. You want to be touched. You want to be touched by Suo, and only by Suo. You want to be fucked by him, to be owned by him, to be ruined by him. You’ve wanted it so badly and so long that you can't even remember when it started—only that you want it to end.

So instead of moving away, you sit there and endure the humiliation of getting your cunt inspected by him.

Suo hums as he opens your legs. You suppress a whimper as a finger moves along your folds, at the noise it makes as it runs through your slick. “Look, you’re so wet,” he murmurs into your ear. He finds your clit—swollen, neglected, and you whimper as he starts to draw slow, lazy circles around it. “Poor thing.”

“It’s only because you had me grinding on you the whole night,” you say through gritted teeth. “It doesn't—ngh—doesn’t mean I’ve been wanting to fuck you.”

You sound pissed enough that you'd convince anyone else, but you know, even without seeing his face, that Suo can tell you're bullshitting.

“You’re not a good liar,” he remarks. A fine teacher even when humiliating people, Suo can't help but add, “If you have to tell a lie, at least come up with a believable one.”

“What makes it unbelievable?” you reply, words clipped off by a sharp inhale as he starts rubbing your pussy.

“Well,” he starts nonchalantly, as if he isn't toying with your cunt, “after you were targeted in that succession conflict, I put hidden cameras in the area, and also in our suite.”

Your eyes go wide. Even in your aroused state, the implications are making you panic. “You—you what?”

“It was for security purposes,” he dismisses casually, as if he's not admitting to a serious invasion of privacy. “Only near the front door and the common areas. I just wanted to catch intruders and any suspicious behaviour from my men. But imagine my surprise”—you feel his fingers start to press into your cunt—“when I instead caught you fucking yourself on the couch and moaning my name.”

You’re mortified. Humiliated. Mind racing with every instance you were horny and stupid enough to touch yourself in a common space. You think about yelling at him about the cameras, but then you feel two fingers sinking into you, and now you aren't thinking about much at all.

Your mind goes blank as you're stretched open by him. Your cunt is so wet, so empty, but the feeling still makes you whine. Your brow furrows, and you give him a pleading look. Slowly, please.

“Don't worry,” he says in a soothing tone, “I know you can handle this. I've seen you take much bigger. Though”—he shifts, pulls you so you're in between his legs, and now you can feel the length of him against you, hard and aching and huge, what the fuck—“maybe not big enough.”

You tighten around his fingers as he grinds against you. You want him inside you so badly, it hurts. Suo laughs when he feels your desperation, and he sounds so amused that you can't help but feel ashamed. But even more than shame, you feel aroused. You take the rest of his fingers easily, down to the knuckle.

“What the fuck, Suo,” you eventually manage through your panting, though not with much bite. “You weren't—ahh—meant to see any of that.”

“Sorry,” he says, sounding deeply unapologetic. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn't watch much, and I deleted all of it. I didn't need to see that to know you have feelings for me.”

You tense. “What feelings?” you ask, and Suo stops. He pulls his fingers out of you—you breathe sharply at the loss—and manhandles you until you're straddling his lap. Forces you to look at him, into his one eye. It's knife-sharp, brutal, but familiar. You don't struggle, nor do you feel uneasy.

But you do feel like prey.

“Do you remember,” he begins, voice light, “how our master always talked about how important it is to engage with each other’s feelings?”

Fuck.

“No,” you blurt out, and Suo laughs.

“Of course not,” he plays along. “You were always so terrible at it. But I've been doing a bad job too, lately. So”—he reaches beneath your dress, hooks your thong with his fingers—“I wanted to have an honest conversation with you.”

He smiles at you. Actually looks kind and even sounds earnest. What a fucking sociopath. You allow him to slide your underwear down your legs, kicking them off. Now your pussy is completely bare to him, and you can hear the way his breath stops as he touches it again. Three of his fingers push in this time, and you pant openly at the stretch, leaning against him as your body trembles from the stretch. He flexes his fingers experimentally, watching your reactions—your whimpers, your sighs, the way your eyelashes flutter when he brushes that one spot inside you.

“I’ve always had feelings for you,” he starts, using that nonchalant, delicate tone—the specific one that suggests danger, “and I know you’re too smart to have missed that. I’d be fine with it if you didn't return them, but you do.”

“I don't,” you protest, and then his fingers curl and press into your g-spot. You're cut off immediately, gasping at the sudden wave of heat in your belly.

A hand comes up to your chin. He forces you to look at him. “I said I wanted to have an honest conversation, remember.”

“I–I am being honest, I—” Your voice breaks as he starts pumping his fingers. It's slow, gentle, but precise. Tension builds in you at an alarming rate, your thighs getting as slick and messy as his hand. You bury your face into the crook of his shoulder, breathe in his cologne and gasp into his skin, and your mind goes hazy from the euphoria of his touch. Sure, you've hugged Suo before, been held by him before, and god knows you've been touched like this by a ton of other people before—but it feels different now. It feels different when it's Suo who's touching you, different when you’re this close to him while he's drawing all this pleasure out of you. When one hand feels so good inside you and the other one is holding you so intimately.

“Suo,” you whimper, overwhelmed by hot tension in your belly, “I-I’m close, I’m close, oh fuck—

He stops.

Before you can comprehend what's happening, he’s withdrawing his fingers, and all the heat in you is melting away. Your orgasm lost, you come down from your high—nerves frayed, emotions taut.

“Suo,” you say, “what the fuck?”

He gives you a smile. It almost looks nice. “I'm not letting you cum until you tell me the truth.”

You’re going to cry.

You're so wet, so empty, so desperate, and now you feel oddly afraid. You don't like the way he's staring you down. You don't like this line of questioning, this bullshit of engaging with other people's feelings. You’ve never liked it. But you need—need—him to fuck you. You need his fingers inside you and you need to cry into his neck while you finish.

You say, very quietly, “Please, Suo.”

“Please, what?”

It's funny. You've performed begging and crying and submission for countless clients, sometimes during annoyingly rough sessions. You've done it for years. But nothing has ever felt so humiliating as this moment, when you ask your best friend, in the smallest voice possible, “Please touch me.”

“No. Not until you start being honest with me.”

Suo's mouth curls at the devastated look you give him. You hardly even notice that he's adjusting you, having you straddle his thigh again—this time, facing him. You don't register it until your cunt is pressed into the wet spot you left earlier and he's saying, “You can move if you'd like. But I'm not touching you.”

“You’re fucking horrible,” you say with all your heart, but your pussy is throbbing and you're desperate for release. So you finally do what you were desperately trying to stop yourself from doing the whole night—you start grinding on him. Like a fucking animal in heat. It's embarrassing, especially because his leg feels so good against you. The friction on your pussy makes you pant, your eyes squeezing shut as your clit finally gets some pressure. It makes up for the way he’s looking at you, which is sly, handsome, and rage-inducing all at once.

“You really do need to be touched,” he remarks softly. “You said your customers satisfied you. Was that true? Did they properly fuck you?”

“N-no,” you gasp. Your mind feels so cottony now that you're getting some relief. You can barely think, and definitely not enough to lie. “It was—it was—fuck, I never came.”

He hums, satisfied. “There—see? Telling the truth isn't so hard. You can do it again.”

He sounds so condescending. You would ordinarily hate it, but for some reason, it's going straight to your pussy right now, making you drip so much you know you've ruined his pants. You’re getting close, too, just by rubbing yourself on his leg. It doesn't feel quite as good as when his fingers were in you, but it’s something. And it’s making it hard to focus on what he's saying.

“It’s fine if you can't be honest about your feelings,” Suo continues. “Let's assume you're telling the truth, and all you want to do is fuck me. Why haven't you?”

You try to answer him, but you can't. You're too focused on the roll of your hips against his leg. There's too much tension, too much heat. You melt against him again, breathing heavily into his shoulder as you tighten around nothing. His hands come to your waist, as if grounding you, and somehow this makes everything feel even better. You start panting, babbling, I'm close, I'm getting close, Suo, Suo—

His grip tightens, and he stops you in place. You cry in frustration—no tears, but the noise you make is broken.

“Answer my question,” he says. You feel a hand glide along your bare skin, stopping at your inner thigh. “Answer me and I'll touch you.”

“Okay,” you say, as desperate as you are distressed. “Okay, I'll do anything. Anything.”

“Good.” He sounds so pleased.

You put your arms around his neck, for no reason other than you want to. Lifting your hips, you part your legs for him, and you feel so relieved at just the touch of his hand that you sigh—even though all he's doing is running a finger along your slick folds.

You shudder as his fingers play with your sex. Lean your head on his shoulder as he starts to move. You’re so desperate that you start grinding against his hand, whining for him.

“Well, then,” he murmurs. “Tell me why you didn't come to me. This is all you wanted, isn't it?” He rolls your clit between two fingers, making you squirm. “Just to get off, right? I could have done that. You'd have enjoyed it more.”

“It”—your eyelids flutter shut—“it would have been too complicated. Y-you’re my boss, and I pay rent to y-you, and we’ve been friends for so long, I didn't want to make it weird—”

Suo delivers a sharp slap to your pussy.

The contact is so sudden that you yelp. It only stings a little, but it makes your clit ache. The noise it makes is so wet, so filthy, telling of your desperation. And to your shame—even though you have never once in your life enjoyed being handled roughly by your customers—your cunt starts leaking in response.

You whimper, about to burst from frustration. You need to be touched so bad. You need to be touched by him so bad, and you need to cum on his cock or else you'll lose your fucking mind.

“Suo,” you complain, or beg, and you don't even realise that you're tearing up until he swipes his thumb under your eye.

“Try again,” he says gently, but not kindly. “The truth this time, and then I'll make you cum. Why didn't you come to me first? These past few months, or any other time?”

You don't answer him. “Suo, please—” And he moves back so that you're no longer leaning against him. Your lip trembles at the loss of the warmth, which somehow feels worse than the loss of your orgasm. An actual tear rolls down your cheek, and he doesn't wipe this one away.

“Answer me,” he says firmly. Instead of replying, you try to reach for him—wanting to be pressed against his body again, wanting him to draw pleasure out of yours again—but he stills you with his hands.

You feel devastated.

Out of horny, emotional desperation, and an all-consuming need to be fucked, you admit, “I was just scared!”

This is the worst mistake you've ever made.

The minute the words dislodge from your throat, you feel yourself choke up. You don't know why. All you know is that you suddenly can't hold back your tears from your sexual frustration, which for some reason is starting to feel distinctly like a non-sexual kind of angst, which is also strangely painful for your chest.

Because now that you've said it out loud, you can't ignore it.

You want to hide. You want to crawl out of his lap and run out of the establishment. Surely, the mamasan will forgive you for leaving a shift with such a frightening and horrible man, who is currently trying to extort your feelings out of you. But Suo’s grip is solid and unforgiving on you, and all you can do is squirm.

“Scared of what?” Suo asks. His voice has gone soft. Actually soft—not in a way that suggests danger, but a way that suggests you're loved. It makes you tremble.

His arms circle you, and one rubs at your back. It makes you relax very slightly. Or at the very least, it makes you stop wanting to bolt.

“What were you scared of?” he prompts again.

A feeling of defeat washes over you. Suo will figure you out sooner or later. He always does. So you tell him, very quietly, “I was scared that—that you'd leave me.”

You realise that you just stuttered. You stuttered because you're crying. You're actually, genuinely crying. Not from sexual frustration, but because you're just frustrated in general. And miserable. You've been chronically miserable for most of your life, and that misery has had nowhere to go until now.

You press your face into Suo’s shoulder, and he lets you. You breathe deeply in an attempt to stop crying, his cologne washing over you. It's nice, but what feels most comforting is just the scent of him. You're used to it from the days before he'd ever thought about using a fragrance, let alone a fragrance that would bankrupt the average person. It's calming, even when overlayed with ambergris and vanilla. Familiar.

Your breathing evens out a little—but only a little.

“Why would I leave you?” His voice is so kind, patient. More tears bead on your lashes.

“Because you might not want me anymore.” You sound so fragile. Shit, you are fragile. You can't stop the splintering feeling in you, the same one that ate at you two months ago when you thought he was going to leave you. “You could get tired of me or resent me or get bored with me. You could—you could want to throw me away, for no reason. Or—” You breathe in sharply, clinging to him harder.

“Or?”

“Or you could die—you joined the yakuza, so you could die. Why did you do that?” An actual sob leaves you. His shirt is getting wet. You ruined so many of his silk changshan like this in the past, when your boyfriend cheated on you and when your parents kicked you out and when you slept with your fifth customer.

And when your master died.

“I'm still so fucking mad at you for it,” you bite out around your tears. “If you got fucking killed—oh my god, I can't even think about it. I can't—I couldn't take it if—if I kissed you, and we had sex, and then I didn't have you anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re the only thing I have.” You squeeze your eyes shut, a terrible realisation hitting you. “And…”

“And?”

“And,” you say, voice breaking, “I think because I love you?”

You know it as soon as you voice it. You do love him. Not just platonically, but in the way where you want to hold his hand and kiss him and marry him. In the way a miserable nineteen year old girl is so in love with her miserable best friend that she refuses to leave him despite how terrifying he’s becoming. You loved him in this way before you realised you wanted to have sex with him, and even after that, you loved him so much that it didn't matter that he wasn't having sex with you.

You love him so much it disgusts you.

You want to hide, but Suo forces you to look at him. He brushes away your tears, cups your face. The Pavlovian response takes over: your heart rate slows, and you calm down.

“There,” he says gently. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

He’s wrong. You bet he knows he's wrong. That was objectively one of the worst experiences of your life. You feel wrung out, tenderised. You never thought you'd say any of that. You're not sure you knew most of that.

But in Suo’s arms, plied open with his words and his hands, you actually find yourself shaking your head. You lean into the touch of his palm.

“I love you,” he continues, his tone so authoritative and calm that it leaves no room for doubt, “probably to the point that it should scare you. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” you say quietly.

“And we won't be separated. I won't allow anything to take you away from me. Do you understand that too?”

You make a noise, halfway between a relieved sigh and another sob. This declaration should not be a surprise from a man who’s effectively locked you up in his house. Still—your heart feels so light when you hear someone say, for the first time in your life, that they’ll stay with you no matter what. It's like Suo has just unearthed a weight that you didn't know you'd been carrying.

“I’ll try,” you reply, voice small.

“Good.” He strokes your cheek. “Do you want to keep going?”

It’s absurd. You just cried and confessed something terrifying. With anyone else, this would be an experience so horrifying that you'd leave right now and never come back. Your sexual desire should not just be gone, but permanently erased. At the very least, you shouldn't feel the slightest bit horny.

But somehow, being gutted by Suo hasn't left you feeling bad. It's left you feeling lighter. Kind of like you've been purged. You feel exhausted, but in a malleable way. Dazed and relieved to be in his lap. Your thighs are still embarrassingly sticky, heart still embarrassingly wobbly, and you just heard him say that he loves you.

Now you want to hear him say it while he's cumming inside you.

“Yeah,” you admit immediately, pathetically. You sniffle.

“You're sure?” Another stroke. “I want to hear you say it clearly. What do you want to do?”

Your dignity is gone. “I want you to fuck me.”

He smiles. A fond hum leaves him. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and you feel a flutter in your belly. “I'll take care of you now.”

He kisses you this time, before he touches you. On the neck, on your jaw. You bare your nape to him, shivering at the feeling of his lips on your jugular, at his nipping teeth on your skin. You realise he's leaving marks, and with each one, you shudder. It feels so intimate. You're on a rooftop bar, in a skanky hostessing dress, crying and strung out—but this is the closest thing you've ever gotten to one of your fantasies about him. Not the nasty ones that you think about when you're home by yourself, but the ones you think of when you're in bed with various salarymen. The ones where you get to lie with him in bed and press your lips to his.

“Suo,” you start.

“Hayato,” he corrects you. “You're my fiancée now, remember? We should be on a first name basis.”

Your stomach flips. “Hayato,” you try again, breathless. “Please.”

He takes a moment to reply, busy sucking another mark into your skin. “Please, what?”

You hesitate. Suo pulls back, looking at you. You whine, feeling shy all of a sudden. You flirt for a living and yet you feel embarrassed about your request. It's humiliating.

“Please, what?” he repeats. His mouth is curled in a smile, and you can't tell whether it's endeared or entertained. “Please let you cum? Please fuck you?”

