#all i could hear in my head was the twilight scene when i read ‘i know what you are’
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wyervan · 1 day ago
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Heyy, I really wanted to say how obsessed I'd been with your DCA Slasher Au! I LOVE the designs, the little things you tell us about them and all of that. It's really really cool. I also like A LOT your art style🫂
Also I wanted to share from here some doodles I'd been doing because I'm really embarrassed to share them in my blog but whateverr. As I say.. loved the designs and obviously I had to draw them with my baby (He has seen the horrors)
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Also I'm not really sure if you already answered this (feel free to ignore it if so) but..
- Are you planning to make it a fic? Like in Ao3 or some sort of. Or maybe comics or short chapters?
- Are you telling us/showing us more of The Glamrocks in the story?
- What is the relation between Vanessa and Star/y/n?? Friends, It is casual? I really really like Vanessa and if you are ok with it could you tell us what does she thinks of Sun and Moon?
Anyways thank youu you are so cool yay people cheered🫂🫂👏💚
omg you like my style?? No I like your style dude. It’s feels so down to earth? Genuine? You got some great gesture happening in your lines. And you make me laugh 😝
I am planning on doing a fic! But I don’t have the full plot figured out 🤔. I have this fear that if I start writing and publishing chapters without knowing all the details, later on I’ll find out there’s a big plot hole. And then I sweep the rug out from people by going back and needing to change what I’ve already written.
I know though that my own perfectionism often holds me back so I should probably just slap myself on the ass and get to writing at least the first two chapters. I have a very clear idea of how they’ll go.
Yes it would be going on AO3 (as soon as i figure out the tagging culture over there). I will ofc be continuing to do short comics and illustrations alongside any writing.
I’m actually in the middle of doing some design exploration with the Glamrocks rn! Hopefully I’ll be able to share some sketches with you guys by the end of the weekend~~ They are side characters but I want them to be more than just fluff or cameos, ya kno what I mean?
Ahh~~ and Vanessa, nobody’s asked about her yet :3c. I do in fact see her and y/n Star as becoming aquatinted, perhaps to the surprise of both of them!
Vanessa is a cop! Disappearances around town have put a lot of pressure on her small department and she’s had to pay the arcade a visit more than once to take routine statements on a couple of the missing people.
Her presence around the arcade puts Smoon on edge for obvious reasons, though she has no idea why. For now she chalks it up to the general anxiety people get around police and… they’re just… strange men.
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effervescentvampire · 6 months ago
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Kind of weird rereading twilight after almost ten years and realizing the story is fucked up on so many more levels than I was previously aware of
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chloe-skywalker · 2 years ago
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Awkward Situation - Paul Lahote
Paul x reader!Fem!Swan
Warnings: none
Word count: 1,541
Requested: Twilight imagine the part in New Moon where Bella slaps Paul and her little sister is their w/her Paul imprints on the reader and jacob isn’t happy about it and stuff like that. - @cokecola4211
Authors Note: I enjoyed writing this I tried to make it different from what I’ve read before. Thank you for requesting! Sorry it took awhile to post my queue has been FULL lol
Masterlist
Twilight Masterlist
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“Bella, maybe Jake just wants to be alone- or maybe some guy time.” Y/n suggested it to her slightly older sister. Bella and Y/n were hardly even a year apart in age but that didn’t stop Y/n from occasionally getting treated like a baby compared to Bella.
Y/n knew Jake and Bella had been spending a lot of time together recently and it seemed to be good for her sister after the Cullens left. But Jake had become sick or at least that's what he and Billy had been telling Bella. Y/n wanted to just leave it, he’d come back on his own either way. But her sister, no Bella , needed answers now and she wasn't going to wait to get them on Jacobs time.
Bella shook her head with a tight expression on her face. “No, Y/n. Something's up. Somethings wrong I can feel it.”
“Bella, we’ve both known Jake practically our whole lives maybe he’s just-” Y/n shook her head lifting her hand in q wave motion before dropping it down to her lap. “I don’t know, going through puberty?”
“His dad keeps saying he has mono but it’s been almost 2 weeks and he won’t even answer texts. Let alone calls.” Bella explained further as she pulled into the Black’s driveway.
“Maybe he’s still sick.” Y/n tried one last time as Bella put the car in park.
“Well, we're going to find out.” Bella stated before she got out of the car.
Y/n unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car to chase her sister muttering to herself. “This isn’t gonna go well.”
Bella knocked on the door and shortly after Billy opened the door. Bella had told the man in the wheelchair that she needed to see Jake, but all she got was that he wasn’t there. Next thing Y/n knew her sister had welcomed herself into the home practically going right over Billy.
“Bella.” Billy called after her but it was too late and Bella wasn’t listening anyways.
“I’m sorry, Billy.” Y/n said apologizing for her sister's actions.
Billy let out a sigh and sent a tired smile to the younger Swan. “Don’t worry about it, Y/n.”
It wasn’t even a few minutes later that Bella stormed out of the house and Y/n followed yelling after her. “Bella!”
“Hey!” Bella shouted and shoved one of the shirtless males Y/n somewhat recognized. “What did you do to him?!”
That's all Y/n could really hear from so far back. So she shouted out to her sister again, hoping to defuse the situation if she couldn’t just get her to leave. “Bella!” 
“Y/n wha-” Jake spoke out suddenly standing beside the Y/h/c-ed girl.
“She dragged me here with her.” That's all Y/n had to say for Jake to understand what was happening. Charlie got Y/n in the devoirce so Y/n and Jake grew up together their whole lives as siblings in Forks. They could understand what the other was saying with just a look.
Jake nodded before looking back at the scene and then pointed “And that?”
“She slapped that Paul guy.” Y/n told him and that changed his demeanor.
“Crap. Y/n, stay back.” Jake said as he noticed Paul shaking.
Y/n wondered why but then she made eye contact with the Paul guy her sister was taking her anger out on. It was as if time showed for a minute. All the members of the pack put it together, and that's when Jacob flipped and inevitably so did Paul.
Seeing them turn into giant wolves Y/n ran to her sister. “Bella, you okay?” Her attention was drawn back to the wolves fighting not far from everyone. “Woah. Now that's cool.”
“Really, Y/n?” Bella asked, turning her head to face her sister in disbelief at how her sister wasn’t scared.
“What?” Y/n shrugged. In her opinion that was cool. Way cooler than Vampire super speed, the eyes, and sparkling under the sunlight someone dumped a 1,000 pounds of glitter on you. The Paul guy and Jake turned into Wolves! And not just wolves, Giant wolves. That's impressive.
“What just happened?” Bella asked Sam Uley she believed his name was. All the while Y/n was confused as to the looks she was getting from the others, a few she had grown up with just like Jake. 
“Paul imprinted.” Sam stated looking at Bella. Then Jacob came out of the woods still looking pissed off.
“On Y/n.” Jake grumbled, clearly pissed off at the new found fact.
“Take her back to Emily’s. Bella too.” Sam told Jacob which resulted in a very loud scoff from the younger male. “That's an order Jacob. Embry go with them.”
“Hey, Em.” Y/n nodded to Embry. They have been friends for years. It brought comfort to Y/n, knowing someone else. Someone that wasn’t pissed that would be in the car with her, her sister, and Jake.
“Hey, Y/n/n.” Embry smiled. He had missed seeing her around since he phased.
“Why is Jake so pissed?” Y/n asked Embry hoping he could fill her in on what's going on exactly.
Embry sighed before explaining. “Him and Paul don’t get along, and he’s protective of you. As he should be, you're like brother and sister.”
“Why would he be protective over me when it comes to Paul? I’ve never met Paul before.” Y/n squinted with a furrowed expression as she questioned Embry confused.
“Paul should be the one to explain it to you. It’s not my place, or anyone else's in the pack.” Embry felt bad for Y/n. She had no idea what was going on and it very much involved her. But like he said it wasn’t his place to explain any of this to her. 
Y/n nodded in understanding, kind of. But maybe he could explain something else to her. “Can you explain the pack part to me then?”
Embry nodded with a smile stretching across his lips. “Yes, I can do that.”
It wasn’t a long drive but long enough for Embry to explain about the pack to Y/n.
“Who’s place is this again?” Y/n heard Bella ask and she listened for Jake’s answer.
“Emily and Sam’s.” Jake answered as he got out of the truck.
Jake and Embry helped Y/n off of the truck bed. With a quiet thank you from Y/n they all headed inside. The only ones that weren’t there was Sam and Paul. But it didn’t take long for them to join in on the group.
“Can I talk to you? Outside. Alone.” Paul asked nervously looking softly at Y/n, to let her know she could reject his request if she wanted to. Y/n nodded ‘yes’ getting up to follow him.
“Over my dead body.” Jake growled, glaring with his eyes set on burning holes into Paul.
“Jake.” Sam said his name firmly. Making Jake stand down. For now.
“Come on.” Paul nodded his head towards outside Y/n nodded as well and followed him outside the small nice home.
They walked into the woods for awhile, Y/n assumed long enough to be far away enough so the rest of the pack couldn’t hear their conversation. “So, I assume that they explained the whole pack thing to you?”
“Embry did, yeah. But not the imprint part?” Y/n spoke with a unsure tone, hoping she got the word right. Paul nodded with a twitch of his lips. “Not the imprint part. What is that by the way?”
“Guess I should explain that part then.” Paul smiled, hearing her just say the word of what she is to him. That made him feel warm on the inside, which was a new feeling for him. He did like it though.
“Embry said it was only your place to tell me what it is.” Y/n looked to the still shirtless male with curiosity. What did it mean? What did it have to do with her? And why did Paul have to be the one to explain it?
“I have a spot I’d like to take you, and I’ll explain on the way.” Paul suggested there was a place he wanted to show her that only he knew about. Great view that he never that he never showed anyone.
“Ok” Y/n knew she was being way trusting with this stranger. But he felt trustworthy. She didn’t know why but he does.
Paul stopped them for a second in their tracks. He really needed to know something and it was bothering him that he didn’t. “I do have a question before we get too far that I should know that I do not.”
Y/n let out an amused breath before asking. “And what's that?” 
“Your name.” Paul smirked
Y/n nodded with a smile. “Y/n. Y/n Swan.”
“Well, Y/n Swan. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Paul’s smirk fell into a smile. He always teased the others who already had their imprints about how whipped they were, but now he was starting to understand.
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@gruffle1 @padawancat97
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brunchable · 5 months ago
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Winter King, Part Four : Afterglow [18+]
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Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Out of place Queen Reader Words: 25.6K Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, profanity. Warning: Sinister intent (Drugging, Sabotage). Torture, mentions of blood. Sexual Content - Losing Virginity, unprotected piv sex, Oral (F). Big size difference. Summary: After a tumultuous separation, Queen Y/N receives a desperate letter from King James Bucky Barnes, pleading for her presence in Annecy. Reluctantly, she agrees to meet him, only to be confronted with unresolved emotions, simmering tension, and a fragile hope for reconciliation. Amidst grand dinners and intimate revelations, Bucky strips himself bare—not just of his regal façade but also the deepest scars of his past. In the midst of courtly games and political intrigue, will their love survive, or will it be another casualty of the crown? A/N: Inspired by Queen Charlotte. I'm sorry it's so long lol. I hope you enjoy the SMUT SCENES. . . what do you want to see next? credits to the gif owners, it ain't mine.
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The sound of footsteps drew your attention away from the window, where you had been staring absently swaying trees on this windy day. Scott’s familiar presence hovered by the door, his posture stiff, yet there was something… cautious in the way he approached you. His gaze darted around before finally settling on the envelope in his hand.
“A letter for you, My Queen,” he announced, extending it toward you. “From His Majesty.”
You blinked, your heart giving an unexpected flutter at those words. Bucky? He had finally reached out. But you quickly tamped down the unwelcome swell of hope, narrowing your eyes at the innocent piece of parchment.
“Leave it on the desk,” you instructed curtly, turning back toward the window, fighting to maintain your composure.
Scott hesitated, his gaze lingering on you as if contemplating whether to say something more. But he gave a sharp nod, placing the letter on the desk beside you before withdrawing quietly. The door clicked shut, leaving you alone in the quiet, with only the letter as company.
You stood there staring at the creamy white envelope as if it were a serpent poised to strike. It sat there, mocking you with its pristine perfection, the royal seal pressed into the wax glinting in the dim light.
With a huff of frustration, you snatched it up, breaking the seal more aggressively than necessary. The wax crumbled beneath your fingers, the crackling sound oddly satisfying. Unfolding the letter, your eyes skimmed over the familiar scrawl of his handwriting—precise and strong, just like the man himself.
My Dearest Y/N,
I know I’ve hurt you. I know I’ve pushed you away. But I need to see you—to speak with you without anger clouding our words. Please, come to Annecy this evening. I need to see you, if only for a few hours.
Yours, James
You stared at the words, a myriad of emotions rushing through you. Anger, for how easily he thought he could summon you. Resentment, for the pain he had caused. But beneath it all, it made the ache in your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t anticipated.
“‘If only for a few hours,’” you muttered, reading the line again, your lips pressing into a thin line. “As if one meeting could fix everything.”
But even as the angry words left your mouth, you knew you would go. Damn him, for knowing that you couldn’t resist this fragile olive branch he was extending. A chance to see him, to hear him—to finally understand what was going on inside his head.
You glanced outside again, noting the dusky sky deepening into twilight. The evening was already upon you, and if you were to make it to Annecy by nightfall, you would need to leave soon.
With a resigned sigh, you turned back to the letter, your fingers brushing lightly over the words. You didn’t want to admit it, but a part of you—the part that still remembered the way his gaze softened when he looked at you, the way his voice dropped when he said your name—yearned to go.
Maybe… maybe this time, you’d get some answers.
“Scott,” you called, your voice steady despite the turmoil swirling inside you.
He appeared almost instantly, his expression expectant.
“Prepare the carriage,” you ordered, folding the letter and slipping it back into the envelope. “We’re going to Annecy. Tonight.”
Scott’s eyes widened in surprise, but he bowed quickly, masking his reaction with a swift nod. “Of course, Your Grace. I’ll have everything ready at once.”
As he hurried out of the room, you took one last look at the letter, then slipped it into the pocket of your gown. The anger simmering in your chest hadn’t completely vanished, but it was no longer the driving force behind your actions.
You would go to Annecy tonight. And you would hear what he had to say. But you would do so on your terms, with your walls firmly in place.
× × × ×
The carriage rolled to a slow halt, the rhythmic clatter of hooves fading into silence as you glanced out of the window. The familiar grounds of Annecy stretched out before you, shrouded in the soft glow of twilight. Lanterns flickered to life along the pathways, casting a warm, golden light that danced across the cobblestone and neatly trimmed hedges.
A footman stepped forward to open the door, offering his hand as you descended. The hem of your gown brushed against the ground as you took in the estate—the sweeping lawns and carefully sculpted gardens, and the imposing silhouette of the mansion against the evening sky.
But there was no sense of awe, no appreciation for the beauty that surrounded you. Your chest felt tight, anger simmering just below the surface as you squared your shoulders and lifted your chin, determined to keep your composure.
“Your Grace,” Scott murmured quietly from beside you, his voice tentative. “Shall I accompany you inside?”
You shook your head, barely sparing him a glance. “You can,” you ordered, your tone clipped and curt. “I won’t be long.”
Scott’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering in his eyes, but he nodded. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
You turned away from him and began your ascent up the grand staircase, the soft rustle of your skirts and the distant chirping of crickets the only sounds accompanying you. Two guards flanked the massive double doors leading into the mansion. They bowed as you approached and opened the entrance for you, revealing a grand foyer lit with chandeliers and brimming with quiet opulence.
The steward appeared almost immediately, bowing low. “Your Grace, His Majesty is awaiting you in the dining hall.”
You nodded stiffly, following his lead as he guided you down the long, silent corridor. The air was thick with anticipation, the echoes of your footsteps reverberating off the marble floors. Each step you took felt heavier, the anger you had tried to keep at bay during the ride flaring up with every second that passed.
Finally, the steward opened a pair of gilded doors, stepping aside to let you pass. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you stepped into the room.
The scent of roasted meats, fresh herbs, and baked pastries filled the air—an exquisite spread laid out over a long, polished table. Plates gleamed under the candlelight, and goblets of fine wine shimmered like liquid rubies.
But all of it—the decadence, the beauty, the carefully curated feast—turned to ashes in your mouth the moment you saw it.
Your steps faltered, eyes widening as they took in the elaborate arrangement. An intimate dinner for two, set with painstaking care. It was as though someone had plucked the image of a perfect evening out of a dream and tried to force it into reality.
You turned sharply, refusing to take another step inside.
Bucky, who had been standing at the opposite end of the table, his expression hopeful, froze as you spun back around, your face pale with restrained fury.
“Y/N, wait—”
“What is this?” you demanded, your voice cold, your gaze sweeping over the table again before landing back on him. “What are you trying to do?”
His brow furrowed, confusion flashing across his face. “I… I wanted to have dinner with you. To—”
“Dinner?” The word burst out of you like a bitter laugh, devoid of any humor. “You dragged me all the way here for dinner?”
His mouth opened, but whatever he had planned to say fell silent at the look on your face. You could feel your body trembling with the effort to hold back the wave of anger surging inside you, anger that had been simmering since he had begun this dance of hot and cold, sweet words followed by crushing silence.
“Prepare the carriage,” you bit out to Scott, who had followed behind, your voice leaving no room for argument.
“Your Majesty?” Scott glanced between you and Bucky, uncertainty creasing his brow.
“Now, Scott,” you snapped, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel Bucky’s gaze boring into your back, and you kept walking, your gown billowing behind you like a storm cloud��refusing to let him see the emotions simmering just beneath the surface.
“Y/N, wait,” Bucky called out, the confusion in his tone sharpening. You heard his footsteps quicken, the soft thud of boots against marble as he closed the distance between you. “Where are you going?”
“Away from you,” you said through gritted teeth, your pace never faltering. “Back to the estate. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Wait—stop walking this instant!” Bucky’s voice rose, a hint of desperation breaking through. He reached for your arm, his fingers brushing against your sleeve, “Please, listen to me.”
You whirled on him, eyes blazing. 
“Stop? Stop?” The word left your lips in a hiss. “What could you possibly have to say to me that you haven’t already made abundantly clear, James?”
Bucky’s hand fell to his side, at the way you spat his name. You’d never used it like that before—like a weapon, sharp and cutting. He drew in a shaky breath, his gaze flickering over your face as though searching for some way to reach you through the storm of emotions.
“Please, Y/N, just—let me explain. I’ve been… distant, I know.” he said, his voice softening, pleading. “But I didn’t know how to—how to show you that I… that I care.”
“Care?” You laughed again, short and humorless, “Is that what you call it? Ignoring me for days, leaving me in silence, only to send a letter and expect me to come running whenever you deem it convenient?”
“I know,” he whispered, stepping closer, his fingers twitching at his side as if resisting the urge to reach for you again. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I need you to be here. I needed to see you.”
You shook your head, struggling to keep your composure. “Then say that, James. Say what you want, what you feel. Stop hiding behind these—these grand gestures and empty words.”
His eyes darkened with a flicker of frustration as you threw his words back at him. He closed the distance between you in two swift strides, the sudden nearness of him making your breath hitch.
“I’m trying to,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “I’m trying to show you, Y/N, because I can’t say it in a way that does justice to how I feel. Words… they fall short. I’ve said so many things wrong, pushed you away with every damn word I’ve spoken. So, I’m done talking.”
You stared up at him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. “Then what are you going to do?”
His hand, hesitant and shaking, reached for yours. Slowly, he turned your palm upward, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin of your wrist, tracing the frantic beat of your pulse.
“Please… stay,” he murmured, his voice breaking on the word, “I need to show you.”
“Then show me.”
The word barely left your lips before Bucky stepped past you, his hand trailing away from yours, and headed toward the hallway. For a moment, you hesitated, rooted in place as you watched him stride away, his posture tense, yet determined. And then, as if caught in some magnetic pull, your feet carried you after him, heart pounding furiously in your chest.
The walk was silent, the click of your heels against the polished floor echoing softly. Bucky’s pace was quick, his shoulders set, each step purposeful. You followed in his wake, your mind racing with questions, frustration, and the unrelenting hope that he might finally give you the answers you sought.
He led you through the winding corridors of Annecy Estate, past servants who discreetly looked away, past grand rooms shrouded in shadows, until you reached a pair of large, double doors. The heavy wood gleamed in the dim light, their surface intricately carved with the Barnes family crest.
Bucky pushed the doors open, not looking back as he stepped inside. You faltered, the sight of his private chambers—a place you’d never set foot in—sending a shiver of uncertainty through you. But you took a deep breath and followed, crossing the threshold into his space.
The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you both in a cocoon of silence. The room was spacious, yet felt intimate. A large bed dominated one side, its dark, plush coverings pristine and untouched. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books, trinkets, and objects that seemed to whisper secrets of who Bucky was—who he had been before all this.
The air itself seemed heavy, saturated with his presence, his scent—a mix of cedarwood, leather, and something uniquely him—wrapping around you. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, and made it hard to think clearly.
Bucky stood a few steps away, his back still to you as he exhaled slowly. Then, without a word, he shrugged off his jacket, letting it slide from his shoulders to land carelessly on the bed.
You stiffened, your eyes widening as he reached up, his fingers deftly undoing the cufflinks at his wrists. The small, metallic clinks of the cufflinks being set aside reverberated in the quiet room. A sense of disbelief warred with your anger and confusion as he moved with ease—removing the barriers of clothing one by one.
“What are you doing?” you whispered, your voice wavering despite your best effort to sound unbothered.
Bucky didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms corded with muscle and veined from tension. But as the fabric fell away, you saw it—his left arm gleaming under the soft light, the sleek, dark metal reflecting the flickering glow of the candles.
A lump formed in your throat as you stared, mesmerized by the sight of his vibranium arm. The intricate lines, the smooth surface… It was both a masterpiece and a reminder of something darker buried deep within Bucky’s past.
He caught the look in your eyes, the way your gaze lingered on his left arm, and his jaw tightened, vulnerability crossing his features.
“What I should have done at the start,” he murmured. With each unbuttoned piece of his attire, your pulse seemed to stutter, your chest tightening with the unfamiliar, heady sensation. He unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric parting to reveal the chiseled lines of his chest and abdomen, the faint scars that traced paths over his skin like echoes of battles fought and endured.
You swallowed hard, your gaze locked on him, helpless to look away. There was something achingly intimate about this—watching him undress not in a way that was seductive or calculated, but almost like he was shedding his armor, piece by piece.
“Bucky,” you began again, the name trembling on your lips. “I—”
He let the shirt fall to the ground, the fabric pooling at his feet. Standing there, bare-chested and exposed, he seemed both vulnerable and unbreakable. Then, he turned fully toward you, his gaze piercing as it held yours.
“Do you remember? I vaguely told you about this arm?” he asked softly, his voice strangely calm, almost detached. “It was not by choice. I was seized, shattered—my mind reconstructed piece by piece—starting with this.” He lifted the vibranium arm, his fingers flexing ever so slightly, the metal catching the dim light. “They mentally dismantled me until all that remained was this… weapon. Something to be wielded, something to be governed by another’s will.”
He paused, his gaze shifting away from you, staring down at the arm as if it were some loathsome thing, some cursed appendage that didn’t belong to him. “The arm became a reminder that I was no longer human—just a tool. Something to be wielded by others.” He exhaled sharply, a shudder running through him. “Even now, with the arm being mine again, I still feel… trapped by it.”
He stood in silence, his breathing slow and measured, his chest rising and falling with each deep inhale. For the first time, you were able to truly take him in—the strength in his body tempered by the vulnerability in his posture, the contrast of metal against flesh, the scars etched like battle lines over his skin. 
But what struck you most was the look on his face—head turned slightly to the side, his eyes downcast, almost as if he couldn’t bear to look at you.
And it was then that you realized.
He was ashamed.
Ashamed of what he’d become. Ashamed of what had been done to him. Ashamed of showing you this, of letting you see him like this—so utterly exposed, not just in body, but in everything he’d tried to hide from you.
The sight of him—stripped of every defense, every guise—stirred something deep within you. This man—the one who had wounded you, driven you away, barricaded himself from you—was now baring himself before you in a manner that spoke of desperation, a yearning to be seen, to be understood.
“Who else. . . knows of this?” You asked carefully.
“A selected amount of trusted people.” 
Though you longed to speak more, to utter something that might soothe the tempest raging in his eyes, words faltered on your tongue, trapped by the gravity of the moment. So instead, you remained silent, allowing yourself to absorb the image of him—each line, each imperfection, each fragment of who he was.
Slowly, tentatively, Bucky lifted his gaze. His eyes met yours, searching, imploring, as if hoping—begging—that you might see beyond the anger, beyond the hurt, and glimpse the man he truly was. The man he was trying to be.
He took a hesitant step forward, then another, until he was standing just a breath away. His hand twitched at his side, you thought he might reach for you. But instead, he did something that stole the breath from your lungs.
Without a word, Bucky sank to his knees before you.
The sight of him—this proud, indomitable man kneeling at your feet, his head bowed low—rendered you momentarily breathless. He appeared utterly defeated, his broad shoulders slumped as though bearing the weight of the world itself. His gaze remained fixed upon the floor, his hair falling forward, shrouding his face in shadow, concealing him from view.
