#took me like three months to fill the plot in | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoshigray · 4 months ago

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𝐂𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 | s. gojō + s. ryōmen

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Three powerful empires, two childhood companions, and one you. What is supposed to be a peaceful alliance is slowly turning into a rocky relationship between royal friends...Is there any way you can save it?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo + true form! Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - royal-like + fantasy AU! - porn with plot - Gojo + reader is age 28 + Sukuna is older; mid-30s - mutual pining + confessions - size differences - threesome - double penetration; anal & vaginal - virginity loss - fingering (f! receiving) - back-to-chest + cowgirl dp positions - clitoral play - cerfix-fucking - overstimulation - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, dove, human, little one, pet, sweetie) - marriage proposals - cameos: Utahime and Miwa - Gojo and Sukuna can't stand each other, obvi - humor + drama - mention of drool, blood, spit and tears - will be proofread later.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 15.4k words (BRUH, i hate it here.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: aight, after 10 whole months, it's FINALLY dropped! this took foreverrrr, ughhhh. anyways, sorry for the long wait, hope you enjoy this one, and thanks again for 11.2k starlings, ilysmmm!! ☆☆

“…”

“—y Lady…My Lady!”

“Huh?” You blink and face the door where the voice is coming from. “Oh, I’m sorry, Utahime. You can come in.”

“Jeez, I was knocking for a whole minute.” Your lady-in-waiting, Utahime, closes the door behind her when entering your chambers, walking up to where you were sitting by the mirror. “And I thought I told you to refer to me by my last name, my Lady.”

You smile at the reflection of the other coming behind you, kneeling and readying the iron basin filled with warm water and rose petals. Her hand and the washcloth swish the surface for the floral scents to enter your nostrils. “Well, we’ve been friends for how long? I’ve referred to you by your first name for all my life, even before you became my handmaiden.”

“Hmph, even then,” Utahime scoffs before taking your feet and dipping them in the warm water. “You don’t see me dare call the sole, precious child of this empire’s greatest warrior by their given name.”

“No, but I always tell you I don’t mind. Besides, you usually do it when we’re alone, and that’s enough for me.”

“If that’s what makes my Lady hap—“

“It does.” You look at her with a pleasant aura, and the dark-haired one snickers before straining the washcloth.

“As you wish…Y/n.” You puff your chest with satisfaction; however, your handmaiden isn’t done talking, “But I know the matter of my name isn’t something that’s having you lost in your thoughts.” Her observation takes you slightly aback, and her brown orbs peer up to capture your attention. “Would you like to tell me what’s corrupting your mind?”

With a heavy sigh, your back touches the chair as you slouch. Your eyes glance to the open window as the blinds drift gently with the calm wind. The swaying motions of the curtains almost convince your stress to wither away along with the quietness. Almost.

“Utahime,” you begin with her name, still facing the window. “…What do you think about Lord Satoru Gojo?”

“Tch,” you didn’t have to turn to know that the woman had the most disgusted expression, the click of her teeth was telling. “What is there to think?”

“Hehe, well, we’ve known each other since we could walk—“

“Yeah, and — pardon me, my Lady — but that bastard is such a nuisance, even if he just became the crowned heir of the Gojo bloodline and the holder of the Six Eyes.” The dark-haired woman scrubs your feet with vigor, but you don’t say anything, containing your laughter. “That man–ugh! Every time he visits the palace, he will never stop teasing me for deciding to leave my family and become your lady-in-waiting. Who does he think he is!”

The laugh you try to hinder seeps out in hushed giggles. “Well—ahem—what about Lord Ryomen?”

Utagime stops her hand and washcloth between your toes, her face in your direction. Both brows trenched with a thin line of her mouth. “……As of recent…Scary–no, intimidating would be an understatement...my Lady, perhaps the visit and stay of the two lords is what have you down?”

Another heavy sigh, “I guess that would be the case…”

You reside in the founding empire of the great continent. In the ancient past, it is said that the Great Saint Tengen came from the heavens and blessed this world with miracles, living in the country that you’re standing in right now. It was said that Tengen was the benevolent child of Gods and the Parent of Beings who graced everyone – both human and non – with compassion, kindness, and love through their sorcery. When they disappeared, the world fell into a divide, their people sticking amongst themselves while following the teachings and words of Saint Tengen.

As the centuries came following this tale, the countries of this world have maintained a relatively peaceful union. However, the main continent – your continent – is home to three major empires: the North, the East, and the West. As mentioned before, you live in the founding Western nation, also known as the homeland of Tengen.

You are a royal of this land and the sole heir to the throne right after your father, a mighty war soldier and sorcerer respected by his people and allies. As the crowned king of the Western capital, your father has done his job in using his strong leadership to maintain a functional structure for the people, using his wisdom to tread on matters with a tranquil mind, and making decisions that would not only benefit his own people but also his allies. Sometimes, you forget that such a great man could be your father. Yet his undying love for you, his sole child and princess, proves how lucky you are.

In the Northern Lands above are known as the land of Sorcery. Your father may be a powerful sorcerer, but the empire he rules does not harbor the majority of the population who practice sorcery (or lack thereof). That would go to the snowy Northern Empire, a land where many of Tengen’s scholars and practitioners have come from and implemented their teachings. The current head of this nation is bestowed to the affluent House Gojo, who recently crowned their heir after the death of its late king. Satoru Gojo, the first royal after a century gifted with two of the most intense abilities made by Saint Tengen – the Six Eyes and Limitless – sits on the Northern throne. And is also a dear family friend.

To the East lies a country mostly comprised of harsh deserts and dangerous forests, filled with creatures that aren’t of the human imagination. Once referred to as the land of “Tengen’s True Children,” the eastern empire is known worldwide as the Demon Country. Creatures reside in this part, beings that can easily overpower the average human – or worse, kill. They are ruled by the King of Demons, Sukuna Ryomen. As the scariest, cold-hearted, and violent beast of the empire, Sukuna is regarded as Tengen’s “Fallen Star,” a soul that embodies the precise opposite nature of the saint. And yet, this brutal master is also a cherished companion in the company of you and your father.

“What about their visits seems to make you upset?” Utahime lifts the bottom of your nightgown to scrub further up, the warm, damp towel scraping the skin of your left femur.

“I don’t know…I suppose it’s because things are different than a decade and a half ago.” It was one way of speaking the truth.