“Please kiss me,” you say, in a small voice.

Suo pauses.

“What?”

“Please kiss me,” you beg. Close to tears again, for some reason you don't know. You think it surprises him as much as it does you.

It takes him a moment to recover, but when he does, he gives you a look that’s fucking ravenous.

His thumbs away the wetness from your eyes. “You're so cute sometimes. Did you know that?”

You flush. Plenty of customers have called you cute, but none have had you feeling so indignant nor shy.

“I’m not,” you reply, “and stop that.”

“But it's true. And I want you to know it.”

Suo presses his mouth to yours before you can respond. You're so eager for him that you part your lips immediately. Your instinct is to make your first kiss with him messy and desperate, but he’s in full control, and he’s taking his time. His tongue is careful and precise. Full of intention. His lips are slow, languid, and lazy, like he's savouring the taste of you. A hand plays with the strap of your dress. You feel him slide it off your shoulder—the other one quickly follows—but you’re so absorbed in his kiss, you hardly pay attention.

You're vaguely aware of the breeze against your bare chest. One of his hands moving up, feeling out your curves. He hums into your mouth when his fingers ghost over your nipples, and they harden under his touch.

“Suo,” you whine as he teases them, and he pinches one of them, watching as you squirm.

“Hayato,” he corrects you promptly, and you give him a worn, teary look.

“Hayato.”

“Yes?”

“I need more,” you say quietly.

He smiles, clearly enjoying your desperation. “Be patient,” he teases you. “I’m getting there.”

He kisses a line along your jaw, down your neck. Traces your collarbone with the path of his mouth, works his way down to your breasts. At the same time you feel the heat of his tongue on your nipple, his hand reaches between your legs. You're so wet already that he doesn't need to work you open again—just sinks his fingers inside you until you're sighing for him.

You discover that when he's not antagonising you, Suo is frighteningly efficient with pleasuring you. He learns quickly how you like your tits played with, and how to fuck you so well with his fingers until you're gushing around them and keening. He said he'd take care of you, but you think he's mostly forcing all this pleasure from your body for his own enjoyment. There's no other explanation for how he keeps bringing you to the edge and pulling you back, swallowing each of your whines and complaints with his mouth. The only time he isn't kissing you is when you're begging—and you don't miss the way his breathing deepens every time you do.

But no matter how much you beg, he isn’t letting you cum.

“Look at the mess you're making,” he murmurs as he plays with your cunt. You're sitting between his legs again, your back against his chest. You can feel the length of his cock against your ass, and you hear how his breath hitches every time you squirm against it. Except for that one tell, he sounds completely unaffected by what he's doing—forced you to open your legs wide for him, spread your glistening folds to tease you. The leather beneath your ass is wet, ruined by your need.

“Hayato,” you whine.

“Just a little longer,” he promises, “and then I'll let you cum.”

Your mind is so fogged with pleasure at this point that you can't focus on anything other than Suo’s touch. You’ve actually forgotten where you are—not a truly private space, but part of a club. The girls would normally only come up if you put in an order, but you haven't for a while now.

Long enough for someone to check on you without warning.

You tense as soon as you hear the door open. You recognize the server—she knows you well, by face, stage name, and real name. Your eyes go wide as she calls for you. You try to sit up, close your legs, but Suo grabs one of your thighs and forces it open.

“Suo, wait—”

You whimper, incapable of words when his fingers push into you again. He starts fucking you with them, and in earnest this time—curling his fingers until they're pushing into your g-spot, doing it over and over and over. Your eyes roll back and you stop struggling, and Suo takes the opportunity to touch you with his other hand too, playing with your clit. A strangled moan leaves you as the heat in your gut ratchets up. Pleasure swells in your belly; you feel like you're going to burst.

“Suo,” you cry, tears pricking your eyes, “wait, wait, my coworker—wait, I think—I think I'm gonna—”

“Go ahead,” he says into your ear, voice silky, and he pushes against your sweet spot in a way that gives you no choice but to obey him.

You cum so hard that you squirt all over the seat. Your whole body is wracked with intense pleasure—hips bucking violently, legs twitching, crying so loudly and shamelessly that your coworker naturally hears. She catches you spread wide open in Suo’s lap, his fingers deep in your messy, swollen cunt as you drench them.

Her tray clatters to the floor.

Fighting the mindless haze that your body is in, you glance at the other girl, whose hand is over her mouth. She looks appalled. She’s going to yell at you. But then you then watch, in real time, as her eyes travel to your customer’s face and she realises who he is. If she was red when she saw the two of you, she's now a pale white.

“Did you come to check on us?” Suo asks. He sounds amused. She flinches at his voice, and actually takes a step backward. “We’re fine for now. We’ll order something in a bit, and call you up here as usual.”

“O-okay,” she says, voice high and tense. “I—I’ll leave you two, then. Please—please enjoy yourself, sir. We'll be available in case you require any other services.” And she walks away briskly, almost in a run. She doesn't even bother to stop the expressly forbidden act that you're engaged in.

Once she’s gone, Suo allows you some dignity. He pulls his fingers out of you, lets you catch your breath.

“Oops,” he says. “It’s too bad they caught us. I suppose they won't want to keep you on as an employee, since you broke such an important rule.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed. Your emotional and sexual pliability quickly dissipates, replaced by disbelief.

“You—you did that on purpose,” you say between pants, too fucked out to be truly angry, but still appalled.

Suo raises a brow, gives you an innocent look. “Did I? I was just making you cum, like you've been begging all night. It was just unfortunate timing.” He then smiles, which makes him look incredibly kind despite the apparent sadism of his person. “But it's fine. They're going to fire you for this, but you know my club will always take you back.”

You close your eyes and groan. “You’re horrible.”

“I am, aren't I?” Suo puts his arms around you, kisses you on the shoulder, his voice getting low. “But this is a better arrangement, don't you think? You won't need to see customers this way. Every time you need relief, you can come upstairs and I'll give you my cock instead.” He grinds against you, letting you feel how hard he is, and you whimper. He laughs, probably entertained at how desperate you sound. “Or maybe I'll just make you take it whenever I feel like it. I think at the end of every shift makes sense, doesn't it? Since that's how often you've been touching yourself on the couch.”

“S-suo.”

“It’s Hayato now, remember. What is it, dear?”

He sounds so smug, mocking you. You should be furious. But in your fucked out state, all you can focus on is the idea of being forced to take Suo's cock every night. Despite already being ruined, your pussy starts throbbing again. You squirm and press your thighs together, trying to get it to stop—you’re so fucking tired—and you bleakly realise that you can't control your body’s reactions around him. You're getting wet again. It makes you want to cry.

“Hayato,” you whimper, on the verge of tears.

“Ah, you addressed me properly. Good.” He’s so satisfied. “What is it?”

“I…”

“You?”

“I”—your voice is so small and embarrassed, you can hardly believe it—“I want you to fuck me.”

He feigns shock, as if he wasn't actively provoking this. “Really? But you just came.” A hand prods between your legs. You obediently spread them for him, and he checks your pussy with two of his fingers. You moan a little at the intrusion, but there's no resistance at all.

Your cunt, still dripping, tightens around him, and he laughs softly.

“You really do need a cock in you. Who knew you had such a needy pussy.” He curls his fingers. Probably feeling the way it makes you gush, delighting in the gasp it draws out of you. “No wonder you have to use that toy every day.”

You're about to die of embarrassment. “Hayato. Please just fuck me.”

Suo turns you so that you can look at him. He’s wearing a kind, benevolent face when he says, “No.”

“...what?”

“I'm not going to give you my cock.” He hums, contemplative. “Not for a while, I think.”

“B-but,” you say, genuinely upset, “but you were just talking about doing that at work.”

“Sure—after we get married. It's only proper, don’t you think?”

“What?” Your eyes are wide in disbelief. “You—you just made me cum with your fingers. In a public space.”

“Yes. But that's different from letting you have my cock. It wouldn't be gentlemanly of me to do that before we’re wedded.” He can't keep the amusement out of his voice as he bullies you. “I'm sure you can wait until the summer, right? Since that's the season you chose for us. August, I think you told Nirei.”

“Hayato—”

“Actually,” he muses, easily sliding a third finger into you, making your voice clip off in a whimper, “I think you shouldn’t be allowed to have anything in you until then. Except for my fingers and tongue, of course. But no toys, and no other men either. That definitely wouldn't be proper.”

“I'm going to,” you say spitefully—and tearfully. “If you don't fuck me right now, I will sleep with other people.”

“I don't think you want to find out the consequences if you do.”

“How would you even—ngh—know?”

“Good question.” He starts pumping his fingers, and to your horror, your cunt needily swallows them with each motion, your body as desperate as he's been saying. “I guess I'll need to check your pussy every night. See if it's been stretched out by someone else’s cock. Maybe upstairs in the lounge at the end of each night, so I'll know that you haven't fucked a customer during a shift. Clearly, it's not impossible that you would.”

You try not to sob. Not only are his words utterly humiliating, they're making you wetter. After fucking so many people in so many ways, you didn't know it was possible for you to feel this much shame during sex—but then again, shaming people is one of Suo’s specialties.

You give him the teariest look possible, because by now you've figured out that he likes seeing you cry. Sadistic motherfucker. You're happy to use it to your advantage though.

He gets that hungry look in his eye again. “Please, Hayato,” you beg, voice trembling with need, “I want more. I thought I was your beautiful wife already.” You grind your ass against his cock, and he inhales sharply. “Don't you wanna cum in your wife’s pussy?”

Suo stops, deeply affected—just as you guessed he'd be. After making you his fake wife in both his criminal life and his civilian one, it's painfully obvious that the man is obsessed with marrying you. You'd make fun of him if you weren't so horny. Or humbled.

He only allows himself speechlessness for a second. He hums soon after, delicately wiping the tears out of your eyes. “You've been good enough that I guess I can reward you. I won't fuck you, but”—he shifts away, and you can hear his pants unzipping—“I’m sure you'll enjoy yourself anyway.”

Suo wasn't lying earlier. His cock is bigger than any toy you've ever used. It's pretty, too. Curved and long and flushed at the head. Glistening with prespend, which has pearled up at the tip. You think you might be salivating. For a minute, you contemplate asking if you can feel it in your throat, but then Suo’s lying down and moving you on top of him. When his cock nudges at your folds, you can’t help your excitement. You squirm, trying to sink onto his length.

His grip tightens on your waist, stopping you.

You’re about to whine at him about this, but he doesn't give you the chance. “If you try to ride me,” he says, in a voice so cold that you know he's not joking, “I'm not touching you until we’re married, and I'm not letting you touch yourself either.”

“...”

With anyone else you'd call bullshit, but you know that Suo is both crazy and petty enough to actually achieve this.

“Okay.” You sound and feel mollified. “I'll behave.”

He smiles. “Good,” he says cheerfully. “Just stay like that, then. I’ll take care of you.”

You listen to him, mostly because you're incredibly excited about getting pussy inspections and you'll be devastated if it doesn't happen. And you don't expect it to be a big deal, anyway. While your sex drive has been a constant source of grief for you throughout your life, you don't really have problems controlling any specific impulses in bed when you truly need to. You’re used to giving your customers whatever they want and, if you're lucky, getting off from it. You figure this will be the same.

You find out very quickly that it isn't.

You need to stay still. You can’t sink down on him. Two easy orders that are extraordinarily difficult when Suo is the one beneath you. You have to actively stop your hips from moving when you feel the silky head of his cock press into your folds, which are still dripping with your slick. Suo’s breath hitches when he runs the tip along your opening, drawing wet noises every time his cock head catches on your needy hole, smearing his precum all over it. All you want is to push back on him and let your pussy swallow his cock. You’re aching for it, and you know he is too. If you sank down on him now, he'd lose control and fuck you raw until he was cumming inside you. And then he'd probably keep going after that, not letting you move until you were stuffed full and dripping with his spend. Both of you know it.

But you don't do that. You're good for him. You sigh, just trying to enjoy the feeling of his length rubbing against you. How he's twitching and throbbing against you, how he wants as equally much to be inside you—but pulls back every time. Your mind goes a little fuzzy with the drawn out, low hum of pleasure, and you close your eyes.

Then he starts pushing into you.

“H-Hayato?” You whimper at the intrusion, at being made to take something so thick without warning. “I thought you weren't gonna—”

“I'm not,” he says. His breathing is heavier, his words strained, but his voice is still commanding when he says, “Don’t move.”

Suo doesn't give you the whole thing, just the tip. It is much harder to control yourself like this—when you can feel yourself getting stretched by the head of his cock, already so fat and heavy, but you don't get filled up by it. It makes you aware of how empty you are, and how wet you're getting. You bury your face into his neck and make a noise that's both tearful and pathetic.

It's not acting when you whine, in a watery, miserable way, “Please, Hayato. I need your cum in me.”

It's probably the crying that gets him. He inhales sharply, thrusting maybe a little deeper than intended. You groan at the extra inch of cock, eyes rolling back, and can't help the way your pussy tightens and drips, trying to suck him in.

“Fuck,” he says, and then he pulls out.

He lays you flat on your back. Before you can get so much as a word out, he's between your legs and pressing his cock against your entrance. For possibly the happiest moment of your life, you think Suo is going to fuck you—but instead he starts pushing the slick head of his cock right against your neglected clit.

You aren't going to complain.

You whimper as he starts rubbing against your sex, leaving his prespend all over your swollen bud. It makes you squirm, grinding yourself against it, and you press your legs together to get some more pressure for the both of you. Soon his cock is sliding between your thighs, getting them all sticky with his prespend. You can feel the length of him hot and slick against your folds, heavy and throbbing.

You've never cum like this before. It was never enough stimulation when your customers made you do this, which nearly all of them have. But the pressure on your clit and on your folds is shockingly intense as the two of you move, enough to make you whimper as a familiar tension builds. It's not as overwhelming as when his fingers were inside you, but it's enough for you to start panting at the tension in your belly. You can hear Suo’s breath picking up as you start to whine, and he watches you, almost predatorial, as another orgasm crashes over you. You moan his name as you cum, squeezing a few more tears out of your eyes.

He stares at your flustered, wet face as he pushes the head of his cock against your entrance again, fisting himself as it flutters and drips in the aftershock of your orgasm. Suo’s been hard for so long, for the whole time he's teased and bullied you—you aren't surprised at how close he already is. Especially not when you start talking about how much you need his cum in you, how empty your pussy feels without it, how badly you want your husband to fill you up. All with your mascara smeared and your lip trembling, a sight that makes him throb.

Suo groans as he finally cums. You can feel his cock twitching, warmth spurting out onto your folds, and then into your pussy as he thrusts shallowly into you. You pull him down needily as he fills you, and he indulges you with a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

When he pulls out, you can feel his cum drip out of you, all the way down to the couch. You make a happy noise at the mess he's made of your hole, giving him a lovestruck, dreamy expression.

“You should do that every night after you're done checking my pussy,” you sigh.

Suo’s mouth curls, and breathes out a kind of laugh. He holds your face, and one of his tassels brush against the shell of your ear as he presses his forehead to yours. “I’ll do it if you're good for me.”

“I’ll be on my best behaviour until our wedding night,” you promise, voice affectionate.

Suo gives you a fond look. His expression is so sentimental. You think he’s going to say something sweet.

“Alright,” he replies. “Then be good for me and keep the rest of that inside you, okay? Let’s not make a mess of these floors. I don't want to get blacklisted from this club.”

You open and close your mouth, completely speechless.

“You're fucking horrible,” you say with all your heart, and he laughs and kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you. He doesn't stop until you're placated and horny again.

Suo takes his sweet time pushing his cum into you as deeply as possible, saying that it's to make sure you don't lose any of it, but really so he can draw another orgasm out of you. Knowing that the mamasan might take pity on you and think that you were coerced into degrading sexual acts by a terrifying yakuza client, he makes sure to order a drink beforehand, calling up a server. (I don't want to be a bad patron, he hums as he looks at the tablet, and I said I'd get you to the number 1 ranking, right?) It subsequently looks, sounds, and is completely consensual when you're found pulling at Suo’s hair, keening as he fingers his cum into you while sucking on your clit.

This leaves you with no hope of continued employment on all of Keisei Street.