And then he spoke, his voice so low, so raw, that it scarcely rose above a whisper.
“I beg for your forgiveness, my Queen.” he murmured, the words trembling with a pain so profound it caused your chest to tighten. “I apologize for every moment I made you feel as though you were isolated. For distancing myself from you when you were the only thing that kept me whole.”
Your hands tightened at your sides, the urge to reach out, to touch him, to offer solace warring with the resentment that still simmered beneath your skin. Yet you remained still, your gaze unwavering as you listened, waiting.
He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with the movement, and his head dipped lower, as if the act of speaking these words cost him more than you could fathom.
“I’ve hurt you,” he continued, his voice fracturing. “I have distanced myself, not out of want, but out of fear—fear that you might perceive me for what I truly am—a shattered, ruined man who knows not how to be a husband. Nor a king.”
He lifted his head slightly then, his eyes glistening as they found yours once more. There was a desperation in his gaze, a pleading that cut through every barrier you’d tried to put up.
“I cannot undo the things I have done,” he whispered hoarsely. “I cannot alter what I have become. I desire to be better—for you. For you deserve nothing but the best.”
Your breath hitched, your chest tightening painfully as you stared down at him, the tears that had been burning at the back of your eyes threatening to spill over. This was James, laid bare before you—not the king, not the soldier, but the man who had been so afraid of his own darkness that he’d let it swallow him whole.
And now, here he was, kneeling at your feet, offering up his broken pieces in a desperate plea for forgiveness.
“Please,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “Please… tell me I haven’t lost you.”
Seeing him like this—so utterly stripped of every layer of pride and pretense—was something you could not bear to witness. Slowly, you stepped closer and you reached down, your fingers brushing gently against his shoulder.
“Rise, James,” you whispered, your voice soft yet firm, a command veiled in gentleness. “Stand.”
He hesitated, the weight of your touch sending a shiver through him. His gaze faltered, lingering on your hand as though it were a treasure beyond his worth. But when he finally looked up, the confusion and uncertainty in his eyes were laid bare, and for a moment, he seemed like a lost, wounded creature—hesitant, unsure of himself.
“Stand up,” you repeated, your tone stronger now, a note of steel beneath the tender veneer. “You are a king. A king kneels for no one.”
His brow furrowed, the wariness in his expression unmistakable as he continued to search your face. Your gaze held him steadily, refusing to let go, refusing to allow him to sink back into the shadows. Cautiously, he rose to his feet. Your hand, still resting lightly upon his arm, guiding him until he stood at his full height. He seemed even taller now, towering above you to the point where the top of your head barely reached his shoulders. 
You stepped closer, the space between you vanishing, your head tilting back as you looked up at him. Even though he loomed over you, his presence larger than life, the vulnerability in his eyes made your chest squeeze.
“Look at me,” you murmured, lifting your free hand to his face. Your movements were unhurried, as though you were giving him the chance to retreat if he so wished. But he remained still, his breath catching as your fingers grazed his cheek, tracing the strong line of his jaw before cupping his face with a touch that was achingly gentle.
“Y/N—” he breathed, his voice scarcely more than a murmur, the broken plea within it tugging at the deepest parts of you.
Your gaze softened, and with a tenderness that startled even yourself, you leaned in, the distance between you shrinking further until your forehead rested against his. His breath mingled with yours, uneven and labored, as if it were a struggle for him to simply remain standing.
Your thumb moved in a slow, careful caress against his skin, brushing away a single tear that had slipped past his defenses. He exhaled a shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders ebbing as you held him close, his presence anchoring you as much as you were anchoring him.
“I see you,” you whispered softly, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth contained within those three simple words. 
His eyes closed for a fleeting moment, as if he were savoring the sweetness of your words, letting them seep into the deepest, most wounded parts of him. When he looked at you again, there was something different in his gaze—a depth of emotion that was almost too raw to bear.
“What is it that you see when you look at me?” he asked quietly.
You inhaled slowly, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell with each labored breath, the fragility that lingered beneath the surface of his strength.
“I see a man who has faced battles no one should ever endure,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the line of his cheekbone with exquisite care, “a man who carries the weight of a crown and the burden of his past with more grace than he knows. I see the courage that others overlook, the goodness that still remains—hidden beneath the scars and the sorrow. I see the man you are, and the man you wish to become.”
A tremor ran through him, and he bowed his head, his forehead brushing against yours, the closeness of your bodies rendering words unnecessary. You felt the warmth of his breath against your lips, tasted the unspoken promise in the air between you.
“Tell me I am not lost to you,” he whispered, his voice breaking as if he were speaking through a pain too profound to voice. 
Your hand, still cradling his face, tilted his head upward, forcing him to meet your gaze. You held him there, your eyes burning with a fierce intensity that matched the storm within your own heart.
“You are not lost to me,” you vowed, your voice a quiet, resolute promise. “But I do not forgive you. . .yet.”
A breath of relief escaped him, a sound so soft and unsteady that it made your heart clench.
“Yet…” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word on his tongue, a spark of hope flickering in his eyes. “Yet is good. Yet is hope.”
“Perhaps.”
A single tear slid down his cheek, and you brushed it away, your touch as light as a feather, a quiet acceptance in your gesture that left him breathless.
“I see you,” you whispered again, the words a balm to both your wounds. “All of you. And I am not afraid, I will not look away.”
A shuddering breath escaped him, his shoulders sagging as if a weight had been lifted from his soul. In this moment, there was no king and queen, no titles or formalities—just two people standing in the quiet aftermath of pain and sorrow, holding on to the hope of something more.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice a broken whisper that reverberated through the stillness around you. “Thank you… for seeing me.”
You nodded slowly, the barest of smiles curving your lips as you let your forehead rest against his once more. And in that shared silence, amidst the chaos of emotions and the stillness of the night, you both found a measure of peace—however fleeting it may be.
You could feel it in the way his breath mingled with yours, in the way his hands shook ever so slightly as they hovered, uncertain, at your waist.
“James…” you breathed, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, a plea.
Something snapped within him then, the fragility giving way to an onslaught of need, desire—days of yearning and pain and longing surging forward all at once. His fingers tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that stole the very breath from your lungs.
His lips were searing and desperate, and it had set your entire being aflame. He kissed you as though he were trying to brand his very soul onto yours, as if he were afraid that if he let go, you would vanish into the darkness that had claimed so much of his life.
Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers threading through the dark locks as you held him close, every ounce of your own longing and sorrow pouring into the kiss. His hands moved restlessly over your back, your sides, seeking to memorize the feel of you beneath his touch. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing you open, deepening the kiss until it felt as if you were drowning in him—lost to the overwhelming heat and passion of his embrace.
You gasped against his mouth, the sound swallowed by his fervent kiss, his lips trailing down to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the delicate skin of your neck. He pressed open-mouthed kisses there, each one reverent and almost frantic, as if he were both worshipping you and punishing himself for the times he had pushed you away.
“I have longed for you,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice a broken rasp against your skin. “Dreamt of you… even when I tried to bury it, to banish the thought of you from my mind… you were always there. Always.”
“Show me,” you whispered, your own voice trembling with the force of your emotions. 
And with a low, guttural sound, he obeyed, his hands gripping you tighter as he captured your lips once more. This kiss was slower, deeper, a languid exploration that felt like the unraveling of every barrier, every wall you had erected between each other. His mouth moved over yours with a tenderness that belied the intensity of his grip, as if he were pouring every unspoken word, every apology, into the kiss.
Your hands slid down to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm, each pulse a testament to the life that still burned fiercely within him. You felt yourself sinking into him, the world narrowing until there was nothing but the feel of his lips on yours, the warmth of his body pressed against you. He kissed you until your lungs burned, until every thought melted away, leaving only the heady sensation of being entirely, irrevocably consumed by him.
When you finally pulled apart, gasping for air, 
the room was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the hearth in the corner and the faint rustling of fabric. Bucky’s hands had found the lacing of your dress, his fingers pausing there as if he were making some silent vow to himself.
“James…wait.” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness. He remained unmoving, his fingers trembling slightly against your back, his breath fanning warmly against the nape of your neck.
“Do you wish me to stop?” he murmured, his tone strained, a mixture of longing and restraint warring within it.
Your throat tightened at the question, and you shook your head slowly, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. “No, I just. . . This is my first time bedding a man.”
Bucky froze, his hands stilling where they rested against your bare skin. His gaze, sharp and searching, locked onto yours.
“We don’t have to do this,” he murmured, voice soft yet firm, his breath mingling with yours as he leaned close. “Not if you don’t want to.”
You swallowed, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. He had every right to you, every reason to expect this, and yet there was no demand in his eyes.
“But we must,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, a strange mix of conviction and uncertainty. “It’s our duty to consummate—”
“Fuck duty,” Bucky interrupted, his tone gentle yet edged with steel. He lifted your chin, holding you there, making sure you saw the truth in his eyes. “I don’t care about duty, or obligation, or what anyone else expects of us. The only thing I care about is you.”
You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the raw intensity of his gaze.
“Tell me what you want,” he continued softly, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “Tell me if this is something you desire, if this is what you need. Because if it’s not—” His thumb brushed over your lower lip, his expression unyielding, determined. “Then we’ll stop right here.”
No one had ever given you this power, this choice. Not when so much rested on this union—on you fulfilling your role as his wife. And yet here he was, offering it all to you as if he didn’t care about anything but your comfort.
“James,” you whispered, your voice breaking on the word. You shook your head slowly, blinking away the sudden prick of tears. “I do desire this.”
His shoulders relaxed, the tension melting away as a soft, relieved smile curved his lips. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm and soothing on your skin.
“Then it’s only us,” he murmured, his voice a promise, a vow. “Tonight, it’s not for duty, not for the crown—just for us.”
You nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath your palms. His lips brushed yours in the lightest of kisses, a tender affirmation of everything unspoken between you.
“Turn around,” he said softly.
Your heart raced as you complied, turning your back to him. His fingers, tentative at first, began to pull at the ribbons holding your gown together. Each tug loosened the fabric, releasing the tension along your spine. His knuckles brushed your skin as he worked, the contact igniting a fire beneath your flesh.
With each ribbon that came undone, the dress loosened further, slipping lower until it barely clung to your shoulders. You watched his reflection in the mirror—the way his eyes were fixed on you, his expression intense, almost reverent.
His hands hesitated at the last knot, his gaze lifting to meet yours in the mirror. The question in his eyes was clear: Are you sure? You gave a slight nod, your breath catching in anticipation.
Slowly, his hands moved upward, tracing the path of your spine until they reached your shoulders. With a gentle, deliberate motion, he slid the gown off your shoulders, the fabric gliding down your body until it pooled at your feet, leaving you exposed before him.
A shuddering breath escaped him. “You are… breathtaking,” he murmured, his voice hushed, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile intimacy of the moment.
His fingers lingered at the small of your back, his touch light but firm as though grounding himself. The heat of his gaze roamed over you, burning in its intensity. He dipped his head lower, brushing his lips over your bare shoulder, sending a ripple of sensation through you.
“Turn around,” he whispered, his tone filled with both command and entreaty.
You turned to face him, pulse racing. The look on his face—so raw, so utterly captivated—made your breath catch. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he hovered just above your skin. When he finally touched you, his palm resting gently against your waist, you could feel the restraint coiled within him, the careful control he was exercising.
“James, I…” You struggled to find the right words, but before you could speak, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, then your cheek, and finally, to the corner of your lips.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his breath mingling with yours. “But if this becomes too much, if you want me to stop, just tell me, and I will.”
“Don’t stop,” you breathed, the words escaping you unbidden, honest.
His hands tightened on your waist, and with a careful, reverent touch, he lifted you slightly and guided you back to the bed. The thin chemise you wore shifted as he moved you, baring more of your skin, his eyes following every inch of exposed flesh.
His hands moved over you with a kind of restrained urgency, his touch both firm and achingly gentle. He leaned down, his mouth ghosting over the delicate skin at the base of your neck, his fingers tracing the path of your collarbone, your shoulder, your waist.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice strained, roughened with need.
You nodded, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. “I’m sure, James. Just… be with me.”
His mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was slow and deep, a deliberate exploration that left you breathless. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of you—the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body pressing against yours, the steady, unrelenting need building between you.
He eased you back onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. With a tenderness that made your chest ache, he began to kiss his way down your neck, your shoulder, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low, resonant hum that sent shivers through you.
“It’s not,” you whispered, your voice a breathless sigh as your hands roamed over his back, the hard planes of his chest. “You’re perfect.”
He smiled against your skin, his breath hot and unsteady. “No, my queen. You’re the perfect one.”
He captured your mouth in another kiss, deeper this time, his hands cradling your face with a gentleness that felt like worship. And as he moved against you, every touch, every kiss a testament to how much he cared, you felt yourself falling, losing yourself in the man who was giving you everything—his heart, his soul, his very breath.
There’s something so surreal about what’s happening that your mind can’t fully process it. It feels like you’re watching a play—like it can’t possibly be you in this situation.
You’re lying on your side, facing him. His hands are on your skin—slightly rough, callused. Warm against your chilled flesh. Strong, though he’s not using that strength right now. He could subdue you with ease, but there’s no need. 
He kisses you again, his lips lingering as his hands move over your arm, your back, your neck, your outer thigh. His touch is gentle, yet firm, each caress feeling like a exploration. It’s almost as if he’s giving you a massage, except you can feel the sexual intent behind his actions.
He dips his head lower, his mouth finding the sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder meet. His teeth graze your skin lightly, and a shiver runs through you at the pleasurable sensation. Your eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed by the unexpected tenderness. It’s disarming, this gentleness of his, but at the same time, you feel… cherished.
One of his hands slides down, resting on your backside, kneading the soft flesh with a touch that’s both possessive and comforting. His other hand travels upward, skimming over your belly, tracing the curve of your rib cage. When he finally reaches your breast, he cups you in his palm, squeezing lightly—just enough to make you catch your breath. Your nipples are already hard, and his touch feels good, almost soothing.
Each movement, each touch, feels like a silent vow—a promise to show you everything he’s capable of giving, as if he’s trying to communicate with you through every caress. And you let yourself get lost in it, in the heady sensation of being completely, utterly his.
You keep your eyes shut as he gently rolls you onto your back. He’s partially on top of you, but most of his weight rests on the bed. He doesn’t want to crush you, you realize, and a sense of gratitude washes over you. He lowers his head, placing tender kisses along your collarbone, your shoulder, your stomach. His mouth is hot, and each kiss leaves a moist trail on your skin, setting it aflame.
Then he closes his lips around your right nipple and sucks lightly. Your body arches instinctively, a wave of tension pooling low in your belly. He repeats the action on your other nipple, his mouth warm and demanding, and the tension inside you deepens, intensifies. He senses it—of course, he does—because his hand moves lower, venturing between your thighs and feeling the slick evidence of your desire.
His fingers explore gently, and you can’t help but let out a soft gasp as your body responds to his touch, the pressure building, tightening. Every sensation blurs into the next, leaving you helpless under his slow, deliberate ministrations.
“Does it feel good, my queen?” he murmurs, stroking your folds with maddening precision.
A whimper escapes your lips as his mouth travels lower, the tickle of his hair brushing against your heated skin. You know what he intends, and your mind blanks out when he reaches his destination. For a moment, instinct makes you try to resist, but he effortlessly pulls your legs apart, spreading you open to him.
His fingers part your folds gently, exposing you completely to his gaze. Then he lowers his head and kisses you there, sending a jolt of electric heat through your entire body. His skilled mouth licks and nibbles around your sensitive clit until you’re moaning, your fingers clutching at the sheets. Then he closes his lips around it and lightly sucks.
The pleasure is so intense, so unexpected, that your eyes fly open in shock. You don’t understand what’s happening to you, and it’s terrifying. You’re burning from the inside out, throbbing between your legs. Your heart is racing so fast you can barely catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you find yourself panting, gasping for air.
“B…Bucky, am I supposed to feel this way?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mix of innocence and confusion.
His only response is a deep, throaty groan against you, the sound vibrating through your core and making your breath hitch. The gentle puffs of his breath against your slick skin make you shiver, and when you instinctively try to pull away—overwhelmed by the intensity of his mouth—he tightens his grip, holding you steady. His hands are strong yet careful, firm but tender, keeping you in place with ease.
“You’re close my queen, I’ll take you there.” he murmurs against your flesh, his voice low and rough, filled with a dark, sensual promise.
He doesn’t relent, his tongue working you with maddening speed, teasing and tasting, drawing out soft whimpers and gasps from your lips. The pleasure builds higher and higher, a wave crashing over you, making you feel like you’re on the verge of shattering. His hands keep you grounded, his touch both possessive and gentle as he guides you through every pulse, every tremor of sensation.
You cry out, your body twisting and arching, but he holds you steady, not letting you escape the overwhelming pleasure that has you unraveling beneath him. It’s too much, too intense, and yet you don’t want it to end—you can’t imagine it ending.
“Let go for me,” he breathes, the words a command and a plea all at once, his mouth never stopping its sinful work. “Just let go, I have you.”
The tension inside you is building, coiling tighter and tighter, until it feels unbearable. You’re squirming against his mouth, pushing and pulling at the same time, your body caught in a desperate dance. Each flick of his tongue, each graze of his teeth, sends you spiraling closer to some elusive, dangerous edge.
And then, with a soft cry, you go over it.
Your entire body tightens, muscles locking as you’re overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure so intense that your vision blurs. Your toes curl, your back arches off the bed, and you feel your inner muscles pulse in rapid, uncontrollable spasms.
You realize, in a dazed, breathless haze, that you’ve just had an orgasm, your first. Your limbs feel like jelly, your skin flushed and trembling as the aftershocks ripple through you. 
He doesn’t move away immediately, his mouth lingering, pressing soft kisses to your sensitive flesh as he murmurs soothing words, guiding you gently back down from the heights of ecstasy.
The first orgasm of your life. And it was at the hands—or rather the mouth—of your husband. Your open your eyes again. But he’s not done with you yet. He crawls up your body and kisses your mouth again. He tastes differently now, salty, with a slightly musky undertone. It’s from you, you realize. You’re tasting yourself on his lips. 
A hot wave of embarrassment rolls through your body even as the hunger inside you intensifies. His kiss is more carnal than before, rougher. His tongue penetrates your mouth in an obvious imitation of the sexual act, and his hips settle heavily between your legs. 
One of his hands is holding the back of your head, while another one is between your thighs, lightly rubbing and stimulating me again. You don’t really resist, although your body tenses as the nervousness returns. You can feel the heat and hardness of his erection pushing against your inner thigh, and you know it’s going to hurt you. 
“J-James,” you whisper, opening your eyes to look at him. “Please take it slow . . . I’ve never done this before—” 
His nostrils flare, and his eyes gleam brighter. “Of course, my queen,” he murmurs softly. His voice is low and soothing, yet it carries a promise—a vow to be careful, to go at your pace.
With trembling hands, he hastily undoes his trousers, pushing them down just enough. When he shifts back slightly, his length springs free, standing thick and proud between you. Your eyes widen as you take him in—long and intimidatingly hard, the sight making your heart race with a mixture of anticipation and fear.
He notices your gaze and the way you bite your lower lip, your apprehension clear as your eyes trace every inch of him. Swallowing hard, you try to reconcile how something that large could possibly fit inside you.
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. He reaches out, gently brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers, grounding you with the softness of his touch. “You have my word.”
Your gaze flickers back to his, and despite the nervousness thrumming through your veins, you nod slowly. “Don’t stop, I want this.”
Then he shifts his hips slightly, using one hand to guide himself to your entrance. You gasp as the tip of his cock nudges against your slick folds, then slowly, carefully, begins to push inside. You’re wet, but your body tenses, resisting the unfamiliar intrusion. You saw how big he is, but the sensation of him stretching you now feels overwhelming—impossibly large as he inches his way into your body.
Pain flares, a sharp burning that makes you cry out, your hands flying up to press against his shoulders. His eyes, dark and intense, lock onto yours, his pupils blown wide with the effort of holding back. Beads of sweat form along his brow, and you realize he’s straining to keep himself under control.
“Relax, Y/N,” he whispers harshly, his voice taut. “It will hurt less if you relax.”
You’re trembling, body taut like a bowstring, unable to follow his advice because you’re too nervous—too overwhelmed by the pain. It’s too much, having even a little bit of him inside you. You clutch at his shoulders, your fingers digging in his skin as your body fights to accommodate him.
But he’s relentless, his jaw clenched tightly as he continues to press forward, his thick girth stretching you inch by agonizing inch. Your flesh gives way slowly, reluctantly, the resistance in your body fierce, but he doesn’t stop. He won’t stop. Each slow push is a battle, and the pain sharpens, your eyes squeezing shut as you sob quietly, nails scratching at his back.
“Shhh, breathe for me, my queen,” he murmurs, his voice strained. He’s trembling too, every muscle in his body tense as he’s fighting against himself.
He pauses for a second, buried halfway inside, his breath coming in ragged pants. A prominent vein pulses near his temple, his face contorted with effort. He looks like he’s in pain—suffering even—but you know the truth. This is pleasurable for him, this act that’s hurting you so much. The realization makes your chest tighten, but before you can say anything, he lowers his head, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes, his voice breaking. And then, before you can process his words, he pushes forward again—firmly, unyieldingly—tearing through the thin membrane inside you with a single thrust.
You almost black out from the pain.
A cry bursts from your lips, the pain flaring white-hot as he stills, his full length now buried deep within you and it’s the most agonizingly invasive thing you’ve ever experienced. He doesn’t move, his hips pressed firmly against yours, his breath coming in harsh, unsteady gasps above you. 
“Breathe,” he murmurs, his voice strained but soothing as he keeps himself perfectly still, letting your body adjust around him. He’s so much larger than you, so much stronger. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes squeezed shut, his entire being focused on not moving an inch.
Your chest rises and falls in ragged breaths, your body trembling beneath him. The pain is sharp, throbbing, but there’s something else now—a sense of fullness, of being completely joined with him. His fingers slide down to entwine with yours, holding your hands as though anchoring you both.
“Just… breathe,” he whispers again, his voice barely more than a ragged breath.
It’s a long, aching moment before the pain begins to ebb, your body slowly, tentatively adjusting to the size of him. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze, and in that instant, you see it all—his struggle, his desire, and his absolute devotion to you.
“James… you can move,” you whisper, your voice shaking.
He lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes closing briefly in relief. “Are you sure?”
You nod, squeezing his hands. “Yes. I… I want you to.”
Slowly, carefully, he withdraws an inch, then pushes back in, the movement sending a jolt of sensation through you. It still hurts, but there’s something else now—something warm and electric, something that has your breath catching in your throat.
Initially, his movements only make it worse, each thrust adding to the agony as your body struggles to accommodate him. The pain is sharp, your muscles instinctively tightening around him, and it’s all you can do to keep from crying out. You grit your teeth, your breath hitching as he fills you completely, stretching you in a way that feels both impossible and overwhelming.
He watches you closely, his eyes never leaving your face as he moves again, each slow thrust careful, controlled. The pain begins to blur at the edges, each movement bringing with it a new kind of pleasure, subtle but building with each careful stroke.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, his voice rough and hushed. “I’ll stop. Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”
But you shake your head, your body slowly relaxing beneath him. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling but resolute. “Please… don’t stop.”
And so he doesn’t, his movements becoming a little deeper, a little steadier as he pulls you both into a rhythm, a dance of slow, aching intimacy that leaves you breathless.
Sensing your discomfort, he pauses, his brow furrowing in concern. His hand slips between your bodies, finding your sensitive clit. He strokes it softly, his finger moving in slow, gentle circles. The sensation is startling, a ripple of unexpected pleasure that momentarily distracts you from the pain. You whimper, your hips shifting reflexively as he keeps his touch light and steady, his thumb brushing over your swollen flesh with expert precision.
“Focus on this,” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper. “Just this, love.”
You try, your mind grasping onto the pleasure he’s coaxing out of you. It’s small at first, a subtle flicker against the backdrop of pain, but it grows stronger, more insistent as he continues to tease you. His hips resume their slow, steady rhythm, moving your body in tandem with his hand, each thrust pushing you against his fingers.
The tension begins to gather inside you again. The pain is still there, but it’s changing, being slowly overtaken by the pleasure. Your breath hitches, your body responding despite itself, and you feel a flush spread across your skin. It’s almost maddening, how he manages to draw both pain and pleasure from you at the same time, your body caught in the push and pull of conflicting sensations.
“That’s it,” he breathes, his voice strained, as if he’s fighting against something deep within himself. “You’re doing so well, Y/N… so beautiful like this.”
You’re writhing beneath him now, every muscle trembling as he moves with agonizing slowness, his hips rocking against yours. The pressure builds, the friction of his length inside you both painful and electrifying. You let out a soft cry, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
And then something shifts in him. His control falters. He growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your chest as his movements change—becoming less measured, less restrained. 
“Yes—Oh, my God—James,” Your hands travel down until they settled on his bottom, urging him to plunge into you harder. His thrusts deepen, the careful rhythm faltering as he pulls back only to push back in harder, the motion sending a jolt of pleasurable sensation through you.