“Why, of course, things would be different now. You expect I’d be looking after a tiny heir all my life?” She giggles. “Although, that would be quite nice.”

“Oh, to be young forever would be a treat, wouldn’t it?” You add on to her humor. “Yet, that’s not what I meant. It’s been so long since the three of us been in this palace together – let alone in any space together. The War of the Blood and Magic has been ongoing for years now. Whenever my father wishes to speak with them about an issue, one must be here while the other is in their respective territory.“

“Mmm, I have observed that…But still, even with this war going on, it shouldn’t negate the fact that you three have been friends for so long. I still remember the day young Gojo came to the garden where you and I were making flower crowns.“

You smile at the memory. “I remember how upset you were when he grabbed my hand one day and took us to his guest room to show his Limitless.”

You try your hardest to keep in your laughter when she glares up at you – not at you, but at the recollection instead. “That fool, even as a child, knows nothing of boundaries. He was a bright boy — still is, I’ll give him that. But my Gods, the way he would do everything in his power to impress you was so cocky of a young lord, especially in the presence of the next heir to the continent. The nerve of him…And then! The time he had the nerve to question me when I told you I wanted to be your handmaiden. That little blue-eyed weasel said, ‘You? The daughter of a mediocre house, as the princess’ personal maid? You should try and aim lower or marry someone who’d tolerate your un-ladylike attitude.’ I was too stunned to speak…I should’ve choked his ass out!”

“—Pfffthahaha, stop, you’re scrubbing too hard!” You halt your lady-in-waiting with stiffened giggles, the poor woman sighing for displaying such aggression unbefitting for her title. “You could never stand him, and to think I thought you had a crush on him.”

“Please, my Lady, never say that aloud, or else my father would try to make my worst nightmare become reality.” She shakes her head, putting your left leg into the basin and switching to the right.

“And the day I introduced you as my maid to him, you had the smugest smirk that couldn’t be wiped off that night.”

“You’re goddamn right, my Lady!” That coarse remark had the both of you in a fit of cackles, water damn near splashing out as you wiggle your legs. “Ahhhh, but those were the days. I believe Lord Ryomen came into the picture after that. I remember the first day your father accepted the young demon king’s wish to seek an audience; he was a bit shorter than his current eight-foot-tall stature. Four arms were tiny like a teenager, and his,” she waves a hand up and down over the left side of her face. “This was distinguishable.”

You hum along with the description of the once young teenage demon king. “His human mother died during childbirth, and his father a demon who was exorcised for impregnating the poor woman. He was the first hybrid sorcerer of his time to utilize sorcery with the dark techniques of demon arts, becoming the most powerful and making a name for himself in the Eastern empire. He was alongside my father during the Great Demon War, using his powers to take down opposing cursed forces from outside nations. The two earned each other’s respect – more on my father’s part.”

“That, he was…truly a hard one to read, outside of always looking like he’d cut something out of boredom. I worried for the day he’d catch sight of me looking at him the wrong way and slice my throat,” the mere thought of the deadly being’s scowl was enough to send goosebumps up Utahime’s way. “Even the spars he had with your father and Gojo, I’m amazed to see this palace still standing in one piece.”

“Hehe, imagine how I felt when he’d catch me watching and then pull me aside to train with him — not asking, demanding that he teaches me how to wield a weapon.”

“Ohhh, my Lady, my nerves were never calm whenever he instructed you. Fearing for your life was my biggest sport. He couldn’t stand the fact that the sole heir of the greatest warrior didn’t have the drive to wield and charge.” She places your other leg down, rinsing the washcloth with more water before asking for your right arm. “It’s not like your father ever dared to entertain the thought of you entering battle anyway! That man, truly a scary thing…”

You throw your head back, resting it on the rail of the chair. “For my eighteenth year, he gifted me my own sword — handmade and light for my hands.”

“Men.” Utahime shakes her head once again. “Yet, despite how odd he and Gojo are, they seemed at ease whenever you were around. Whether it be visits from them to discuss with the King or attending events here at the palace, those two acted a lot more…calm.”

Her observations stuck with you, closing your eyes to think more. “I only wonder if we could revert to those days when we were close. Unfortunately, with this current war between the two, this vision is impossible to imagine….”

You and the two lords have been friends for years – decades, even. And you were no fool; it was apparent that this relationship would dwell into something less familiar once the two become distant. And the war between the two empires proves this statement true…

It was your twenty-fourth year when you heard the news of the War of Blood and Magic. A year prior, an incident in the northern empire occurred where a sorcerer and his company were butchered by invading demons. Enraged, many men would go down to the demon continent to pillage and exorcise demon villages and towns as a form of justice. However, it only sparked the increasing tension between the factions into a conflict past the phase of talk and civilized words.

Taking matters into his own hands, Sukuna found the men responsible for the rampage and had their bodies sliced within seconds, sending their bloody, severed heads back to the North as his declaration of war. In the coming years after that, there was nothing but ongoing bloodshed between the two; every battle and atrocity shared with your father made you squeamish – not just because of the brutality, but also the loss of Sukuna and Gojo’s relationship with every passing day.

It made you feel sick — powerless in wanting the two to remember their merciful ways and talk like men. But you knew that was child's play — the time for miracles and fairy tales vanished with Tengen. And now, as the fourth year of this constant battle between humans and demons of this continent shows no signs of stopping, your worrying nature is on edge more than ever.

“It may seem impossible to imagine, but it doesn’t mean it’s not worth the execution,” Utahime’s voice rings you back to the present, alternating to your left arm to wipe before dismissing herself from the night. “I’m sure your father believes that as well; otherwise, he wouldn’t have invited the two here for the first time in four years. I think he and all the people of this empire grow worrisome for the fate of this continent if all that’ll be left is a clash between two factions.”

“That may be true,” yet your tone was somber. “But if he can’t convince his two trusted allies to cease this fight, then I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do but see who comes out victorious. And I’d hate to see one stand and the other down in a pool of their blood…”

Utahime hums and lets the silence take over for a few seconds. And then she speaks again, “….Maybe, if not your father, then you should be the one to bring the two together.”

Me? “Me?”

“Yes, my Lady. You may be the princess of the greatest warrior, but you are also the dear friend of his allies. Your word means law to them — they trust your input when asked and see you as a perfect successor in line.”