To add insult to injury, you do make a mess of the floors, despite Suo’s conscientious efforts to avoid this—though it's not as bad as the one you left on the couch. You also can't find your thong anywhere, which you guess is something else that the mamasan won’t appreciate when she finds it. Still, for the rest of the night, everyone shows Suo nothing but the utmost respect and highest quality customer service. They even ask how he found your company and if he has any feedback for you. He praises your conversational skills, karaoke abilities, and how capable you were in catering to his many needs. He also lets them know that you'll be resigning.

Hanzo and Shuuhei are waiting to pick you up, bringing the Rolls Royce with the privacy suite. This time, Suo doesn't use it to interrogate you; he instead uses it to kiss you and tease you and discuss wedding plans. If it'll be indoors or outdoors. If you'll have a big reception or a small one. If it'll be a traditional wedding, or if you’ll want a Chinese one like the one your master would have maybe liked to see. You settle on having a Shinto ceremony and a Chinese-style reception. Having been raised Chinese, whenever Suo imagined marrying during his teenage years, you were always in a red qipao. His master even once told him that if he managed to win your heart, he'd organise a tea ceremony and act in the role of Suo’s father.

After disclosing these facts (the first of which makes your heart weak, and the second of which leaves it aching), he asks about any long-standing things you've always wanted to do with him as a couple. If you had any silly or indulgent daydreams about your future with him, and what they were like.

“I don't know,” you admit. “I guess after you applied to teacher’s college, I liked the idea of marrying you, and doing all the domestic things you talked about. Though you were just joking at the time.”

You don't really expect him to remember much about this particular line of teasing. Sure, the man is currently obsessed with marrying you, and maybe he daydreamed about it a little bit when he was younger—but he mostly treated the idea as a funny joke when he was a teenager. All of the teasing has probably blurred together for him over the years. Certainly, it has for you.

But you've never been able to forget this particular memory. It’s one of those small, inconsequential moments that you find yourself incapable of letting go to this day. You loved hearing him talk about getting married, even though it hurt immensely that it was probably just teasing. You loved it because you wanted it. You wanted Suo to teach people because you knew he was good at it and it would make him genuinely happy. You wanted to stop working in the red light district and make a nice and safe home for Suo, just as he'd made a nice and safe home for you. And you wanted to marry him and kiss him and have sex with him and only him for the rest of your life.

You wanted it so badly, it still makes you heart ache to think about it.

He was definitely just teasing you, though. Suo was a sane person at the time, and sane people do not actually plan a marriage and life with someone before dating them or even fucking them. Most importantly, a sane person wouldn't hold onto such a silly joke for so long. Oh, you expect him to say, laughing. You're right, I had nearly forgotten.

But all he does is give you a smile. It's one of his strange, enigmatic ones.

“No, I was quite serious about it,” Suo says, looking right at you.

You stare at him.

“Really?”

“Really.”

He's being so straightforward, so earnest. Your typical reaction would be to feel flustered, sentimental—but something about his expression and tone bothers you. But before you can suss out what it is, he continues, and the moment passes.

“Was there anything else you ever wanted to do?” he asks smoothly.

You're startled, off-guard. “Oh, um… not really. I never let myself think too much about it.”

“Come on,” he prods. “There must be something.”

“No, I really didn't think of any ideas on my own. Although…”

Your face gets hot as you trail off. Suo senses weakness, and goes in for the kill.

“Although?”

“It's too embarrassing,” you admit, looking away, and Suo looks a little too interested as he pesters you for an answer.

“Come on, it's fine.” His mouth curls in a way that tells you it's not fine. “I promise I won't judge you. I just want to know what I can do to make you happy as your husband.”

You give him an uncertain look, and say your only concrete fantasy about him so quickly and quietly that he misses it.

“Pardon?” he asks.

“...romantic, vanilla sex.”

Suo blinks. “What?”

Your face burns with humiliation.

“I used to think about having romantic, vanilla sex with you. When I was a teenager. A lot.” Said as if you weren't just thinking about it two months ago in a love hotel, and still don't want it now. You wouldn't even bring it up if you didn't think it was necessary. But unfortunately, you're professionally skilled at perceiving people’s sexual interests, and you've perceived that Suo is sexually a freak. He was definitely going easy on you tonight, and is probably actively planning to get worse. You'll never have normal sex with him unless you explicitly state a desire for it.

Suo gives you a surprised look. “That's… a very mundane fantasy.”

“It wouldn't have been mundane to me,” you reply, somewhat defensively. “I used to think about it when I slept with my customers, who weren't very romantic. Or vanilla. So I didn’t really have a good reference point or anything for that kind of sex, but sometimes I still thought about doing it with you after they had left.”

You look away after saying this, wondering why you disclosed all of that. It certainly wasn't necessary for your dream of someday taking Suo’s cock without being psychosexually tortured first. Now you feel like you need to hide. You even think about excuses for stopping the car, and ponder again how difficult it would be to live without proof of identity, if you chose to run away.

But Suo doesn't let you run. He pulls you close to him, wrapping you up in his warmth.

“It's okay,” he says gently, in a voice that reminds you of how he was in his old Furin days. “You'll be okay. I'll make sure of it.” It confuses you deeply, and you turn to ask him what the fuck he's going on about.

You don't even realise you're crying until he starts kissing away your tears.

You can’t understand why you’re weeping. Maybe something strange and hormonal happened while you were having sex, like Suo made you orgasm too hard and all the oxytocin is making you depressed now. Though you think that hormone is supposed to make you happy. You're not sure. You never finished school, so you wouldn't know.

Whatever the reason, you hastily wipe away your tears. A hand rubs at your back, and you let yourself press your face into his shoulder.

“Sorry,” you say quickly.

“Don't apologise. You don't have anything to be sorry for.”

You hesitate as you breathe against the silk threads of his shirt, thinking about how many of his shirts you've ruined with your tears. At least three changshan and one Versace summer piece, by your count. It’s not like he hurts over the money these days, but guilt tugs at your heart.

“I don't know about that,” you mumble into his shoulder. And it takes a while to work yourself up to saying it, but eventually you whisper, with full honesty, “I'm sorry for always worrying you.”

“I know,” Suo says. He sounds sincere when he says, “I’m sorry too.”

“I’ll try to be better from now on.”

“You will be. And even if you aren’t, that's fine.”

For some reason, that makes your heart squeeze.

You melt against Suo after that, listening to the steady roll of tires and passing traffic outside. There's a gentle pitter patter of rain against the car roof, tinny and rhythmic, that gradually crescendos into a proper storm. The windshield wipers squeak against the glass. All of the noise is lulling you into a kind of peace, or maybe you're just feeling that way because Suo is holding you.

Fatigue wears your consciousness, and you close your eyes. The hustle and bustle of the red light district grows distant, faint—partly from slipping in and out of your dreams, and partly from the quieting world outside. It's now completely silent other than the heavy rainfall. You think they must be taking the road through Makochi. Suo asks for it whenever he wants you to sleep well.

He probably thinks you're asleep when he says, “I’m sorry for being how I am now.”

You almost stop breathing. Almost.

“You didn't fall in love with me when I was like this, so you must not like it very much,” he continues. “I know that Master wouldn't like me much either, if he were alive. He always said that you should support your loved ones until they can stand on their own two feet. But lately, I feel like all I've been doing is breaking yours.”

He sighs. The sky groans with distant thunder.

“Sakura knows who I really am, you know,” he says quietly. “I think he's worried about what'll happen to you if we get married. Though he’s been worried about you for a while.” Suo almost sounds endeared when he adds, “Did you know he only texts me now to ask if you're okay? He really does love you.”

He’s more sombre when he continues, “But Nirei is just afraid of me. That’s why he’s never around. He’s going to call you in a week and tell you not to go through with the wedding. He’ll probably tell you to leave me too. It’s good advice.”

It's hard to keep your breathing slow, with how badly your heart hurts.

“I’ve tried to go back to how I was, to the kind of person that Master was trying to raise,” Suo confesses. “But I don't think I can get better.”

But even if you can't, you want to tell him, that’s fine. You wish you could hold him how he's always held you.

“It doesn't usually upset me nowadays,” he admits after some time, “how I am now. But to be honest, talking about our school days did make me feel bitter, because I can't give you the things I know you wanted.”

He kisses the top of your head. Gently, so as not to wake you from your dream.

“I'm sorry I never became a teacher. I'm sorry I joined the yakuza. I'm sorry I can't give you a normal life. And I'm sorry I can’t have an honest conversation with you.”

Silence. You feel his chest stop briefly, his breathing deepen.

“Maybe someday, I'll get better enough to say these things to you while you're awake. Maybe someday, I'll even get better enough to let you leave. It would be best for you.”

His voice gets even softer. Tender.

“But for now, I don't know how to let you go.”

You feel a hand shifting away, the soft noise of leather against skin. Then both arms around you again, even warmer, even tighter. He’s leaning his head against yours. You think Suo is falling asleep.

Allowing yourself a single, quick glance at the car, you peer at your reflections in the rearview mirror. You see sheets of rain sliding against the back window, his dark lashes pressed to his skin, and all the scar tissue he likes to keep hidden away.

And you can see, very clearly, tears beneath his missing eye.

END 'TOKYO VICE'

hi everyone thanks for reading this chapter!!!! i hope it didn't disappoint after all the shitposting i did about it this week lol

can i just say. this was straight up the weirdest sex scene I've ever written HASLKFJSDF and the mood whiplash throughout this was probably the craziest i've ever written within a single piece. unfortunately, this reader copes with her trauma via humour and sex and it really shows rip. i hope it wasn't too offputting!

thank you to everyone who left a comment on part 1!! please do let me know if you enjoyed part 2 as well. <333

tagging @kweenkatsuki-fics and @stuckindreamland06!

#hayato suo x reader #suo hayato x reader #wbk x reader #windbre x reader #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker smut #suo hayato smut

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melancholyhigh · 11 months ago

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CRUSH CULTURE.

ft. college au!leon x reader

synopsis. you fuck up at being leon’s wingman, ruining his chances of getting a valentine’s day fuck. he’s frustrated and takes his anger out on you.

tags. 2.8k words. smut. mean!leon, lowk angsty, reader is kinda pathetic, angry fuck, dry humping, cunnilingus, dom!leon, rough sex, unprotected p in v, degradation, name calling (bitch, whore etc.), happy ending (?).

note. i’m sorry for being so inactive and rarely being online. school sucks so bad. i hope you guys can accept this as a formal apology. (let’s ignore that this is 2 days late.)

masterlist. reblogs & comments are highly welcomed :3

You aren’t the biggest fan of Valentine’s Day. You're sick of seeing everyone fall in love, watching lovers exchange cheesy gifts and bashful smiles. You’re sick of people pretending they love each other more than they actually do. No, you’re sick of being left out.

You were a hopeless romantic, chasing love only for it to fall flat. You were obsessed with finding your other half, the person who would cherish you as much as you treasured them. You didn’t know if you loved love or just the idea of it, but it wouldn’t matter.

You’re only hopeless as you help the man you liked hook up with someone at a shitty college party.

It’s pathetic, truly, chatting up some sorority girls and putting a good name out for Leon while he stood beside you. You didn’t get why he couldn’t do it himself. He was handsome, albeit a bit awkward, but so were you. It’s why you two got along anyway. Leon was watching as you tried to get the drunk girl’s attention on him. Throughout the night, your wingman skills had only failed. They either did not pay attention to you or paid too much attention to you.

You were sick of it. You would have preferred staying in your dorm room and rewatching one of your favourite rom-coms. But you were only a fool, trying to help your friend out. It hurt more being there with him as he lamely tried to pick up girls in front of you. You didn’t know what was more pathetic, his terrible jokes or the state you were, absolutely heartbroken that he wouldn’t give you the time of day he’d give to random girls.

Maybe it’s faith’s cruel way of commentating on your desire for love by making you play cupid for the only person you seem to care about more than yourself.

You and Leon had something special, or you had hoped so. You met in your first year of college. You were both fucking awkward that you had to initiate the first conversation. Majoring in similar subjects, you both had gotten along well. You would even say you were best friends, but you knew deep down you always wanted more.

Ever since you first met, you found him enthralling. It only got worse as you got closer. Learning more about him seemed to solidify your pining for him. You were the only person he talked to, and vice versa. You confided in each other, maybe more than what close friends should, so it was only inevitable that he would share with you that he wanted to lose his virginity.

You had looked at him perplexed. Leon was pretty attractive, and maybe you were biased, but how had no one fucked him? You’ve seen the way girls look at him, blushing when he even glances at them for a second.

That is when Leon told you he planned on trying to hook up with some girl at the party, and he wanted your help because he knew he would fuck up somehow. You had humoured him. Nothing more romantic than taking a random girl home on Valentine’s Day and fucking her brains out.

–-

“It’s not that serious, Leon,” you groaned for the umpteenth time. You were both walking back to his apartment after unsuccessfully trying to hook him up with some sorority girl. He was grumbling behind you, pissed and sexually frustrated.

“It was your fault.” You roll your eyes at his statement. When you reach the door of his flat, you observe as he clumsily takes his keys out, trying to open the door. He finally manages to open the door, and you enter, taking your shoes off before settling on his couch.

You watch him beyond amused at his predicament as he paces back and forth in front of you.

“Why did you have to mention that? They were so into me before you fucked it up,” he huffs, stilling his movement to glare at you.

“C’mon, Leon. I’m sure they couldn’t give a fuck that you’re a nerd,” you said, repeating the same word you had let slip when you were praising your beloved best friend. You peered back up at him, acting casual as if his icy gaze didn’t have your heart beating wildly against your chest. You rarely saw him angry, and when he was, he never directed it to you.

“You ruined my chances at finally getting laid. I don’t know how to talk to these girls. You’re the only person I have.” He’s frustrated with you for fucking up whatever chance he finally had at popping his cherry. Even though logically it’s not your fault nor your duty to get his dick wet, he didn’t want to take responsibility right now.

“I think you’re overreacting,” you sighed, standing up and moving towards him. You try to put a comforting hand on Leon’s shoulder, and he shrugs your touch off him. You don’t take it to heart. He’s a few inches taller than you, head slightly tilted as he looks down at you.

“Yeah? Well, now I have no one to fuck tonight.”

“I can change that,” you quip, and you instantly freeze at your own statement. You part your lips lightly in shock as you observe Leon’s reaction. It was a freudian slip, and it seemed to be happening more often than you’d like.

He continues looking down at you with furrowed brows as he tries to comprehend what you said. He thinks this might affect your friendship if you even mean what you said. He was horny, being teased all night by pretty girls in skimpy dresses, only to be denied, fucking furious too.

“Really?” He responds, somehow stepping closer to you. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and you try to back up, only to be pushed against the wall by him. His stare is still cold, piercing through you. He’s still pissed at you.

“Are you still mad?” You mumbled, your back flat against the wall of his living room. You knew the answer. You just wanted him to say it. Maybe you found his mean side more attractive than you’d like to admit. It was so rare to see him like this — a usually composed man so broken.

“Yes, I’m still fucking angry. Do you want me or not?” He seethes. You squeeze your thighs together at the tone he uses. You were so pathetic, getting wet at him berating you, but any attention was good attention.

He notices your reaction, grinning to himself. “You backing down?”

You shake your head no in response.

“Beg for it then. Beg for me to fuck you. That’s what you want, right?” He says, mocking you. It’s as if he knows how deep your desire burns for him, how badly you’d do anything for him if it meant he noticed you. His hands grasp your face, his fingers squishing your cheeks together as he forces your head back against the wall so you look up at him.

“Please, Leon. Fuck me. ‘M all yours.” You plead through pursed lips. Your eyes are glossy, and he’s laughing at your desperate nature. He would have never expected his best friend to be a whiny mess within his grasp.

He lets go of your face before leaning down, capturing your lips into his for a needy kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, and a surprised gasp escapes you. Teeth clashing, you’re whimpering desperately against his lips as you entangle your fingers into his soft golden locks. His hands trail down to your hips, gripping them as he moves his body against yours.

You let out a soft moan, and he pulled apart from the passionate kiss. Both your lips are swollen and covered with your shared saliva. He continues to grope your body eagerly as he pushes you further into the wall. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear you.”

Biting your lip, you try not to let any moans slip free while he toys with your sensitive body through your clothes. He hooks one of your legs over his hip while he explores your body. He grinds his hardening cock against your crotch, and the action does little to quell the ache inside you.