“Fuck,” he grits out, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he fights for control. “You’re so tight, my queen, it feels so good.” His voice is rough, the words almost guttural, and you can feel the tension radiating off him, the way his hands tighten on your hips as if he’s trying to hold himself back.
But he can’t.
With a shuddering breath, he shifts again, his hand stilling between your legs as both of his arms come up to cradle your body. He draws back, just enough to look at you, his gaze fierce and dark, filled with a hunger that takes your breath away.
“I can’t… I’m sorry, I can’t—” His voice breaks, and then he’s moving again, harder this time, his control slipping completely. 
“It feels good, James—keep going.” You reassured him, through a needy whimper.
His hips snap forward, his pace increasing as he pushes into you with a force that has you crying out. Each thrust is deeper, harder, driving the air from your lungs, and the pain flares, bright and searing. But underneath it, the pleasure grows—an insistent, throbbing heat that coils low in your belly.
Bucky’s losing himself, the careful restraint he’d shown before unraveling with every push and pull of his body. You can feel it in the way he holds you, the way his breath comes in harsh, uneven gasps against your skin.
“James…!” you sob, your body arching beneath him as he drives into you. He grunts in response, the sound raw, almost animalistic. His pace is relentless now, his thrusts coming faster, harder, each one dragging a mixture of pain and pleasure from you that has you trembling, gasping.
“Fuck, you’re perfect… you’re taking me so well,” he groans, his voice strained and desperate. His hands move to your thighs, lifting them slightly to angle you just right, and then he’s pounding into you with strength that leaves you breathless, your fingers scrabbling against his back.
“God, you’re so tight, so wet—” His words are a growl, his teeth grazing your neck as he buries himself to the hilt, his body shuddering against yours. “Can’t hold back… can’t—”
He pulls almost all the way out, back hunching, and then slams back in, the impact sending a shockwave through you. You cry out, your nails raking down his back, but he doesn’t stop. He’s completely lost now, his hips snapping forward with a brutal, punishing rhythm that has you writhing beneath him, the world narrowing to the feel of him inside you, the way he’s filling you so completely.
“James, please—” You don’t know what you’re asking for, your mind a blur of sensation as he drives you higher, closer to that precipice.
“Come for me,” he demands, his voice a rough command in your ear. “I need to feel you—need to feel you fall apart around me.”
He reaches between your bodies again, his fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing it with just enough pressure to push you over the edge. The pleasure crashes into you like a tidal wave, your body seizing, muscles clamping down around him as you scream his name.
Your orgasm tears through you with blinding intensity, your inner walls fluttering, clenching around him as the world dissolves into darkness. You’re only dimly aware of him groaning above you, his hips jerking as he follows you over the edge, his release pulsing deep within you. He holds himself there, buried to the hilt, his body trembling as he spills into you, his voice a raw, broken sound in your ear.
Slowly, the tension eases, the fire burning through your veins gradually fading to a warm, languid glow. He pulls out carefully, his movements gentle, and you wince at the sudden emptiness. But before you can say anything, he’s gathering you into his arms, rolling to the side and pulling you close.
His chest rises and falls against your back, his breath still uneven as he wraps himself around you, holding you tightly.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, his voice rough and full of concern. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then your cheek, his hands stroking your hair soothingly.
You nod weakly, leaning into his embrace, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your release. “Yes… I’m okay.”
He lets out a long, shaky breath, his grip tightening for a moment before he relaxes, his body curving protectively around yours.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again, his voice soft and broken. “I didn’t mean to hurt you… I tried, but I couldn’t—”
“Don’t be sorry,” you interrupt gently, reaching up to brush your fingers over his cheek. He closes his eyes, his forehead resting against yours. He holds you close, his warmth and presence surrounding you.
× × × ×
The soft, predawn light filtered through the heavy drapes, casting a muted glow over the bedchamber. The air was still, the quiet broken only by the faint rustle of sheets and the soft murmur of voices. 
You lay nestled against Bucky’s chest, your fingers idly tracing patterns along the ridges of his muscles, your body relaxed and warmth from the shared intimacy of the night before.
Bucky’s lips curved into a small smile, his gaze tender as he watched you, his hand absently stroking your hair. “Did I mention that you’re even more beautiful in the morning?” he murmured softly, his voice still rough with sleep.
You gave a soft, breathless laugh, shifting closer until your nose brushed against his. “You’re not too bad yourself, Your Majesty.”
The playful response earned you a gentle kiss, his lips brushing against yours with a adoration that made your heart flutter. What started as a brief caress deepened, his hand sliding to the small of your back, holding you close as if the mere thought of distance was unbearable.
The world beyond the room felt like a distant memory—a place that no longer mattered. There was only the two of you, cocooned in the warmth of the bed, the connection between you forged anew in the quiet hours of the night. His presence, once a source of confusion and pain, had become your anchor, steadying you amidst the swirling uncertainty that had defined your marriage until now.
His lips moved against yours, tender and sure, conveying what words never could. You sighed into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as you allowed yourself to get lost in him once more. He responded with a low hum of approval, his hand slipping beneath the sheets to settle against your bare skin—
And then the door to the chamber swung open.
“James, I have told you time and time again that you must learn to prioritize your du—”
“Your Majesty!” a voice interrupted suddenly—Captain Rogers. He stepped into the doorway, eyes wide with alarm as he held out a hand, trying to stop the Queen Dowager from taking another step. “Wait! Please, I—”
But it was too late. Queen Winifred breezed past him with a sharp frown, completely oblivious to his warning. Steve barely had time to avert his gaze, he’d caught a glimpse of you and Bucky in the bed, your figures entangled in a state of undress. The faintest hint of a flush crept up Steve’s neck as he clenched his jaw, his discomfort visible as he hastily stepped back, turning his head away with an almost comical speed.
The shock on her face was unmistakable, her eyes wide as she took in the sight before her—Bucky leaning over you, the two of you tangled together, the sheets barely covering your exposed skin. Your hair was tousled, your eyes still half-lidded with the lingering haze of sleep and intimacy.
“Mother—” Bucky choked out, his own shock quickly replaced by a fierce protectiveness. He moved in a flash, yanking the covers higher, shielding your body from view even as his gaze flickered with annoyance and embarrassment.
Your heart leapt into your throat, your face burning with mortification as you tried to hide behind the blankets, only partially successful. But the Queen Dowager had already turned to her back, her back ramrod straight, her shoulders tense as she stared resolutely at the doorframe. One hand clutched at the delicate fan she carried, the edge of it trembling slightly, the motion so subtle it was almost imperceptible.
“I—good heavens,” she stammered, uncharacteristically flustered. “I… I had no idea—”
Bucky shifted beside you, his voice strained but composed. “Your timing, as always, is impeccable, Mother.”
The sarcasm in his tone was enough to snap the Dowager Queen out of her daze. She cleared her throat, her fingers tightening around the fan as she lifted it to shield her face, the delicate lace trembling as she snapped it open.
“I… I came to speak with you about your lack of action at your own honeymoon, but… clearly, this is not the appropriate time.”
“No,” Bucky agreed, a trace of amusement lacing his words now. “It is not.”
“Right. Well.” The Queen Dowager’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the fan even tighter, holding it as if it could somehow ward off the awkwardness of the situation. “Carry on. I… I shall speak with you later, James.”
And without another word, she turned around sharply, retreating from the room, her face hidden behind the fan as she passed a mortified Steve, who did his best to look anywhere but at his queen or king.
As Winifred left the room, Steve allowed himself one final glance before swiftly stepping aside, his gaze meeting Bucky’s for just the briefest moment. The look of sheer exasperation and embarrassment on Bucky’s face made Steve fight the urge to smirk, though he wisely kept his expression neutral.
Instead, he took a step back, cleared his throat awkwardly, and called out, “I’ll, uh… ensure no one else disturbs Your Majesties.”
“See that you do,” Bucky muttered dryly, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to you.
Steve quickly retreated down the hallway, disappearing around the corner, leaving the two of you alone once more.
You stared at the closed door, your mind struggling to process what had just happened, the lingering haze of sleep and the afterglow of intimacy shattered in an instant. Slowly, you turned to Bucky, who was staring at the door with a bemused expression, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter.
“I suppose that’s one way to inform her we’ve consummated the marriage,” he remarked dryly, his gaze sliding back to you, a wicked glint in his eye.
You gaped at him, incredulous. “You find this amusing?”
He shrugged, the movement causing the sheets to slip down, exposing more of his bare chest. “I find it… effective.”
Despite yourself, a startled laugh bubbled up, the absurdity too much to ignore. You shook your head, your shoulders shaking with silent mirth as the tension dissolved.
“I don’t know whether to be mortified or relieved,” you admitted, pressing a hand to your flushed face. “She’ll never look at me the same way again.”
Bucky’s expression softened, and he reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “I doubt she’ll ever stop looking at you as the formidable woman who dared to march to Annecy in the middle of the night just to confront me,” he murmured, his gaze filled with warmth and something deeper, something that made your heart ache in the most wonderful way. “But now… she’ll see you as something more. As someone who has claimed what is rightfully hers.”
He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, the taste of him sweet and familiar. “And that, my queen, is nothing to be ashamed of.”
You smiled against his lips, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest, savoring the feel of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.
“No,” you whispered, “it’s not.”
And with that, you pulled him back down to you, the Queen Dowager and the world outside forgotten once more.
× × × ×
The grand marble steps leading up to the main palace seemed to stretch endlessly as you and Bucky ascended side by side. The palace loomed above you, its spires piercing the sky, but there was a comfort in its familiarity, a sense of returning home. Guards and servants bowed low, murmuring, “Your Majesties,” as you both passed. Bucky’s hand rested on the small of your back, steady and sure, his thumb absently brushing over the silk fabric of your gown.
The Great Hall is bustling with activity, the murmur of voices rising and falling like waves crashing against the shore. Citizens from all walks of life fill the space—farmers, merchants, artisans, and healers—each awaiting their turn to approach the king. Bucky sits on the gilded throne, his posture regal, yet his gaze is softer than usual, focused not on the people but on you seated beside him on a smaller chair.
One by one, the citizens present their concerns—requests for land disputes, grievances with local laws, petitions for aid after a particularly harsh winter. Bucky listens attentively, his expression thoughtful, but more often than not, his gaze shifts to you.
“What do you think, my queen?” he asks, his voice steady and genuine.
The first time he did, you hesitated, taken aback by the sudden attention. But Bucky’s eyes were reassuring, filled with the unspoken message that he trusted your judgment. So you spoke, and your advice—though tentative at first—was well-received.
Now, you sit straight-backed, exuding a quiet confidence as you consider each matter carefully before responding.
The citizens have begun to murmur among themselves about your growing role in the king’s court. Whispers of admiration mingle with doubt—some marveling at your wisdom, others wondering if the king’s indulgence will lead to reckless decisions.
The ripple of tension becomes tangible when Lord Carter steps forward, a calculating smile tugging at his lips. He bows low to Bucky, the motion exaggerated, then turns his attention to you, his eyes gleaming with thinly veiled skepticism.
“Your Majesties,” he begins smoothly, his tone dripping with courtesy, “it is a pleasure to see our king back on the throne. And to witness our gracious queen actively participating in the affairs of the realm… It is most intriguing.”
You return his smile with politeness, though you can feel Bucky stiffen beside you. Lord Carter is known for his silver tongue, and his words are never as benign as they seem. “I am merely assisting where I can, Lord Carter,” you reply, keeping your voice even.
“Of course, of course,” he agrees with a dismissive wave of his hand. “And yet, I wonder if Your Majesty’s counsel might not be too… idealistic?” He pauses, letting the word hang in the air. “Take the recent suggestion to provide seeds to the farmers affected by the blight. While generous, such a proposal could strain the treasury and set a precedent for the crown to supply every failed harvest. Perhaps the wiser course would be to consider less costly alternatives.”
Murmurs of agreement and disagreement spread through the hall, eyes shifting between Lord Carter and you, waiting to see how you would respond.
You keep your composure, though you feel the heat of scrutiny pressing down on you. “I appreciate your concern for the treasury, Lord Carter,” you say, your tone calm and measured. “However, a stable food supply is the backbone of our kingdom’s prosperity. If we let the farmers struggle, they will plant less next season, leading to higher prices and unrest among the lower classes. The cost of seeds is an investment in our future, one that will yield far more than it costs us now.”
Lord Carter’s eyes narrow, his smile tightening. “An investment, indeed. But how do we ensure that the investment is not squandered? Some farmers may take advantage of the crown’s generosity, and others may fail despite our aid. What then?”
You do not falter. “We will monitor the situation closely, sending representatives to oversee the distribution and usage of resources. We will also encourage local communities to form cooperative groups, ensuring that each village has a stake in its own success. This way, we not only provide aid but empower our people to be self-sufficient.”
A ripple of approval spreads through the hall. Even those who had been skeptical seem impressed by your thoughtfulness. Bucky’s gaze never wavers from you, pride shining in his eyes as you calmly hold your ground.
Lord Carter, however, is not finished. “And what of the well that dried up in Westport? Your suggestion to dig a new one may seem like a straightforward solution, but have you considered the possibility that the source may have been permanently depleted? If that’s the case, no amount of digging will restore it. Should we not consider relocating the village instead?”
Gasps of shock and disbelief echo through the hall. Relocating an entire village is an extreme measure, one that would displace hundreds of families and disrupt countless lives. Your hands tighten around the armrests of your chair, but you force yourself to remain calm.
“Relocation should always be a last resort,” you reply firmly. “The engineers we send will first conduct a thorough survey to determine if the well’s depletion is a result of temporary shifts or a permanent change in the water table. If it is found to be permanent, then we can discuss the feasibility of relocation. But I will not uproot our people without exhausting every option to preserve their homes.”
For a moment, there is silence. Then, a slow clap echoes through the hall. 
Lord Carter’s smile is sharp, predatory. “Well said, Your Majesty. It seems you have given this more thought than I assumed. I only hope your efforts yield the desired results.”
Bucky’s jaw tightens, and he leans forward slightly, his gaze fixed on Lord Carter. “I trust my queen’s judgment, Lord Carter. She has proven herself more than capable of understanding the intricacies of governance.” His voice is low, but it carries an unmistakable warning.
Lord Carter inclines his head, the smile never leaving his lips. “Of course, Your Majesty. It was never my intention to suggest otherwise. I merely wish to ensure that our realm remains strong and our resources wisely managed.”
With a final bow, Lord Carter steps back, leaving you and Bucky to exchange a glance. There is a question in Bucky’s eyes—Are you all right?
You give a slight nod, your lips curving into a determined smile. Yes, you seem to say without words. I am.
Bucky’s fingers brush against yours once more, a silent vow of support and solidarity. “Then let it be known,” he announces, his voice ringing out across the hall, “that from this day forward, Queen Y/N will sit beside me in all matters of governance. Her voice is to be heard and her counsel considered as equal to mine.”
The hall erupts into applause and murmurs of approval, but the hard gleam in Lord Carter’s eyes does not fade. He bows once more, his smile inscrutable, and turns away.
You watch him go, your heart steady. Whatever games Lord Carter intends to play, you are ready.
And you will not lose.
× × × ×
The grand council chamber now buzzed with tension, the gathered noblemen exchanging wary glances as Bucky faced them from the head of the long table. Prime Minister Fury, Lord Pierce, and the representatives of House Stark, House Romanoff, House Maximoff, House Odinson, House Quill, and House Carter were all present, each of them bearing the weight of their house’s influence and expectations.
It was a subtle standoff, a test of authority cloaked in polite words and thinly veiled demands.
You hadn't meant to overhear—you had only been wandering the halls when you stumbled upon the slightly ajar double doors and the raised voices inside. But something kept you rooted in place, your pulse quickening as you realized who was speaking.
Prime Minister Fury broke the silence first, his gaze sharp and unrelenting as it settled on Bucky. “Your Majesty, forgive our persistence, but it’s been weeks since your marriage, and… the court is rife with speculation.”
You leaned closer, eyes narrowing as you strained to hear. You couldn’t see Bucky’s face from where you stood, but the tautness in his voice was unmistakable.
“Speculation?” His voice was low, a dangerous undercurrent running through it. “What sort of speculation?”
A murmur rippled through the room, and Lord Haynesworth, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, cleared his throat awkwardly before speaking. “There have been… questions, Your Majesty. Questions regarding… well… whether the marriage has been properly consummated.”
Your heart lurched at the word, heat rushing to your cheeks in a mix of embarrassment and anger. Was that what this was about? They were discussing your private life as if it were some kind of public spectacle, something to be scrutinized and judged.
“Do not make us ask the question outright, Your Majesty,” Prime Minister Fury said finally, his tone edged with steel. “But we must know. The stability of the Crown depends on it. If the marriage has not been consummated, the legitimacy of the union—and of any future heirs—could be called into question.”
Silence fell, thick and heavy. You could practically feel Bucky’s gaze sweeping over each lord, daring them to press further.
“This is not your concern,” he bit out finally, each word clipped and seething with frustration. “This is my marriage. My business.”
“Your marriage is our concern,” Fury countered, leaning forward slightly, his gaze unflinching. “It’s palace business, Parliament business, the business of the entire country! You cannot pretend otherwise.”
“The king’s marriage must be above reproach,” Lord Pierce interjected, his voice low but firm. “Without a legitimate heir, the crown’s stability—”
“Do not speak to me of stability!” Bucky snapped, his voice like a whip crack through the chamber. You jumped at the sound, your breath catching in your throat as the tension in the room thickened. “You told me I had to marry her for the sake of the Crown. I did.”
Silence fell, thick and heavy.
“You told me I had to charm her, to win her favor, to make her compliant to the needs of the Crown. I did that too,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl.
“Then you told me to keep her at arm’s length, to keep her from knowing me, because a king must always protect the secrets of his realm.” He let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “I have followed every command, every directive, without fail. And now, you dare to demand this?”
The room seemed to shrink under the intensity of his gaze, the noblemen exchanging uncertain glances but remaining silent.
“You want to know if I’ve bedded her?” Bucky’s voice was soft now, deadly. “Yes. I have. Does that satisfy you?”
Prime Minister Fury held his ground, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his discomfort. “We must be sure, Your Majesty. The matter is not only about what is done but also about what is seen to be done. You must—”
“I must?” Bucky’s voice rose, the sound reverberating through the chamber like thunder. “I have done everything you’ve demanded of me! From the moment I took my first breath, it was hammered into me that my life was for the happiness or the misery of this great nation. That I must act, speak, feel in accordance with the needs of the Crown!”
His breathing quickened, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled to contain the rage boiling within him.
“I am the image of duty,” he yelled, voice shaking with barely contained fury. “The Crown is embedded in me, lodged like a blade through my heart. You do not need to remind me of what is at stake.”
Lord Haynesworth shifted uneasily, his gaze flickering to the others before speaking cautiously. “Your Majesty, we are not questioning your dedication. But if the queen is not—”
“Do not speak of her.” Bucky’s tone was a low, dangerous growl. “She is my wife. Her worth is not for you to decide.”
A murmur of surprise swept through the chamber, the lords exchanging startled looks at the vehemence in his voice. They hadn’t said a word against the queen, yet Bucky’s defense of you was fierce, unwavering. As if the mere thought of anyone questioning you sent a surge of anger through him.
“Your Majesty, we only ask—”
“I have done my part,” Bucky interrupted coldly. “I will continue to do it, no matter the cost. But if any of you dare question her again, you will regret it.”
You stared, wide-eyed, at the scene unfolding before you, your heart beating loudly in your chest. 
“Your Majesty, we’re merely trying to ensure the Crown’s safety. If the queen does not—”
“Enough!” Bucky roared, the sound echoing through the chamber, making the noblemen flinch. “I have bedded her. I have fulfilled my duty. That is all you need to know.”
He turned on his heel, his cloak swirling behind him as he stalked toward the doors. Just before he reached them, he paused, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.
“This meeting is dismissed.”
You stepped back quickly, heart racing as he stormed out, his expression thunderous. As the heavy doors closed behind him, you glanced back through the narrow gap, your heart still pounding.
A murmur of voices rose, low and uncertain.
“He has finally done it, then,” Lord Haynesworth muttered, a hint of relief in his tone.
“Good,” Lord Pierce nodded, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the table. “Then there’s still hope that we can secure an heir.”
“We need to tread carefully,” Prime Minister Fury agreed. “But with the consummation complete, it’s a step forward. We must focus now on ensuring that an heir is conceived swiftly.”
A ripple of murmured agreement passed through the room, the tension easing just slightly as the weight of this particular matter began to lift.
Lord Carter, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat softly, a thoughtful smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Gentlemen, let us not forget… they have only just begun their marriage. We must allow time for nature to take its course.”
The other lords exchanged cautious nods, the relief growing as they considered his words.
“Quite right, Lord Carter,” Lord Pierce agreed. “We have time yet. If they continue in this manner, an heir will follow soon enough.”
Prime Minister Fury’s gaze lingered on the closed doors, his expression inscrutable. “But if this proves to be the only victory… if no heir is conceived…”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Lord Carter interrupted smoothly, his smile widening ever so slightly. “For now, we should be pleased that the matter has progressed this far. Let us not trouble ourselves unnecessarily.”
As the lords exchanged nods and the tension began to dissipate, Lord Carter’s smile widened ever so slightly. He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly against the polished wood of the table. It was a small, almost dismissive gesture, as though he were content to let the matter lie.
But not everyone in the chamber seemed convinced.
Lord Stark, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly, watched Lord Carter with a scrutiny that went unnoticed by most of the others. There was something in the smooth way the man spoke, the casual ease with which he guided the conversation, that set Stark’s teeth on edge. He’d seen men like Carter before—men who wielded their influence like a blade hidden beneath velvet.
He glanced to his right, catching Lord Thor Odinson’s gaze. The two exchanged a wordless look—Thor’s brow furrowing ever so slightly, as if he too sensed the undercurrent of manipulation threading through the discussion.
“Lord Carter speaks wisely,” Stark said slowly, his voice carefully measured as he turned his gaze back to the man in question. “We must be patient.”
Lord Carter’s smile widened at the praise, his eyes gleaming with a hint of something unreadable. “Of course,” he murmured, inclining his head slightly. “After all, it is in patience that we find clarity.”
Tony held his gaze for a beat longer, the polite smile never quite reaching his eyes. “Indeed,” he said softly, a hint of irony threading through his tone. Then he leaned back, crossing his arms as if to signal that he was done with the matter.
Thor, still watching Lord Carter closely, let out a low hum, his expression thoughtful. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. The wary glance he shared with Stark spoke volumes.
Lord Carter either didn’t notice, or he pretended not to. He gave a gracious nod, the smile still playing at the corners of his lips, and then shifted his gaze to the other lords, effectively dismissing the silent exchange between Stark and Odinson.
But the suspicion lingered.
As the lords continued their murmurings, Lord Stark’s gaze never left Lord Carter’s face, his mind working rapidly. He didn’t know what game Carter was playing, but he knew one thing for certain—whatever it was, it was more than just a matter of marriage and heirs.
There was something else at stake. Something that Lord Carter was keeping hidden beneath that affable smile.
And if there was one thing Stark couldn’t stand, it was a man who played games with stakes he didn’t lay on the table for all to see.
× × × ×
The private study in the main palace was dim, thick curtains drawn to keep out the harsh afternoon sun. The air was heavy, and Bucky’s frustration filled the room like a storm cloud. He stood near the window, staring out at the sprawling gardens, his thoughts a tangled mess of anger.
“Your Majesty?” Sam’s voice broke through the silence, calm but edged with concern. He kept his distance, watching the way Bucky’s shoulders tensed with every breath he took. “Might I suggest taking a seat? You appear… troubled.”
Bucky didn’t move, his gaze still fixed on some distant point beyond the glass. The pressure behind his eyes had been building steadily since that damned meeting ended. A dull ache that was rapidly growing into something sharper, more dangerous.
“Your Majesty?” Sam pressed gently, stepping forward. “If I may, I think it best—”
But before he could finish, Bucky stumbled back, his hand flying to his temple as the pain exploded in his head—white-hot, blinding. He gritted his teeth, a strangled sound escaping him.
“Your Majesty!” Sam was beside him in an instant, his hands hovering just above Bucky’s arms, unsure if touching him would only make it worse. “Shall I summon Doctor Banner? Or Zemo?”
Bucky shook his head sharply, the motion only sending another stab of pain through his skull. His breath came in ragged bursts as he tried to fight it back, trying to push it away.
“No,” he managed through gritted teeth, his voice tight. “I’m… I’m fine.”
But the pain didn’t ease. It only intensified, and Bucky’s knees buckled, forcing him to grab the edge of the desk for support.
“Bucky, please,” Sam urged, his voice low but firm. “You’re getting the symptoms. You need—”
“Get Banner,” Bucky ground out, the words barely more than a rasp. “Now.”
Sam nodded briskly. He moved Bucky to a nearby armchair, easing him down with the care of a man who had done this before. “I’ll bring him right away. Please, just… try to hold on.”
Bucky’s eyes closed, his hand pressing harder against his temple. “Y/N?” he muttered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. “Is she—”
“Her Majesty is well, sir,” Sam assured him gently. “She is perfectly safe.”
Relief washed over Bucky’s face, easing some of the tension from his features. “Do not let her see me like this,” he whispered, his voice rough and strained. “She… she can’t see this.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Sam replied softly. “I’ll see to it.”