“But that’s just based on titles and old conversations that don’t hold up to the now…Out of the three of us, I was the one who stayed put in this castle while the others played dirty, severing limbs and creating craters on this sacred continent. We are not children anymore, yet I feel like the one who’s still a naive babe with hands clean.”

“Now that is not true, my Lady!” Fierce brown eyes bore to you. “Just because you don’t have blood on your hands doesn’t make you unfit as a leader. You are the sole child of the King of the Western Empire, the land that Tengen once slept and walked on. That makes you the one next in line after your father.”

“That is my stated birthright—“

“And so!” You held your tongue; she was not done yet. “You have proven that birthright true from what you’ve done so far. I can count on my hands and toes all the times your father came to you for advice on a matter that didn’t sit right with him, knowing that your wisdom and compassion aid your judgment. And let’s not forget how you’ve kept a neutral stance on this issue thus far, knowing it’s the best and safest option for your father and his people. You are his child, after all…What I’m saying is that people change. And that goes the same for you; you’ve become a face I can trust and depend on, and I’m glad to have the right to watch over you until you see fit.”

You knew she meant every word, so you kept silent for her to finish.

“So, I say this with all the genuineness in my heart. I believe you can smack some sense up those two’s minds. You are the princess, but you are a friend above all else. Lord Gojo had just arrived today, leaving Lord Ryomen on his way in three days' time. Express to them how you feel, that you wish for nothing but an end to this bloodshed and to restore whatever’s left to rebuild their past alliance.”

There was nothing wrong with her words; everything was well-spoken with a perspicuous style and valid points. She was your closest friend – no one knew you better than she did. So, there’s no reason to try and find whatever flawed construct that was in her argument.

Finally, after she was done dapping your arm with the washcloth and drying your feet after taking them out of the metal basin, you smiled. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Of course, I’m right; I’m your best friend!” Utahime stands with a puffed chest filled with pride, picking up the basin by the handles. “And as the right one, I reckon you should turn in for the night. Leave this matter for tomorrow so the solution you’re looking for will be easier to find.”

“Mmm, your advice is well-received like always.” You stand from the chair, stretching your limbs. When she approaches your door, you bid your handmaiden farewell for the night, “See you in the morning, Utahime.”

With a wink, she parts before shutting the door, “Sleep well and tight, my Lady.”

The warm presence of your friend is missed now that you’re alone in your room. The candles around your chambers exhibit a warm glow that should make you feel safe, but that wasn’t the case today. Even after your night routine, the cold still resided in your skin. You sigh again through your nostrils; the invisible weight on your shoulders makes it impossible to lift them.

You turn back to your mirror – your reflection brings up the conversation with your best friend minutes ago. Examining your features, placing your hand on your cheek to sense your skin, alone with your thoughts. Did I really change that much? Your face tilts to the side, but the different angle doesn’t seem to help give a proper answer. Hmm…Perhaps it’s something I’m not supposed to see.

With a yawn, you stand straight again, deciding to take up Utahime’s advice and retire for the night. You face your queen-sized bed, anticipating your figure sinking into the soft, comfortable mattress.

What you didn’t anticipate was releasing a big gasp when turning to your bedding, your body going rigid, and your blood stopping circulation.

“Hey.”

Something was sitting on your bed. No, someone was on your bed. And judging by the deep, guttural timbre of their voice, you are familiar with this person.

You turned to your left once you heard a word. A figure was coming into the lighted room from the dark of the balcony – a giant, no, ginormous figure. Based on the height, he was inches from touching the entrance frame, way taller than any royal you’ve ever met — or, at least, any human royal you’ve ever seen.

The body was broad and could engulf you even from ten steps away. Four burly arms protrude from the torso, and black nails that resemble claws match the black tattoos painted on his shoulders, biceps and triceps, wrists, back, and chest. The markings also reside on the right of his face that’s morphed with another, which holds four red eyes instead of two, along with earrings that stretch his big earlobes. Aside from his bloody orbs, one thing that contrasts his appearance is the rusty salmon color of his hair. And that was the first thing you saw — the first thing that had your mind recollect him.

“Lord Ryomen.” His name didn’t feel proper to say. It’s been almost a year since you last saw him, but he was still the same brutal man you’ve heard about all this time…yet a companion of yours nonetheless. “Father told me you would be here in two days. How did you—“

“You know I’m not one to wait.” He crossed his lower arms, the upper ones covered by a black robe that matched the black hakama pants he wore. “Especially when it comes to visiting this place.”

“And of Uraume?” The mention of the demon king’s trusted adviser quirks his brow. “Is it okay to leave them alone without you to watch over?”

“You think I’m weak on my own?”

“N–No, of course not!” You were quick to refute — you had to be when it came to him. “It’s just that I would feel bad; they’d worry about where you are.”

“And here you are worrying about them worrying about me. Hmph, humans,” he scoffs, and the mouth on his stomach grins. “Uraume knows to look after the ship when I’m gone or be my eyes when I’m not around. I’m not a child that needs protecting.”

You bow to him. “Of course you aren’t, my Lord. Forgive me for having you think as such.”

He hums, tilting his head while examining you. “Good. Lift your head.” You do as you’re told, watching him take a few steps closer to you. “It’s cold; why is your fire not set?”

You look at what he’s referring to, seeing that your fireplace harbored no flame. “I told my maids that I would be fine tonight without it, the heavy blankets will do—“

Your eyes travel back to Sukuna, only to see he isn’t where he stood. He vanished, nowhere in your room to be found. You turned behind, but he wasn’t there either. But once you heard heavy feet thunder on your floor again, you spun around to see the beast carrying four logs, one in each hand. You were marveled; you only heard talk of his speed, now it was a little scary seeing the real deal.

Sukuna bends down in front of your fireplace, setting the logs down perfectly. “Ignoring the cold’s existence is an ignorant game. A princess should be warm during this time of night.” Once the logs are set, he makes a sign with his upper right hand, bringing his thumb and forefinger together to his mouth. He blows, and a string of fire spits out to the logs. The sound of crackling bark from the flames confirms his work. “You are not me; you should fear the cold.”

You nod to his lesson. “Thank you, Lord Ryomen.”

“There’s no one here. You have the right to refer to me by my first name.” Sukuna straightens himself up. The light from the fire has his face aglow, and the crimson in his eyes flicker while they hook onto you.

You don’t know why — maybe it was because of the instant heat touching your neck instead of the sudden allurement you’ve noted from the demon king. Regardless, you avert your gaze downward. “Yes, Lord Sukuna.”