Your back arches off the wall, your head tipping back as you try to buck your hips to his. Digging your nails into his shirt, he hisses slightly, but your movements don’t get past him.

“So fucking desperate,” he moans loudly.

He continues to rock his clothed erection against your cunt. The rough fabric of your pants provides enough friction through your damp underwear to your clit. Your hand clamps around your mouth shut, suppressing your whines as you near your climax.

Leon’s eyes close while he groans lowly at the pleasure coursing through him as he ruts against you. He wants so badly to feel your dripping cunt against his throbbing length. Just as you’re about to finish, he pulls away, panting, and the feeling in your core dissipates.

“I want to fuck you properly.” You’re unsure if he knew what he had just done, but with the smug look he’s giving you, you’re positive it’s on purpose.

You push yourself off the wall of his living room, and with trembling legs, you follow him to his bedroom. You were familiar with the area and used to the messy appearance while you two were either doing work or binging shows. But it’s different now, he’s going to fuck you dumb in it.

You both begin to rid yourself of your clothes once you’re inside. You’re fully nude, lying flat on Leon’s mattress, and your skin feels tacky with sweat as it clings to his soft sheets. Leon is only in his boxers, precum staining the fabric, as his strong palms spread your bent legs apart to admire your bare pussy.

You realise that this is most likely his first time seeing one other than in porn videos he jerks himself off to. He marvels at how wet you are, your folds glistening with your slick. Leaning down, he buries his face between your thighs, lapping at you.

His tongue teases your entrance before slowly moving to your clit. He alternates between sucking on your sensitive nub and lapping at it slowly. He looks like he’s concentrated as he focuses on pleasing your cunt, his brows furrowed and his nails digging into the flesh of your thighs.

You can’t help the moans and sighs that slip past your lips while he eats you out. The pleasure is nearly dizzying as you grip the sheets. Your hips are bucking against his tongue, and Leon groans as you use his face. He’s not so subtly grinding against the sheets, his cock painfully hard as he fails to relieve the sensation.

Tentatively, he slurps at you, drinking in your essence. The wet, sloppy noises your cunt makes are embarrassing, but he’s obsessed with it and your taste. It’s addictive. He sucks at your clit roughly, adoring the reaction you give him. Your tummy clenches as he pays attention to your throbbing bud. Your sounds are getting more frequent as your orgasm quickly approaches you.

When you finally come undone, your thighs are quivering around his head as he revels in your release. He parts from your cunt, his lips coated in your cum like lip gloss as he licks them clean. Trying to collect yourself, your chest heaves as you pant heavily.

Leon slips his boxers down, revealing his hard-on. His cock was flushed red and dripping with precum as he stroked it. It was average in length but quite thick and prettier than you had imagined. But you shouldn’t act surprised.

You let out a whimper when he slid the tip of his cock through your folds stained with your cum and his saliva. Your pussy was overstimulated, spasming as he teased your entrance with his head.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he groans, gripping your hip to steady himself. The heat of your cunt was welcoming as it tried to suck him inside you. His tip touches your overly sensitive clit. He was quickly losing his composure, desperate to fuck you open.

You both moan simultaneously when he fully enters his length inside of you. Your walls were sucking his cock deeping into you, filling you up to the brim with nothing but him.

You had not imagined your first time with Leon like this. You daydreamed of him taking you out on a cute date before undressing you and then fucking you slowly on a bed littered with rose petals. You did not anticipate that he’d split you open on his cock as a last resort taking his sexual frustration out on you. You can’t complain with how good he’s fucking you, even if it’s out of spite.

He begins thrusting his cock in and out of tight pussy, groaning. You feel each ridge and vein of his cock as he fucks the shape into you. You sometimes forget how well-built he is, usually concealed by his clothes, sweat dripping down his muscular frame.

“Your cock feels so fuckin’ good, Leon,” you gasped out loud, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you out of his fat cock.

“This was your plan, huh? You wanted me to fuck you, whore.” He says as he punctuates each word with a thrust.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as the tip of his cock presses against you deliciously. You did want him all to yourself, but you wouldn’t go as far as to sabotage him. You’re unable to answer him, too drunk on his cock bullying into that one spot inside of you.

“Answer me, bitch.” He huffs, gripping your jaw and positioning your face to his. He looks into your eyes only to note how they can barely stay open. His hips stutter at your fucked out expression. He was so fucking close, his abs flexing, only holding out so you can cum first.

“Y- Yeah, Leon. Want to you all for myself,” you stammer incoherently, tears collecting at your waterline as he pounds into your oversensitive cunt. Your walls grip around his cock sporadically as you near your climax.

“You like me too, then?” he mocks through clenched teeth. Your pussy hugs him tightly, and he thinks he might never want to leave your warm embrace.

“I’m so close,” you cry out, your body squirming in his hold. Your peak was rapidly approaching as he continued his assault on your pussy.

“Answer the question then you can come,” he whines, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, leaving marks as he nears his peak.

“Mhm! Yes, I’ve always fucking liked you, Leon.” You cried out, eager to expose all your secrets to him if it meant you came. As you climax, your pussy milks Leon’s cock as it gushes around him.

“Oh fuck. I’m gonna cum,” Leon moans, his voice breathy as his orgasm crashes after yours. He doesn’t know if it’s the weight of your confession or the whimpers that escape your throat that send butterflies in him as he spills into you. He kisses you one last time, moaning into you as he rides his high.

Pulling out, he collapses right next to you. You’re both panting, covered in cum and sweat. A wave of exhaustion overcomes you, and you hope he doesn’t bring up what you said amidst fucking. You’re content pretending it didn’t happen if it meant you wouldn’t get to face your fears.

“Thank you for uh,” Leon trails off, and it's like a switch flipped. He’s bashful at mentioning that he had just lost his virginity as if he wasn’t calling you a whore a few minutes ago. Turning to his side, you come nearly face-to-face with him once again.

“Mhm, you’re welcome, I think.” You’re still unsure how you feel about the situation. Finally, you had fucked him, but what significance did it hold to him? Your eyes flutter shut, sleep finally overcoming your wrecked body. You expected the same would happen to Leon, but you were wrong. Leon was in deep thought.

Leon calls your name, cutting your sleep short. You snap your eyes open, sitting up, you await his question with your arms crossed. He looked uneasy, but you’re too drained to question why.

“Did you mean what you said? That you liked me.” His voice is quiet as he gazes at your form.

“Uh, yeah,” you mumbled in response. What was even the point of lying anymore? His cum was dripping between your thighs. What is the worst he can do? You think you can already guess his response. Guilt was eating at you. He wouldn’t be in this position if you did what he wanted. You added, “Sorry for fucking up your night.”

It’s quiet, and you’re nervously trying to gauge his reaction until he breaks the silence.

“I think I found someone better,” he responds. You laugh at the mere absurdity of the entire situation.

“It took fucking me to find that out?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #gender neutral reader #resident evil 4 #resident evil #re4 smut #idk how to do conclusions #✩‧₊˚ fics

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izzyizumi · 30 days ago

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Note: -This video’s embed may randomly not display at times, Showing like it’s “down”, but it’s not at this time! {It usually happens late at night[s] or seemingly when Tumblr and/or Vimeo is experiencing very high traffic} If that happens, please consider watching the Direct link here!

[Please regard my Rules BEFORE Interacting!!] (Positive/Respectful comments are OK!)

vimeo

Digimon Adventure 02 ~ A.M.V. {Anime Music Video} Title: “Kocchi wo Muite” {“Look This Way”} Sung by: Yukana Nogami Music © CLAMP / Kodansha (Originally from: Cardcaptor Sakura) Featuring Duo/Ship/O.T.P: + {Daikari} / {DaiHika} (with equal Hikari<->Daisuke P.O.V’s, though leaning a bit more in Hikari->Daisuke focus) [+Bonus Ken, 02 Chosen as Support; Taichi & Hikari as Platonic/Familial/Supporting each Other]; {KenDai(+Miya)Hika can be read in; However, the main focus of this one is Daikari specifically, with KenDaiHika as side Poly!}

Summary:

“Although you show COURAGE, YOU’VE{?} got it Backwards A {maiden}[?]’s Heart is {fragile} and Trying…”

“Throughout all of the {xxxx} WE’RE Invincible”–

Digimon Adventure 02 © Toei Animation A.M.V. by Me No $$$ is being made off this Fanwork

Notes: - The 1st minute took about 45 min; 2nd part made took about just over 2hr’s; The 3rd+4th parts from interlude on took 35~ min each, Altogether, it’s already taken 3~4+ hr’s. - This is my 08/02 Focus work, for August 2nd anniversary of Adventures timeline! (by August 2nd, Vamdemon’s invasion of Odaiba had Begun) Daisuke, who was initially captured inside the same center as Odaiba convention center Vamdemon kept Tailmon trapped in; just might have come across a Certain Person (or two) Near this and the following exact Day{s}… (Alluding to Daisuke’s official Drama CD audio Track from “Digimon Adventure 02: Spring 2003”!) - This A.M.V. is overall a Standalone work. (It is not directly involved with my other work); However, it can be considered a work For the storyline that’s a precursor to Repeat-verse, which came before that story was conceived!) Therefore, it can be watched as a Standalone! - I reused a part of an older edit for the earliest Tri P.V.; (for timing placements) it had an old subtitle on, but I’ll remove that for the finished version! - (There is a moment of Hurricane Touchdown!Taichi for Timing) {As it works for my fan-‘verse, I left it in, with a bonus by end!} However, the work is overall/near-wholly 02-focused (so far)! - There is a small amount of out-of-context scenes, However, they’re meant to overall parallel the lyric{s} on-screen. - There is a single Tri spoiler from Kyousei; involving the character of “Homeostasis”, that (mind)-possesses Hikari briefly in Adventure Ep. 45 previously. {“Gennai” [Tri] can also be seen for some short seconds} - Major handful of “The Beginning” sequel spoilers by ending; However, it’s all actually immediately Pre-Final battle. (The Digimon in final battle can be seen Clearly, +Rui)

{I have not yet re-written the Daikari storyline involved with the past ficverse of mine in full; So please take this work as a sort of preview to it!} The ending lines and following sequences especially hint/allude a little more to my ficverse’s potential turnouts; but it can be viewed/read as semi or even fully canon compliant too!

(Further lyric{s} under ‘read more’!)

Keep reading

#amv: kocchi wo muite #originally posted: jul 2024 #originally posted: 2024 #august 2nd #repeatverse: spinoff aus #coftff #coftffverse #fic: chosen of faith #chosen of faith: the fanfic #coftff daisuke #coftff hikari #coftff koushiro #daisuke #hikari #02 hikari #daikari #daisuke x hikari #hikari positivity #tri hikari vs yggdrasil #hikari vs homeostasis #hikari vs vamdemon #(This AMV I initially made for August 2nd but got SUPER side tracked archiving bc hAHA FANDOM DISCOURSING AT RANDOM EVEN OUTSIDE tHIS ONE--#(This is one of VERY FEW AMVs ive made that DONT focus on Koushiro {HAS FEW SECONDS FOR KICK OF IT} but def HIKARI CENTRIC for Reasons)#(If your takeaway is Wow Hikari is So ManipulativeTM or A Relationship Between Them Wouldnt WorkTM go back and watch again+read lyrics!!!!)#({Long Story Short: its parodying all the bad to horrificly OOC 'criticisms' this fandom threw at 02!Hikari+Daikari ever since 02 ENDED})#(Its ALSO implying Societal Misogyny in that HIKARI ISNT ACTUALLY AIMING FOR MOST OF THAT it just HAPPENS THAT HIKARIs PERCEIVED SUCH)#(I did manipulate end scenes a bit sequence wise BUT the end goal is to get you to think about how fandoms been portraying Hikari *overall*#({Mainly I made it for my OLD pre 2015 written ficverses Hikari Arc as a tiein but I have yet to repost that so tAKE THIS FOR NOW---})#({There is a SLIGHT bit during instrumental interludes implying AU tieins too wTaichi+KouTai BUT that ALSO had relevancy to my old verse})#(Hikari Banner is Now {Very Unforunately} a Go too DO NOT MAKE ME HAVE TO TAP THE BANNER FOR THE EMPHASIS PLS & THANKYOU)

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usagifuyusummer · 5 months ago

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"You're loved. Don't forget."

More ramblings and concept art below lmao.

I am devastated on thinking Timmy's fate in the series... I won't put my faith that they will handle it well, so I'll just indulge in fanworks to fill in this void. If they ever do it well one day, then I'll be there for the encore.

For now, I think you'll see a lot of somewhat depressed art on FOP for a while lol. Not continuous mind you! University is a bitch to get through. Whenever I'm free that is. Which is on long stretches of time unfortunately... Still, when I'm not posting trash, I'll be around observing quietly. You can guarantee that at least.

The work this time is inspired by @xblubotx (the adopted parents kissing Timmy one so cute omgosh) and @cubbihue FOP AU (sorry I have not memorised your AU yet). I admire that Blubot can adapt the FOP artstyle so well lmao. It'll be lightyears before I can do that 😭😭😭. Also, their Timmy fanarts break my heart, thank you. For the fairies design, I took inspiration from Cubbihue's AU. I think it's cute that they have tails, but there's not much I can say regarding their AU since its still developing. Take your time on that and have fun by the way.

The context for this one is just that Timmy is embarassed that Cosmo and Wanda are giving him the affection he is missing out from his parents. Poof is laughing from Timmy's embarrassment lol. (Not using Poof's new name because that is not that iteration of his character.) Timmy got a lot of fairy dust to remove from his face on that day...

Hm, are there side-effects to fairies kissing a mortal (on the cheeks hehe)? I kinda wish there was a comprehensive mythology book for stuff like that. There's some sources where I read that fairies kissing humans can actually result in their soul being whisked away to the other world (essentially dying yeah) and some sources say that fairies kissing you means its their way of marking territory or for good luck??? I wonder where those myths came from... but it is fascinating to think about. I guess Timmy will die young then /jk lol.

I got input from my younger sister that a darker color background is better than the dark blue one I used initially. I'm quite unsure on this, so I'll just post them all... I also don't think I nailed Cubbihue's AU on the fairy sizes... It's hard to accurately draw characters on a specific scale for me... Oh well, I can practice more. This took me 3 days at least. Also, here's a png version of the piece and two photos of the concept sketches.

I think that's all I want to yap about. Thanks for reading and have a nice day. See you when my homework isn't killing me.

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jj-the-hobbit171 · 4 months ago

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Hey guys, I’ve been thinking about a medieval fantasy cod AU.

So, imagine that the task force were a group of knights that fought great battles and defeated monsters of greater size. They’ve rescued hundreds, and other achievements, and for their bravery, they’re crowned the new rulers of the land. And with that, comes a king’s guard. Reader.

Well, reader of their whole life has been trained to protect the next ruler of the kingdom, to lay down their life if the need be. They knew not mother, no father nor siblings, no love. All so they could be loyal to the throne and only that. That they be nothing more than the rulers hound… and they were ok with that. And when it was time for them to enter their post, they were content. They could live like this for the rest of their life, right?

Wrong. The kings never made it easy. Always sneaking out of the palace to go on some wild adventure, and leaving reader to rush to get them to protect them. By the first year, they had been

* burnt by 3 dragons using themselves as an emergency shield( why didn’t the king’s bring theirs?!)

* Thrown through 6 mountains. Courtesy of ghosts insisting that he could fight 20 foot monsters

* Made to initiate a fae wedding so gaz wouldn’t lose his soul.

My gods if I was to say they were exusted, and if that wasn’t the only things. They criticize you for everything. They way you ride a horse, they way you hold a sword, hell, they don’t like your hair!(there’s nothing you can do about it!)

But, one faithful day, you had enough. It was when you were commanded to follow king John to the archery ring. And he kept complaining about you.

“God, lad, can’t you walk faster? Are you daft? And didn’t we tell you to fix that hair? God, what could I do with you…”

You snapped, shoving him to the wall beside you, your body looming over him.

“Listen here, king,” you growled “ I didn’t waste my life training to be your fucking dog just to be insulted. Don’t play with my life, you, and your “boys”” you dropped him, Bowing in apology, before walking away. Price looks on at you, his mouth gapping….

Were you always this hot?

Hey guys! I know u haven’t been able to post in a while, I have been learning and furthering my education! But I do hope to post more. If you have any suggestions for knight reader, please don’t be afraid to knock!