With one last, concerned glance, Sam turned and hurried out of the study, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he went to find Bruce.
Left alone, Bucky slumped back in the chair, his breathing uneven as he tried to regain control. The pain continued to pulse through his head, but he forced himself to focus, to keep his mind anchored to something—anything—other than the agony.
And all he could think of was you.
× × × × 
The candle flames flickered in the study of the Carter estate, shadows dancing along the richly paneled walls. Lord Carter stood before the grand fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the fire as it crackled and hissed. Sharon paced the length of the room behind him, the soft rustle of her silk gown the only sound breaking the silence.
“Her virtue,” Sharon spat, her voice cutting through the stillness. “Is that truly what they care about? Whether or not she’s pure enough to produce an heir?” She stopped pacing, whirling to face her father. Her blue eyes, so like his, burned with fury. “They should be more concerned with how unfit she is for the role. She’s weak—completely and utterly useless.”
Lord Carter didn’t turn, didn’t even flinch at her outburst. He simply stared into the fire, his expression cold, unreadable. “You will set aside your petty resentments, Sharon.”
She blinked, the unexpected harshness of his tone pulling her up short. “What?”
“You heard me.” His voice was low, but it carried an unmistakable edge, each word falling with the weight of command. “Your emotions are clouding your judgment.”
“My emotions?” Sharon let out a humorless laugh, but there was a note of disbelief in it, tinged with bitterness. “I’m the only one who sees her for what she is—a pretty little figurehead propped up beside him, with no real power. If you would only—”
“Enough.” Lord Carter’s voice was sharp, final, cutting through her words like a blade. He turned then, his gaze locking onto hers with a look that made her take an involuntary step back. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing? How you’ve been conducting yourself?”
Sharon’s lips parted, but no sound came. She stared at her father, feeling the heat drain from her face as his gaze bore into hers.
“I see everything, Sharon. Every sideways glance, every whispered word of ‘concern’ for the queen’s image in front of the council.” He took a step toward her, his eyes dark with anger. “You’re so focused on tearing her down that you’ve forgotten the larger picture.”
“The larger picture?” Sharon echoed, her voice rising with indignation. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked! I’ve sown doubt, spread rumors—”
“Yes, and you’ve made a spectacle of yourself in the process,” Lord Carter snapped. “The other lords see your bitterness, your jealousy. They wonder if you’re motivated by politics or by personal vendetta.”
Her breath hitched, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “I’m not jealous.”
“Then start acting like it.” His tone softened just a fraction, but there was no kindness in it. “If you continue to act out of spite, it won’t be long before they dismiss you as a scorned woman and ignore you entirely.”
Sharon stiffened, the words landing like a slap. “Father—”
“You will listen to me.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. “You will set aside your personal feelings toward her and start acting strategically. No more open hostility. No more scathing remarks.”
Her throat tightened, a flush of anger rising up within her. “And what am I supposed to do? Smile and play the obedient daughter?”
“No,” Lord Carter said slowly, his gaze piercing. “You will do something much more valuable.”
He turned his back on her and moved closer to the fire, watching the flames as if they held all the answers. “You will make sure she never produces an heir.”
Sharon blinked, confusion creasing her brow. “What? How am I supposed to—”
“Contraceptives,” he interrupted, his voice low and calm. “Subtle, untraceable. Something you’ll slip into her tea—every morning, every evening. She’ll never know.”
Her mouth dropped open again, shock flashing across her face. “You want me to poison her?”
“Not poison,” Lord Carter corrected, his gaze hardening. “Prevent. The council is growing impatient, and so is the king. All this talk of producing an heir has everyone on edge. If she remains barren, if there is no child… it’s only a matter of time before they turn on her. The king will have no choice but to seek a solution elsewhere.”
Sharon stared at her father, a mix of horror and awe flooding her chest. “You’re going to sabotage her chances of ever having a child.”
“Yes,” he said simply, the flames reflecting in his eyes like a promise of destruction. “And when the time comes, the council will demand he take a consort. Someone more capable. Someone who can give him what she cannot. . . and I will have you as a candidate.”
Sharon’s heart pounded, her mind racing as the full scope of his plan unfolded before her. “And if they find out—”
“They won’t,” he said sharply, cutting her off. “The contraceptives will be untraceable, with no lasting effects. And by the time anyone realizes what’s happened, it will be far too late. The damage will already be done.”
Sharon swallowed hard, her throat tight as she forced herself to nod. “And what do I do until then?”
“You remain discreet,” Lord Carter said, turning to face her fully now. “You keep to the background. No more rants, no more public displays of resentment. Let them think you’ve stepped back, that you’ve accepted your place.”
His gaze softened, just a fraction. “The queen trusts the palace servants—use that. When she’s distracted, add the contraceptives to her tea. Once it’s in her system, she’ll be unable to conceive, and the king will have no heir—you need to be consistent. . . otherwise it won’t work. And with every passing day, the council’s discontent will grow.”
Sharon nodded slowly, feeling the last traces of defiance melt away, replaced by cold determination. “I understand,” she whispered. “I’ll do it.”
“Good.” He turned back to the fire, his voice distant and calm. “And remember, Sharon—this isn’t about you. This is about securing our family’s influence and power. Don’t let your emotions ruin it.”
She nodded again, throat tight as she turned on her heel and left the study, his words echoing in her ears like a dark mantra.
Slip the contraception into her tea. Make her unable to produce an heir. And when the queen finally falls, the Carters will be there to take their place at the center of the kingdom’s power.
As she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, Sharon exhaled slowly, smoothing her hands over the front of her gown. She would do what needed to be done.
And when the queen finally fell, Sharon would be there to make sure she never got up again.
× × × × 
The room was filled with the sound of ragged breaths, heavy pants mingling with the low, needy moans that escaped your lips. The air was thick with heat, every whisper of movement, every shift of fabric, adding to the maddening tension that enveloped you both.
You clutched onto Bucky’s shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, using it as leverage as you rode him with a rhythm that left you trembling. The dress, though still draped around your frame, felt more like a cage now, the layers of fabric bunched up and tangled around your waist, trapping the heat between your bodies.
Bucky’s hands, strong and possessive, roamed over the curve of your buttocks, slipping beneath the folds of your gown, fingers kneading the soft flesh as he pulled you down against him, urging you to move faster, harder. The friction of his trousers against your bare thighs sent shivers of pleasure coursing through you, and you gasped, your head falling back as you lost yourself in the overwhelming sensation of him filling you so completely.
“God, you feel…” Bucky’s voice was a rough rasp, his words breaking off into a groan as you shifted, the change in angle drawing a deep, guttural sound from his throat. His hands gripped you tighter, almost to the point of pain, but it only heightened the pleasure, the sensation of being utterly consumed by him. “So tight… so perfect… just like that, my queen.”
You moaned in response, the sound echoing in the quiet room, your body moving with a desperate, primal rhythm that matched the erratic beat of your heart. Each roll of your hips, each slide of your body against his, sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, building higher and higher with every pulse of heat, every brush of his skin against yours.
The feel of him inside you, hard and filling, drove you to the edge, your entire being attuned to the way his breath hitched, the way his grip on you tightened each time you moved. You could feel every ridge, every inch of him, stretching you, filling you, making you ache in the best possible way. The sensation of being so utterly full, so completely claimed, was intoxicating, a heady mix of pleasure and pain that had you gasping for breath.
“James…” You whimpered his name, your voice a breathless plea, your nails raking down his chest as you arched against him, desperate for more, for everything he could give you. Your movements grew more erratic, more frenzied, each thrust of your hips meeting his in a clash of heat and desire that left you both trembling.
“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice low and rough, his gaze fixed on you with a possessive intensity that made your heart stutter. “Ride me like you were made for it… you’re taking me so perfectly. So beautiful.”
His words sent a surge of heat through you, your body tightening around him in response, drawing a strangled curse from his lips. He shifted beneath you, his hips bucking upwards to meet your movements, each powerful thrust driving you higher, the pleasure spiraling out of control.
“Please… don’t stop,” you panted, your voice breaking on a moan as he shifted again, his grip on your backside tightening as he pulled you down harder, his gaze never leaving your face. “Don’t… God, James…”
“I won’t,” he growled, his voice a dark promise, his eyes burning with a feral hunger that sent a shiver through you. “I won’t stop… not until I feel you shatter around me. Not until I’ve had you again… and again… until you can’t think of anything but this. But me.”
His words, the low, heated tone of his voice, sent you spiraling, your body tensing as the pleasure built to a dizzying crescendo. You could feel it coiling deep within you, an unstoppable force gathering strength, tightening, ready to snap.
Bucky’s grip shifted, one hand moving to your waist, the other sliding up your back to fist in your hair, pulling you down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss that sent you over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you cried out, the pleasure crashing through you in relentless waves.
He swallowed your cries, his mouth devouring yours as he thrust up into you, each movement drawing out the sensation, prolonging the ecstasy until you were shaking, trembling in his arms.
“James!” You gasped his name, your entire body quaking as the pleasure crested, the intensity of it leaving you breathless, boneless, completely at his mercy.
And still, he didn’t stop. His hands continued to guide your movements, his hips driving up to meet yours in a relentless rhythm that left you gasping, your entire body thrumming with the aftershocks of your release. The feel of him inside you, still hot and hard and so very, very present, sent another shudder through you, and you whimpered, your head falling to his shoulder.
“Such a good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough and unsteady, his breath hot against your ear. “Taking everything I give you… aren’t you?”
“Yes, my king.” you breathed, your voice a broken moan, your body pliant, yielding to his every touch, his every word.
“Then take a little more,” he growled, his hands tightening on your hips, holding you still as he thrust up into you one last time, his body going rigid beneath you as he found his own release, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat.
You felt him shudder against you, his body trembling as he buried himself deep, the sensation of him pulsing inside you sending another wave of heat coursing through your veins. He thrusted into you over and over until he was spent, having given you every ounce of come he had. And then, slowly, reluctantly, he relaxed, his grip on you loosening as he exhaled a shuddering breath.
The room was quiet once more, save for the sound of your ragged breathing, the rapid thrum of your heart slowly easing as you clung to him, your body still quivering in the aftermath.
He kissed you again, slow and languid, savoring the taste of your mouth like a man starved. His tongue swept against yours, coaxing another soft moan from your lips. The kiss deepened, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, like he couldn’t bear to let you go, like he needed to drown in you just a little longer.
But just as his lips found that tender spot at the corner of your mouth—
A sharp knock echoed through the room.
You froze, your breath hitching as the sound cut through the haze of desire that still clung to you both. Bucky stiffened beneath you, his gaze snapping to the door, frustration flashing across his face.
“Not now,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He turned back to you, his eyes blazing with the need to continue what had been so rudely interrupted. His fingers tightened on your waist, drawing you closer as if to shield you from the intrusion.
“Your Majesty—” came a hesitant voice from the other side of the door.
“Go. Away.” Bucky bit out, his teeth clenched. He pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, his grip on you remained.
But the voice persisted. “It’s urgent.”
With a deep, frustrated sigh, Bucky forced himself to pull away, his lips brushing against your forehead one last time before he moved to stand. He reached for his trousers, yanking them up with an annoyed huff, the fabric whispering as he buttoned them hastily. He tucked his shirt back in, smoothing out the wrinkles with brisk, jerky movements. His fingers worked quickly to adjust the waistband, every action brimming with irritation.
You watched, your pulse still pounding in your ears, as he deftly fastened his belt, the clink of metal ringing sharply in the quiet room. His jaw was set, his brow furrowed in concentration as he straightened his attire, each movement sharp and precise, trying to regain control over himself.
Bucky ran a hand through his tousled hair, pushing the disheveled strands back in place, then tugged at his shirt collar, tucking it in properly with a final flick of his fingers.
The urge to reach out and pull him back to you was overwhelming, but you forced yourself to stay still, your eyes tracing the rigid line of his shoulders as he turned toward the door.
“Come in,” he barked, his tone sharp and impatient.
The door creaked open slowly, revealing Sam, his expression caught somewhere between anxious and apologetic. His eyes darted briefly to you, taking in your flushed cheeks and Bucky’s still-wrathful demeanor before he quickly looked away, clearing his throat.
“Your Majesty,” Sam began, his voice careful, “forgive the intrusion, but… there’s an issue that needs your attention immediately.”
Bucky’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching as he fought to rein in his irritation. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, smoothing out the fabric one last time. “And it couldn’t wait?”
Sam shifted uncomfortably, swallowing hard. “No, sir. It’s—well, the council is in an uproar. They’re demanding to speak with you. It’s about the queen.”
Your heart squeezed at his words, and you glanced up at Bucky, your fingers tightening instinctively around the edge of your gown. He turned to you, his expression softening ever so slightly as he took a step forward, his fingers brushing gently against yours.
“I’ll handle it,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Stay here, Y/N. I won’t be long.”
You nodded, though the worry gnawing at your chest refused to ease. Bucky’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned away, his posture tense, his expression shuttered. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort to remain composed.
“Let’s go,” he muttered to Sam, his voice low and dangerous. He cast one last glance back at you before striding purposefully toward the door, the soft click of it closing behind him echoing through the room like a finality.
And as the silence settled once more, you exhaled slowly, your mind swirling with unease. Because whatever awaited Bucky out there, you knew it was only the beginning of something far more complicated.
× × × ×
Bucky strode through the double doors, the faint murmur of his boots against the polished marble the only sound breaking the oppressive stillness. All eyes turned to him, a mix of wariness and expectation filling the room.
Prime Minister Fury cleared his throat, stepping forward with a respectful bow. “Your Majesty, we thank you for joining us so swiftly.”
Bucky’s gaze swept over the gathered lords, his expression cold and unyielding. He took his place at the head of the long table, eyes narrowed as he regarded each council member in turn. 
“Why have I been summoned?” His tone was clipped, betraying the simmering irritation beneath his composed exterior.
Lord Haynesworth, always eager to play the voice of reason, leaned forward. “Your Majesty, there have been… troubling whispers circulating the court.” He glanced at the other lords for support before continuing cautiously. “Whispers regarding the queen and Captain Rogers.”
“Whispers?” Bucky’s voice was low, dangerous. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as his gaze sharpened. “What kind of whispers?”
A murmur of unease rippled through the room, the lords exchanging wary glances. Finally, Lord Pierce spoke up, his voice carefully measured. “There are rumors that the captain’s… interest in the queen is more than that of a mere guard.”
The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Bucky’s eyes darkened, the air around him seeming to crackle with barely restrained fury. “And what proof do you have to support these allegations?” he asked softly, his voice a lethal whisper.
The lords hesitated, each one glancing at the others, clearly caught off guard by the question.
“There is no… direct evidence, Your Majesty,” Prime Minister Fury admitted reluctantly, his gaze faltering. “But the captain’s presence around the queen—”
“Presence?” Bucky cut in sharply, his voice rising. “His presence is at my command. I ordered him to stay by her side. So I ask again—what evidence do you have that my orders have been misconstrued?”
Silence met his words. The lords shifted uneasily, the tension in the room thickening as Bucky’s gaze bore into each of them.
“Nothing?” Bucky’s voice was deceptively soft, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “You summoned me here based on nothing more than baseless gossip?”
“Your Majesty,” Lord Carter ventured cautiously, his voice smooth and conciliatory. “The concern is not just the rumors themselves, but the impact they may have on the queen’s reputation, and by extension, the Crown. If the people begin to believe—”
“Believe what?” Bucky snapped, his voice cracking like a whip through the chamber. “That the queen is a woman of loose morals? That she would dishonor me and this crown with one of my most trusted men? The mere suggestion is an insult not only to her but to me as well.”
The lords exchanged anxious glances, the king’s rage palpable in the air.
“Your Majesty, we meant no disrespect,” Lord Haynesworth said quickly, his tone placating. “But these rumors—”
“Are a disgrace,” Bucky finished coldly, his gaze turning to steel. “And I want to know who started them.”
The council stilled, shock rippling through the room.
“Find the source of these whispers,” Bucky ordered, his voice firm and unyielding. “And when you do, bring them to me. Whoever has dared to spread lies about my wife and Captain Rogers will face the full weight of the Crown’s wrath.”
“Your Majesty,” Prime Minister Fury interjected cautiously, his gaze flickering with unease. “Surely we can handle this matter discreetly. There’s no need to—”
“Do you think I am playing, Prime Minister?” Bucky’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper, his gaze icy. “I want them found. And I want everyone to know what happens when they seek to undermine my authority with petty gossip. I will not tolerate anyone questioning my wife’s honor.”
A tense silence fell over the room, the council members exchanging wary looks.
“Is that understood?” Bucky demanded, his gaze sweeping over the assembled lords.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” they murmured in unison, heads bowing in reluctant acquiescence.
“Good.” Bucky straightened, his expression hard. “And one more thing.”
The lords held their breath, waiting.
“Any man caught speaking against the queen without proof—any man—will find himself stripped of title and position. Do I make myself clear?”
The lords exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions taut with apprehension. But they knew better than to argue.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” they echoed again, the words heavy with resignation.
Bucky’s gaze lingered on them for a moment longer, his expression a mask of cold fury. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the doors, his cloak billowing behind him.
Just as he reached the threshold, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
“And if any of you doubt my resolve,” he said softly, his voice like ice, “remember this moment. Because it will be the last time I allow such disrespect to go unpunished.”
The silence that followed Bucky’s last, chilling words was thick, oppressive. It hung in the air like a noose, tightening around the lords as they exchanged uneasy glances, knowing they had overstepped, but uncertain how to make amends.
Just as Bucky turned back toward the door, a slow, mocking clap echoed from the far end of the room, the sound startling in its suddenness. Heads whipped around, eyes widening as they spotted the figure lounging in the shadows.
A man stepped forward, his movements unhurried, his posture casual yet carrying an undeniable authority. His dark hair fell loosely around his face, and a smirk curved his lips—a smirk that spoke of mischief and danger in equal measure. He moved with a feline grace, each step deliberate, as if he were completely unfazed by the tension gripping the room.
“Brother,” he drawled, his voice rich with amusement as his eyes—glinting with an almost feral light—fixed on Bucky. “Now that was a performance worth every second.”
Bucky’s gaze hardened as he turned to face the newcomer fully. “Isaac,” he acknowledged curtly, his voice devoid of warmth. “What are you doing here?”
Prince Ikarus, or Isaac as he likes to be called was Bucky’s younger twin brother—known to the court as a wild card, a force of nature as unpredictable as a storm—tilted his head, his smile widening as he glanced at the assembled lords, his eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous.
“I was just passing through,” he said lazily, his gaze sweeping over the noblemen, who stiffened under his scrutiny. “And I couldn’t help but overhear this… charming little gathering.”
He stopped a few feet away from Bucky, his smile fading slightly as he took in his brother’s tense stance, the barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface. 
“You looked like you could use a bit of… support,” he added, his voice softening—just a fraction, but enough for Bucky to notice the hint of concern hidden beneath the teasing façade.
The lords shifted uneasily, clearly unsettled by Prince Isaac’s sudden appearance. His reputation as a man who thrived on chaos, who delighted in pushing boundaries, was well known. And now, faced with both brothers—one an unyielding king, the other a dangerous enigma—they found themselves caught between the hammer and the anvil.
“Support?” Bucky repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of support, exactly?”
Isaac’s grin returned, sharp and gleaming as a blade. “Oh, you know, just a little reminder of what happens to those who speak out of turn.” He leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting lazily over the lords before settling back on Bucky. “For instance, I hear the scold’s bridle is quite effective at silencing loose tongues.”
A ripple of shock ran through the room, several lords exchanging horrified glances. The scold’s bridle—a cruel, medieval punishment used to silence women accused of gossiping or speaking out—hadn’t been mentioned in court for centuries. The very suggestion of bringing it back was enough to send a chill down the spines of even the most hardened noblemen.
“Prince Isaac,” Lord Pierce began hesitantly, his voice strained. “Surely you jest—”
“Do I?” Isaac interrupted smoothly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Because I’m not entirely sure I do, Lord Pierce. The idea of seeing a few of you donning that particular accessory…” He trailed off, his smile turning almost feral. “Well, it does have a certain appeal.”
“Enough, Isaac,” Bucky said sharply, his gaze never leaving his brother’s. “We are not bringing back barbaric punishments to deal with petty gossip.”
Isaac’s eyes flicked back to Bucky, his smile fading into something more serious, more thoughtful. “Oh, but this is no ordinary gossip, is it?” he murmured softly. “They’re questioning your authority. Your marriage. Your wife’s honor. I would think that calls for a rather… memorable response.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he held his brother’s gaze. For a moment, the room seemed to shrink around them.
Then, slowly, Bucky’s lips curved into a smile—one that didn’t reach his eyes.
“I appreciate your… enthusiasm, brother,” he said quietly, his voice steady but carrying an edge of warning. “But I am perfectly capable of handling this matter.”
Isaac studied him for a long moment, his gaze searching. Then, with a slight shrug, he stepped back, his hands raised in a gesture of mock surrender.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said smoothly, the smile never leaving his lips. “I’m merely here to… observe.”
Bucky’s gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat longer before he turned back to the lords, his expression hardening once more.
“Find the source,” he ordered coldly, his voice carrying the weight of an unbreakable command. “And if I hear one more word—one more whisper—about my wife, or Captain Rogers, or anything else that questions my authority…”
He glanced back at Isaac, his gaze turning icy. “I may not bring back the scold’s bridle, but rest assured—there are other ways to silence a tongue.”
The threat hung in the air, chilling and unmistakable. The lords nodded hurriedly, their faces pale, and the chamber fell into a tense, uneasy silence.
Satisfied, Bucky turned and strode out of the room, his cloak billowing behind him. Isaac watched him go, a thoughtful expression on his face.
As the doors closed behind the king, the lords finally released the breaths they hadn’t realized they’d been holding.
Lord Haynesworth swallowed hard, his gaze darting nervously to Isaac. “Your Highness, you… you can’t be serious about the scold’s bridle, can you?”
Isaac’s smile was slow, almost lazy, as he turned his gaze to the trembling lord. “Oh, I never joke about punishment, Lord Haynesworth.”
The lords exchanged wary glances, clearly unsure of how to respond. But Isaac’s gaze had already drifted away, his mind elsewhere, as if the conversation had already ceased to interest him.
“Let us hope,” he murmured softly, almost to himself, “that no one is foolish enough to test the king’s patience further.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and strolled out of the chamber, leaving the lords staring after him, their minds racing with fear and uncertainty.
Because one thing was clear: whether it was Bucky’s iron fist or Isaac’s unpredictable cruelty, those who sought to undermine the Crown would soon learn that the Barnes brothers were not to be trifled with.
As the heavy doors closed behind the Barnes brothers, the lords exchanged uneasy glances, the atmosphere thick with barely restrained tension. The king’s fury had shaken them, but the presence of Prince Isaac—his dark humor and thinly veiled threats—had left them truly unsettled.
Lord Haynesworth was the first to speak, his voice tight with anxiety. “By God, the king truly lost his temper this time.”
“We should have expected as much,” Lord Pierce murmured, shaking his head slowly. “The king has always been fiercely protective of those he cares about.”
Lord Carter leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Yes… but it seems the queen is more valuable to him than we anticipated.”
“Valuable?” Lord Stark interjected, his gaze sharp as he regarded Lord Carter with open suspicion. “The queen is not some pawn to be valued and assessed. She is the king’s wife—and more importantly, she’s been a steady hand in the chaos we’ve created.”
Lord Thor nodded firmly beside Stark, his broad frame leaning forward, fingers drumming thoughtfully against the table. “Stark is right. She is proving herself capable, and that is what matters. And as for Captain Rogers—” he paused, his eyes narrowing as he glanced around the table— “he’s done nothing to warrant these accusations.”
“Of course, Lord Thor,” Lord Carter agreed smoothly, his expression deceptively innocent. “But perception is everything, is it not? The court’s perception, the people’s perception—these things shape the strength of the Crown.”
“Perception is shaped by those who whisper in the shadows, spreading lies and stoking fears,” Lord Romanoff interjected coolly, his gaze locking onto Carter. “I wonder who benefits most from such whispers?”
“Indeed,” Lord Stark added, his voice like a blade. “Who stands to gain from undermining the queen’s position?”
The room fell silent, all eyes on Lord Carter, who merely smiled, a picture of calm amidst the storm. “Gentlemen, I assure you, I have nothing but the stability of the Crown in mind.”
“And yet, you seem quite at ease stirring the pot,” Lord Loki murmured, his voice a low purr as he leaned back, his gaze shrewd. “One might almost suspect you enjoy watching it boil over.”
A ripple of tension passed through the room, but Lord Carter merely shrugged, his smile unwavering. “I am only concerned with ensuring that the Crown is safeguarded against any… potential vulnerabilities.”
“And what vulnerabilities might those be?” Thor demanded, his tone dangerously low. “If you have evidence to support these accusations, speak it now. If not, then perhaps it’s time we stopped entertaining idle speculation.”
Lord Carter’s gaze flicked to Thor, the faintest hint of a challenge in his eyes. “If the king himself is ordering an investigation, who am I to contradict him?”
“You’re a man who clearly wants to see how far he can push his influence,” Lord Stark retorted sharply. “But I’ll tell you this, Carter: I’ll not stand by while you tear down everything we’ve fought to build. And that includes our support of the queen.”