“Hmm.” He croons, walking towards you to prompt your chin up with a hand. Your eyes widen at his action; this is the first time in forever since he’s laid a hand on you. Talks of those he touches die shortly after spark in your mind. “You still have the sword.”

It wasn’t a question – an observation. He noticed the weapon lodged above the fireplace, like a memento meant to be honored rather than used. You smile, “Yes, I make sure it’s nice and clean from dust.”

Sukuna scoffs. “I give you a present, and you treat it like a trophy.”

“It would be wise to treat a gift from the demon king like a treasure. It wouldn’t sit right with me knowing I used or damaged a present given to me by someone I care about.”

He tilted his head again. “And when I give a weapon to someone I wish to protect,” The word caught you off guard. Protect? “I expect them to use it as it’s intended. I will allow it this time, but I won’t be too forgiving the second. Understood?”

You heard him, but your mind was still wrapped around the word. Protect? Lord Sukuna wants to protect me? What for?? You didn’t mean to say it aloud; it just slipped. “Protect?”

His mood shifts into neutral. A subtle softness is displayed in that inhuman structure of a face — or maybe you imagined it because of the late hour. Your breath hitches when you feel his lower hands pull and wrap around your right hand; the way your palm dwarfs in his hold is appalling. And then he kneels. Sukuna, the eight-foot-tall demon king, kneeling before you. This was a bizarre night, candidly.

“Princess,” he starts with your name. It was the perfect method as he fully has your undivided attention. “You know why the King has wished to see me despite what’s occurring outside these chambers. He believes there is still room to talk, and I believe he's wasting his time because I'm close to setting the entire Northern front ablaze and nailing this score for good.”

You knew he meant that, and it scared you because if he really could, he would. He actually possesses the mentality and the drive to do it. And yet, all three parts of the continent continue to stand. Why?

“But that would result in more problems for me. I’d have the entire world after my head for terrorism. All the leaders will not rest until I’m gone — your father would have to come put me down. And I would kill him, all of them.” His eyes were on you, dead serious. “…But that would make you upset, and it pisses me off that you'd hate me for my drive for survival.”

“My Lord,” it was your turn to speak. “I wouldn’t hate you. Being upset would be justified. But when it comes to war, survival is the paramount destination. I only wish to avoid such significant losses – both for the people of our nations and the people I hold dear.”

“Mmm.” He took your words. There’s no need to say anything, knowing Sukuna heard your piece is good enough. “I can see where you stand in this, stubborn and naive like your father. So, I come to you with a proposition. Something I need for you to listen before I consider seizing this battle.”

The way he spoke had you on edge, truthfully. Yet, if he’s coming to you in the middle of the night to hear your piece, who are you as a friend to push him aside? You give him a nod, “Yes, my Lord?”

“Princess, I want to—“ he stops mid-sentence, his pink-slitted brow suddenly drew up before it furrowed at the next second. He lets go of your hand in a hurry, standing up in a flash. It had you squeak. “He’s here.”

The sudden change in tone had you blink up at the giant, startled. “Wh–Who?”

“….No, they will not be seeing you. The hour is late; they are heading for bed!”

“Oh, c’mon Utahime — an hour, give me one hour!”

“Don’t you DARE open that door—HEY!”

You and Sukuna’s eyes dart to your chamber door, which opens with an abrupt vigor as if it was kicked open — it was kicked. The foot that was prominent at the front goes down and swings in a figure that brightens the area. Baggy white paints contrast with a black dress shirt mixed with white, intricate, and alluring designs. Subtle blue patterns map around the black collar and cuffs, dancing down the white material behind gold buttons. It’s covered by an ocean-blue shawl that drapes the figure’s left side. But the most significant detail that gave away who the person was – outside of their voice alone – was the snow-shite hair that decorated the top of his head.

Your wide eyes take in the person before you, and a dainty smile comes to your lips when you say his name. Unlike Sukuna, who sucks his teeth with a deep scowl. “Lord Gojo, it’s—“

“PRINCESS~~!” Chipper as ever, Gojo greets you with a happy tune that is so familiar to the ears. His sky-blue eyes gleam and narrow whenever he’s in your presence, just like he’d do during your childhood years. “Glad to see that I’ll be able to see your beautiful face tonight, after all. And I thought I told you to call me by my first name, like when we were kids!”

His jest has you giggle, “And I thought I’d told you from the last visit to knock on my door before entering. You have my poor handmaiden chasing after you at this hour.”

“I second that notion wholeheartedly, my Lady.” Utahime comes into view, approaching from Gojo’s shadow. If looks could kill, she’d stab Gojo’s throat with dual-wielding daggers. Not that the white-haired man was paying her glare any mind. She sighs heavily before bowing to you, “My apologies, my Lady. Lord Gojo caught me leaving the stairs towards your hall, figuring he’d come to speak a word with—Holy Tengen!” Your lady-in-waiting gasps when she lifts her head to see that you aren’t alone in the first place. “L-Lord Ryomen!? F-F-Forgive me for not noticing your grace before.” She quickly returns her head for a bow, hoping the trusty, short right-hand retainer and advisor, Uraume, wasn’t here to lecture her.

But thankfully to her anxious stars, the demon king grunts, “You’ve been forgiven, human. I came here not too long ago to discuss matters with the heir.” His red eyes leave the bowing woman to look at Gojo, whose lighthearted cadence is stilled. “Alone.” The final word was all for the white-haired lord’s watch to switch to a silent, menacing tone, shaded by his bangs but perfectly seen by Sukuna.

“Yes, my Lord, I shall leave you two to yourselves then,” Utahime replies to the salmon-haired creature, lifting her upper body ready for dismissal. But she then grabs for Gojo’s arm and tugs. “That includes you as well, Lord Gojo.”

“Ehhhh, me? What about the giant freak across from me?” Gojo questions the woman who pulls him to the doorway. “I also have things to discuss with the princess I’ve expressed earlier for when I have the time, which is now. At least I made my appointment known. Unlike him, who came into their quarters unannounced.”

“And here you are, barging into their room!” she almost popped a vein; you worry for the poor woman dragging the tall figure out of your room. “Kicking their door and making yourself known doesn’t modify the definition of being unannounced. Come back tomorrow – I’m sure my Lady will be available to listen to your quarrels then.”