From the hobbit hole,

J.J

#cod x male reader #poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #141 x reader #cod x reader #john price x male reader #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #johnny soap mactavish #knight reader

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un-vaticand · 3 months ago

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can i chew on you please

“Wh-?…huh?”

((/OOC: I!John & M!John too just in case, since it wasn’t specified :3))

((Thx for ask!!! Asks open & appreciated ^_^))

#((/OOC: asks open meheheheh >:3))#((^_^))#((I love drawing these little guys))#answeringthings #asks open #faith the unholy trinity #ftut #john ward #faith john ward #faith the game #ask blog #faith initiation au #faith ask blog #faith modern au #faith the unholy trinity au #faith game #og john

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toxickeyboard · 6 months ago

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"And all the light in the world, it converges on you"

(/Lyr)

Message Lost by Ferry fits with the Initiation AU from Gary's perspective.

I'll probably make a color coded or analyzed lyrics thing later about it. But for now, silly drawing.

Time-lapse ⬇️

Haven't drawn on ibis paint in rlly long hah.

Also, I updated his design a bit so that the blood marks are more accurate.

#song associations :]#🦌ceez'sart🐍#faith initiation au #faith the unholy trinity #john ward #faith john ward #ftut #gary miller #faith the game #faith game #faith fanart #faith the unholy trinity au #faith the unholy trinity fanart #ftut fanart #ftut gary #john ward faith

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the-artist-grimm · 4 months ago

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Crimson Angel AU - The Three Remaining Crown Bearers

(Text updated as of Nov 8th, 2024)

More Crimson Angel Lore! This time thinking about some of the previous/current vessels.

(credit to @/waokevale for the inspo! Its from their posts head-cannoning Forneus as a former crown bearer where I got the idea to have her in the lineup!)

Over the course of 1000 years Narinder had in total 13 vessels who bore the red crown, and each were chosen upon their deaths for displaying potential upon arrival into the Gateway. Though the prophecy stated that a lamb would be the final bearer, Narinder did not want to sit idle, and had hoped that others could clear a quicker path for the chosen liberator while he waited.

Currently named bearers (featuring my SYMBOLISM obsession, deaths/numbers are somewhat related to the character as closely as I manage)

Forneus - #7 (Lady Luck)

The 7th bearer of the Red Crown, and bared it approximately 300 years ago. Captured by heretics after drawing their attention away from a family in trouble whilst on the road, Forneus caught Narinder’s attention for both her fighting prowess and fierce sense of justice, and proved to be one of his more efficient vessels. Quick-witted and clever, she was a seemingly kind leader to her cult, but a ruthless warrior to all others, with her mission being to decimate the Bishops’ higher-ranking witnesses as opposed to taking them on personally. She also appeared to possess a remarkable amount of luck, hardly ever dying whilst on crusades. Yet despite that her term as vessel only lasted approximately 80 years, whereupon finding herself pregnant via one of her lovers, she willingly relinquished the crown so that she could raise her children in peace, not wanting to put them at risk.

Narinder, though somewhat irked, accepted her choice, as she’d managed to kill enough witnesses to set the Bishops internal hierarchies back by several decades of experience. Unbeknownst to him, however, the very children Forneus relinquished the crown for would join him not long after, with the cat herself being bestowed a golden skull and an open promise of reunion with her children in the distant future by the God of Wisdom and War.

Forneus died of her heart-in saving those sheep, her heart was cut out during her sacrifice

7 is considered a lucky number

The Chariot is the 7th Tarot Card, representing triumph through determination, self-control, and overcoming obstacles.

Became vessel at approximately age 20, is now over 400 years old

Ratau- #12 (The Shepherd)

The 12th bearer of the Red Crown, and bared it approximately over 40 years ago. Killed by heretics after refusing to acknowledge the threat they posed to all within the Lands of the Old Faith. Hailing from a village that willfully ignored the lambs and their warnings of slaughter, it was not until heretics arrived to razed the place to the ground that Ratau realized their threat, yet by then it was too late to act as he was slain. Upon his arrival in the gateway Narinder initially had no plans to make him a vessel, yet the rat’s anger towards both himself and the Bishops appeared to make him an easily manipulated enough target to try. And with the dwindling lamb’s population heralding the final liberator’s rise, the death god was desperate to have a vessel prepared to take on the role of mentor.

Though a remarkably fast learner, Ratau proved inadequate in regards to his ruthlessness, unwilling to push his followers or himself to their limits. And upon being forced to sacrifice a follower following an incident with a mysterious fox, the resulting guilt led to Ratau relinquishing the crown within only a decade, much to Narinder’s frustration. He left the grounds with his disciples and isolated himself to a self-imposed solitude within the woods, only ever visiting his friends from time to time and trying to put his previous cult-life behind him.

Yet as fate would have it, twenty years later Ratau would chance across a young, newly orphaned lamb within the woods, and though aware of the prophesied fate ahead of them, decided to take the little one in. Fourteen years later, that little lamb would rise as the final vessel.

Ratau died for turning a blind eye to the world around him, and thus, lost his left eye in turn. It was a slash and a stab through which killed him

12 is considered a number of stability and order, fitting for a mentor

The Hanged Man is the 12th Tarot Card, representing ultimate surrender, sacrifice, and patience.

Became a vessel at age 25, is currently in his mid 60s.

Anthea- #13 (The Lamb/Unlucky Thirteen)

The 13th and final bearer of the Red Crown. Anthea was killed by heretics upon sacrificing herself to save the life of her guardian, Ratau, and had been a willing sacrifice due to a belief that she already lived on borrowed time. Of all prior vessels Anthea was the only one to have worshiped The One Who Waits prior to resurrection and vesselship, and proved to not only be highly devoted, but also far more empathetic and aware of his situation beyond those who came before them. When it came to their interactions with the god, Anthea often expressed a kindness to not just him but his typically overlooked disciples as well, bring them gifts and befriending the three to try and ease their imprisonments. Though coming from a genuine place of care, it was also born from Anthea’s own lack of self, with the lamb preferring to put everyone but themself first.

It was through aiding The One Who Waits that Anthea’s perspective of self began to change, as Narinder slowly began to challenge their self-sacrificial tendencies the more he got to know them, with the two growing closer and eventually falling in love. Yet it was right before Anthea planned to confess her feelings that The One Who Waits seemingly betrayed them, ordering them to sacrifice themself just as they finally started wanting to live.

Anthea died for being unable to express their own will beyond giving themself up for others, sticking their neck out so long as it mean someone else benefited from it. Their death was via beheading.

13 is considered a number of bad luck, yet also of the ending of one cycle and the beginning of another, a transformation

Death is the 13th Tarot Card, and represents the ending of one phase of a life and the start of another, change, and new beginnings.

Became vessel at age 26, and finished slaying all the bishops in 3 years, making them 29

Trying to go through and whip the game’s admittedly open-ended-ish/slightly vague lore into something more fleshed-out is really fun lol. Might make more vessels but thus far the only three who remain are 7, 12, and 13-which Narinder doesn't even realize that Forneus is till kicking about.

Also Weapons notes!

Forneus gets a hammer because it in a way represents justice (see a court gavel) and though it hits slow it hits HARD. In an RPG its the tank who usually gets it within the party.

Ratau I gave a staff since he's implied to be somewhat cowardly, or at least appears to not like killing to an extent with how he gave up the crown after sacrificing a follower, and since he gives us the curses in-game (yeah they're on Nari's orders but Ratau's the one handing them out), essentially making him a mage seemed fitting-plus in fantasy the mage is usually a mentor. He also has a staff in-game so it maintains that silhouette, albeit I made this one look more like a shepherd's hook considering it's meant to be his weapon as a cult leader.

Anthea, the Lamb, I gave a sword since it's the weapon of a knight in shinning armor, since their personality is that of someone always saving others after all.

And lastly a little doodle of everyone's death scars!

(Also if anyone wants to send asks about the AU or to the characters go ahead hehehe, this AU is taking over my life :3 )

Boarders are by @lambouillet

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl lamb #cotl fanart #sketch #my art #crimson angel au #anthea #cotl au #cotl ratau #cotl forneus #cult of the lamb ratau #cult of the lamb forneus #crimson angel au lore #crimson angel au art

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brunchable · 3 months ago

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Winter King, Chapter 7: Look What You Made Me Do

Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Queen Reader Words: 11.5K Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, profanity. Warning: Acts of Violence. Attempted Murder. Summary: Y/N defies tradition by joining the equinox fetivities. Fitten in equestrian attire, she draws onlookers, including Thor, Loki and Pietro, while Bucky watches with visible frustration as others practically undress her with their eyes. Despite the tension, Y/N remains focused on the race.

Flashback: Edges of the Country

Isaac stood at the edge of the crowd, blending seamlessly with the common folk. His cloak was pulled low over his head, obscuring his features, and his eyes scanned the scene. The town was one of many far from the heart of the kingdom, and it had been growing increasingly restless. Isaac could feel the tension in the air, the unease that crackled like a storm ready to break.

In the middle of the square, Brock Rumlow stood tall and imposing, his voice carrying over the crowd with the confidence of a man who knew how to stoke a fire. The townspeople, desperate and angry, gathered around him, hanging on his every word. Isaac's lips pressed into a thin line as he watched Rumlow incite the crowd, his eyes sharp and calculating.

“This kingdom has grown weak!” Rumlow’s voice boomed, his fists clenched at his sides. “Your king—your so-called leader—has been absent in his duties! While you starve, he is nowhere to be found. Where is he? Where is his protection for you?”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. The townspeople, many of them gaunt from hunger and weary from constant struggle, nodded, their faces hardened by the truth in Rumlow’s words.

“The shipments of food, of supplies, have been blocked for weeks now!” Rumlow continued, his voice growing louder, more fervent. “And what has your king done? He ignores your plight! He lets you suffer while he plays the royal game in his palace, far removed from your reality!”

Isaac shifted slightly, his jaw tightening. He knew that this was exactly what those pulling the strings behind the scenes wanted—doubt, unrest, rebellion. Rumlow was merely a tool in a larger plan, but the power of his words was undeniable.

“And what of your queen?” Rumlow spat, his lips curling into a sneer. “She cannot bear a child, cannot provide an heir! Your king is absent, your queen is barren—is this not a sign from the gods? A sign that the crown has fallen out of favor?”

The crowd grew restless, some nodding, others muttering in agreement. Rumlow raised his arms, his voice dripping with venom. “The gods have turned their backs on us! This kingdom, this weak, crumbling kingdom, is on the verge of collapse! We cannot wait for the royalty to save us, because they won’t! They do not care about you!”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. Rumlow was riling them up, feeding their fear and their anger. It was dangerous—more dangerous than Isaac had initially thought. His hand twitched toward the dagger hidden beneath his cloak, but he stayed his impulse. There was more to learn here, more to uncover.

Few days before: at The Siren’s Song

The tavern was dim with the faint scent of smoke and ale filling the air. Isaac sat at a corner table, his back to the wall as he watched the room carefully. Across from him sat Clint Barton, one of his most trusted spies, his face hidden beneath the brim of a hood.

Clint leaned forward, his voice low and serious. “Unrests are growing in the towns on the edges of the country.”

Isaac's brow furrowed slightly, though his face remained impassive. “How so?”

“There’s been talk of shipments being blocked,” Clint explained, glancing around the room before meeting Isaac's gaze again. “Food, supplies—everything’s being cut off. Rumlow’s been making speeches, stirring up dissent. People are starting to lose faith in the crown.”

Isaac's expression darkened. “Do we know who’s behind it?”

Clint hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. “Not yet. But it’s coordinated. Too many towns are being hit at once for this to be random.”

Isaac nodded slowly, his mind already working through the possibilities. “Keep an eye on him,” he said quietly. “And on the lords. We need to know who’s pulling the strings.”

Clint tipped his head in agreement, his eyes sharp as ever. “I’ll keep you informed.”

Back in the Square: Rumlow’s Speech

“The king has abandoned you!” Rumlow shouted, his voice ringing out across the square. “He is absent, lost in the games of royalty while you starve. And your queen—she cannot bear the weight of an heir, much less the weight of this kingdom. The gods have shown us the signs—this is a bad omen—that they don’t want the line to continue. The crown has failed.”

The crowd erupted into murmurs and shouts, anger and desperation filling the air. Isaac’s eyes swept over the faces of the people, their pain and hopelessness. Rumlow had them in the palm of his hand, and Isaac knew that this was only the beginning.

Rumlow raised his fist in the air, his voice growing louder with every word. “We deserve better! We deserve a ruler who will fight for us, who will not abandon us in our time of need! The kingdom is failing, and if we do nothing, we will fail with it!”

Isaac’s jaw clenched as he turned, slipping silently away from the crowd. He had heard enough. This unrest was spreading, and it was no longer just whispers in the dark—it was becoming a movement. He would have to act swiftly, but for now, he had to report back to Bucky.

Private Meeting in Annecy

The small council assembled in Annecy was tense, the weight of Isaac’s words hanging heavily in the air. Bucky sat at the head of the table, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood as he processed what had just been shared. Beside him, Steve, Sam, and Tony sat in silence, their faces grim, while Isaac stood at the opposite end, his gaze sharp and unwavering.

Isaac leaned forward slightly, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “The unrest is growing faster than we anticipated. They're targeting the outer towns first, cutting off supplies and causing desperation. Once they have destabilized the edges of the kingdom, they'll start working their way inward, toward the capital.”

Bucky's brow furrowed as he considered the gravity of the situation. His jaw clenched, and his eyes flicked over to Tony, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meeting.

“Tony, have you heard anything? Any whispers in your network?”

Tony, who had been leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, straightened at the question. His expression was serious, his usual wit subdued.

“Nothing concrete,” he admitted, his voice low. “But there’s been some chatter—rumors about shipments being delayed, and certain noble families getting nervous. It didn’t seem like anything at first, but now that Isaac’s mentioned the unrest, it’s starting to make sense.”

Sam, who had been sitting quietly next to Steve, leaned forward, his voice filled with concern. “So they’re trying to isolate the kingdom? Make the people suffer so they turn against the crown?”

Isaac nodded grimly. “That’s the idea. They’re creating chaos on the outskirts, hoping it’ll spread like wildfire. The longer it takes, the worse it’ll get. The people are desperate, and Rumlow is feeding that desperation. He’s giving them someone to blame.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, his hand forming a fist on the table. “And the lords? Do we know who’s supporting him?”

Isaac shook his head. “Not yet. But there are whispers—some of the more ambitious lords might be backing him, quietly of course. They want the crown weakened, but they’re too cowardly to show their hand until the time is right.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted back to Tony, his voice steady but filled with an underlying tension. “Keep listening, Tony. We need to know if anyone on the council is involved.”

Tony nodded, his face darkening. “I’ll keep my ears open.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in. They were not just facing external threats but the possibility of betrayal from within their own court. Bucky leaned back in his chair, his eyes hard as he looked around at the men gathered.

“We need to stop this before it spreads any further,” Bucky said, his voice quiet but firm. “We can’t afford to let them destabilize the kingdom from the outside in.”

Isaac’s expression was unreadable as he met Bucky’s gaze. “I’ll head back to the border towns. Rumlow’s stirring up trouble there, and I can follow the trail from him.”

Bucky nodded, a determined set to his jaw. “Be careful. If Rumlow’s got backers, they won’t hesitate to strike if they know we’re onto them.”

“I’ll watch my back,” Isaac replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sam looked between them, his brow furrowed. “And what about the people? They need to know we haven’t abandoned them.”

“We’ll send relief,” Steve interjected, his voice steady. “Food, supplies, whatever we can spare. But we’ll need to be strategic—if the shipments are being blocked, we’ll have to find new routes.”

Tony leaned back again, his eyes narrowing as he considered the logistics. “I can work with the traders, see if there are any alternative routes we haven’t thought of. But it’s going to be tricky.”

Bucky’s gaze hardened, his eyes dark with determination. “Do whatever it takes. We’re not losing this kingdom.”

The Dungeons (Back at the Palace, a few days after.)

The dim, flickering torchlight cast long shadows on the cold stone walls of the dungeon. The air was thick, damp, and heavy with the scent of mold. The guard they had kept alive, now shackled to a chair in the center of the room, sat trembling under the weight of what was to come. His eyes darted between the two brothers—Isaac, leaning casually against the far wall, watching silently with a cold smirk, and Bucky, standing directly in front of him, radiating a dangerous calm.