“Is that so?” Lord Pierce murmured, his gaze flicking to the others. “Are we all agreed, then, that we trust the queen’s intentions and see no fault in the captain’s presence?”
There was a murmur of assent from Thor, Loki, Stark, and Romanoff, their loyalty to Bucky and his chosen allies clear.
But the hesitation from the other lords was palpable, their eyes darting nervously to one another before settling back on Carter, whose smile widened ever so slightly.
“Loyalty is admirable,” Carter said softly, his voice smooth as silk. “But loyalty, when misplaced, can be… dangerous.”
A chill swept through the room, the lords shifting uneasily as they digested his words.
“Enough of this,” Fury interjected firmly, his voice cutting through the rising tension like a knife. “The king’s orders are clear. We are to find the source of these rumors and ensure that this matter is put to rest once and for all.”
“Agreed,” Lord Pierce said quietly, his gaze thoughtful. “But let us not forget what Lord Carter said earlier. The king’s loyalty can be a double-edged sword. If we push too hard… we risk losing his favor.”
“Or perhaps,” Loki interjected softly, his gaze lingering on Carter, “we simply risk revealing who truly holds sway over his decisions.”
Carter’s eyes flashed with something dark and dangerous, but his smile remained intact. “You seem rather… invested in this, Lord Loki.”
“Only in seeing justice done,” Loki replied smoothly. “And ensuring that no one with ulterior motives takes advantage of a situation already fraught with tension.”
“Ulterior motives?” Lord Haynesworth echoed uneasily, glancing between Carter and the other lords.
“Yes, ulterior motives,” Lord Stark cut in, his gaze never leaving Carter’s. “The only question is, whose motives are they?”
Carter’s smile finally faded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “Careful, Stark. You wouldn’t want to find yourself on the wrong side of this conversation.”
“Is that a threat?” Tony asked, a sharp edge to his voice.
Carter’s smile returned, colder this time. “A warning. To all of us. Because if the king is willing to defend the queen so fiercely now, just imagine what he’ll do if he thinks we’re working against her.”
Thor’s fist slammed onto the table, the sound reverberating through the chamber. “Enough! We’re here to protect the Crown, not tear each other apart. This is exactly what those spreading rumors want—discord, infighting. I will not be party to it.”
A murmur of agreement followed his words, the tension easing just slightly as the lords shifted, reassessing.
“We will follow the king’s orders,” Fury said firmly. “But we do so with caution. We need to keep our eyes open—for every possible outcome.”
“And for every possible enemy,” Loki added quietly, his gaze still fixed on Carter.
The room fell silent once more, each man lost in his own thoughts, the weight of unspoken suspicions and half-formed alliances pressing down like a heavy shroud.
And as the lords finally began to file out, exchanging wary glances, one thing was clear: the battle for influence over the king—and the queen—was far from over.
× × × ×
Bucky stood at the head of a private chamber adjacent to the grand council room, the heavy wooden doors sealing him away from the prying eyes of his advisors. The room was lit up by a single chandelier overhead, his gaze was fixed on a map spread out on the table before him, but his mind was far from the ink and paper. He wasn’t brooding—no, brooding suggested indecision, and he couldn’t afford that luxury.
Isaac lounged against the far wall, his usual air of nonchalance nowhere to be seen. He’d been silent for some time now, eyes trained on his brother with a sharpness that few ever glimpsed beneath his playful facade.
“You knew,” Isaac said quietly, breaking the silence. It wasn’t a question, but a statement—a challenge even. “You knew it would come to this.”
Bucky’s lips twitched in the semblance of a bitter smile. “Of course, I did.” He glanced up, meeting Isaac’s gaze with a calm, unflinching stare. “The moment we stood in front of the council with no heir to speak of, I knew there’d be whispers. That’s why I ordered Steve to stay close to Y/N.”
He shifted his weight slightly, fingers tapping rhythmically against the edge of the table as he continued. “I wanted to see who would be the first to take those whispers and turn them into weapons. And I wanted them to feel confident enough to move. That’s the only way to draw them out.”
Isaac’s brow furrowed, his lips curving into a slow smile. “So you’ve been using Captain Rogers as bait?” His voice carried a hint of admiration, laced with a trace of something darker. “You’re more ruthless than I thought, brother.”
Bucky shrugged, his expression hardening. “I needed to know who would dare. And I know they’re out there.”
Isaac raised an eyebrow, intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Who?”
Bucky glanced down at the map, his gaze sweeping over the names marked along the edges. Each one belonged to a noble house, a prominent family in the realm—a member of his council. Men who wielded power not just through their titles, but through their influence, their alliances.
“Whoever they are,” Bucky murmured, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone, “they’re part of the council. I’ve seen the way they exchange glances, the careful way they speak around me—like they’re testing the waters, seeing how far they can push.”
He leaned over the table, his fingers brushing over the marked names—each one a potential traitor, a possible conspirator. “But I don’t know who yet. Not for certain.”
Isaac’s grin widened, a hint of excitement glinting in his eyes. “So, what’s your plan?”
“Let them think they’re gaining ground,” Bucky said softly, his gaze darkening. “Let them believe I’m too distracted, too burdened by the pressure of producing an heir to notice their scheming. They’ll grow bolder, make mistakes.”
Isaac tilted his head, studying his brother with newfound respect. “And when they do?”
Bucky’s eyes sharpened, his voice hardening with resolve. “I’ll be there to catch them. All of them.”
Isaac’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming. “So, what’s my role in this little drama?”
Bucky regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. “You’re going to dig deeper—under the table. Quietly. Find out who’s speaking to whom, what promises are being made, and to whom. Leave no stone unturned, no matter how small.”
Isaac straightened, a gleam of something dangerous sparking in his gaze. “And when I do?”
Bucky’s expression didn’t waver. “We’ll tighten the noose around their necks. But only when I’m ready.”
A silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken understanding. Isaac nodded slowly, pushing off the wall and taking a step toward the door. 
“I like it,” he murmured, a wicked smile playing at the corners of his lips. “But you know I’ll have to get creative. This sort of under-the-table investigation doesn’t lend itself well to… conventional methods.”
“I don’t care how you do it,” Bucky said evenly, his voice carrying a weight that brooked no argument. “Just make sure no one traces it back to us.”
Isaac inclined his head, his smile widening. “Understood, Your Majesty.”
He turned to leave, but paused just as he reached the door, glancing back over his shoulder. “You know… I haven’t met the queen yet,” he said casually, the statement laced with an edge of mischief. “Does she even know I exist?”
Bucky’s gaze hardened, his voice low and firm. “You’ll meet her when the time is right, Isaac. Until then… stay focused.”
Isaac’s eyes glinted with something unreadable, but he merely nodded, pushing the door open and stepping out into the corridor beyond.
As the door closed behind him, Bucky exhaled slowly, his shoulders straightening as he turned back to the map on the table.
But Isaac’s question still hung in the air, and Bucky glanced back at the closed door, his thoughts spinning.
He didn’t know who the traitors were yet. But he could feel them circling like vultures, waiting for him to falter, to stumble. They were careful—too careful. And that caution was telling. Only men who feared exposure behaved so cautiously.
Bucky’s fingers tapped against the table, his gaze narrowing. “It’s not just one,” he muttered to himself, his voice low, a dark edge lacing each word. “It’s a group.”
He let out a slow breath, his gaze sweeping over the council’s names once more.
“They’re part of the council,” he murmured, a humorless smile curving his lips. “Hidden among the men I’m supposed to trust.”
But trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Not now. Not until he knew exactly who was behind the shadows cast over his reign.
Straightening, Bucky turned away from the map, his expression hardening once more. “Let them think they’re winning,” he murmured softly, his gaze distant and calculating. “Because when the hammer falls… it’ll fall hard.”
He glanced back at the door one last time, his expression resolute. He would not be a weak king. He would not be a pawn in his own court.
He was the King of this realm. And he would crush anyone who dared to forget it.
× × × × 
Next day.
The late afternoon sunlight streams through the tall windows of the palace drawing room, casting a soft, warm glow over the intricately decorated space. You sit near the hearth, your attention shifting between Wanda, who speaks animatedly, and Nat, who lounges back in her chair, a faint smile playing on her lips as she listens.
Pepper moves gracefully around the room, setting out a fresh tray of delicate pastries and refilling teacups. Laughter bubbles softly as Wanda recounts a recent diplomatic visit.
“—and you should have seen his face when I suggested the princess of Cerion join us for the ball,” Wanda says with a sly grin. “He looked as though I’d asked him to dance with a bear!”
Nat chuckles, shaking her head. “The princess or the bear would be equally entertaining. Can’t say I’d blame him either way.”
You feel a smile tug at your lips, warmth flooding your gaze as you glance at Pepper, who rolls her eyes with an affectionate sigh. “Really, Wanda. You shouldn’t be toying with poor Lord Bateman like that. You’ll give him a heart attack.”
“Serves him right for underestimating us,” Wanda replies with a mock huff. “Maybe next time he’ll think twice before making such… colorful remarks about the queen.”
Your smile falters for just a fraction of a second, but Nat notices. She leans forward, resting a hand gently on your arm. “He’s just a pompous idiot. His words mean nothing.”
You nod, grateful for her support, but before you can respond, the grand double doors to the drawing room swing open, and Sharon Carter steps inside.
Conversation stills instantly, the soft laughter fading as all eyes turn toward her. She stands framed in the doorway, her expression carefully composed but tinged with an emotion you can’t quite place. She hesitates just long enough to be noticeable before taking a deep breath and stepping forward, closing the door softly behind her.
“Your Majesty,” Sharon greets quietly, a hint of uncertainty in her tone. She glances at the other women, nodding respectfully. “Wanda, Natasha… Lady Potts.”
“Sharon,” Wanda replies, a brow arching ever so slightly as she leans back in her chair. “What brings you here?” Her voice is light, but there’s an unmistakable edge beneath the politeness.
You straighten slightly, exchanging a glance with Nat, who gives a subtle nod, as if to say Let’s hear what she has to say. With a cautious smile, you gesture to one of the empty chairs. “You’re welcome to join us, Sharon. Is something on your mind?”
Sharon swallows, her fingers twisting together in a gesture that almost looks like nervousness. She steps further into the room but keeps her distance, her gaze focused on you.
“I wanted to speak with you, Your Majesty. To apologize,” Sharon says, her voice steady but quiet. “For the way I’ve behaved in the past.”
Wanda and Nat exchange quick, skeptical glances, while Pepper’s hand pauses over the teapot, her gaze flicking to Sharon with measured curiosity.
“Apologize?” Pepper echoes softly, setting the teapot down with a gentle clink. “That’s… unexpected.”
Sharon nods, taking another step closer, though still keeping a respectful distance. “Yes. I know my actions and words have been… less than kind.” She pauses, eyes dropping to the floor as if gathering her thoughts. “I’ve let my emotions get the better of me, and I’ve judged you unfairly, Your Majesty. I’ve spoken out of turn, assumed the worst, and for that… I am truly sorry.”
You blink, surprise flickering across your face. You’ve heard countless apologies in your time at court—some genuine, others dripping with false sincerity. But there’s something in Sharon’s tone, in the way her voice almost trembles, that gives you pause.
“People say things they don’t mean when they’re hurt or frustrated,” you reply carefully, your voice measured. “But what brought this on, Sharon? Why now?”
Sharon swallows again, glancing up with eyes that seem brighter than usual. “I… I’ve had time to reflect on my actions. To see the impact my words have had—not just on you, but on everyone in the court. I let my emotions guide me because… because I was angry and felt overlooked. I thought I had a right to be resentful, but…” She shakes her head, gaze dropping again. “I see now that I was wrong. I was unfair.”
Wanda’s eyes narrow, her fingers drumming lightly on the arm of her chair. “And you expect us to believe this sudden change of heart?”
“No,” Sharon says quickly, looking up again, her expression earnest. “I don’t expect you to believe me—not right away. But I want to try to make amends, to show that I’m sincere.”
You exchange a glance with Nat, then Pepper, who gives a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Your gaze softens as you turn back to Sharon. “What is it that you’re asking for, then?”
Sharon hesitates, then takes a step forward, dropping into a graceful curtsy. “I’m asking for the chance to help. To be of service in whatever way I can. I know I’ve been… difficult to work with, but I want to change that. I want to prove that I can be an asset to you, Your Majesty.”
Nat scoffs softly, crossing her arms over her chest. “And how exactly do you plan to do that, Sharon?”
Sharon glances at her, then back at you. “I’ve been at the palace more often, observing how things work, learning the routines. I thought… I could help with some of the smaller tasks. Things that don’t require much trust—yet.”
“Tasks like?” Pepper prods gently, her gaze never leaving Sharon’s face.
Sharon bites her lip, looking almost sheepish. “Like assisting with the morning tea service, helping with correspondence, perhaps just until Lady Rambeau gets back from her leave?”
Pepper’s brow furrows slightly, surprise flickering in her eyes. “You want to help… with tea?”
Sharon nods earnestly. “Yes, anything that would let me be useful, even in a small way. I just want to prove that I can change. That I can be someone worthy of serving you, Your Majesty.”
The silence that follows is heavy, tense. You can feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on you, waiting to see how you’ll respond. You study Sharon’s face, searching for any hint of deception, any trace of the bitterness that had so often colored your interactions.
But Sharon’s gaze is steady, her expression open and… vulnerable.
Finally, you let out a soft sigh, a small, tentative smile tugging at your lips. “Very well, Sharon. I’ll give you the chance to prove yourself.”
Wanda and Nat both shoot you incredulous looks, but you hold up a hand, silencing them. “Everyone deserves a chance to change. And if Sharon is sincere, then I’m willing to see where this goes.”
Sharon’s shoulders sag with visible relief, and she nods gratefully. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I won’t let you down.”
“Start by joining us for tea,” you suggest, gesturing to the table. “We can discuss more about how you’d like to help.”
Sharon hesitates, glancing around at the women, then nods and moves forward. Wanda and Nat’s eyes follow her every move, but Pepper, ever the gracious hostess, hands her a cup of tea with a small smile.
“Thank you,” Sharon murmurs, her fingers trembling slightly as she accepts the cup. She looks up at you, a tentative smile on her lips. “This means a lot to me.”
“I hope you’ll make the most of it,” you reply softly, though there’s a note of caution in your voice. “We all want what’s best for the kingdom.”
Sharon nods fervently, lowering her gaze as she sips from the cup, the picture of humility and contrition.
And as the conversation resumes around her, she glances down at the tray of tea—her eyes lingering on your cup—before quickly looking away, a satisfied smile ghosting across her lips.
The first step has been taken. And you will never see what’s coming.
× × × ×
You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the tension lingering from Sharon’s unexpected visit. Her apology had sounded genuine—almost too genuine—and now it’s left you more conflicted than ever.
As you turn to head toward your chambers, soft but purposeful footsteps echo behind you.
“Queen Y/N,” Natasha calls quietly.
You glance over your shoulder, watching as she approaches with that guarded expression she often wears when something’s weighing on her mind. Before you can even ask, she gently places a hand on your arm and steers you toward a small alcove, away from the passing servants and prying eyes.
“Nat?” you murmur, a hint of concern threading through your voice. “What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering right away, Natasha’s gaze sweeps the corridor, ensuring the two of you are truly alone. When she finally meets your eyes again, there’s a seriousness there that makes your heart skip a beat.
“Listen to me,” she begins softly, her voice low and calm, but carrying the weight of an unspoken warning. “About Sharon’s apology today… don’t let it sway you too much.”
The words land like a stone in your chest. You blink at her, trying to push back the confusion—and the small flicker of hurt. “You don’t think she was being sincere?”
Natasha shakes her head slowly, her grip tightening ever so slightly on your arm. “It’s not about sincerity. Sharon may very well believe everything she said. But even sincere apologies can hide other motives.”
A deep sigh escapes you, and you lean back against the wall, letting the cool stone steady you. “Then what am I supposed to do? She’s already offered to help with small tasks. Turning her away now would seem—”
“No, don’t turn her away,” Natasha interrupts, her gaze softening just a fraction. “Let her help, let her do exactly what she’s offered. But don’t give her more than that. Don’t give her information she could use—anything you wouldn’t want to become court gossip or twisted into something else.”
You close your eyes briefly, trying to reconcile what you know about Sharon with what Nat’s saying. “She looked so sincere, Nat. For the first time, it felt like maybe—”
“Like maybe you could have a friend in her?” Natasha finishes gently, her tone understanding. She takes a step closer, her voice dropping even lower. “I understand, my queen. You want to believe the best in people. You want to give them chances. That’s what makes you… you. But you have to be careful. Just because someone’s smile looks real doesn’t mean their intentions are.”
“But what if she’s telling the truth?” you ask softly, meeting Nat’s steady gaze. “What if she’s genuinely trying to make amends?”
Natasha’s lips curve into a faint, almost sad smile. “Then she’ll prove it, over time. But don’t give her your trust all at once. Make her earn it, piece by piece.”
You swallow, nodding slowly, but the doubt lingers. “Do you think she would really try to… to hurt me? Even now?”
Natasha doesn’t hesitate. “I think people are capable of doing a lot worse than we think when they’re desperate.” She reaches out, lifting your chin gently until your eyes meet hers. “I’m not saying she’s dangerous. I’m saying she’s unpredictable. And that’s enough of a reason to be wary.”
You nod again, this time more firmly. “I understand. I’ll be careful.”
“Good.” Nat’s fingers brush lightly against your arm before she steps back. “And remember—you’re not alone. We’re watching her too. So just… be smart. Guard your words around her.”
A faint smile tugs at your lips despite the heaviness in your chest. “Thank you, Nat.”
She nods, a hint of warmth breaking through her stoic expression. “Anytime. Now, get some rest. You need to be sharp for tomorrow.”
As she turns to leave, you watch her retreating figure, the worry etched in her posture speaking volumes. With a sigh, you lean back against the wall, letting your head fall back as you stare at the ceiling.
You want to believe Sharon. You want to believe in second chances. But Nat’s words echo in your mind like a warning bell.
“People are capable of doing a lot worse when they’re desperate.”
Slowly, you push off the wall and head toward your chambers, Natasha’s parting words circling in your thoughts.
Genuine doesn’t always mean safe.
When you finally reach your door, you hesitate, casting one last look down the empty hallway. Your fingers curl around the handle, and you take a deep breath.
You’ll let Sharon prove herself. But you’ll do it on your terms—step by cautious step.
Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned in the palace, it’s that trust is a fragile thing, easily shattered and dangerous to wield.
And you’re not about to risk everything on someone who may still be hiding a knife behind her back.
× × × × 
It was late—far too late for visitors. But a soft knock at the door drew your attention, pulling you from your thoughts.
“Who is it?” you called gently, setting aside the book you’d been attempting to read, the words blurring together in your tired mind.
“It’s Sharon, Your Majesty,” came the reply from the other side. Her voice was soft, tentative, carrying a note of uncertainty.
You hesitated only for a heartbeat before responding, “Come in.”
The door opened slowly, and Sharon stepped inside, a silver tray balanced perfectly in her hands. The fragrant scent of roses and chamomile filled the air, the delicate aroma wrapping around you like a soothing embrace. She offered you a soft smile as she approached.
“Your Majesty,” she greeted, bowing her head slightly. “I thought you might appreciate something soothing to help you relax before bed. It’s a new blend I had prepared, meant to ease tension.”
Your eyes flicked to the elegant porcelain teapot and matching cups on the tray. A small smile tugged at your lips despite the lingering exhaustion. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Sharon. You didn’t have to go out of your way.”
Sharon’s smile widened just a fraction, her gaze lowering almost shyly. “It’s no trouble at all, Your Majesty. After everything you’ve done for me—giving me a chance to prove myself—I wanted to offer a small gesture of my gratitude.”
You nodded, the sincerity in her voice wrapping around you like the warmth of the fire crackling softly in the hearth. “Thank you, Sharon. But if I’m to enjoy such a thoughtful gesture, I’d like you to join me. It’s late—no reason for either of us to drink alone.”
Sharon blinked, a flash of surprise crossing her face before she schooled her features back into that calm, deferential smile. “Oh, no, Your Majesty, I couldn’t possibly intrude—”
“Please,” you interrupted softly, gesturing to the empty seat across from you. “I insist. I would be more at ease if you joined me.”
She hesitated for a heartbeat, the slightest flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. But then she nodded slowly, lowering herself gracefully into the chair opposite you. “Of course, Your Majesty. If it would make you more comfortable.”
Sharon set the tray down on the small table beside you, lifting the teapot and carefully pouring your tea. The pale golden liquid shimmered in the low light, steam curling up to mingle with the scent of fresh flowers.
You accepted the cup she handed you, holding it delicately between your fingers. “Thank you,” you murmured, inhaling the calming aroma. “It smells wonderful.”
Sharon smiled, her eyes watching you closely. “It’s a special blend—rose petals, chamomile, and a hint of mint. All meant to soothe and relax.”
You glanced at the cup in her hand, then back at your own. “It sounds lovely. Why don’t you pour yourself a cup too?”
The words were casual, almost lighthearted, but the look in your eyes was steady, unwavering. Sharon’s smile tightened just a fraction, and for the briefest moment, her gaze flickered—almost as if she were weighing her options. She poured herself a cup and she nodded, lifting the cup to her lips. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
You watched carefully as she took a sip. Her movements were smooth, no hesitation, no sign of discomfort. When she set the cup down, she smiled, the expression soft and genuine.
“It’s delicious,” she murmured, her tone light. “I’m sure you’ll find it very soothing, Your Majesty.”
Relief washed over you, and you allowed yourself to relax, lifting your own cup to your lips. The first sip was everything Sharon had promised—light, floral, with a subtle sweetness that lingered on your tongue. The warmth spread through you like a gentle wave, easing the tension from your shoulders.
You smiled, setting the cup back down. “It really is lovely. Thank you, Sharon.”
Her eyes brightened, and she nodded eagerly. “I’m so glad you like it, Your Majesty. You seemed so tense earlier—I thought this might help.”
For a few moments, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the tea’s calming effects wrapping around you like a soft blanket. Each sip seemed to pull you further into a state of ease, your lingering worries melting away.
But then Sharon shifted slightly, her gaze dropping to the cup in her hand. “Your Majesty,” she began softly, lowering her voice. “I wanted to apologize… again. For everything.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Sharon, you’ve already—”
“I know,” she interrupted gently, her eyes lifting to meet yours. There was an earnestness in her gaze, “But I want you to know that I mean it. Truly. I was wrong to speak against you, to doubt your strength. You’ve shown more grace and patience than I could ever deserve.”
The words were spoken softly, her voice laced with emotion. And as you looked at her—really looked at her—you couldn’t help but feel a small pang of sympathy.
“Sharon, we all make mistakes,” you murmured, your voice gentle. “What matters is what we do to make amends. And you’ve been making a genuine effort.”
A faint blush colored her cheeks, and she ducked her head, smiling shyly. “Thank you, Your Majesty. That means more to me than you know.”
You nodded, taking another sip of the tea. The warmth continued to spread through you, a sense of lightness settling in your chest. It was comforting. Reassuring. And yet…
Something tugged at the back of your mind, a tiny voice urging you to look closer. But you pushed it away, reminding yourself that trust needed to start somewhere.
“I’m glad we can put the past behind us,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of finality.
“Yes,” Sharon agreed, her gaze lingering on your face. “And I promise, I’ll continue to prove myself worthy of your trust.”
You offered her a warm smile, leaning back in your chair as you took another long sip of the tea. “I appreciate that, Sharon. I truly do.”
Sharon’s smile widened as she lifted her own cup, taking a delicate sip. You watched, waiting for any hint of hesitation, any sign that something might be amiss. But she continued to drink, her expression remaining calm and serene.
The two of you continued to talk, your words coming slower now, your thoughts softening at the edges. The tea’s warmth wrapped around you like a cocoon, soothing every frayed nerve, every lingering worry.
You chatted for a while longer, until the cups were nearly empty and the candles burned lower. By then, any lingering doubt had melted away, replaced by the comforting haze of peace the tea seemed to bring.
“Thank you for sharing this with me, Sharon,” you murmured drowsily, a soft smile curving your lips. “I feel better already.”
“I’m so glad to hear that, Your Majesty,” Sharon replied, her voice carrying a note of quiet satisfaction.
As you leaned back, letting your eyes drift shut for a moment, you missed the flicker of triumph in Sharon’s gaze. The tea may have tasted the same for both of you, but the effects would be vastly different.
And with each sip, the future Sharon envisioned—one without an heir to solidify your reign—crept ever closer.
× × × × 
The comforting haze of the tea still lingered in your mind, warmth radiating through you even as the echo of Sharon’s parting words faded into silence.
You barely noticed the gentle click of the door closing as Sharon took her leave, her footfalls soft and measured as she made her way down the hallway, the silver tray held steady in her hands.
She moved with the same graceful poise as always, her face composed, the hint of a satisfied smile lingering at the corners of her lips. But as she turned the corner to leave, she froze—just for a fraction of a second—her gaze catching on the tall figure who’d appeared at the end of the hall.
Captain Rogers.