It was now that you finally decided to interject. “It’s all right, Utahime. Sleep still evades me for me to rest.” You look to Sukuna, his gaze already on your figure, and then to Gojo, who awaits your assertion. “…I will listen to both Lords and have them dismissed before I retire for the night. You may let Lord Gojo go now and get sleep yourself.”

Utahime gives you a concerned look, yet she silently lets go of the man when you give her a tiny nod. “As you wish. Have a good night, my princess. Lord Sukuna. Gojo.” She slams the door at the last name she says, her stomping footsteps and grumbling curses fading into the night.

And now here you were, alone in your room, with the two lords of two superpower empires – two childhood friends. Nevertheless, it’s back. The suffocating tension you’ve mentioned before returns and drapes over the three of you that the word “friend” feels teeny within it. You can’t lie to yourself; you’re weary to have either of them in your chambers, let alone be in the same space as you. You knew there would be a day when the two would come together; however, you were far from being prepared for said event.

Then again, it’s better now than never, right? You three used to be the best of friends – close companions that you could depend on and trust. Close companions that you desperately wish to continue trusting and having an unbreakable bond with. If not for you, then for your father’s and respective empires’ sake. So, with a deep breath, you exhale and think of how to go about this predicament. Be the heir that your father raised you to be.

“So,” You turn to Gojo to start with. “Lord Gojo—“

“Oh, c’mooon, what did I say about using my last name?” Gojo flashes a quick smile at you. “We’re friends, no? It’s not fair you refer to Maiden Iori by her first name; you should know mine like the back of your hand!”

His little pester does help swade a bit of stress off your shoulders. “My apologies, Satoru. It’s just that I must be respectful to my royals, even if we are long-time friends.”

The white-haired man chuckles, taking steps to be closer to you. “Even so, I want my princess to call me by my name, for you are the one I trust and hold dear the most. And I don’t want our familiarity to be tarnished by titles.”

“…If that’s what will make you happy, Satoru.” The address to the northern prince made you avert your gaze to the ground, and your cheeks dial in warmth. Who knew that he thought so deeply about a little gesture? And then there’s what he referred to you as—

“Your princess?” Sukuna’s voice snaps you back to the present situation: you and Gojo are not the only ones in your room.

Gojo takes his eyes off you and places them on the giant behind your shape. He taunts, “Yes, my princess, as they are the fair heir of this great empire who will rule after their great father. I’d say they are as much my princess to me as the other Lords and Maidens. But I’d be lying since I see them as more than that.”

Sukuna’s quadruple eyes darken as they narrow at the man before him. “Every time I see your scrawny self, you prove you’re the biggest fool than all the other senile jokes of Lords I’ve ever dealt with.” Two steps is all he takes to be right behind you. You can practically feel his shadow on you. “The person before us is indeed a royal above many – above you. So, I find it amusing that you would be dumb enough to emphasize such a ludicrous claim. You fail to know your place when in their presence. And in mine.”

Oh, that ticked something inside Gojo. Because the prince was no longer smiling, his attention was wholly on Sukuna. Many wouldn’t dare to glower at the giant creature the way Gojo was — let alone look at him. “Hah, you sure know how to make unfunny jokes, Sukuna. Because I’d rather eat demon shit than have you think for a moment that you are above me.”

“Hmph, I’m surprised your childish behavior has gotten you this far,” you can see from the shadow on the floor that Sukuna folds his lower arms. “Don’t think that you’ll be lucky with me.”

“Oh, believe me, my childish manner has gotten its fair share of tongue lashings and trouble, but I’ve been able to talk my ass out of shit ever since I was a kid. But I guess talk is too cheap for an oversized brute like you, huh?”

“Very. I’m a being of action—“

“Action? Or destruction?” The light blue of Gojo’s eyes shifts to that of a deep, cold shade under his bangs, with no sign of backing down. “Because from all I’ve heard about you, everything can crumble beneath you with just a swipe of the fingers. Outside of your lands, who’s to say you’re worthy of ruling when your methods and policy are more forbidding than mine? Or better yet, who gave you the gall to think that such a monster like you has a right to even be amongst civil people like me and the princess? Hell, the fact that you snuck in their room as you please sickens me to the core.”

“I can say the same for you, Satoru Gojo. Your entire occupancy does worse than bore me. Standing here with the man governing the family who’s killed many of my kin and demons fills me with inextinguishable anger. You have no idea how much excitement I’ll have for the day I cut that head of yours clean off, but because of my business with the princess, your death will be pending.”

“Not if my business is taken care of first.”

The demon growls. “Like hell, it will.”

“My Lords, please!”

The tense atmosphere is relieved by the abruption of your voice, bringing the lords’ quarrel to a standstill to face you. You squeak when their eyes land on you, forcing yourself to turn to the fireplace and deal with the growing storm of anxiousness inside you.

Gods, I should’ve had Utahime here with me! You curse yourself for being in this situation. Why tonight of all nights must you deal with this? It was as if your lady-in-waiting had this all planned — or worse, your father, having you treat the matter of your allies. You groan internally to your hands, letting your frustration be released.

You twirl back to face the two men before you, a deep inhale before saying, “Lord Satoru, what would you like to discuss with me at this hour?”

“Hah?” The disapproving mood of the demon king had your heart sink to the floor. “I was here first.”

“Yes, you came to my room first tonight. But Gojo was here first at the palace. He told me earlier that he wanted to speak, so I should hear him.” You could only hope your reasoning satisfied the tall being, who puffs his tattooed chest. And Gojo quickly flashed the other a vexatious look at Sukuna before you pivoted to him. “Now, Lord Go—“

“Aht aht!”

“…Lord Satoru,” He beams a big grin. “What do you wish to speak with me?”

“Well, although this is something meant for the two of us,” meant to be a stab to the other person in the room, who couldn’t care less about his presence being unwanted. “But this’ll suffice; it doesn’t hurt to have an audience.” You watch the silver-haired man take your left hand, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing on your knuckles.

“My Lady,” he looks at you with delicate azure eyes, his gaze so captivating that it locks you in position. “I’ve known you for quite a long time. Before I met you, my life as a royal was barren. Nothing sparked joy in me. The mundane tasks to uphold as the next heir, being pampered and sheltered as the gifted member of the Gojo House. I felt trapped in a mold — a mold that I resented having as my birthright, so much so that I wished to claw my eyes out at the age of five.”