Bucky held a rolled-up piece of parchment in his hand, his gaze hard as steel as he unrolled it slowly. The detailed portrait of Rumlow came into view, the artist’s precision capturing the man’s scarred face and cruel sneer with chilling accuracy.

Bucky’s voice was low, almost too calm, but the threat within it was unmistakable. “Do you recognize this man?”

The guard swallowed hard, his eyes widening as they fixed on the portrait. His breath quickened, his lips trembling as he hesitated to answer. Bucky took a slow step forward, the measured sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing ominously in the small chamber.

“I asked you a question,” Bucky said, his tone cold. He leaned down, bringing his face closer to the guard’s, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

The guard’s breath hitched, and he looked away, trying to steady himself. “I—I’ve seen him,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “At the docks… several times.”

Bucky straightened, his arms crossed, his eyes never leaving the guard’s face. “And what was he doing there?”

The man swallowed again, sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill of the room. “He… he seemed to be overseeing things. Shipments, deliveries… but it wasn’t normal work. He was careful and quiet. And he always had men with him—dangerous men.”

Bucky’s gaze darkened, and he took another step forward, looming over the guard. “Go on.”

The guard’s voice shook as he continued, his eyes darting between Bucky and Isaac. “I overheard something once. I—I wasn’t supposed to hear it, but they didn’t see me. Rumlow was talking to one of his men, and he mentioned someone on the council.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the council, his casual posture stiffening slightly. Bucky leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Who?”

“I—I don’t know,” the guard stammered, his voice trembling with fear. His gaze darted around the room, avoiding Bucky’s cold, relentless stare.

Bucky’s patience snapped, he grabbed the guard by the collar, yanking him upright and slamming him back against the stone wall. The sound echoed through the room, and the guard let out a whimper, his breath hitching in panic.

“Who?” Bucky growled, his face inches from the guard’s, his grip tightening until the man could barely breathe.

The guard gasped, eyes wide with terror. “Alexander!” he sputtered, his voice barely audible. “He said the name Alexander.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as the name sank in. Alexander Pierce. He released the guard with a forceful shove, and the man collapsed back into the chair, wheezing as he clutched his chest.

Isaac, who had been watching in cold silence, exchanged a knowing glance with his brother. Pierce—one of the most influential and cunning members of the council. It wasn’t entirely surprising, but it confirmed their suspicions that the conspiracy ran deeper than just Rumlow’s schemes.

Bucky paced for a moment, his hands flexing at his sides as the information settled on him. He could feel the anger boiling under the surface, the urge to act immediate and violent.

Isaac’s voice broke the tense silence, his tone low and thoughtful. “It's Mother's birthday tomorrow. Then the Autumn Equinox the day after.” He glanced at Bucky, his expression calculating. “We can’t act on this right now. The court’s eyes will be on us the entire time.”

Bucky paced for a moment longer, his mind racing, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The revelation of Pierce's name added a dangerous layer to the already delicate situation, and every instinct in him wanted to act now, to confront Pierce head-on. But Isaac had a point—they couldn’t afford to make a scene with the queen's birthday tomorrow and the Autumn Equinox celebration right after. Too many eyes would be watching.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to think clearly, before turning to Isaac. “Is Tony sending any relief to the affected towns?”

Isaac gave a curt nod, his expression steady. “It’s already in motion. Tony's rerouting the supplies through alternate routes—ones Pierce doesn’t control. Shipments are bypassing the docks and moving overland. The towns should start seeing relief soon.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened with a mix of relief and lingering tension. “Good. We can’t let them suffer while those bastards play their games. The people are losing faith in the crown.”

Isaac’s voice remained calm but firm. “The relief will help ease the unrest. But we can’t act too soon, not until we have Pierce cornered. If he suspects we’re onto him before we’ve gathered enough evidence, he’ll slip through our fingers.”

“No, we cannot wait! Our people are being forced to starve! We have waited long enough. The longer we wait, the stronger they get, and the more our people suffer.”

Isaac watched him intently, the wheels in his head turning. “Then I guess it’s time to spill more blood,” he said, his voice calm yet filled with dark intent. “I’ll start with their positions at the docks.”

Bucky’s gaze locked onto Isaac, his chest still heaving from the force of his anger, but there was a grim satisfaction in his brother’s words. Isaac, ever calculated and precise, had already started strategizing another plan.

“This time, don’t be clean,” Bucky advised, his voice lower now but laced with menace. “I want to see how Pierce would react.”

Isaac’s smirk widened ever so slightly, a flicker of dangerous excitement passing through his eyes.

“As you wish, brother.”

× × × ×

Present

The Autumn Equinox Celebration was in full swing, and the town square buzzed with excitement. Lanterns in warm hues of gold, red, and orange illuminated the cobbled streets, casting a soft glow over the vendors selling hot cider, roasted chestnuts, and the season’s bountiful harvest. The air was crisp with the early bite of fall, a perfect contrast to the warmth of the bonfires that flickered in the distance. The people, dressed in their finest autumn attire, gathered in celebration of the changing season, their faces alight with joy.

It was a time-honored tradition, one that the royal family always attended. In previous years, their presence had been more symbolic—watching from elevated platforms or giving formal addresses before retreating to private dinners. But this year felt different.

You stood beside Bucky and the Queen Dowager, your eyes scanning the lively crowd that filled the bustling festival square. There was something in the air tonight, something electric, pulling you away from the suffocating formality that had become your life. The weight of the crown, the title of "queen," had forced a distance between you and the very people you had vowed to serve.

You were tired of it.

Tired of watching from afar, tired of being on the sidelines. Tonight, you had decided that things would be different.

“I shall participate,” you declared suddenly, your voice cutting through the gentle murmur of conversation between Bucky, Isaac and the Queen Dowager.

All three of them froze. Bucky’s head whipped toward you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, while the Queen Dowager blinked, clearly caught off guard by your unexpected declaration.

Even Isaac turned his head sharply, his eyebrows raised as if to say, Did I hear that right?

You didn’t wait for them to respond. You had already made up your mind, your heart pounding with a mixture of defiance and exhilaration. With a firm nod, you began descending the steps from the royal platform, your gown flowing behind you as you moved purposefully toward the festival grounds. Your decision was final, your stride unwavering.

Scott hurried after you, “Your Majesty,” he began, his tone gentle but insistent. “I must advise against participating in the horse race… or the archery competition. You’ve been… frail as of late, and these are not activities usually undertaken by—"

"Women?" you interrupted, raising a brow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

Scott shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not that, Your Majesty, it’s just that—"

You shook your head, cutting him off again. “Scott, enough. The people need to know who their queen is, and standing on some platform like a distant figurehead isn’t going to do that.”

Before Scott could protest further, you turned to the Queen Dowager and Bucky, your eyes steady as you made your case.

“May I?”

The Queen Dowager hesitated for only a moment, her sharp eyes assessing you.

"Well..." she began, her voice laced with curiosity. She turned to her son, raising a brow, waiting for his response.

Bucky, who had remained quiet until now, felt a weight settle in his chest. He studied you, the determination in your eyes unmistakable. His initial instinct was to say no—to protect you from what could easily become reckless.

But he could see it, the fire burning in you, the need to connect with the people in a way that felt real. The weight of upcoming events—the ceremony, the consort issue—still hung between you, and he knew this wasn’t just about tradition. This was about you asserting your place, your own strength.

He let out a soft sigh, reluctant but understanding.

“Fine,” he said quietly, though his voice carried a hint of tension. After a pause, he added, “But I shall be joining you.”

Your lips tugged into a grateful smile, though you could see the concern lingering in his eyes. You nodded, your resolve only strengthening.

Without another word, you turned and strode toward the festival grounds, the sounds of the bustling town filling the air around you as you prepared to show them exactly who their queen was.

"Scott, why don’t you fetch me some riding attire?" you called over your shoulder.

Scott, still flustered by the sudden turn of events, stammered, "B-but, Your Majesty, the attire is only for men."

You arched a brow, a glint of defiance in your eyes. "Even better. Find me a size that would fit, then."

Bucky chuckled softly, shaking his head as he watched you walk away with a newfound fire in your step.

As Scott hurried off to fulfill your unusual request, you glanced back at Bucky, who was now following your lead toward the race track. Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice calm but with a teasing edge as he walked beside you.

“You are angry,” he repeated, though there was a hint of playfulness in his tone.

You tilted your head, lips curving into a faint smirk as you feigned innocence. “Hm? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You are. I can tell.”

“I’m not,” you insisted, though your expression betrayed you. The defiance in your stance, the way you had commanded Scott to fetch the riding attire—it all spoke volumes, and Bucky knew you too well to miss it.

“You are,” he said again, this time with more certainty, stepping closer until you were walking side by side. His voice softened, but there was still that lingering humor. “You’re upset about something.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, trying to hold onto your composure, but the warmth in his gaze made it difficult. He was giving you that look—the one that always made you feel like he could see right through you.

Bucky’s smirk deepened, but he raised his eyebrows as if to prove a point.

“I see,” he said, his tone light but with that knowing edge that always managed to get under your skin. “So you're not mad. You’re just… a little defensive.”

You felt your pulse quicken, your composure slipping for just a second.

“I said I’m not,” you repeated, but the sharpness in your voice betrayed the calm facade you were trying to maintain.

Bucky raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright,” he said with a chuckle, though the amusement never left his eyes. “But you know you’re only proving my point, right?”

A huff escaped you, your gaze flicking forward as you quickened your pace slightly.

"It is because you keep insisting that I am mad." The words came out faster than you'd intended, the frustration bubbling with you.

Bucky didn’t miss a beat, falling into step beside you again. He shot you a sidelong glance, his smile softening into something more understanding.

"Perhaps... but I know you, Y/N. There’s something you’re not telling.”

You kept your eyes ahead, unwilling to meet his gaze, knowing that if you did, the wall you were trying so hard to keep up would crumble completely.

Of course, you were mad—mad about tonight, mad about the expectations, mad about the fact that after everything, you’d be left to bear the weight of it while Bucky... while Bucky would have to fulfill the duties that came with naming a consort. But you weren’t about to admit that. You couldn’t.

Instead, you bit back your real thoughts, holding your chin high. “I just want to win this race,” you said with forced resolve, brushing past the truth and focusing on the task at hand.

Bucky chuckled softly, shaking his head, but there was no teasing left in his tone when he finally spoke again. "If it’s about the upcoming ceremony and the consummation, you know it doesn’t mea—"

“Don’t,” you cut him off quickly, your voice quieter this time but firm. You didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to discuss it—you knew you made this decision for him—but still.

Bucky hesitated, studying your face for a moment, then sighed softly. He didn't push further, though you could sense the tension still lingering between you both. Even though he didn't say it, you knew he understood. The heaviness of the night ahead pressed on you both, but for now, neither of you would speak it aloud.

You had an image to maintain, after all.

× × × ×

The field was abuzz with excitement as the riders gathered for the horse race, the energy palpable in the crisp afternoon air. Townspeople and nobles alike lined the track, eager to witness the festivities of the equinox. The usual banter of the crowd was suddenly replaced by hushed murmurs, the kind that always followed when something—or someone—unexpected made an entrance.

You stepped onto the field, your figure commanding attention in a way that immediately silenced those around you. Dressed in a fitted equestrian outfit that hugged every curve, the tailored trousers marked the first time people saw a woman in pants—let alone their queen. The absence of a helmet left your hair loose, a deliberate choice that only amplified the boldness of your appearance. The cut of the clothing emphasized your form in ways your royal gowns never had—every inch of you exuding confidence and power.

“This is blasphemy, how could he allow this?” Lord Carter muttered toward the other lords, shaking his head in disgust as he watched you stride confidently across the field, dressed in your fitted equestrian attire.

Tony Stark, overhearing Lord Carter’s complaint, raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Blasphemy, Lord Carter?” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “I’d call it bold. A queen who knows how to make an impression. You should try it sometime.” He nudged Pepper, who was standing beside him, her expression calm but approving.

Pepper glanced at you, a smile tugging at her lips. “It doesn't just suit her—she’s setting a new standard,” she added, her tone firm. “If anyone can’t handle it, that’s their problem.”

Tony chuckled, giving Lord Carter a pointed look. “Quite right, let them grumble. She’s not just ruling—she’s rewriting the rulebook. You might want to take notes.”

Lord Carter scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “A queen rewriting the rulebook? That’s not how tradition works, Stark,” he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.

Before Tony could respond, Lord Pierce chimed in, his voice smooth and calculated.

“Tradition has its place, Tony,” Pierce said, his gaze flickering between the queen and the lords. “But there’s a fine line between boldness and rebellion. And I’m not sure which side of that line our queen is walking right now.”

Tony, ever unflappable, raised an eyebrow. “Boldness, rebellion—call it what you want. But progress doesn’t happen without shaking things up.” He leaned closer to Pepper, adding with a smirk, “And she’s shaking things up in the best way possible.”

Wanda, standing near the edge of the crowd, watched with a mixture of quiet awe and tension. Her eyes flickered with admiration for your boldness, but there was a shadow of concern in her expression, knowing the stir it would cause among the more traditional members of the court.

Beside her, Natasha smirked, crossing her arms with a knowing glance toward Wanda. “She’s always known how to make an entrance,” Natasha murmured, her voice low, though the pride in her tone was unmistakable.

Wanda’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, as she tried to stifle a smile, her gaze briefly shifting to the far end of the gathering. Her fingers brushed absently over a simple ring she wore—small and unadorned, hidden in plain sight yet easily overlooked. It was not a royal symbol, but one with personal significance.

Natasha’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the movement, and her smirk deepened knowingly. “I’d wager there’s more than one reason you’re watching so closely,” she said in an even quieter tone, her eyes flickering toward Isaac, who stood further back, observing the crowd with his usual intensity.

Wanda’s expression faltered for just a moment, the barest flicker of something unspoken passing between her and Natasha. She quickly composed herself, her voice soft but firm.

“You know the court likes a good spectacle,” she replied, deflecting with a grace that only someone well-versed in keeping secrets could muster.

Across the field, Isaac’s gaze briefly locked onto Wanda’s, and for the faintest second, his lips curled into a smirk—a fleeting gesture, but one that carried a world of meaning between the two of them.

As you made your way toward your horse, the whispers grew louder, though no one dared to speak directly to you. But you could feel their gazes on you—on your legs, your hips, the way the trousers clung to your body as you moved to mount your horse.

Beside you, Steve adjusted his reins, giving you a knowing glance. “So, is this your plan tonight? To cause a stir?”

You smirked at him, your eyes glinting with a mixture of challenge and mischief. “Don’t tell me you’re going to lecture me too, Captain.”

Steve chuckled, his eyes sweeping over the crowd briefly before returning to you.

"Not my place. Besides," he added with a wry grin, "I don’t think anyone’s in a position to lecture you right now."

Your gaze flickered to Bucky, standing just beyond the track, his eyes dark as they followed your every movement. His posture was calm, but the way his jaw clenched and his hands tightened at his sides told a different story—he looked unimpressed. It was the way the majority are practically undressing you with their eyes, their curiosity and barely concealed admiration not going unnoticed by him.

Thor, ever the blunt one, muttered something under his breath that earned him a sharp elbow from Loki. Pietro, catching Thor’s comment, snickered and leaned over to nudge one of the nearby riders, clearly enjoying the stir you were causing.

“Sons of. . .” Bucky muttered under his breath.

You stole a glance at Bucky from your peripheral vision, noticing the sharp way he mounted his horse. His movements were precise, but the tightness in his jaw and the simmering anger behind his eyes were impossible to miss. He looked like a man barely holding back.

Steve also caught sight of him, his brow furrowing slightly. “Looks like the king’s decided to join,” Steve muttered, his tone neutral but observant.

You kept your eyes forward, not wanting to give Bucky the satisfaction of your attention. Your grip tightened around the reins, frustration still simmering inside you, unresolved and heavy.

Bucky maneuvered his horse next to yours, his presence imposing. He said nothing at first, but you could feel the intensity radiating off him, a storm waiting to break.

“Are you really joining the race now, Your Majesty?” you said, your voice tight, lacking the usual teasing tone. It wasn’t a playful question—it was a challenge.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to you, his eyes dark with frustration of his own. “Someone needs to keep an eye on things,” he muttered under his breath, though you knew his words carried a double meaning.