Steve stood there, his broad frame casting a long shadow under the dim lantern light, the familiar, stoic set of his jaw making him look almost like a statue—unyielding and immovable. He’d arrived to relieve the guard outside your chambers, his presence a steadfast barrier between you and the dangers that lurked in the night.
But as his eyes locked onto Sharon’s, something shifted—something tense, wary.
He didn’t say a word. Neither did she. They simply regarded each other in silence, the air between them thick with unspoken questions and guarded suspicion.
Steve’s gaze dropped briefly to the tray Sharon held—the empty cups, the elegant teapot glinting softly in the low light. His brows furrowed, just slightly, the faintest sign of curiosity etched onto his face.
Sharon’s fingers tightened imperceptibly around the tray’s handles, but she maintained her polite, serene expression. She gave him the barest of nods, a silent acknowledgment of his presence, then turned on her heel and continued down the corridor, the soft rustling of her skirts trailing behind her.
Steve watched her go, his gaze never leaving her retreating figure. Even after she rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, he remained still, his eyes narrowed in thought.
A faint clink echoed from where she’d been moments before—the sound of the tray shifting ever so slightly, betraying the tension in her grip. It lingered in the silence that followed, a tiny, insignificant noise that somehow felt… wrong.
Steve’s jaw tightened, and he glanced back at the closed door to your chambers, his posture stiffening.
He hadn’t seen Sharon’s face during any of the council meetings, but he’d heard whispers about her—rumors and murmurs that drifted through the palace like a subtle breeze. Whispers of bitterness, of a deep-seated resentment that no one quite understood.
And now, here she was, slipping away in the dead of night with a tray of empty cups.
He took a slow, measured breath, then turned to the guard he was relieving, nodding curtly. “I’ll take over now,” he said, his voice low and firm.
The guard nodded, giving a quick salute before stepping back and marching down the corridor, his footsteps fading into the distance.
Once alone, Steve shifted his gaze back to the corner where Sharon had vanished. He remained still, listening to the silence that filled the hall. Then, with a barely perceptible shake of his head, he turned back to your door, his expression guarded.
Whatever had transpired inside your chambers, whatever had passed between you and Sharon, it would have to wait until morning. For now, he would do what he’d always done: stand sentinel, watch, and ensure your safety.
But even as he settled into position outside your chambers, the image of Sharon’s face—calm, composed, and just a touch too serene—lingered in his mind.
And deep down, in a part of him that had always been more instinct than thought, Steve knew:
Something wasn’t right.
× × × × 
A few hours before.
The sound of metal scraping against metal echoed through the stone basement in Annecy, the dim candlelight casting flickering shadows against the damp walls. Bucky’s breaths came in short, sharp huffs, his chest heaving as he strained against the leather restraints that bound his arms and legs to the wooden chair. Every muscle in his body was tensed, veins bulging under his skin as he braced himself for what was to come.
Doctor Zemo stood across from him, meticulously adjusting a series of metal probes and needles connected to a brass device on the table. The contraption hummed ominously, wires sparking to life as Zemo calibrated the dials, his expression blank, methodical. Cold. 
“This will hurt,” he stated, not out of warning, but as a detached observation.
Bucky didn’t respond. Sweat dripped down his face, pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. His gaze flickered to the side, catching a glimpse of Steve and Sam standing just beyond the iron bars separating them from the room. Their expressions were twisted with anguish, eyes betraying their helplessness.
“You don’t have to do this, Buck,” Steve whispered, his voice strained. His hands were gripping the bars so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Sam, standing beside him, looked away, his jaw clenched.
“I have to,” Bucky ground out through gritted teeth. His voice wavered, but his eyes held a fierce determination. “If this is what it takes to stop it…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but they all knew what he meant.
“Begin,” Zemo ordered, ignoring the exchange. With a flick of his wrist, he activated the machine.
The first jolt sent Bucky’s body arching off the chair, a strangled scream tearing from his throat. His metal arm thrashed violently against the restraints, the vibranium whirring and sparking as the energy surged through it. Zemo watched impassively, his gaze fixed on the way Bucky’s eyes rolled back, the pain so intense it nearly swallowed him whole.
“Stop it—God, Zemo, stop!” Steve shouted, his voice cracking. He made a move toward the door, but Sam caught his arm, holding him back. 
Bucky’s screams filled the room, reverberating off the walls. Every second felt like an eternity, each new wave of pain forcing a deeper, more guttural sound from his chest. The muscles in his neck strained, his face contorting with agony. He gasped for breath, his back slamming against the chair as the electric current ceased for a brief moment.
Steve turned his face away, his shoulders shaking. Sam’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he stared at the floor, unable to bear the sight. 
“Why are you doing this?” Sam hissed, his voice barely audible. “This is torture.”
“It is necessary,” Zemo replied coldly, not even sparing them a glance. “To sever the Winter Soldier from James Barnes completely, I must isolate the root cause. It’s the only way to stop the episodes.” He turned a dial, and the machine buzzed louder, casting an eerie, blue light across the room.
Bucky gasped, his body convulsing as the current tore through him again. Blood dripped from his nose, his eyes red and wild. 
“Make it stop!” Steve shouted, his voice breaking. “Please, Zemo, stop!”
But Zemo remained unmoved. The torment continued, relentless and unyielding. Bucky’s screams gradually faded into hoarse cries, his voice giving out as his body sagged against the restraints, utterly spent. His head hung low, sweat and blood mingling, dripping onto the floor. But even then, his fingers twitched, the tremors of pain echoing through him.
“Enough,” Zemo finally said, his tone clinical. He turned off the machine, the hum dying down to silence. The air was thick with the aftermath, Bucky’s ragged breaths the only sound in the room. Zemo approached him slowly, removing the needles and probes with steady hands. “It is done. . .for now.”
Bucky’s head lifted weakly, his eyes glazed over but still defiant, still fighting. He looked at Steve, then Sam, a flicker of something unbroken in his gaze. 
“It’s okay,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “I can take it.”
Steve’s chest tightened, tears slipping down his cheeks despite his best efforts to hold them back. “You shouldn’t have to,” he whispered, voice trembling.
But Bucky’s lips twitched into the faintest shadow of a smile, the kind of smile that spoke of years of pain, years of enduring and surviving. 
“I can take it.”
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luimagines · 4 months ago
Text
The Legend of Baldur's Gate (1800 Follower Raffle)
Our first prize winner was @prumby!
They asked for a DnD Reader who happened to be from Baldur's Gate 3 where the chain goes to their world. Keep in mind, I have never played the game. But I am familiar with the concept and have a friend who very happily beta read this to make sure the characters weren't too OOC.
Masterlist
Content under the cut!
When they all exited the portal at first, they didn’t inherently assume there was a problem with the land in front of them. The trees were all the same. The sounds of the river happened to be closer than they thought; but they were already accustomed to moving between many, many years as well. The terrain lives as much as the people do. That river could have been there for hundreds of years, or it could be a new development. It would be hard to say.
The only thing that they had to tip them off was the acrid and bitter taste to the air around them. 
Hyrule’s air was sweet. The inherent magic of the land had permeated through the air itself, giving it the taste of sugar or rock candy. It was soft on the senses and invigorating to the soul.
The air here was nothing of the sort. 
Sky coughs to the side, wheezing and bending down in an effort to catch his breath. Warrior is instantly by his side, patting his back and offering what support he can.
“Do you guys hear that?” Twilight relatively puts his hand on the hilt of his sword.
It had been relatively quiet until Sky had lost his breath. No one had noticed anything. They all go still once Twilight speaks, going in edge without a second thought.
You step forward from the portal at last, letting it close behind you without looking back. You take a deep breath and seem to relax almost at once. “Oh.. it smells like home.”
All eyes turn to you.
“What is that supposed to-”
BAM!
Suddenly a large creature barrels out of the treeline, heading right for the group. It’s a huge four legged beast, covered in feathers with the face of an owl. It roars defiantly, shaking the ground as it charges.
You don’t hesitate, throwing spells left and right as the boys struggle to get their bearings on the beast. You also charge the beast, slashing it with your blade without a second thought. Twilight follows on your heels, having somehow gathered that there was a creature nearby before you even arrived on the scene.
One by one, the boys all begin to pull their weight and fight back this strange creature that they had never seen before. It roars, throwing back each of them. Four crashes into a tree. Legend gets a gnarly slash on his arm from the beak of the beast. You slide closer, using the momentum from a push that allows you to slide under the creature, slicing it from below.
The battle doesn’t take much longer after that.
“What…” Wild pants, haphazardly throwing magic potions at Hyrule so he could heal the others. “-wa  that?!”
“Owlbear.” You wipe the sweat from your brow. “I’m not sure where we are exactly but I can tell you this-.”
“There you are, Darling.” A low growl comes from the man that approaches your group. He’s pale, unnaturally so. His white seems to be parted over to one side. His clothes flair around his wrists and neck, the deep cut of his shirt accentuating his diamond cut muscles. His red eyes are piercing with no amount of humor in them despite his earlier tone.
You flinch and grimace. “....I can explain.”
“Oh, you will.” He glares. “Do you have any idea how long we were looking for you?”
“Astarion-”
“That blasted wizzard Gale wouldn’t shut up about finding you.” He crosses his arms, putting one of his hands up, curling his fingers like a diva. “And don’t even get me started on Scratch. The bloody hound was even worse. And mutt can’t even talk.”
That last one was like a slap to your face. “I can explain what happened.”
“Well then, by all means!” Astarion opens his arms with a flourish. “Be my guest. You can start with why you’re surrounded by half elf children who smell like pixies.”
You huff and put your hand on your hips. Ignoring his jab at the boys next to you, you turn to your friends and gesture to the vampire. “Guys, this is Astarion. A friend of mine. Astarion, these are the Heroes of Hyrule. These are the ones that I’ve been traveling with while I’ve been gone.”
“He seemed very concerned over your disappearance.” Legend rolls his eyes, tugging it away from Hyrule’s grip as the healing spell ends.
“Stop it.” You point at the Vet, with a stern glare. ”Don’t you start. He has seniority.” 
“I’m not old.” He turns his head as he grumbles. “I’m only a few hundred years old. Honestly. It’s a lot less than a few others can say and you know it!”
You bite back a smile and point to the dead owlbear in the vicinity. You’ve missed his attitude. It’s both hard to take him seriously sometimes and all too easy to talk to him. “Yours, I presume?”
“It was going to be.” He says tensely, looking at the group around you. You instantly know why he’s apprehensive.
“It still can be!” You say, gesturing wildly to the corpse of the owlbear. “It’s not like I want it! Are the others nearby?”
He puts his hands on his hips. “We’re camped close enough.”
Arf! Arf! Arf!
You perk up at once, the barking making even Link’s head look in the direction of the sound. You jump up, flinging two of your fingers to your lips and release a shrill whistle.
A white dog comes bounding out of the underbrush at the call, b-lining right to you without so much as a second glance at the newcomers you’ve brought into the world.
“Scratch!” You catch the dog, petting him with complete adoration. The dog continues to bark, his tail wagging wildly enough to sprain it later if the poor thing keeps this up. 
“I’ve missed you so much, buddy! You’re such a good boy! I’m so sorry I left so suddenly. I have so many new treats for you!” You cry out, wrestling with the creature playfully. Wind, Time and Sky all come closer to say their hellos to the dog. Scratch was a bit wary at first, no doubt confused by their strange smells, but your confidence helped put the animal to ease. New friends are still friends after all!
“Hello? Astarion? Are you here?” Another familiar voice calls from the tree line. “Scratch took off like a bat out of the seven hells after we noticed we were gone.”
“Gale!” You jump up, running to meet your friend halfway before he could come out into the clearing.
Astarion makes his way over to the owlbear to feed at last now that everyone’s attention is on someone else for a change.
The brunette screams when he sees you, startling the cat off of his shoulders. He cries out your name and hugs you fiercely. Enough so that the sound of the thunk had Warrior and Legend wincing on your behalf. “It has been too long! Where on Faerûn did you go running off to?”
“Gale.” You laugh. “You’re not going to believe half of the magic I’ve witnessed in the past few months I’ve been away.”
“Months?!” He jolts and grabs you by your shoulders. ”My dear it’s only been three weeks! What do you mean months!?”
This causes you and the group of heroes behind you to freeze. Your jaw drops as you equally hold Gale at an arm's length from you. “...Gale, what are you sure? I’ve been gone for three months, at least. …Admittedly, I haven’t been exactly counting, but it’s certainly been more than three weeks.”
“No, no… It’s been three weeks.” He says softly. “...My goodness, this is certainly worth discussing over a cup of tea. Come come come. You and your-” He pauses and looks over the gang of Hylians that all looks around feeling incredibly misplaced. “-...friends. And we can all have lunch!”
“Um- actually, Gale, I don’t know if they can eat-”
“Allergies?”
“No, no- they’re just from another world-”
“Another world?!”
“Yes!”
“Oh that’s splendid! All the more reason to behave as good hosts should!” Gale gets a familiar gleam in his eye and you fear that you’ve awakened the slumbering scholar. “That is of course if they don’t mind answering some questions.”
“...It’s Shad. That’s who he’s reminding me of.” Twilight deadpans.
“Oh, do you cook the food?” Wild asks hesitantly. “...I’m the cook of the group. I don’t mind filling in to feed us since I don’t think it would be very polite of us to use up your resources. I’ll just need the fire.”
“We can both make dishes of our worlds and then compare for sake of sharing a meal with one another.” Gale all but jumps around in glee, picking up his cat and placing her back on his shoulders. You can already see him trying Wild’s cooking and taking notes like the nerd he is. “Come Tara! We must welcome our new guests!”
You sigh and call the group to follow. “We might as well. There’s others I want you to meet.”
“Like your friend Shadowheart that you’ve mentioned once or twice?” Four tilts his head, running up to catch up to you as you begin to leave.
“Yes, exactly.” You grin. “She’s going to yell at me, I’m sure.”
“She sounds delightful.” Hyrule ruffles his hair.
“Don’t take too long, Astarion! Or you’ll miss out on the chaos!” You grin as you yell that over your shoulder, not commenting on that. You see him lean away from the owlbear, the faintest hint of blood on his lips. “Be there in a moment!”
Wind tugs on your tunic in haste. “Is that-”
“He’s fine.” You wave off the child’s concerns. “...In every way that it counts.”
“Oh please tell me not another one.” Legend groans. “The Captain is bad enough.”
“Hey!”
“He knows it.” You laugh, patting your thigh to signal for Scratch to follow you. “Come on, Gale will no doubt want to take your ear off.”
“So long as they know that we mean no harm.” Time says as he walks behind the group on your other side. “We’re not here to make enemies. It wasn’t our intention to come here at all.”
“It’ll be fine.” You stress.
At the very least, you hope it will be.
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yumeka-sxf · 11 months ago
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Thoughts on Spy x Family CODE: White
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My thoughts on CODE: White will likely be different from most people since I knew pretty much the entire plot beforehand. I'm a spoiler fiend when it comes to my hyperfixations like SxF, so I read the novelization of the movie back in January and kept up on all the promotional videos and images that were released. But when it was finally time to see the movie for myself, did that ruin my enjoyment? Not at all. For me, it actually made me enjoy it more because 1) I knew what to expect so I wasn't disappointed, and 2) I found myself looking forward to seeing all the scenes I only read about or saw short clips of.
With that said, yes, I enjoyed the movie so much! If you're a Spy x Family fan, or even just a casual enjoyer of the series, it's a ton of fun. It has all the elements we love about the series: clever humor, sweet family moments, and spy action/drama. And because it's a movie, we get to see all of this with a movie animation budget instead of a TV series budget, which is another plus!
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One thing to keep in mind with these original, stand-alone anime films based on series is that they're meant for a more general crowd than just fans of the series. Since theaters attract a wider audience than late-night TV and online manga chapters, movies like this serve as a means to introduce the series to people who may only have a vague idea of what it's about. That's why these movies contain a storyline that can fit mostly anywhere in the series chronology and don't have anything canon-altering.
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CODE: White is an interesting mix of plots that, for the most part, blend together well. There's the main plot that continues throughout, which is saving Operation Strix by having Anya learn how to make the meremere for the cooking contest, but then there's the Yor jealousy plot B which is resolved in the first half, but is then replaced by the next "plot B" in the latter half of the movie, which is saving Anya from the military.
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A lot of people didn't like the "Yor gets jealous" subplot when it was first revealed before the movie even came out, since it seemed to be a rehash of her being jealous about Fiona. I personally didn't have a problem with this since I don't think it's unreasonable for her to get jealous a second time, especially when she thinks she sees Loid doing something extreme like kissing another woman (as opposed to just talking). But the way it was resolved could have been a bit better in my opinion. The ferris wheel scene in the movie very much mirrored the bar scene from the series, but the reason the latter is so effective is because we get to hear Loid's inner thoughts during it; we know he's going full Twilight-mode and isn't being sincere, and that's why Yor kicks him. But then at the park, he talks to her much more genuinely and they work things out. But in the ferris wheel scene, we don't get to hear his inner thoughts so we don't get any indication as to whether his repeating of the marriage vows, etc, is him being sincere or not. Then she smacks him, they insist they aren't fighting when Anya brings it up, and that's the end of it.
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I do like the fact that Anya reads their minds and seems happy with what she "hears" in their heads, but I still think the subplot would have felt more complete if it ended after Yor realized her mistake rather than have Loid do the ambiguous Romeo act again. Or it could have been brought up one more time later in the movie, for example, Yor apologizes for hitting him, he talks to her more sincerely, etc. If you're gonna rehash the bar scene, at least rehash the scene that brought it closure, which is the park bench scene. Again, I'm totally fine with the jealously subplot overall, just thought it could have been wrapped up a bit better.
Other than that, there were just a few little issues I had, like how was Anya able to afford what was probably an expensive liquor? (was she really packing that much dough in her little bag? She went straight from the bedroom out the window so it's not like she "borrowed" any money from Loid). Also seemed weird that she didn't pick up on Yor's infidelity worries until last minute. A few things stretched the line of believability a bit far too, like Loid's ability to make perfect masks so quickly, and Anya just happening to hit her head on the button that conveniently opened all the windows on the bridge. Also something here and there that didn't align with the manga, like Yor not having any reaction to sharing a room with Loid, whereas she has a totally different reaction to this in chapter 94. Maybe a bit more resolution for the fates of the villains too. I guess Luca and Dmitri survived the crash, but what about Snidel? Did Loid actually kill him or just knock him out? And if it's the latter, Snidel seems like the type who would want to get revenge. A quick cameo of what happened to them in the end would have been nice.
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Speaking of the villains, normally I wouldn't like the fact that they're pretty one-dimensional and not that interesting, but for a movie like this where most people just want to see the Forgers being themselves in fun and exciting scenarios, taking time away from that to make more developed villains who likely won't be seen again in the franchise, would have not been the best choice, lol.
But even though I had some criticisms of the movie, all of them are minor and not enough to overshadow everything else that was enjoyable about it. Besides all the humor, of which there was plenty, there were so many cute "awww" family moments that perhaps didn't lend anything to the plot, but were still important to establish the characters and their relationships, and thus make us care about what happens to them. Like the scene of Anya, Yor, and Bond playing at the hotel...it could have been skipped without anything seeming out of place, but it reveals so much about the characters without being blatant about it: how Yor wants to please Anya despite being a bit embarrassed at first to take part in her game, and then how Anya's eyes light up with happiness when Yor starts playing with her...for a series like SxF that's character-driven rather than plot-driven, scenes like this are so important and I'm glad the film creators realized this too!
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There were also so many cute, subtle scenes as well, like when Loid and Yor smile at each other after chiding Anya, as if they're happy to share this moment of exhausting yet satisfying parenting; when Anya reads Loid's mind after he saves her but doesn't reveal what he's actually thinking yet we can imagine what it is based on her expression; Loid showing feelings of comradery with the restaurant owner because their pasts are so similar; Anya quietly and sadly hugging Bond in the bedroom; and in the ferris wheel after Yor feels so embarrassed about misunderstanding what happened with Loid and the woman but then can't help but smile with motherly love when she sees Anya waving at her...the movie is filled with moments like this that are like little love letters to fans who know the true heart of SxF isn't so much the action and spy drama as it is the family relationships.
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And of course, as I mentioned before, the animation of the movie is fantastic! Not just the action scenes, which are great by the way, especially Yor's fight with Type F, but the character expressions as well. Anya's always had the most varied and hilarious faces of all the characters, but the movie goes even harder with her expressions, especially when she has to hold in her stool! Her faces were making me both cringe and laugh at the same time! The animators did such a good job making me feel sorry for her but also laugh at her.
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I'm not a fan of potty humor, but I was confident SxF would make it funny, and I was right! The poop god sequence in particular was as equally cringe as it was hilarious!
To conclude, CODE: White is a must-see for anyone who likes or loves Spy x Family. I can't say it's a cinematic masterpiece or anything, but for what it's supposed to be - a fun and enjoyable film for those who like the series, it definitely delivers! Can't wait to see it at least two more times during its showing in the US...and more times in the future!
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pascaloverx · 4 months ago
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Moonlight
Summary: You and Edward Cullen used to have a romantic relationship. But fate seemed not to believe in the possibility of a vampire and a potential she-wolf being together. Years after your separation, you return to Forks. Edward is committed to Bella Swan, and Jacob Black has his own pack. What happens when, upon your return, you begin to transform into a she-wolf and both Edward and Jacob seem eager to revisit the past with you?
Author's Note: The characters in this fanfic do not belong to me but to Stephenie Meyer and the Twilight universe. The story blends events that happened in the Twilight saga movies with invented ones. If you're enjoying the fanfic, please interact. This story will contain inappropriate language, a possible love triangle, scenes of violence, and romance. I would appreciate it if those who enjoy the fanfic could leave a comment and like (kudos). Engagement helps me know that there are still people reading.
TEN FINAL
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ELEVEN
You wake up the next morning feeling a slight ache in your body, but there is not a hint of regret for what happened with Edward. Not finding him beside you is a bit of a surprise, and for a brief moment, your mind wonders if he might have second thoughts. Then, the sound of the shower reaches you, and relief washes over you as you realize he’s just gone to freshen up.
You can't help but feel an unusual happiness—something you haven't experienced in so long. The fact that you and Edward spent the night together, without either of you pulling away or feeling regretful, sends a flutter of excitement through you, like butterflies in your stomach.
"Relax, I’m not going anywhere without you," Edward calls from the bathroom, his voice reassuring yet playful.
"Stop eavesdropping on my thoughts, you nosy vampire," you retort, a smile tugging at your lips as you rummage through a drawer, looking for something to wear. After last night, a wave of hunger hits you, and you realize you need food.
Wearing a dress you found in one of your suitcases, you head down to the kitchen. You make eggs, bacon, and coffee, and with a growling stomach, you devour it all in a nearly ravenous manner. The speed leaves you feeling a bit nauseous, but after sipping your coffee, a warm calm settles over you. Edward comes down the stairs, moving quickly to wrap his arms around your waist from behind, his hands resting on your stomach in a soothing gesture, as if he could somehow ease your discomfort. You smile, kissing his cheek and nestling against him.
“I was thinking,” he murmurs near your ear, his tone casual yet serious, “it seems our only real option now is marriage. We’d make things official before your pack and my family.” You turn to look at him, needing to see his face to know if he’s truly serious. But his expression is steady, earnest, as though he’s proposing a practical solution rather than a life-altering commitment.
“Marriage is our only option? How practical of you,” you say, trying to stay rational despite the flurry of thoughts swirling in your mind. After everything we’ve been through—all the ups and downs, the constant push and pull—it seems so drastic to be talking about marriage now, you think, feeling both excited and apprehensive at the same time.
“That’s exactly why we should,” Edward replies, as if he’s hearing your thoughts. “In a strange way, I think the chances of us separating would be smaller if we were married.” You stare at him, torn between your excitement and your reservations, and give his arm a gentle smack, still not entirely sure if he’s serious.
"We’re forgetting that traditional marriages not only take time but also come with a certain vow that says 'till death do us part'—and, well, that’s already happened. Hate to break it to you, but you’re dead, darling," you say, almost laughing as you watch Edward’s expression grow serious. To soften the mood, you plant a quick kiss on his lips, a playful gesture that makes his eyes lighten again. He lets out a reluctant smile, his tension melting a little as he pulls you closer.
"Our wedding doesn’t need to be traditional—a small ceremony, just with my family and anyone you'd like to invite. Carlisle could officiate, symbolically. In front of those we care about, I’d vow to be yours until your final breath. I, Edward Cullen, would promise to love you for as long as I exist, until your last heartbeat. What do you think?" Edward's voice is passionate, his intense gaze pulling you in, making the idea of this promise feel as real as any vow.
You step closer, leaning in as if to kiss him. Just inches from his lips, you murmur, "Then let’s do it—our own 'till death do us part.' Get ready, Cullen; you’re about to be officially mine." Edward doesn’t wait for another word, pulling you in for a kiss filled with a fervor that leaves no room for hesitation.
"Would it be too hasty to suggest we do this before you change your mind—or the world splits in two?" Edward murmurs, breaking the kiss, and you laugh. Given your history, doing this quickly might actually be wise.
"I still need to get a dress for the occasion. But I agree, we shouldn't waste time. I’ll invite my pack, sort out the dress, and then we can get married," you reply, trying to stay practical. Edward, however, looks like he has something to share.