You could tell he was speaking from the heart, his hands gripping yours tighter.

“But then, three years later, my father took me to meet the King of the western lands; at the time, it sounded like such a chore having to meet all these old, disgusting guys that I had to ‘maintain a good relationship’ with. And then, like the sun peeking through dark clouds, I saw you. I’ve met many royal kids before me, most snobby or kissing up to me for my good graces. Yet, none of them have been as alluring and breathtaking as you have been.” He pauses for a light chuckle. “I can still remember how your sweet voice addressed me when our fathers introduced us together. You stood tight to his leg, but your grace was ever present.”

“Mhmm, and I recall how angry your father was when you didn’t take a knee and instead greeted me with a handshake.” The two of you share a laugh, unaware of the disdained aura of Sukuna right next to you for a moment. “There are many things I hold close to my heart — you and our friendship being part of them.”

“I agree. I mean it when I regard you as one of my greatest treasures. This friendship we’ve had these years – decades, even – has been a blessing that I do not want to take for granted. Even with this war on my shoulders, I wish for it to be put to rest so I can finally have you by my side again. And that’s why…”

Gojo lifts your hand to his face; the soft feeling of his pillowy lips on your fingers has you holding your breath. Just like Sukuna…

“Princess, merciful child of Tengen’s Blessed Ground, I ask for your hand in marriage.”

It all took one second — one mere second.

One second for your world to come to a complete standstill, the cracking of the firewood no longer poking your eardrums and the breeze from the outside no longer grazing your skin. Your body instinctively refuses to move so much as a toe to disrupt your processing.

One second for your thoughts to absolutely vanish. No words of your own occupying your brain, no guesses on where this conversation was going. There was nothing. Nothing except the last seven words Gojo said that replay in your head. Over and over and over again.

One second for you to be in a perfect state of perplexity. Right before Sukuna grabs your free hand and yanks you to his side the next. Three giant hands wrap around you while one grips your wrist tightly.

He snarls, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Gojo sucks his teeth before straightening yourself. “Ehhhh, is your demon brain screwed on right? You don’t know what a marriage proposal is?” His question struck you more than it did the beast. Huh? A marriage proposal? Marriage!?

The fingers of Sukuna’s upper left-hand grips your shoulder, claw-like nails poking your skin as if to draw blood. “Hmph, the nerve of you humans never fails to disappoint me. Especially you, Satoru Gojo, who remains a thorn in my foot. Must I kill more of your men to keep you at your place as you did to my demonfolk?”

“Khh, don’t act like you ever cared about the lives sacrificed on your behalf. It’s gross.” Gojo takes one step, and Sukuna swiftly lifts his upper right hand at him, his fingers positioned at the same sign when he made flames for your fireplace. Your eyes widen, please, not in my room! Gojo takes a stance for battle. “Acting human doesn’t suit you at all, fuckface.”

The roar of laughter that the demon bellows out was chilling to hear. The vibrations coursing from his body to yours rocked you to your core. “Hah! Me, human!? There’s a reason I let go of that part of myself a long time ago. It made me weak – held me back from my full potential. You are right, though; it’s beneath me to care for those below me. However, I don’t tolerate those that mess with what’s mine.”

The word had Gojo’s eyes taper. “Let them go.”

“No. If anything, I should skin you here and now for even laying a finger on them in front of me.” You peered up at Sukuna, your anxiousness refusing to settle down during this high-stakes scenario. “Because any man that dares touch my wedded deserves to be torn and shredded by my hands alone.”

You couldn’t hide your gasp. It snuck past you – the perfect reaction to what you heard. H–His wedded? Me? Lord Sukuna’s wedded-to-be!? No wonder he was acting like that…!

“Your wedded?” Gojo was just as taken aback as you were. “You’ve got some huge balls to declare that right after bearing witness to me proclaiming my request for their hand.”

“Tch, bastard, why do you think I was here before you?” Sukuna flashes his big teeth, pride exuding from his form. “Did you honestly think I’d allow the princess to end up with the likes of you? Now, aren’t you too old for fairy tales?” You’re still in shock of this madness. Two marriage proposals within the same hour? Both from your childhood friends who unequivocally despise each other’s existence? Any regular person would feel as if they’re experiencing a whirlwind right now.

Wait a minute…

“Oh, we’re talking fairy tales, you repugnant jackass.” It’s Gojo’s turn to get a kick out of this. “From what I can tell, the princess is meant to spend the rest of their life in comfort with a handsome human prince who swears to protect them and those they care for. Not a creature whose source of joy comes from killing and mayhem. You? Capable of love? Heh, be real. Not even your own dead mother was able to show you real love for her abomination of a—“

He stopped talking when he felt something warm roll down his cheek, a red fluid streaking to drop from his chin. You see a cut and blood, and a wave of dread hits you like a wall. It was Sukuna’s doing, no doubt. Your best friends were fighting in front of you, in your safe space. Your nerves have long forgotten what it meant to be in a state of calm.

Please, wait, stop—

“I already told you your death has been postponed, you northern shit,” red eyes darken, Sukuna's tone and aura unveiling a sense of brutality that shadowed your very being. It had you trembling. “But I don’t mind severing your tongue to make a point.”

The skin around the cut on Gojo’s skin begins to morph to find each other, seaming itself back to mint condition with a blue glow. Healing magic fixed his cut and cleared his blood, but the anger boiling inside him was prevalent in those striking eyes. Wanting nothing more than a bleeding head between his hands. “I’d like to see you try, you ugly prune.”

NO, STOP IT!!

This was all too much for a single night. This whole ordeal was far from your expectations. It was already stressful enough thinking about what would happen when the two lords were in this palace together. Now, in your quarters, you’ve never experienced a more life-and-death crisis having your friends — companions you used to laugh and engage with together — wanting to rip each other’s throats, especially for your hand in marriage. And, Tengen forbid, if you were to accept one’s proposal over the other…that would ignite a war above all wars. The bodies that fall on this mainland would all be in your undoing. The thought enough was too much to bear!

“I accept both!!”

The hostile complexion of the room vanished into the air in the blink of an eye. The sound of burning logs and dancing flames filled the space like before; the crashing ocean waves could be heard from your balcony. Nature was speaking without noises to interrupt it. It was quiet, too quiet.