You didn’t respond, your jaw clenched as you stared ahead, trying to keep your emotions in check. Steve, noticing the tension between the two of you, stayed quiet, though you could sense he felt uneasy.

As the starting horn blared, signaling the beginning of the race, your heart pounded not just from the anticipation of the race, but from the unresolved tension hanging thick in the air between you and Bucky.

The horn blasted through the crisp evening air, sending a jolt of adrenaline through your veins. You nudge your horse forward, feeling the powerful surge of muscle beneath you as the mare shoots ahead. The pounding of hooves echoed all around, the cheers of the crowd turning into a muffled roar as you focused on the track ahead.

Beside you, Steve was a steady presence, his horse galloping in sync with yours. His gaze remained forward, his focus razor-sharp, but you could sense his concern, even in the midst of the race. To your left, Bucky pushed his stallion hard, his frustration clearly feeding into his determination to win.

You leaned forward, your grip tightening on the reins as the wind whipped through your hair. The scent of the earth beneath you, the thundering of hooves, and the rush of the competition were all-consuming. For a moment, the weight of the palace, the consort ceremony, and your own personal turmoil faded away.

Bucky drew closer, his horse nearly neck-and-neck with yours. You could feel his presence beside you, the unspoken tension between you thick in the air. You didn't look at him, your focus entirely on the path ahead. But you knew he was pushing just as hard, if not harder, trying to overtake you.

Steve, on your other side, matched your pace, his horse galloping fiercely as the three of you tore down the track. The crowd was a blur, their cheers blending into one cacophonous sound. You couldn’t focus on anything but the finish line, your heart pounding as you urged your horse forward.

The ground flew by beneath you, the wind tugging at your clothes as you edged ahead, your mare responding to your commands with every ounce of strength she had. Bucky’s stallion was right beside you, his breaths coming hard, his eyes locked on the finish line just as yours were.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a dark blur shot past both you and Bucky, startling the horses. You blinked, barely able to process what had just happened as a familiar figure streaked ahead of the pack—Isaac. His horse, sleek and black as night, thundered down the track with blinding speed, leaving dust in his wake.

Isaac, of all people, had appeared out of thin air.

“What the—” Steve muttered under his breath, his eyes widening in surprise as he watched Isaac speed toward the finish line, his usual smirk plastered on his face.

You and Bucky exchanged brief glances, both of you equally shocked by the sudden intrusion. But Isaac’s horse was too fast, and within moments, he had crossed the finish line first, the crowd erupting into wild cheers and laughter.

Isaac slowed his horse, turning it around with effortless grace, a smug grin spreading across his face as he trotted back toward the rest of the riders.

“Well, well,” Isaac drawled, his tone smug. “It seems I’ve beaten the king and the queen at their own race.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but a small smirk tugged at your lips despite the tension still lingering inside you. Isaac, always the showman, had once again stolen the spotlight.

Bucky, however, was less amused. His jaw was clenched tightly, his knuckles white as he gripped the reins. He gave Isaac a look that could melt steel, but Isaac only laughed, thoroughly enjoying the moment.

“Better luck next time, brother,” Isaac said, his tone teasing as he dismounted with ease, handing the reins of his horse to one of the stable boys.

You dismounted as well, patting your mare’s side appreciatively. Steve shook his head, still catching his breath, a bemused smile playing on his lips as he watched Isaac bask in the attention of the crowd.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Steve remarked dryly, glancing at you with raised eyebrows.

“Nothing’s ever simple when Isaac’s involved,” you replied with a sigh, though a small part of you was relieved. At least, for a brief moment, the focus had shifted away from the simmering tension between you and Bucky.

× × × ×

The archery field was abuzz with excitement, the tension thick in the air as the nobles gathered to watch the competition. It was a favored event of the equinox festival, where skill, precision, and a bit of bravado were put on display. You stood at the edge of the range, the familiar weight of the bow in your hands calming your nerves. The festival had drawn in many of the lords, and though this was meant to be a lighthearted competition, you felt the eyes of the court upon you.

Across the field, Lord Carter stood with his usual haughty air, his gaze flicking toward you with thinly veiled disdain. He held a small scroll in his hand, one that he had been waving around during conversations, clearly making a point to anyone who would listen. The sight of him only fueled the fire that had been smoldering in you all day.

You took a steadying breath, narrowing your gaze at the target in front of you. Initially, your focus was sharp on the bullseye—your bow raised, the arrow nocked perfectly. The tension in the string built, the anticipation thickening in the air.

But then something shifted.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Pierce—his face pale and tight with frustration. He looked as though he had just received dire news, and his entire posture screamed of someone desperately trying to leave unnoticed.

Isaac, however, stood in his way, blocking his path with a casual but firm presence, his lips curled into an amused smirk as he conversed with the clearly flustered councilman.

Your lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Carter had initially been your target, but this new opportunity was far too tempting. With a subtle adjustment to your aim, you set your sights on Pierce instead.

Beside you, Steve stood still, his sharp gaze catching the subtle shift in your movements. He didn’t speak, but you felt the weight of his attention on you, ever steady and watchful.

“Are you ready, Your Majesty?” the official called out, waiting for your signal to begin the round.

You gave a slight nod, your eyes never leaving Pierce now. The bow raised, string pulled taut, the arrow perfectly nocked and ready to fly.

The arrow sliced through the air with deadly precision, the sound of it cutting through the stillness of the field. A collective gasp echoed through the crowd as the arrow veered away from the intended target—a bullseye—and instead found its mark: Pierce’s coat, pinning it cleanly to the wooden post behind him.

Pierce froze mid-step, his eyes wide as he looked down at the arrow now securing him in place. His face flushed with a mixture of shock and fury, but before he could fully react, another arrow swiftly followed the first, pinning the opposite side of his coat, effectively trapping him.

Isaac, who had been standing beside Pierce, took a startled step back, his usual composure briefly faltering as he flinched when the arrow thudded into the post. His eyes widened for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sudden display of your boldness.

But as quickly as the surprise came, Isaac’s face shifted into a toothy grin. He leaned against the post casually, the smirk deepening as he locked eyes with you from across the field. Pierce, now quite literally stuck, looked from the arrows to you, his face a mask of barely contained rage. But even he knew better than to cause a scene now.

The nobles, too, were silent, eyes wide as they processed what had just happened. The message was unmistakable.

You lowered your bow with the same calm, collected grace, turning away from the target as if you hadn’t just sent the boldest statement of the day.

Steve, mounted on his horse nearby, chuckled softly under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, I’d say that hit the mark.”

You smirked, glancing up at him. “I was aiming for something a little more symbolic.”

Across the field, Pierce’s face burned with fury, but the message had already been sent. The crowd had seen it, and no words could undo the statement you had just made. Isaac, though momentarily caught off guard, seemed to enjoy the chaos you had stirred, his smirk never leaving his face.

Isaac’s grin widened as he watched Pierce struggle, the councilman’s face contorting in frustration as he tugged at his coat, trying to free himself from the arrows that had pinned him to the wooden post. The crowd had already started to murmur, but no one dared move to assist Pierce, unsure of how to handle the situation.

Isaac leaned casually against the post, his arms crossed, an air of mock amusement hanging around him. He glanced down at Pierce, his tone light but dripping with playful malice.

"Having some trouble there, Lord Pierce?"

Pierce grunted, his hands desperately trying to pull one of the arrows from the wood. His face reddened further with each futile attempt.

“Get these off, now,” he growled through gritted teeth, his voice low but seething with rage.

Isaac chuckled softly, making no move to help.

“You seem perfectly capable,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “But if you insist, I’m sure one of the guards could lend a hand. Then again,” he added with a smirk, “it’s quite the spectacle. I’d hate to rob the court of such entertainment.”

Pierce shot him a venomous glare, his anger only deepening as Isaac remained where he was, clearly enjoying the moment far too much. With a final grunt of frustration, Pierce yanked harder at one of the arrows, but the force only caused him to stumble slightly, his coat still firmly attached to the post.

Isaac raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. "Perhaps you should have a bit more practice at the archery field, my lord. It appears those arrows are giving you quite the challenge."

Pierce was panting now, his hands trembling slightly from the exertion, but Isaac only took a step back, waving his hand dismissively.

"I’ll leave you to it," he said lazily, as if this were all just a game to him. "Good luck, Lord Pierce."

With that, Isaac turned on his heel and strolled away, his posture relaxed as if he hadn’t just left one of the most powerful members of the council humiliated and trapped in front of half the court. As he walked, he glanced back briefly, catching your eye from across the field. The knowing glint in his gaze spoke volumes.

Meanwhile, Pierce, still pinned to the post, continued his struggle, his pride preventing him from calling for help, even as the sweat beaded on his brow. The scene played out before the gathered nobles, each one pretending not to notice but clearly watching with bated breath as one of their own remained stuck, while Isaac walked away with an easy swagger.

× × × ×

The evening had descended into something almost ethereal. The soft glow of lanterns cast a warm, golden light across the festival grounds, the crackle of bonfires filling the air with the scent of woodsmoke. Along the shore, people gathered with lanterns in hand, preparing to send their wishes into the sky. The vast expanse of the ocean reflected the flickering lights, making it seem as though the heavens and the sea were one.

People gathered in clusters, their faces illuminated by the soft flicker of flames as they prepared their lanterns—small, delicate paper structures painted with wishes for the coming winter.

All around you, there was a quiet anticipation, a sense of magic in the air as families, couples, and children alike whispered their hopes and dreams into the night, preparing to send them into the sky.

You stood at the edge of the bonfires, the glow of the flames casting shadows across your face. Despite the crowd, you felt a strange sense of solitude, as though the weight of the night had draped itself over your shoulders, keeping you apart from the festivities.

The murmurs of the crowd fell into a soft lull, the crackle of the fire becoming the only sound as you watched people begin to release their lanterns into the sky. The first few floated up gently, their soft light flickering against the dark canvas of the night. One by one, they began to rise, slowly at first, then with more purpose, as though they were being drawn toward the heavens.

It was breathtaking, a moment that felt almost too perfect for the reality of the world you had come to know. The lanterns drifted higher, the soft glow creating a shimmering constellation of hopes and wishes above.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Bucky’s voice came softly from behind you, and you turned to find him standing there, his face partially illuminated by the flickering light of the bonfire. His eyes, however, were trained on the sky, watching the lanterns rise like tiny stars escaping into the night.

You hadn’t expected him to find you—not tonight. You hadn’t expected him to break away from the formalities of his role. And yet, here he was, his presence grounding you in a way that only he could.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The lanterns were already rising, drifting gently into the night sky, their soft light like stars scattered against the darkness. It was breathtaking, but the beauty of it only heightened the sense of longing that had settled deep within you.

“It feels like the whole world is wishing for something,” you said softly, your gaze returning to the sky. “. . . better. Something brighter.”

Bucky moved closer, his hand brushing against yours. It was such a simple gesture, but it was enough to ground you in the moment. His fingers curled around yours, warm and securing. You didn’t pull away.

“I’ve been wishing too,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the sound of the waves gently lapping at the shore.

You hesitated, your chest tightening as you turned to face him more fully. “And what is it that you wish for, James?”

His eyes met yours, and in that moment, the world seemed to slow. There was a vulnerability you rarely saw in him—one that he only ever revealed to you.

“For you,” he murmured. “to be genuinely happy.”

Bucky's hand tightened around yours, his eyes, so full of unspoken love and longing, held yours with a certainty that left no room for doubt.

“What did you wish for?” Bucky asked.

Your gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, your fingers still gripping his as though letting go might cause the world to crumble around you.

"I wished for peace," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "For all of this—the chaos, the pressure—to end."

Bucky’s thumb brushed softly over your knuckles, a silent reassurance. “And for yourself?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze once more. His blue eyes were filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. You swallowed hard, searching for the right words.

“I wished for…” you trailed off, the truth threatening to spill over. But you stopped yourself, the weight of duty pressing on you again. You forced a smile instead, your fingers tightening around his. “I wished for the kingdom to thrive.”

“That’s not for yourself. . .”

Bucky’s gaze softened, but he didn’t push further. He simply nodded, his expression unreadable as he turned his head back toward the lanterns drifting higher into the sky. His silence was deafening, but the way his fingers held yours told you he understood what you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

Around you, the lanterns continued to rise, hundreds of them now, filling the sky with their soft, golden light. The bonfires crackled softly in the distance, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the world felt peaceful. The magic of the moment lingered in the air, and in that quiet space, you allowed yourself to believe—just for a little while—that the wishes drifting into the sky might actually come true.

Bucky’s hand slipped from yours, but only for a moment. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, unlit lantern, holding it out to you.

“One more,” he said softly, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “For us.”

Your fingers brushed his as you accepted the lantern, a quiet understanding passing between you. Together, you lit it, the warm glow illuminating both of your faces as the flame flickered to life. Slowly, you both lifted it, ready to release it into the sky.

Just as you were about to let go, Bucky’s voice, soft and full of longing, stopped you. Your breath stilled as his fingers brushed against yours, his eyes locking with yours in a way that made the world around you fade. The noise of the festival, the glow of the lanterns, everything melted away until there was only him.

“I wish…” he began, his voice barely more than a whisper, his gaze unwavering. “I wish that one day, we’ll have a child of our own. A piece of you and me, together.”

The warmth of the lantern’s flame flickered between you, casting a soft glow on his face, illuminating every detail—the way his lips parted slightly, the gentle curve of his jaw, the unspoken promise in his eyes.

And then, without another word, you both released the lantern together, you watched it rise into the night sky, carrying his wish—your shared wish—into the heavens.

Bucky’s gaze never left your face, even as the lantern disappeared into the sea of lights above.

× × × ×

It was the day of officializing the Consort.

The towering oak tree stood at the edge of the palace gardens, its massive branches stretching out like protective arms. You had always found solace here, the leaves whispering in the breeze, the rough bark grounding you when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.

Scott stood at the base of the tree, his arms crossed casually as he looked up at you. By now, he had grown used to your need for solitude, often finding you up in the branches after difficult moments. He had long stopped trying to convince you to come down, knowing that this was where you found some measure of peace.

“They’ve sedated Lady Monica,” Scott said, his voice carrying up to you. “She had a mild wrist fracture, but the physician said she’ll recover quickly. You can visit her once she’s awake.”

You nodded from your perch, though your mind was still far from the present.

“I’ll visit her before the Ceremony.”

The world felt muted, your emotions dulled by today’s event. You had wanted to visit Monica earlier but duty had held you back. Now, there was nothing to do but wait.

The sound of footsteps on the grass drew both you and Scott’s attention. Steve approached quietly, his usual careful, measured strides carrying him toward the oak tree. His gaze flicked up to you, concern written plainly on his face. You knew he’d come to check on you.

Scott glanced at Steve, then back at you.

"I'll give you two a moment," he said, his voice gentle. With a nod, Scott stepped back, disappearing into the distance to give you some space.

Steve stood at the base of the tree, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, his gaze soft. He tilted his head back slightly, looking up at you with an expression you had come to recognize—gentle concern mingled with adoration that seemed to grow more obvious.

“Good Morning,” Steve called up quietly, his voice carrying up to your branch. “I figured I’d find you here.”

You glanced down, the feel of his presence tugging at the edges of your solitude.

“I needed some air,” you replied softly, your voice carrying down to him.

Steve nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "Understandable. It’s been... a long couple of days."

For a moment, there was only the rustling of the leaves and the distant sounds of the palace. Steve remained silent, giving you the space to speak if you wanted to—but you didn’t. Instead, you closed your eyes briefly, letting the wind play with your hair, trying to push the ache in your chest deeper down.

But Steve, ever patient, didn’t press. He simply waited, knowing that being there was enough.

After a long silence, you opened your eyes to find Steve studying the branches above him, calculating something. Then, he lifted his arms up, he grabbed hold of the lowest branch and began to climb.

Your brow lifted as you watched him pull himself up, his movements a bit more confident than the last time he attempted this.

“Your climbing skills have improved,” you teased, leaning back against the trunk as he hoisted himself onto the branch across from you.

Steve let out a breath, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he settled himself on the branch, facing you.

“Not like a schoolboy anymore, huh?”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Not quite.”