"I don’t want to seem like an overly prepared fiancé, but… Alice may or may not have foreseen that you’d say yes. And she may or may not have picked out a few dresses with Esme in the time it took us to reconcile. She also saw you’d like this ring," he says, pulling out a small box and opening it to reveal one of the most beautiful engagement rings you've ever seen. Gently, he slides it onto your finger as you take in everything happening.
"Somehow, it feels like you're cheating by using your sister's foresight for our engagement. But, the ring is gorgeous, and I do trust Alice's taste," you say with a smile, admiring the ring on your finger.
"We could hold it in front of my family’s house," Edward says, kissing your cheek. "That way, there’s nothing to worry about—Alice and the rest are already prepared to arrange everything. Even Rosalie." You can’t help but think that maybe you’re rushing things, but honestly, who cares?
"Alright, let’s have the ceremony there. I just need to invite my pack, and then I’ll head to your house to get ready. As long as you understand that after our unconventional wedding, we'll be living here," you say, holding Edward’s gaze. It feels strange, telling a vampire you'll be settling in a house with such deep ties to wolves, but you know you’ll feel more at ease in your own home than in the Cullen residence.
"This might be the most human conversation we’ll have. Should we talk about getting a pet—or children?" Edward asks with a hint of humor, but you take the question seriously, knowing it's important to consider the future.
"There’s no need for a pet when I turn into a wolf from time to time. And while I know we can’t have children biologically, at least as far as we know, maybe we should talk about adoption. Somehow, your parents managed it, so maybe we could try," you reply, watching as his expression shifts, a slight shadow crossing his face.
"Y/N, I love you. But I don't think I can give you a family. Esme and Carlisle have what it takes to raise someone, but I don’t believe I do. Especially since we are two beings of different species. We'll need to learn how to live as two. A third person could complicate that," Edward says sincerely, holding your hand delicately. He is right; adding another person into the mix would undoubtedly complicate things. Yet, you can’t help but feel a wave of sadness wash over you at the thought. Why does the idea of a family feel so unattainable? Perhaps it's the longing for something deeper—a shared life that includes not just the two of you, but the warmth of laughter and chaos that children can bring.
"You’re right; it was foolish of me to think any aspect of our life would be normal. I’ll go upstairs and get ready to speak with my pack," you say, heading toward the stairs. But Edward pulls you in by the waist, holding you from behind in a strong embrace followed by a kiss on your neck.
"I don’t want you to feel foolish for wanting a family. I just want you to understand that a future with me likely won’t include a family larger than the one we already have. But know that by marrying, your pack will become my family, and my family will become yours," Edward speaks softly.
You sigh, then murmur, "It will be enough for just you and me against the world, my dear," as you gently remove his arms from around you and ascend the stairs. You don’t take long to get ready, but by the time you finish, Edward has already left. He leaves a note saying he went to prepare for the wedding and that he will be waiting for you. With a determined nod, you grab your keys and head to your car, driving to Jacob's house.
As you drive, the discomfort in your stomach lingers, perhaps from the stress of the day. It only intensifies when you pull up in front of Jacob's house and see him surrounded by your pack and Bella Swan. Great. You take a deep breath, refusing to let it shake you. Stepping out of the car, you put on a friendly smile, determined to handle whatever comes next.
Seth speaks up first, “Y/N, we didn’t expect to see you here now.” His voice is casual, but everyone’s gaze is fixed on you, including Jacob’s, who stands silently with the rest of the pack beside Bella.
Bella's eyes drift to the ring on your finger, her expression tight. "I suppose you're here to tell us you’re back with Edward," she says, voice laced with a faint cynicism. "Congratulations are in order, I see." She extends a hand toward you, her smile barely polite.
You meet her handshake with composure, a soft smile gracing your lips as you reply, "Thank you, Bella. I appreciate your kindness." The words hang in the air, subtly charged, as all eyes remain fixed on the two of you. Her expression is almost unreadable, but there’s an edge to her tone that doesn't escape you.
Jacob clears his throat, breaking the tension. “So… this is really happening?” he asks, his gaze fixed on the ring glinting on your finger. His voice carries a mix of surprise and something else—a hint of concern, maybe even disappointment.
Yes, it’s happening. I hope all of you will attend. Including you, Bella," you say, turning to her with a calm expression. "I know Edward would be glad to see you there."
You look around at the rest of the pack, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "As for the rest of you, you’re my pack—my only family. So it would mean a lot to have you there."
TO BE CONTINUED...
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bengiyo · 1 year ago
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Last Twilight: The Gay Angst of Low Expectations
Others are going to say much better things about the romantic stuff going on in Last Twilight this week, but I want to focus on how Day seems himself relative to August. The biggest thing that stood out to me this episode is that Day sees himself in a way that reads unworthy of August.
When we saw their flashback to their time as teammates, August is annoyed with Day a lot, and Day is always apologizing for any of their failures. He then spends an entire night exhausting himself to practice more. August recognizes Day's determination and begins to treat him seriously. They begin to win. When they stumble into each other, August is understandably hurt that Day didn't tell him directly what was going on. I enjoyed the Bond Between Men that they had formed as teammates and how earnestly August insisted that he wouldn't partner with anyone else but Day. It was also clear to me by all the hand holding that August feels something for Day.
However, when August doesn't show up for their dinner, Day was willing to wait more than seven hours for August to show up. He said that August is always like this, and blames himself for thinking August would actually want to see him. He describes their partnership as an arranged marriage to win championships, one where he struggles to befriend August and regularly works to appease August's temper for them to win championships. He admits he actually did like August, but regrets not saying anything when he could still see his face.
Then, August walks up and sees Mhok about to confess something to Day, noticing the flower and running his eyes over Mhok repeatedly. He hears Day's comment about liking August, shakes his head no, and walks away.
What stands out for me here is that August knew Day would be waiting for him. What he wasn't counting on what Mhok being there and clearly being some sort of rival. It was clear to me in the locker room scene that August also feels something for Day as well. I am going to be thinking about the fact that these two were unable to tell each other how they felt all this time. I'm thinking about how August probably felt hurt that Day didn't believe in him enough to tell him directly. I think about how Day always prioritized August over himself, and didn't feel like he could stand up to August.
It brings me back to the dynamic between Andi and Jonah in Andi Mack, my favorite Disney original tv show. For the other millennials out there who watched Disney Channel growing up, Andi Mack is a show by Terri Minsky (creator of Lizzie Maguire) with similar themes as her original show. Andi, who is like Lizzie, has a thing for Jonah Beck, who is like Ethan Craft. She has been hanging around him all season and joined the Frisbee club for him. In episode 9, Andi and the girls at school stage a protest about the school's dress code for picture day by wearing prison outfits. Jonah doesn't know what's going on and insists that Andi wear the team shirt for the picture. Andi, frustrated, demands Jonah tell her what her protest is about and then she'll wear the shirt. Jonah doesn't know, and Andi is hurt by this, but steels herself for the girl issues they're trying to solve.
Later, we get this apology scene.
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Please watch this in full. This is one of my favorite romantic/platonic breakups in history. I love that Andi recognizes the power she gave Jonah over her. Jonah never asked for this power, but Andi still let him use it. This scene is important because she firmly takes that power back.
What I want more than anything from Day and August is for Day to take the power he gave August back from him. August may have a huge personality and a temper, but they can't be good to each other if Day is always going to be afraid of him.
So, while I am frustrated with August for standing Day up for hours without explanation, I am going to glare at him for knowing Day would still be there waiting. I want to see them unpack this expectation that Day will always WAIT for August. If August likes Day and also knows this, it's something the both of them need to face.
I'm all about the gay angst of knowing you like him but not being sure if he likes you. I'm here for the gay angst of being unsure about changing the relationship in your Warrior's Bond forged in the fires of competition. I'm all for the gay angst of thinking you'd lost him and wanting to take the chance that presented itself again. However, I don't want Day to always put himself second behind August, especially because August, like Jonah, never asked Day to do that for him.
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skyward-floored · 7 months ago
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.... I'd love to see Hyrule's perspective on that whole scene, if you ever want to write it 👀 (absolutely ZERO pressure tho!!!!)
- hero-of-the-wolf
I didn’t want to fight my way through an action scene, so I actually skipped to a bit later, while their parents are being yelled at interrogated for their version of events. So it’s not the exact moment. It’s technically not even in the movie. But I think it’s good anyway.
For people who haven’t seen the second movie in a while, this is right bear the beginning, when the family tried to stop the Underminer and kind of failed, then get sort of arrested because they’re supers and that’s still illegal.
(tw for discussion of guns, and implied past child abuse)
————————————————————
Hyrule chewed on his thumb nail, pressed into a corner of the small room in the police station they’d been herded into. There was a single table and two chairs in here, no windows, and what was obviously a one-way mirror on the wall. Four and Legend had already claimed the chairs, so everyone else was on the floor, or leaning on the table.
The rest of his siblings were mostly milling around the small space, though Wind and Wild had started a rock paper scissors tournament. They were trying to drag Legend and Four into it, with limited success.
Hyrule maybe would have joined them, but his thoughts were too loud, his hands too shaky for the game. Mom and Dad hadn’t come with them in here, they’d been pulled away to some other room while they’d all kept going. And while Hyrule hadn’t been able to see much, he’d seen Impa around, and the man in the suit who’d followed his parents into the room had looked extremely annoyed.
Were they okay? Were they just getting yelled at, or worse?
Were they going to be put in jail?
Hyrule bit down harder, rubbing his tooth along the pad of his thumb. He used to just suck on it when he was smaller, but he’d had the habit more or less beaten out of him. He knew his family wouldn’t care now, but it still felt safer just nibbling on the tip.
“Hyrule?”
Hyrule jumped at the hand on his shoulder, and looked up at Twilight, who was sitting next to him with a concerned look.
“Are you okay? You weren’t hurt in the fight, right?” he asked, and Hyrule shook his head.
“No. Just some little bruises,” he replied quietly, and went back to chewing on his thumb. “Are... do you know what’s gonna happen?”
Twilight breathed out, and leaned against the wall, watching Wind pump his fist as he beat Legend in a match. “Not exactly, no. But Mom and Dad will be okay. And us too. There’s a reason the whole superhero protection thing exists.”
Hyrule swallowed, and looked away as one of his worries came to the forefront of his mind. “Is there... an adopted super protection thing?”
Twilight blinked, then looked at him, understanding crossing his face. “Oh, Hyrule, is that what you’re worried about?”
Hyrule gave a tiny nod, and Twilight scooted over, putting an arm around his shoulders.
“They can’t take you away from us,” Twilight said reassured, eyes sharp. “They won’t. I remember Dad reading all kinds of laws about it, they can’t do that. And even if they tried, we wouldn’t let them. I’m sure the protection program covers that too, don’t worry.“
Hyrule nodded, relieved at the assurance, but still feeling unsettled. This room was oppressive, and the concrete was starting to dig into his spine. Not to mention... other stuff.
“...Something else bothering you?” Twilight asked after a minute, and Hyrule shrugged.
“I just haven’t had a gun pulled on me in a while,” he murmured, remembering just how many weapons had been pointed at them earlier today. He’d completely frozen at the clicks he’d heard. “I mean, at the island yeah, but that was kinda different. I guess I just forgot how sc—...startling it could be.”
Twilight went very still.
A few feet away, Wild crowed in victory as he destroyed Wind’s rock with his paper.
“Hyrule,” Twilight said in a voice quiet enough that only he could hear it, “how often have you had a gun pulled on you?”
Hyrule went back to his thumb again. He had a feeling Twilight didn’t actually want to know the answer to that question. Especially since Hyrule didn’t really... know the exact number. So he kept his mouth shut, and merely gave him a little shrug.
That was obviously the wrong answer though, since Twilight’s face screwed up, and his jaw tightened.
“Twi, it didn’t happen that often, it’s just bad memories, don’t worry about it,” Hyrule begged, suddenly nervous Twilight would do something. He wouldn’t yell at a police officer, would he?
“It’s not just— you—” Twilight struggled for a second to speak, face tight. He pressed a hand to the bridge of his nose, looking a lot like their father as he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “...you know how messed up that is, right? That you’ve had guns pulled on you by people who were supposed to take care of you?”
“I do. It’s just not a huge deal, Twilight,” Hyrule sighed, going back to nibbling at his thumb. “It is what it is. Or was. Whatever.”
“It’s still messed up,” Twilight muttered, and squeezed Hyrule a little tighter. “...All of this is.”
Neither of them said much after that, and Hyrule set his head on Twilight’s shoulder, relieved at something other than concrete for a cushion. The rest of their brothers continued with rock paper scissors, and Twilight and Hyrule watched in near-silence, Twilight lightly rubbing his shoulder.
The worry for their parents and the situation at a whole sat over the room like a shroud, dampening even Wind’s smiles.
But I’m not alone, Hyrule thought, a brief wave of relief sweeping over him. He leaned a little more against Twilight, and his brother squeezed him in return.
At least we’ve got that.
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candlemouse · 3 months ago
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I thought about Heir to Light recently and realized it's been like half a year since it finished! (Time flies. How is it almost 2025.) In light of this revelation I will ask: what was your favorite scene/chapter to write? What was the most challenging?
Hi!! I know, isn’t that crazy? It was such a constant for so long. And 2025 is such a big number…
Spoilers for my fic “Heir to Light” ahead <3
Thank you so much for the question!
I’m having trouble choosing! I think, as for the chapter I love to reread, it’s Chapter XVII because Garreth and Kendra finally kiss. I love reading that chapter because it’s such a nice catharsis to all their conflict. But, that’s not the question lol. As for writing…
Chapter III and V were my first favorites! I remember, early on, really enjoying writing those. See, I had a draft of Heir to Light up until the 2nd or 3rd chapter sitting in my docs for an about a year until I showed it to @carolinelikesdinner and they encouraged me to continue. She also gave me the idea for a treehouse! And writing Garreth and Kendra getting to know each other was so fun and adorable. Those chapters made me really excited to continue writing.
Also, I really loved writing Chapter XV when Ronodin enters not as a character of the past, but someone actively working with them. He’s absolutely hilarious. And not serious, which is so fun to contrast against Kendra who naturally is more poetic and moody about most things. It also was fun to write his and Garreth’s relationship considering how fraught Garreth and Kendra were at the time. Truthfully, Ronodin is fun to write in any fic, at any time.
Finally, the last chapter XX was so gratifying to write, and I had so much fun. I love the ending. I used seasons a lot in the story. They leave Fablehaven during fall, have the most hardship during winter, but the story leaves them in spring for their new beginning.
Plus, the chapter right before that, from Garreth’s point of view is such a sweet homecoming. I love that one so much. They’re like my babies and I had to let them go. I really liked the line “Their futures were bright and they would ride out the twilights together. “ because they will!!!
As for challenging chapters, anything that had a fight scene was always annoying to write for me. But, it’s funny because the most challenging chapters to write end up becoming my favorites to read. Like, the Chapter XVII above or Chapter XIX when Kendra faces the Sphinx and Garreth dies. You guys are lucky, though, that he came back to life, because in the original outline he was straight up supposed to die. But, I got too attached and couldn’t do it. Instead, I killed Muriel (sorry girl!).
Chapter IX when Garreth finds out about Kendra’s magic was also hard to write, but mostly so hard to decide how I wanted it to go! I had two main versions: the one in the fic and one where he saves her. But, I ended up wanting conflict between them (I had just broken up so this was also probably some projection), and I liked the idea of Garreth and Eve being different in their reaction to magic and that being directly related to their relationship with their father.
Anyway, thank you so much for the question! I loved writing this fic so much. They took up so much space in my head I could probably talk about it for hours.
I hope you have a good new year! 🫶🫶 It was nice to hear from you 🩷
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freshunknowndreamland · 4 months ago
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His second chance
Part 1
Helena Aphrodite Swan is the younger twin sister of Isabella Marie Swan. Isabella or Bella, as she prefers to be called, hated her sister because she believes that she attention seeks and is out for everything that she wants. But that is Helena she is sweet, and she is kind and always trying to help everyone even if she is hurt in the process.
I do not own any of the characters or the scenes from Twilight that go to the author/creator of Twilight. And pitcures are from google. I only have my oc Helena.
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The trip to Italy
Helena was up in her room drawing whatever comes to her mind when she heard the front door open and close but thought nothing of it thinking that it was just Isabella coming back so she stayed in her room to avoid her anger. But shortly after the front door went again and then arguing started. Helena stayed in her room trying to stay out of whatever was going on.
A few moments later Helen's door swings open with an unknown figure but before she could ask what was going on she could feel a sharp pain on the back of the head and the world went black.
A few hours later Helena started to wake up with a pounding head ache. Slowly opening her eyes just to shut them again when light hits her eyes and the fast moving of the street by her window in a car a yellow porsche...... wait when did this happen? As soon as the realisation started to hit the panic started to set in and grip at her very being but straingly enough a pull in her chest calmed her slightly but not enough.
"Wh...what's g...going on?" Helena asked panicked only for Isabella to turn around and slap her.
"Shut up you stupid freak! This is all your fault! Why can't you just die so I can be happy!!" Isabella screamed at her in anger with no regret in her voice.
Helena tright to stiffle a cry that left her mouth as tears came to her eyes, her head hurting more than it did a moment ago and Helena knew this was not good she knew what happened when this happens. Trying to take deep breaths to calm her hurting head and nerves, but also not paying attention to wait was being said between the two that kidnapped her by force and took her to another country far away from the only person Helena felt loved her, her dad. With that thought Helena started to panic even more wondering if she will ever see him again or if that morning was the last time she saw him. Was she going to die? What will charlie be like if he lost his precious Helena? The only one that wanted something to do with him, the one who took care of him even when she did not need to. Will he look for her if she did not return?
Coming to a sudden stop Isabella jumps out the car and started to run. While Alice parked the car.
"Come on get out the car we don't have all day!" Alice snapped as she dragged Helena out of the car ignoring her cries of pain and continued to drag her through the streets to where they needed to be. While a snap was heard from the young girls wrist as they got through the door and she let out a loud pained cry alerting the red eyed vampires in the room with a the cry and smell of blood coming from the back of the young girls head.
"RELEASE HER NOW!" The tall vampire bellowed in anger confusing everyone but the shorter vampire next to him as he felt a connection to the poor girl.
Alice quickly let going as if realising her mistake quickly and Edward tensed not just because of the out burst of the large vampire in front of him but the extra mind voice he could hear. The mind voice of Isabella swan. He didn't know how that was possible until he looked at the other girl hissing as he could not read her mind.
"Oh shut up being a wimp." Isabella snapped at her sister about to storm to her if it was not for Edward, the growling coming from the two red eyed vampires and the sudden voice of Jane telling them to follow.
As they went to follow the two male vampires slowly approached the young girl carefully as to not startle her but she flinchs as they got close.
"It's ok I'm not going to hurt you." He said in a soft calm voice. "I'm Felix and this is Demetri. Let us help you and we can get that looked at yeah." Felix said as softly as he could.
A few moments later Helena slowly reach out her uninjured hand to the hand of Felix as he gently helped her up and the three went to follow the others to the throne room. Both vampires worried for the young woman with them as they feel a sister bond with her.
"Helena. My name is Helena and thank you for helping me." Helena whispered to them so quietly that they would have missed it if it wasn't for their enhanced hearing.
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blazehedgehog · 9 months ago
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If one decides to start a creative project about their favorite thing, be it fanart, fanfic, fangame etc. , which approach do you prefer, the creatives involved fully dedicating themselves to recreating and recapturing what made the original works...work, or make an active choice to be derivative (this doesn't mean artists are ignorant about the original material, not necessarily) How do you feel about either, and are there any other approach you can think of?
There's this guy who used to post at SFGHQ named Sam Beddoes who now runs Freakzone Games. He's made the official Manos: The Hands of Fate game, he did both AVGN Adventures, he's the project lead on that Toxic Crusaders beat'em'up, etc.
But he's an old guard Sonic head and I've heard him turn up on a couple of Sonic podcasts, specifically to talk fangames, and by his account he got really fed up with the Sonic fangaming scene when everybody became obsessed with perfectly replicating the Genesis games, because to him, all the creativity and magic went away.
I remember hearing that and both agreeing and disagreeing with him. And I have enough thoughts about it that I've actually considered doing a video about it, and about fangaming overall.
I think there is a stigma to replicating something perfectly that's very adjacent to people who are concerned about young artists who start out by tracing pictures other people have drawn. Plagiarism is a real, legitimate problem. But it's only a problem if you lie about tracing.
I'm of the mind that if you're starting out drawing, half the problem is just learning control. Tracing can be a valuable tool in helping you to understand hand motions and give you a perspective on the construction of an image. For the earliest beginners, I don't think there's any shame in starting out by tracing. It's building muscle memory. Just don't say you drew it.
Similarly, my game development skills went way, way, way up about the time I started to analyze and perfectly replicate existing games. Like, the long canceled Sonic Forever project used an early enough version of the Sonic Worlds codebase that I had to read the Sonic Retro Physics Guide and use their data on how to add Knuckles in from scratch. My code matched how he worked in the Genesis games almost 1:1, because it was largely me just interpreting the values into something Clickteam Fusion could understand.
Something similar happened when, in 2012, I started (and never finished) a remake of my famous Mario Blue Twilight DX fangame. That's when I started really paying attention to how the source games worked so I could get a better sense of how a Mario game needed to "feel" in order to be correct.
And that trend continued with every fangame project I worked on following that, like when I figured I could make my own version of Sonic 2's Hidden Palace Zone, since I wasn't happy with the Retro Engine version. The idea was to be accurate above all else. In some cases, I'd even watch recordings of official gameplay in slow motion just so I could see exactly how the game was created, and in some cases, count frame by frame the duration of certain actions.
And all of this just makes me think of when I showed a friend my game jam game, OverBite. He complimented me on how nice the controls felt, in that kind of backhanded way where he said "When did you learn to make games feel so nice?"
Because if you go back to those really early games of mine, they all feel like garbage to control. And I attribute it to putting in a lot of time pulling apart the nuts and bolts of real retro games and putting a microscope up to why they work the way they do. Deconstructing all of their little nuances and sub-states and then trying to put it all back together again in a different programming language.
You learn a lot when you're forced to stop and understand why a piece of code exists in the way it does. Why there are all these little edge cases that you never notice but still exist to make a game feel just a little better.
At the end of the day, yes, Sam was right. Games need to have creativity and seeking out the perfect replication of the Sega Genesis Sonic games can feel somewhat futile. Every SAGE for the last ten years, there will be at least three games that instantly vanish from my memory because they are basic, plain Sonic Worlds Delta fangames with no style of their own. They just want to make Sonic 4 and we've had a lot of different Sonic 4s by now.
But the thing about learning is, you gotta learn the rules before you learn why and where to break them, because breaking (or at least bending) all of those boring, standardized rules is where your personal style starts to emerge, and that personal style is ultimately what people are going to be interested in at the end of the day.
So I think it is vitally important to start at 1:1 exact recreation and once you've made a comfortable replica, only then should you start asking yourself what you'd change and why. Make sure you understand the material before venturing further. You gotta learn to do it right first.
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copiousloverofcopia · 1 year ago
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No ask, just super excited for more young nihil fic!
I hear you Ghestie... and I have wonderful news.
As a special VALENTINE'S DAY/LUPERCALIA treat I present to you all the first chapter of my fic featuring the original Emeritus Cassanova, YOUNG PAPA NIHIL!
Here it is......................
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Glitter Wasn't Gold
Nihil Emeritus is the only born son of Papa Inizio Emeritus, head of the Satanic Church. When his father fails ill, it is decided that he shall ascend as Papa but only after making a promise to carry on the Emeritus bloodline.
Chapter 1: Duty of the Son
Also available HERE on AO3!
Read below the cut!
He could hear the bell ringing as he approached the Abbey. Knowing all too well, what it's chiming signified. The days were drawing closer and closer to the time when Papa Inizio Emeritus would pass. A time when his only son Nihil, would rise in his place to become the leader of the Ministry. 
Nihil was only 18 years old and still had a whole lot of life and learning ahead of him. Conceived in his father’s twilight years, he was hardly the type someone would expect to lead the church. An impetuous and reckless child at the best of times, his only saving grace as he grew up was that he was Inizio’s son. Constantly causing trouble for all those who crossed his path. 
The black cat of the Ministry. Known to bring with him a bit of bad luck and an air of mischief. He had been abroad in the Americas for a few years, when the Ministry summoned him back. Nihil knew instantly, from the moment he saw the seal of the letter, what was inside. His time to ascend to the Miter was now.
When he entered the Abbey, two suitcases in either hand, he was guided by the familiar walls of Luciferian tapestries towards the grand staircase. His senses overwhelmed with the nostalgic scent of ash and frankincense. The sounds of chattering, filling his ears as he stepped closer and closer to the floor of the Papal suites. Stopping just outside the last massive oak door at the end of the hall that led to his father’s chambers. 
Before Nhil could knock, he was beckoned inside. Rows of bishops and cardinals were there to greet him as he stepped into the room. Towards the shadowy figure that lay tucked into his father’s canopy bed. To Nihil, it might as well have been a courtroom. Knowing that the second he walked inside he was being judged. 