You didn’t know what you just said until the last morphemes left your tongue. You silently remove your figure from Sukuna, covering your mouth in disbelief. And without having to see for yourself, you could tell that the two lords were just as flummoxed from your sudden sentence. What…What did I say just now?

“What did you just say?” As if he could read your mind, Sukuna relays your inner turmoil to be addressed.

Your heart was beating at an unbearable rate, your ears ringing like they’d soon set off and bleed. The trembles get worse with every second, and wiping your face off this Earth at this exact moment is all you wish for. You were so nervous that you were mere seconds away from the brink of tears. Oh, Tengen, why did I say that? What was I thinking?!? What am I to do? What do I—

“…Express to them how you feel, that you wish for nothing but an end to this bloodshed and to restore whatever’s left to rebuild their past alliance…”

And then, like a strange flash of an angelic tune, the words of your lady-in-waiting come back to you, instantly calming you down and reminding you who you are. You are the princess of the Western Front, the next heir after your father. This matter was bound to fall onto your lap one way or another — preferably less drastically and excitingly like this.

I am the princess, but their friend above all else…You remove your hands from your face, exhaling a shaky breath before standing tall. “….I accept both marriage proposals of my Lords.”

The men’s bewildered expressions were expected, just like the dismay in their voices. “Both of our—…! Surely you don’t mean that—” Gojo was the first to speak, silver brows screwed with confusion.

“I do.” A deep breath before you answered him. “I will only accept the proposals of both you and Lord Sukuna.”

The demon took one thunderous step, the vibrations crawling up your bones. “And just why is that?”

You exhale through your nostrils, chewing on your bottom lip. “Understand that I am humbly flattered by your perspectives — it fills me with gladness to know I can be hospitable to my dear friends again…As you both mentioned, I, too, cherish the two of you profoundly, and my trust for you two will never be extinguished. To be asked for my hand by either of you is an honor I’ll forever appreciate….But I cannot choose one over the other.”

“Bullshit,” Sukuna folds his upper arms, the lower resting on his hips. “You can; you just choose not to.”

“No, I care for you both, and choosing one alone would have people hurt. Both between us three and the people of this continent…” You maintain eye contact with both lords while your hands fidget with your nightgown to ease yourself. “A rivalry is happening between the Eastern and Northern fronts; blood’s already been spilled and soaking Tengen’s soil. If I were to choose one proposal, I can’t be guaranteed that this onslaught of violence will cease. Or, would either of you guarantee that you wouldn’t take the life of the other?”

That question had the two royals look at each other briefly, followed by their scowls and groans. Gojo is the next to speak, “What happens between us shouldn’t concern you, my princess.”

“You’re wrong; it concerns me tremendously. It is a concern that’s been eating me alive, watching my allies – my friends – fight each other on the sidelines, refusing to pick a side with my father. Now, you two come here, bend your knees, hold my hands, and ask for my hand, silently requesting my involvement for more bodies to drop like flies under my reign?… No, I would not find rest from this night forward, knowing that more innocent lives plummet from my answer.”

“It wouldn’t be blood on your hands.”

“…But it would be blood that I paint with my very shadow.”

The response sounded foreign to him, yet you stood tall, making sure your heart didn’t falter with your stance. Silence welcomes the three figures again, an old friend that goes well with the tense atmosphere. Two pairs of red observe you, like cerulean orbs that stay on your appearance.

A few seconds go by, and Gojo screws his eyes shut. “So, that’s it, you accept both proposals.”

A curt nod. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Your final decision?”

“Correct.”

The snow-haired man nodded aimlessly, slouched with a large sigh, turned, and headed for your bed to flop face down — like it was his bed. “Haaaaaah, you are your father’s kid, all right,” you could make out his words even with his face in your sheets. “A pacifist heart.”

“Hmph, such a dumbass reason,” Sukuna huffs with absolute annoyance, and you’re amazed he hasn’t already skinned you and Gojo. “You are not a child anymore. You can’t possibly be serious about taking up two husbands for the sake of peace.”

“You’re right: I am no child, for I’ve never been as serious as I am now.” Look at you, sticking up for yourself in the presence of the demon king. Although, you know he can hear the quiver in your voice trying to crawl out. You swallow, “It’s either both of you or nothing at all.”

His left eyes squint as they examine your features, the mouth on his belly gritting its teeth. “Tsk, both or nothing…Meanwhile, you know I can’t be in the same room with him. Not even Tengen could command me to share you with this brat.”

Gojo swifts on the covers to lie on his back. “Finally, something I can agree with the devil himself. He’s right, though; there are many things in my life I would rather not share with anyone — you being the top of my list.”

You take their concerns with patience and a lifted chin. “I understand you both, but if you two can’t let the fog clear and talk with each other, how can I see myself—“

“Let the fog clear?” Sukuna repeats with furrowed eyebrows. “Sorcerers came into my land and ransacked my villages — sorcerers from this bastard’s empire!”

“An action that validates your anger and course of action,” you remind yourself to take tiny breaths. “…However, Satoru didn’t order the attack himself; they went against procedure and stormed your country with poor judgment.”

The tall demon rolls all of his eyes and clicks his teeth. “Ridiculous.”

“No, what’s ‘ridiculous’ is how you fail to acknowledge why those sorcerers went to your zone.” Gojo’s turn to interpolate. “One of the noble sorcerers and his company died because of your demon folk invading my country without permitted passage. That noble had a family, students that followed his footsteps—“

“Are you saying my people didn’t have kin of their own to return to, Gojo Satoru?”

“Your people sure kill like they don’t—“ Another swipe of Sukuna’s fingers glid the air; this time, Gojo’s Infinity was on guard, ricocheting the cleave to mark a scratch on one of the curtains. “Hah, just like their leader.”

Sukuna flexes his knuckles to crack, black fingernails appearing sharper. “The demons who killed that sorcerer acted on their own accord. Just like the many men of your land who came to mine, whom I corrected for your lack of oversight.”

“Then allow me to fulfill my mistake,” the silver-haired man��s eyes glow. “And let me kill the demons responsible — just like you did to my men, fucking cretin.”

“Over my dead body, human trash.”

“My Lords!” The men concurrently exchange their gazes back to you. “This is why I will not be accepting either proposal solely. You come to my home to ask for my hand because you see me as of value, correct? Well, you both are people I care deeply for, and the thought of walking beside either of you for eternity is something I’d accept unmistakably under different circumstances…But, please acknowledge my position in all of this: I am the princess of an extraordinary continent and heir to the throne after my father, a man who has maintained peace and harmony all these years. Now, that peace is hanging on the brink of death and will soon be a matter I should issue alone, and the men who’ve grown with me and cherish me combating each other until one stands tall….or none stand at all.”