There was a brief silence between you as Steve adjusted his position, leaning his back against the trunk. He watched you for a moment, his usual guarded demeanor softening just a touch. It was clear he wasn’t here simply to check on you—there was something else in his expression, something deeper that he hadn’t yet found the words for.

“I figured I’d come see how you were holding up,” he said finally, his voice low but steady. His eyes never left your face.

You gave a small shrug, trying to keep your tone light. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

Steve’s gaze lingered on you a little longer than usual. He could see right through the façade you were trying to keep up—he always could. “Thinking about the ceremony?”

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers idly tracing the bark of the branch beneath you. “Among other things.”

Steve nodded, his expression thoughtful. He shifted slightly, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he turned his gaze out toward the horizon.

“You don’t have to be fine, you know. Not with me.”

Something in his voice made you pause. There was a gentleness there that you hadn’t expected, a quiet invitation to drop the mask you wore for everyone else. For a moment, the walls you had built around yourself wavered.

“I know,” you said softly, your eyes dropping to the space between you. “It’s just… complicated.”

“It usually is.” Steve let out a small breath, nodding in understanding.

There was a brief silence between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt as though the two of you were suspended in time, the weight of the palace, the crown, the duties all falling away for just a moment.

Steve shifted again, this time leaning in a little closer, his voice quieter, almost conspiratorial. “You know, I was half expecting you to climb even higher. Maybe hide out completely.”

“And what would you have done if I did?” You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Probably tried to climb higher too,” he said with a shrug, his lips quirking into a playful grin. “Though I’m not sure how well that would’ve gone.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “I think you’d manage.”

The lighthearted exchange brought some relief, but your thoughts quickly drifted back to the heavier matters weighing on your mind. You shifted slightly, drawing a deep breath before speaking again, though this time, you found it harder to meet Steve’s gaze.

“Steve,” you began slowly, almost cautiously. “What… will happen after?”

Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing the shift in your tone. “With… what, exactly?”

“The things that happen after the ceremony... I heard it’s a two-day ritual? Consorts weren’t a tradition in Zienna.”

Steve let out a quiet breath, clearly understanding the underlying tension in your question. He shifted a little closer, his voice soft yet steady.

“Yeah, the council has their way of doing things, stretching it all out. There’s usually some symbolic rites for the consort to cement their place. A formality, really.”

You nodded, but your eyes stayed focused on the ground. “And then… after all that?”

Steve could see through your hesitation, the way your words trailed off as if you were too afraid to say what you were truly thinking. His heart clenched, knowing what weighed on your mind but not wanting to cause you more pain.

“You’re wondering about the heir,” he said, gently pulling the words from your silence.

You didn’t answer, but the slight tension in your shoulders spoke volumes.

Steve’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his voice filled with the quiet confidence you had always relied on.

“Look, Y/N… I know the council will push for an heir, but don’t get caught up in their expectations. Bucky’s heart? It’s yours. No matter what they want or what they say… he’s yours.”

You lifted your eyes to meet his, and for the first time in a while, you felt a small sense of relief. Steve’s words held a warmth that wrapped around you like a protective shield, something solid to hold on to amidst the uncertainty.

“But... what if…” you trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Steve’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering. “It will not change his feelings toward you,” he said firmly, his tone steady and assured.

You let out a quiet breath, but the unease still lingered. “Really? I cannot help but think feelings do shift as one spends more time with another.” Your eyes held him with a knowing look, one that hinted at a deeper understanding of what lay beneath the surface.

Steve’s jaw tensed slightly, his composure faltering for a fraction of a second as your words hit their mark. His gaze flickered away, just briefly, before he composed himself once more, his voice low and measured when he spoke again.

"You should stop now, Captain, before it gets deeper."

Steve chuckled softly, the sound tinged with a hint of resignation, as though he'd been caught red-handed. His tongue briefly swiped across his teeth, a small, reflexive gesture that gave away more than he intended. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes briefly meeting yours again, but this time, there was something lighter in his gaze—something that spoke of a truth he'd been holding onto for too long.

“Hm,” he said quietly, his smile faint but genuine. “Guess I’ve been found out, huh?”

You tilted your head slightly, a teasing glint in your eyes. “You’re really obvious.”

Steve’s gaze flickered with amusement, though there was a trace of something deeper behind his expression. “Maybe I wasn’t trying too hard to hide it from you.”

But then Steve’s expression softened, the playfulness fading into something more sincere. His hand dropped from his neck, resting on his knee as he leaned forward, his tone quiet but resolute.

“But you don’t have to worry. I won’t act on it. I won’t pursue you—because I can’t.” He hesitated, his eyes searching yours, as if wanting to make sure you understood. “You’ve got enough on your shoulders as it is. I won’t add to it.”

There was a steady resolve in his voice, a reassurance that he wouldn’t let his feelings complicate things further. Yet, even as he spoke the words, you both knew that the tension between you would remain.

His smile returned, softer this time, though tinged with a hint of sadness. “Just know… wherever you go, that's where I follow. Always.”

× × × ×

You walked slowly down the corridor, Isaac at your side, his silent presence a steadying force, though unease curled deep in your chest. The weight of guilt gnawed at you, but you forced it down. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart.

Isaac's eyes were sharp, ever watchful, as you neared Monica's bedside. He hadn’t said much since he insisted on coming along, and though a part of you wondered why, Steve's lack of resistance made you push the thought aside. Isaac always carried that quiet intensity, a storm kept at bay but ready to break if needed.

His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a habit he never quite lost, even when no danger was immediately present. His demeanor was far from relaxed, his presence reminding you of the subtle tensions that still ran through the palace.

“Are you sure about this?” Isaac asked in a low voice, his eyes scanning the corridor ahead.

You nodded, keeping your face neutral despite the knot tightening in your stomach. “I should have come sooner.”

Isaac gave a curt nod but said nothing more, pushing open the door to the infirmary. He stepped aside, allowing you to enter first, though his sharp gaze never left you.

Monica lay in the bed by the window, her complexion still pale, but her eyes open. When the door creaked, she glanced over, her lips curling into a faint smile upon seeing you.

“Your Majesty,” Monica greeted, her voice strained as she tried to sit up.

You moved quickly to her bedside, gently motioning for her to lie back. “Don’t strain yourself,” you said, keeping your tone as stern as possible.

Monica gave you a small smile, her hand reaching out weakly toward you. You took it, her skin cold against yours.

“It’s good to see you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, your mind racing. The guilt was there, gnawing at you, but you refused to let it show. “I should have been here sooner, Monica. I should have known something was wrong.”

Monica squeezed your hand, though her grip was feeble. “Don’t… blame yourself.”

Your jaw clenched. “But I can’t help feeling responsible. I should have been more vigilant—I’ve been too focused on my own self pity.”

Monica shook her head weakly, her gaze steady despite her weakened state. “No, your majesty… this is not on you. They’re targeting you… you know that. But this… this wasn’t your fault.”

You took a breath, glancing toward the window. “It still feels like I missed something. I should’ve been paying attention to the signs.”

Monica’s gaze softened. “You’re doing your best, my Queen. Don’t carry a weight that isn’t yours.”

Isaac, who had been standing silently near the door, his arms crossed as he observed the exchange, let his gaze drift between the two women, his face impassive but his mind already calculating. His fingers drummed lightly against his arm, betraying the restlessness stirring beneath his calm exterior.

A long silence stretched between them before Monica’s expression shifted. Her gaze became more serious, a glint of worry creeping into her eyes.

“Your Majesty… are you still drinking tea?”

You blinked as confusion crossed your features.

“Tea? Y-yes, but not often why?”

“Any tea,” Monica pressed, her voice a little stronger now. “Not just the tea Lady Sharon brought you… have you been drinking anything else?”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed sharply. He took a step forward, his voice low and measured, though his tone carried an unmistakable edge.

“Why do you ask?”

Monica hesitated, glancing between you and Isaac, her lips pressing into a thin line before she spoke. “Because… I ran a test on the tea that was brought to you—I believe you saw me. . .Prince Isaac?”

Isaac recalled and nodded twice.

“What do you mean?”

Monica’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, her voice grave. “It wasn’t just tea. It was tainted with Silphium.”

Your brow furrowed. “Silphium?” The name meant little to you; you had never studied such herbs in detail. “What is that?”

Isaac’s gaze darkened, a flicker of recognition passing through his eyes, though his expression remained inscrutable.

He spoke, his voice a shade colder now. “Silphium is a contraceptive, Your Majesty. Highly effective… and not something that should have been anywhere near your cup.”

Monica nodded grimly. “And worse than that… it wasn’t only Silphium. There was also a small amount of wolfsbane mixed in.”

Isaac’s face hardened, his fists clenching at his sides. He stepped forward, his posture predatory, a dark storm cloud on the verge of eruption.

“Wolfsbane? Poison?” His voice was dangerously quiet, simmering with a lethal calm.

Monica shook her head, her face clouded with concern. “The combination is dangerous. It could have harmed her far more than just preventing an heir. Silphium alone is potent, but adding wolfsbane could… well, it could weaken her considerably.”

Isaac’s lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile, though an ounce of humor was absent. He turned toward you, his eyes flashing with barely-contained fury. Isaac scoffed under his breath, shaking his head as if disgusted by the messiness of the situation.

“Huh. I see now,” he muttered, his voice low. He met your gaze, his eyes gleaming with a predatory intensity.

The tension in the room mounted, the implications of what had been revealed settling heavily in the air. You felt your stomach twist, a cold realization sweeping over you—someone wants you dead.

Isaac’s voice cut through the charged air, dark and commanding. “This is an attack.”

Monica’s voice broke through the charged air, her tone still soft but filled with caution. “Please, Your Majesty, you must be careful. Whoever is behind this. . . have something against the royal family.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, but a steely resolve building within you.

Isaac stood by your side, his presence a silent vow of protection, his demeanor now cold and calculating, ready to do whatever was necessary. As you glanced at him, you could see the fire in his eyes.

× × × ×

As you left Monica’s chambers, the weight of the revelation pressed down on you like a physical burden. The air felt colder, the hallways stretching endlessly ahead as you walked side by side with Isaac. Each step seemed heavier, your thoughts racing as the full implication of the situation crashed over you. Silphium. Wolfsbane. Someone had ordered to poison your tea—someone who wanted to weaken you, perhaps even kill you.

Your breath quickened, coming in shallow bursts, your chest tight as anger and fear swirled within you, threatening to spill over. The rage—it was too much to contain. Hot tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you tried to hold it together, to keep the storm of emotions from escaping. But it was no use. Your breathing became frantic, fast and shallow, and you could feel the tingling in your fingers and toes as the lack of oxygen spread through your body.

Isaac’s sharp gaze flickered toward you. He sensed the shift immediately, the way your steps faltered, the way your shoulders trembled. Without a word, he moved closer, his hand resting firmly at the small of your back, guiding you forward, keeping you upright as your legs threatened to give way beneath you.

“Steady,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with a surprising gentleness, one that cut through the storm in your mind. “Breathe.”

But you couldn’t. The air wouldn’t come. Your chest tightened further, your vision darkening at the edges as the tears spilled over. You tried to focus, to ground yourself, but it was like drowning in your own fury and helplessness.

Isaac’s grip tightened around you as your legs buckled. His arm looped around your waist, pulling you against him with swift, protective force. He held you up effortlessly, his expression hardening with concern as he watched you struggle for breath.

“You’re not collapsing here,” Isaac said, his voice firm, steady, but not unkind. His grip on your shoulders tightened just slightly, “Y/N. . . Y/N! Slow your breathing. Breathe with me.”

His voice, deep and commanding, cut through the haze of your panic, pulling you back. You were barely aware of your surroundings, but Isaac’s presence was solid. His breath was slow, deliberate, and he leaned in closer, bringing his face level with yours.

“Look at me,” he said softly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of urgency. You forced your eyes to meet his, and the intensity of his gaze almost made you falter. But you held on, your breaths coming in short, sharp exhales, your chest tight with anger and frustration.

“Breathe with me,” he repeated, his eyes never leaving yours. Slowly, he inhaled, his chest rising and falling in a controlled rhythm. You tried to follow his lead, matching his breaths, but the rage inside you made it difficult.

Tears welled up in your eyes, your vision blurring once more. Isaac’s expression softened, just slightly, as if he could see the storm raging inside you. His hands moved from your shoulders to gently cup your face, his fingers cool against your heated skin.

His gaze held yours, intense and searching. The world around you seemed to come back, his attention pulling you back to the present.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice low but firm, his eyes locked onto yours.

Your breath began to slow, your body responding to his calm, but your heart still raced, not from fear but from the intensity of the moment. His eyes never wavered, holding you there, steady and secure, until you felt yourself coming back into control.

“You need to pull yourself together,” Isaac whispered, his voice barely audible but sharp with purpose. His hands remained firm against your skin, grounding you. “Just a bit longer. The ceremony is coming, and everyone is there. You need to be ready.”

His words sliced through the haze clouding your mind, a harsh reminder of the responsibilities that awaited you. His eyes never left yours, as if willing you to find the strength within yourself. Despite the rage and the panic, you knew he was right.

With a deep, shaky breath, you nodded, feeling the last remnants of panic begin to ease. Isaac nodded, his expression softening just slightly as he saw the determination return to your eyes.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly but firmly, releasing your arm and stepping back, giving you a moment to gather yourself fully.

You straightened, your heart still pounding but your mind now clearer, sharper. Without another word, you and Isaac turned and began walking toward the Great Hall.

The ceremony took place in the Great Hall where the council members stood in a semi-circle, watching closely, their faces impassive—except Pietro Maximoff who now seemed to be getting weird looks from other council members. The Queen Dowager sat quietly at the head of the hall, her expression indecipherable. Steve stood by the entrance, arms crossed, his gaze never leaving the center of the room. But Isaac who you swore was there mere seconds ago was gone.

× × × ×

The infirmary was eerily quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the nearby fire in the hearth. Shadows danced across the room, casting a faint glow over Monica’s resting figure. The heavy scent of medicinal herbs lingered in the air, and the soft rustle of linen was the only other sound.

Sharon stood by Monica's bedside, her eyes narrowing as she watched the stillness of her body. Her heart pounded, her mind racing with the grim task she had come to finish. With a steady hand, she reached for the pillow beside Monica’s head, her fingers tightening around the fabric.

Without hesitation, she lifted the pillow, bringing it close, her breath quickening as she hovered over Monica's face, prepared to snuff out the last remnants of life As Sharon pressed the pillow down, Monica's body jolted awake, her hands flailing wildly, clawing at the fabric with desperate panic. Her legs kicked beneath the blanket, trying to fight for air, her eyes wide with fear.

But before Monica's struggling could fully register, Sharon was suddenly ripped away from the bed. A powerful hand clamped around her throat, yanking her back with such force that she slammed into the stone wall behind her.

Isaac stood over her, his expression dark and commanding, his hand still wrapped tightly around her neck. His eyes gleamed with a cold, dangerous intensity, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he held her against the wall. The casual, almost predatory ease in his posture made her blood run cold.

“You’re really becoming quite the nuisance, aren’t you?” Isaac’s voice was low, dripping with dark amusement. His thumb brushed lightly over her throat, sending a shiver through her, though there was no mercy in his eyes. His grip tightened slightly, making her gasp.

Behind them, Monica's hands were still weakly reaching toward her throat, gasping for breath, but Isaac's focus remained solely on Sharon.

Sharon struggled in his hold, her eyes wide with shock as she grasped at his wrist, but Isaac didn’t budge. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You should have known better than to try something like this under my watch,” he murmured, his voice a soft, lethal purr. “Now, tell me… was this your own idea, or are you following someone else’s orders?”

Sharon’s chest heaved, her breath shallow, jaw clenched as she refused to answer. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening.

“No? Well then, perhaps I’ll give you a moment to reconsider before I lose my patience,” he added, his voice like silk, though there was a lethal promise hidden beneath the surface.

For a moment, Sharon struggled to breathe, her eyes darting between Isaac and the doorway, her mind racing for an escape. But Isaac’s hold didn’t falter—he was in complete control, and he knew it.

Finally, after a few tense seconds, Isaac loosened his grip just slightly, enough for her to gasp for air. He raised an eyebrow, watching her intently, waiting for her to speak.

"You have a choice here, Sharon," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with barely contained menace. "Answer me… or I can make this much worse for you.”

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