Capturing all the eyes of men Nihil had known his whole life—secretly doubting him, patronizing him to his father’s face. All the while knowing how much they disapproved of him. How much they all wished to be in charge in his place. The position Nihil was born into, felt deserved as the next Emeritus in line for ascension. 
As he stepped up to the bedside, looking down at the once powerful man who ruled the Ministry, he was taken back. Feeling nothing but pity inside him. Staring at this man who once commanded the strongest of armies behind the scenes, revered as the highest of ghoul summoners—now was but a pile of skin and bones. Wasting away into the nothingness from which he came. 
“Nihil… Nihil is that you?” Inizio asked, unable to fully open his eyes. Coughing so ferociously that Nihil thought he would die right then and there. The sound of it echoing through the room and into the corridor. A sound that would haunt Nihil for the rest of his days. 
“Yes, I’m here.” Nihil replied. Taking a seat beside his father on the bed. His father, trying his best to sit upright to greet him. Helped by Cardinal Angelo, a respected family friend who had helped a great deal with Nihil in his childhood. Keeping his more distasteful antics under the rug from otherwise prying eyes.
“My son. I have not long for this world. There is no time left…so I want you to pay very close attention.” he told him. At that moment all of the other clergymen in the room began listening intently. Waiting for what would inevitably be said. The tension was thick within the air. So thick that Nihil felt the need to clear his throat. Need to loosen up his black clerical collar, leaning in to hear better.
“Go on.” he urged his father.
“I will not let you be Papa.” Inizio began. 
With his words the room suddenly erupted with gasps and widened eyes. All the cardinals and bishops, wondering to themselves who among them would be chosen as Papa, if not the only remaining Emeritus son. If one of them would receive the cursed eye—a gift given to the Emeritus descendents by Lucifer himself. Proof of his favor for them to rule on Earth in his stead.
“What?” he asked, anger fuming inside him. Standing up from the bed, ready to strangle the feeble old man right where he lay. 
“If you do not ascend, all will be stripped from you. Your title as cardinal, your wealth—your power. You will live your life as a simple man.” his father continued. As if this unsettling turn of events weren't enough the thought of losing his only real interest in the Ministry, wealth and power, infuriated him. Realizing he was to lose all hope of phoning in his rule, while reaping the benefits when he replied. 
“You can’t be serious. It is my right. I am your only son.” Nihil hissed. The room, waiting with bated breath for Inizio’s response.   
“That you are…and the only way figlio that I will allow you to take the Miter is if you agree to take on a Prime Mover.”
“You gotta be joking? Cardinal Angelo are you in on this?” Nihil laughed nervously, but it was clear that his father was indeed serious.  
“It is no joke Nihil, your father is quite certain in this. There will be no changing his mind.” Cardinal Angelo assured him. Nihil began to panic inside. Feeling the cold sweat dripping down the small of his back. His black shirt, beginning to stick at his spine. His heart, racing. 
“And if I refuse?” he asked. His father, coughing hard before he was able to speak again. Nihil, silently taking note of the blood staining his father's neckerchief. 
“Allora sarai fuori sul tuo culo, piccola merda ingrata!” Inizio said, coughing once more before Cardinal Angelo came to help adjust him in bed. The coughing fit raging for what seems an eternity. His father's mouth, covered in blood and spittle. “You would disgrace the family name. I would rather someone else take up the Miter than have you tarnish it with your selfishness.” he growled. 
“Father I—” Nihil began, cut off by his father lunging unexpectedly towards him. A raised skeletal finger in Nihil's face.
“No… you will meet with Sorella Violetta at once.” 
“You mean…”
“Shh…she has been chosen for you as a suitable match. Nihil you will take her as your Prime Mover and you will do as your position requires of you and that is FINAL! Angelo, get him out of my face.” Papa Inizio said, waving away as he began coughing once more. The group of cardinals, led by Cardinal Angelo, taking Nihil away from his sight.  
Nihil was dragged down the hall by them. Knowing just how much these fools, these false prophets must be enjoying his dissension. Smiles on their pious faces and whispers of amusement on their tongue. Nihil, continuing to whine and struggling against them as they walked.   
As they reached the end of the hall, Cardinal Angelo signaled for them to let Nihil go. The group, dropping him to the ground, his body thudding against the floor.  Angelo dismissed the others, allowing them to return back to  Papa Inizio’s bedside. Hoping that he could talk to Nihil alone. Angelo, slapping him across the face, gaining his attention and effectively stopping the young Emeritus’s sniveling in its tracks. 
“What is the matter with you? Pull yourself together or you shame your family even now.” Cardinal Angelo snapped, rubbing his sore hand, reddened cracking off Nihil’s face. Nihil himself, wiggling around his jaw to make sure it hadn’t dislocated from the impact. A loud pop, heard as it dropped into place. 
“That fucking hurt, you Stronzo!” he yelled at him. Rubbing his jaw and his white eye burning with fury. 
“Good, maybe now you will pay attention and stop acting like a fucking child.”
“I am no child Angelo… though he will never see me as anything other than—”
“Stop your insolence. You can pity party for yourself another time. Now you must do as he says and quickly.” 
“Now?”
“Now or…or I am to take your place if you do not do as you are told.” Angelo confessed. Looking around to make sure that no one else had heard him.
“You?”
“Sí, do you really want that? Are you that fucking stupid?” Cardinal Angelo asked him. Nihil paused, taking a moment to suck in a deep breath through his nose, then exhaling slowly from his pursed lips. Trying his best to regain some modicum of composure. This wasn’t what he wanted, but he had no other choice. If he didn’t agree he’d be no better than a sibling–if that. 
“You’re right.” he began, spitting out a bit of blood that had pooled within his mouth. “I don’t want anyone else taking what is mine.”
“Good, then you'll come with me.” Cardinal Angelo insisted, holding a hand out to help Nihil get up. Nihil stood up, refusing his hand, grunting as his sore body lifted from the floor. Working quickly to brush himself off a bit before they continued on their way to wherever Angelo would lead them. 
“You are a stubborn ass, you know that?” Cardinal Angelo remarked. Nihil let out a half hearted chuckle. 
“Always.” He replied. The two of them, remaining quiet for the rest of the walk. Only the sounds of footfalls on the marble titles between them. When they finally arrived at the chapel doors. 
“Here? Why?” Nihil asked him.
“In the chapel, Sister Violetta waits for you. You know what you need to do.” Cardinal Angelo explained. Nihil nodded his head, his palm placed on the door as he took in another deep breath. Pushing it open slowly to see the dimly lit room. His eyes zeroing in on the only thing he could see.
Down the nave, illuminated in candlelight was a woman. Adorned in a long black lace veil, quietly waiting in the pews. Her face turned away. Her hands brought up in prayer as she looked to grucifix.
“Here goes nothing.” Nihil whispered under his breath as he approached her. Cardinal Angelo watching silently from the doorway. 
As he got closer, the sister remained still. Her unintelligible words of prayer whispered between her and Lucifer. When he finally reached her pew, he could see just how beautiful she wasl. Her smooth olive skin and luxurious dark hair, tucked beneath her veil. Beautiful brown eyes, blanketed in lush lashes. A natural beauty–no makeup on her that Nihil could discern. He was thrilled that if someone had to be picked out for him, at least they chose someone he would approve. 
“Good evening sorella.” he said, waiting patiently for her response. He was surprised when she smiled, but not the innocent smile of a naive virgin. No—this was a smile of a woman who was in no way clouded by his position or his charm. A woman who was intelligent, self assured–seeing right through him even before he spoke.
“Good evening Cardinal.” Violetta responded, calmly turning to face him. Nihil was beginning to feel a bit threatened by her, however more so intrigued. She seemed to disarm him from the minute he sat down. He was fascinated by her already.
“Well now. Not sure how much you've been told but it seems you and I are supposed to get to know each other… seeing as they expect us to—”
“I am well aware of the expectations. You won’t get any push back from me.” Violetta told him.
“Is that so?” He asked, curious that she'd answered in such a calm, collected way. No emotion that he was used to dodging when it came to the more feminine type. 
“I make no mistake in thinking this is anything other than a diplomatic relationship.”
“I see.” Nihil responded, surprised once again by her candor. 
“There is no need for you to pretend you love me. We are both only doing this for the church—the Ministry.” she told him, the smile from her face falling into a thin straight line. Nihil began chuckling to himself, sitting back against the pew and putting his arm around Violetta. She stared over her shoulder at his hand, as it rested on her, with an expression of acceptance–seeming to resolve herself to the situation. 
“Fine with me doll face. Glad we are on the same page.”
Notes:
Allora sarai fuori sul tuo culo, piccola merda ingrata.- Then you will be out on your ass, you ungrateful little shit. 
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fourstarsoutofnine · 2 years ago
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(Sorry i haven’t been active or updating a lot I know that’s a bad impression since I just got here but there is so much going on rn in my life😭 here’s this small thing for compensation)
Chain as Taylor Swift songs/albums(ft. Ravio and Malon)
Once again being self indulgent. More content that caters to myself bc apparently the creative juices only work for a small amount of time and only what provides serotonin to me currently. I’m out to break hearts so a ton of these will be sad. You’ve been warned.
。・:*˚. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .☾ ⋆*・゚:⋆*・゚✧˖*°࿐ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ˚➶
All of the chain:I think they all can identify with Innocent from Speak Now. I didn’t wanna keep adding it to each of theirs so here’s just an overarching statement that they’re all Innocent.
Time: never grow up. Like most, if not all, of the links, he had to grow up far too early and be what Hylia chose him to be—and I can hear him telling this to his future children:don’t grow up too fast. He had to and he never wants that for his baby. He wished he never had to grow up so fast, even if he had to save the world. Just because he had to doesn’t mean doesn’t mourn for his lost normal childhood. As for an album I think he’d be the fearless album.
Twilight:as an album he’s so evermore. I almost said debut but no no no. He’s evermore. Uhh as far as a song tho, idk I may be swayed by the fact it has the word cowboy in it, but I associate cowboy like me with twilight so heavily. Another song could be right where you left me if you squint and are delusional for MidLink.
Sky:HE IS SO LOVER! Both the song and the album! Omg! /shaking you by the shoulders/ this boy is so Lover ugh oh my gosh. Bright and beautiful and loving, accepting, kind while still having those notes of sadness, longing, and serious thoughts. The album Lover feels like a hug from a friend, and that’s what sky embodies.
Wind:can I interest you in The Best Day? Also You’re On Your Own, Kid. Also A Place In This World. He’s very much the younger taylor albums, like fearless. A good many of them read fearless to me and I couldn’t tell you why. For wind it’s because it seems like shiny and new and ready for what the world throws, but still a sense of hesitance.
Wild:Epiphany, This Is Me Trying, or Peace. He’s so folklore coded to me. The depictions of death and inability to save lives in epiphany, the heartbrokenness of this is me trying, one who’s making desperate attempts to be who they need them to be, and the sadness of Peace—cannot console and bring peace over the heart of someone who’s broken, but by Hylia if he isn’t gonna be there the entire time for the person.
Warriors:I think Change from Fearless. I also see him as Mirrorball, specifically because I feel like he puts up such a front and feels like he always has to stand tall and strong because of who he was as captain of the guard—but also since there’s so many young and impressionable men in the chain he feels like he has to be a good role model, especially for wind, and keep his head up about everything and make them smile and feel reassured when times are tough. As an album, probably Midnights. It feels like a start of something new and I think Wars embodies fresh beginnings—he just gives that vibe to me idk why. It might be because he left the scene of planning for wars to being out on his own adventure aside from what the army gives him.
Four:this one was hard. Four was really hard to pick for. Uhh—I think Seven maybe but I’m not sure. As for an album I feel like he’d be pretty Folklore as well. Could be just me projecting tho as if this whole thing isn’t. Four is so complex to me that it’s really hard to pin down. I chose Seven because it feels like a conversation between best friends. I’ve also seen that it’s meant to be listened to as someone speaking to their inner child to tell them everything is gonna be okay and that they’ll be together in the future and things are good now, and that interpretation gripped me by the throat and forced me to put this song for Four, so.
Hyrule:my dear sweet Hyrule and his imposter syndrome get anti-hero bc that’s the imposter syndrome anthem. He doesn’t feel like he’s a big hero, or even deserving of that title, so he feels a bit like a lost cause and that song is the perfect depiction of that. As an album, idk why but he’s reading very debut to me ?? I couldn’t tell you why, it’s just a vibe I get.
Legend:ohhhhhhhh my gosh. Okay. Get ready for this—I have So. Many. For him. Can you tell who’s been giving me brainrot recently? Anyway, first I’ll say his albums would be folklore and evermore. They’re so tragic to me and what is Legend if not a tragic, guarded little man(said with so much love, he’s my comfort character). As for songs, we’re Starting off strong with Labyrinth, then wildest dreams(cough) Then sad beautiful tragic, Cornelia street, anti-hero, i could go on. I won’t. We’d be here all day😭
Ravio:my tears ricochet. Idk I just thought of the idea that he gets stuck in Hyrule if dink is defeated and he can’t get back to Lorule so the part that goes “I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want, just not home” hurts :)
Malon:WHOOH! Okay a happy one: Christmas tree farm and Fearless! And Malon is also such a fearless album girlie to me idk. Another song would be Superman. She loves her sweet hero husband and will always be there for him when he gets back <3
I hope you guys like this as much as I do😭 sorry if you don’t, I’ll get back to our regularly scheduled programming soon, it’s just been hard recently to do larger things. Sorry for everyone waiting on requests to be completed, I promise I haven’t forgotten you.
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keepingupwiththecullensblog · 7 months ago
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🌟🚗 Welcome back to “Keeping Up with the Cullens”! Today, I’m hitting rewind on the story to focus on one of the most intense parts of the saga: when Bella and Edward have to lead James away from Charlie. But I’m not just talking about the plot—I’m here to praise the *Midnight Sun* audiobook and compare it to both *Twilight* and the *Twilight* audiobook, especially when it comes to those gut-wrenching “Goodbyes” chapters. Trust me, if you haven’t listened to these audiobooks yet, you’re missing out on some serious emotional roller coasters! 🎧🧛‍♂️
As you know, I loved *Twilight* years ago. 🥰 Honestly, now I’m into books like *Outlander* (Jamie Fraser, anyone? 😏), but I thought revisiting the *Twilight Saga* as an adult would be fun—making fun of my old crush, Edward, from my early 20s. 😂 But here I am, deep-diving into *Midnight Sun* and the audiobooks, and I can’t believe how much I’m analyzing (and still making fun of) this series! Who knew sparkly vampires could still capture my attention? 🧛‍♂️✨
Let’s talk about that “Goodbyes” chapter in *Twilight*. You’d think a scene where Bella is forced to lie to Charlie, leave him behind, and run for her life would be dripping with emotion, right? Well, not so much in the audiobook. 😬 Don’t get me wrong—no offense to the narrator, Ilyana Kadushin, but her reading of that chapter left me feeling a little... underwhelmed. 😐 It was like listening to someone reading a grocery list rather than a life-or-death situation. Maybe it was the director's choice, but either way, the emotion just wasn’t there. I mean, Bella is supposed to be terrified, desperate, and heartbroken, but the delivery was flat. You need to feel the tension, the fear, the urgency—and, unfortunately, it didn’t quite hit the mark for me. 😕📖 It’s like Bella was reading her breakup lines off a cue card. You’d expect more drama from someone who’s about to fake-break her dad’s heart and then flee from a murderous vampire! 🥀
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But OMG, let me tell you—*Midnight Sun*’s audiobook is a game-changer. 🙌 Jake Abel, who narrates *Midnight Sun*, absolutely nails it. He reads Bella’s part with so much emotion that it’s like you’re hearing her cry and yell in real-time. And honestly, that chapter needed it! 😭 The way he brings Bella’s terror and heartbreak to life is so intense that it’s impossible not to feel it. The difference is night and day. While *Twilight*’s audiobook felt like a distant memory, *Midnight Sun* pulled me right back into the chaos and desperation of that moment. It’s the perfect example of how a great narrator can completely change the experience of a book. 🎧💥 Jake Abel made me feel like I was in the room with Bella, crying and panicking, and it was everything I didn’t know I needed! 😅
But it doesn’t stop there. Throughout the entire *Midnight Sun* audiobook, Jake Abel is fantastic at switching tones and voices for the different characters. His Edward is spot-on—full of angst, confusion, and that deep, obsessive love that we all secretly swooned over back in the day. 💔 He really brought Book Edward to life in a way that makes you understand his internal struggles on a whole new level. It’s like hearing Edward’s voice in your head, and suddenly, all those dramatic monologues make perfect sense. Jake’s performance is so good that it might just make you fall for Edward all over again. 😅❤️ It’s like he’s channeling Edward’s inner drama queen with every word—seriously, I had flashbacks to all the times I swooned over this sparkly vampire back in the day! 😂✨
I mean, let’s be real—Rob Pattinson is the perfect Movie Edward, no doubt. 🖤 But when it comes to the book version of Edward, Jake Abel takes the crown. 👑 His narration is everything I didn’t know I needed from *Midnight Sun*. He captures Edward’s torment, his love for Bella, and his struggle with his vampire nature in such a compelling way that it’s hard not to get swept up in it all over again. Rob and Jake together would be like the ultimate Edward dream team! 😍 Imagine Rob’s smoldering looks paired with Jake’s emotional voice acting—my heart wouldn’t survive! ���💖
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So, if you’re looking for a way to experience *Midnight Sun* on a whole new level, I highly recommend the audiobook. 🎧 And if you’ve already read *Twilight* and felt like something was missing, give *Midnight Sun* a listen—you might just find that the story hits a little harder when you can hear Edward’s pain, fear, and love in every word. 🔥 Trust me, it’s worth the emotional rollercoaster—stock up on tissues and get ready to feel all the feels! 😭🎢
I might write one more post about *Midnight Sun*—specifically that insane car chase—before I move on to *New Moon*. 🚗💨 Seriously, the way Edward steals a car like he’s auditioning for *Fast & Furious*—it’s almost too much! It’s just so over-the-top dramatic that I can’t not talk about it. There’s just so much more to discuss! 📚 Until then, keep your eyes peeled for more deep dives into the world of sparkly vampires, teenage drama, and all the things that made us fall in love with this saga in the first place. 💫✨
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pascaloverx · 8 months ago
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Moonlight
Summary: You and Edward Cullen used to have a romantic relationship. But fate seemed not to believe in the possibility of a vampire and a potential she-wolf being together. Years after your separation, you return to Forks. Edward is committed to Bella Swan, and Jacob Black has his own pack. What happens when, upon your return, you begin to transform into a she-wolf and both Edward and Jacob seem eager to revisit the past with you?
Author's Note: The characters in this fanfic do not belong to me but to Stephenie Meyer and the Twilight universe. The story blends events that happened in the Twilight saga movies with invented ones. If you're enjoying the fanfic, please interact. This story will contain inappropriate language, a possible love triangle, scenes of violence, and romance. I would appreciate it if those who enjoy the fanfic could leave a comment and like (kudos). Engagement helps me know that there are still people reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter ❤
FIVE SEVEN
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SIX
Edward insisted that you go to his house after you had sex in the car. As you said you would stay by his side in the heat of the romantic moment. It seems stupid now, but it's what you can do now. So at this moment, you are finishing your shower in the bathroom of Edward's almost-suite-like bedroom. He is currently informing his family that you are at their house. Your mind tells you that they will hate your presence, especially after his recent breakup with Bella. That's why, after finishing your shower, your plan is to look for a place to rent.
"You were wrong, they reacted better than you imagined. But they want you to come down for breakfast with them," Edward says, entering the bedroom and then opening the bathroom door, holding a towel for you to dry off. Sometimes you forget that he reads minds. You step out of the bathtub and wrap yourself in the towel. Edward kisses you gently while holding your face with both hands.
"Now try to tell me the truth. Your family doesn't have to force themselves to accept me here just because I'm homeless. I'll rent a place before Rosalie tries to throw me out the window. And I need to talk to Sam. But I can have breakfast with your family as long as none of them pretend to eat food." You say while putting on some clothes, and Edward turns around to give you privacy. When you finish dressing, you kiss Edward on the cheek, and he turns to look at you. Honestly, as he stares at you, a warm feeling of affection fills your heart.
"Don't you want me to go with you? Since you plan to reveal our relationship..." Edward says, holding your waist, and you hug him. Then you lightly slap his head, showing your annoyance at him reading your mind.
"Our agreement about you staying out of my mind still stands. I admit I'm scared of his reaction, but we're all grown-ups. And even though I can't read your mind, I can assure you that I won't run away or be afraid to admit that I feel something for you. Even if it could lead to a significant war between vampires and wolves. And you're definitely not coming with me," you say, laughing a little at Edward's reaction to hearing that he isn't going with you. Holding his hand, you head downstairs to have breakfast with the Cullens. The table is set, and it's clear they went to great lengths to make you feel welcome.
"We didn't know what you like to eat, but Bella used to have pancakes and bacon. Sometimes waffles and scrambled eggs. You're not exactly human, but you probably enjoy the same food she did. I know you two have similar tastes in many things," Rosalie says as you finish coming down the stairs. You look at her, knowing she isn't happy about your presence in her house, but you can't blame her.
"Rosalie, take it easy," Edward says, placing his hand on your shoulder, as if to show he's on your side. You breathe in and out, trying not to get upset. After all, do you really have the right to be upset?
"Edward is right, Rose. We have a guest, and we will treat her well. Y/N, I know you'll forgive Rose for her tone. We're just adjusting to this new situation," Carlisle says with some grace. He’s a good father. It makes you miss your own.
"I'd like to thank all of you for your efforts. But you don’t need to pretend. I know it’s sudden for me to be here; I promise I’ll leave. It’s too soon for us to be in this situation. Too soon for Edward and me to be together, but to be honest, Edward and I have had a relationship. We were secret lovers before he met Bella. That doesn’t justify anything, but perhaps Edward and I feel like we waited too long to be together." You look at all the Cullens in front of you, feeling like you’re making a confession. They seem to understand you, at least a little.
"Dear, I think I speak for everyone here when I say that it’s none of our business. As long as you and Edward are happy, we will support you," Alice says kindly. But you know it’s hard for them to support you both.
"I think it’s too early to talk about support. Not to be rude, Y/N, but just a few weeks ago Edward was ready to marry Bella. You can’t expect…" Jasper says, and you feel guilt washing over you. You’ve spoiled someone’s happy ending. You can't even respond. As the Cullens look at you with a mix of fear and concern, you see Edward wanting to comfort you. But right now, you need to leave this house. You should never have come. You run outside without saying anything more, hearing Alice cursing Jasper while Rosalie takes pride in not being the one to reveal that Edward was going to propose to Bella.
“Y/N, stop. Just listen to me for a moment. Don’t push us away. Don’t use this as an excuse to run from me,” Edward says, trying to stop you from getting into your car. You’re trying not to cry, trying to stay composed. But it feels like you’re back at square one.
“You were going to propose to her. Do you know what that means for us?” you say louder than you intended. Your emotions are overflowing.
“It was before you came back. Before we realized that what we felt before still exists. My decision not to propose was also a way to protect her,” Edward explains. You somewhat understand him, but right now, the anger towards Jacob feels justified. You feel like a terrible person.
“I’m not going to leave you. I’m tired of running, but I need some time. We both need to start over, slowly. I’m going to talk to Sam about us, and in the meantime, try to have a conversation with your family and your ex. But don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” you say, letting the tears roll down your face before going to Edward and giving him a soft, comforting kiss on the lips. Maybe, just maybe, you and he are meant to find a way through this together. After the kiss, you say goodbye to Edward and head towards Uley's house. You know he'll find out your big secret eventually. It’s better that you tell him. As you approach the house, you see Sam and Emily. Immediately, Uley seems to harden his expression when he sees you.
"I never supported your relationship with Jacob, but you’ve definitely managed to get yourself into a worse relationship. You and a monster whose heart doesn’t beat. A damned bloodsucker, a vampire. Do you have any idea what that is? An abominable union. Your father would die if he were here to witness this." Sam is too enraged, but Emily touches his hand lightly as if calming him down.
"We talked about this, Sam. Don’t be rude to her. I’ll make some tea for us," Emily says gently, giving Sam a kiss on the cheek. You watch as Emily leaves you and Sam alone.
"My father died knowing this. Knowing that his daughter fell in love with a cold monster that survives on blood. He found out just before he made me leave Forks. Before he died. He reacted like you, and I was too young to defend myself back then, but I’m not now. I’m not going to lower my head and let you walk all over me. If you want to resolve this, face me. You may have your pack, but you’re still a weak man. You can’t see beyond your own nose. That’s why you’re an imperfect leader." You don’t mince words as you let your anger take over. Sam looks at you almost with disgust now.
"I’m giving you the chance to leave and forget this ridiculous romance of yours. If you continue, I won’t hesitate to end this fairy tale of yours, even if it means hurting you." Sam threatens. You laugh at him, as if his attempt to intimidate you has only amused you, but the truth is, it’s frightening. And in reality, apart from Edward, you don’t think anyone else is on your side right now.
"So it’s pertinent for you to know that she will have the support of my pack. Hurting her means hurting me, Uley," Jacob says, appearing out of nowhere and surprising both you and Sam. He stands beside you, staring down Sam. You wonder how he knew you were talking to Sam or how he arrived so quickly, but it's good to see him there, even if you and he are currently at odds.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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