Word spilled after another as if a dam had broken down — fingers jitter even when clasped together. Your throat dries up after every sentence, yet your unwavering resilience pushes you to keep going.

“I’m sorry if what I’m saying or doing is selfish, and…you may be right that I’m going at it with the whims of a child. But, please,” Do not cry, do NOT cry. “Standing idly every passing day watching the men I’ve grown to—“ Love? Isn’t that too intimate of a word to assume? “…treasure kill themselves and others without doing anything wounds me enough. And if you think I can sit here in this palace and watch my intended go far and yonder to kill another person whom I cherish with no guarantee that they will return to me wholly, think twice.”

Your shoulders threaten to tremble; of course, you’re frightened beyond belief by what you’re saying. But you’re sure if she was here, Utahime would pull you in for a hug and acclaim how well you’re following her counsel.

“Please, I just…can’t bear it.”

Uncomfortable muteness gnaws you alive within the muteness of your room. You’re bound to draw blood on your bottom lip with how much you’re chewing it. If only your father were awake in this hour, his guidance at a moment like this would be beneficial, or merely observing from afar how you’re managing would give you some hope. Alas, you know he’s in deep sleep halls away. It’s just the three of you in this space — or just you versus the huge opposing auras thick enough to be slit by Sukuna’s cleaves.

Speaking of whom, the demon king watches you the entire speech. Same with Gojo, whose blue eyes dwindle back to their typical hue. The two men don’t dare break the silence as you stand before them, mentally swimming in thoughts alone to yourself….Well, at least the northern prince wouldn’t dare to do so first because Sukuna initially ripped the stillness to shreds. He says, “And how would your father respond to this feckless plan of accepting two marriage proposals?”

A worthy question to ponder. “…I’m sure he’d come to an understanding once I explain my reasoning,” the belly of the eastern king grumbles. “I’m sure he’d be contended at the fact that his two trusted allies would want to join houses.”

Gojo sits up straight atop your bed. “Well, that sounds all nice and dandy on that front. But, the problem still lies in us acting like…a ‘real couple.’ Face it, princess; you may seem okay with being with us both, but that doesn’t mean we’d be on the same page.”

Sukuna nods curtly. “I’d rather eat every human alive than entertain the thought of someone other than me touching you.”

The other shrugs. “Even if the world’s fate depends on it.”

The men’s grievances are valid arguments for why your plan can backfire, particularly when suggesting a relationship where two people can’t stand each other. What you’re posing is an action that has been practiced before yet isn’t entirely favored in the public eye. Nevertheless, your stance doesn’t change; you refuse to go back on your word, believing that it’s a better alternative to condone than the others. The only tricky part is convincing your childhood friends…

…Which is why what you’re about to do is indubitably unlike you.

“…What are you doing?"

But despite that, it’s a course of action that highlights your determination.

“—Woah!! Princess?! Why are you undressing??!”

Even if it’ll go down as the most downright humiliating thing you’ve done to yourself.

Your nightgown meets the ground of your feet, the cool air wrapping your nude frame with the heat of the fireplace hovering on one side. Arms free of sleeves, nipples easily spotted now with the dismissal of clothing, the region between your lower thighs bare, and delicate skin exposed for only the men in the room to see. And even then, your face doesn’t decline the miserable hotness. Embarrassed? No doubt about it.

“My Lords,” you croak, balled fists muster to contain whatever left of dignity you can. “This form…isn’t meant for any regular eyes to see — an offering only a slim few I’d trust to witness. Tonight, I want you two to see me like this.” You slowly step forward, gradually getting closer to Sukuna’s giant size. “As your princess, I offer my whole to you both, as you are mine…and I am yours.”

Sukuna blinks at your small figure close to his; the intensity of his stare is enough to have your heart sink into a pool of regret. Until he bends to scoop you with his lower arms, you yelp at the sudden action with hands finding his sturdy shoulders to grab. Now, he is way closer than you anticipated, his very chin inches away from brushing your naked chest. Holy shit.

“You are mine, and I am yours?” he lifts his eyebrow. “Was that not true already?” You gulp thickly before answering, daring to cup his cheek with a hesitant hand. Again, you’re surprised to see it still attached, let alone see him lean to your palm.

“You’d have to prove it true — here and now, make this ceaseless battle end by claiming me as yours…You too, Gojo.” You and the demon holding you turn to the man sitting on your bed. The pale skin of his face now harbors shades of pink that cascade across his cheeks and the dip of his ears, expression dumbfounded to what he witnessed. “Demonstrate how serious you are for my hand, or you and Sukuna can leave my room.”

Sky-blue eyes blink absentmindedly, words hard to pick and choose for the human prince in this bizarre minute. Sukuna then speaks with a huff.

“Well, are you going to start moving or what? Because whether you stay or not, your princess will become mine tonight.” He grins before leaning in to lick your skin, and you hold a whine when the mouth of his navel lightly chews on your tummy. “And on the many nights coming after.”

The beast’s words flip a switch, causing Gojo to chuckle and shake his head while unbuttoning his shirt. “Not if I have something to do about it, four-eyes…”

You drew in breath while watching Gojo undress, more of his milky skin stripped out of his clothing, revealing parts of the prince that you could only imagine in your fantasies. Heat flourishes to your ears, and another gasp is pulled out when Sukuna sneaks his free lower hand to cusp your buttcheek. He then brings an upper hand to your chin to face him and his sneer.

“You’ve made this night a whole lot more interesting.”

And that was the last time the sound of the fire cracking caught your attention.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Mmmm…Ahh—Ahhh!!”

“Keh, sure are tight as hell; definitely a virgin.”

“Fuck, I can hear the sounds from here…Oh, fuuck…!”

The sea breeze climbs up to your terrace, crawling into your room to swing the curtains of your canopy. The candles around your room continue to flame and provide light for the room to glow. The scent of lavender and rose from your bath and lotion an hour earlier remains in the air and sticks to your skin. The midnight hour isn’t yet, but the sky is dark enough past the twilight hues.

Expected as the former home of the Great Saint Tengen, the palace is as enormous. Harboring many rooms, halls, and floors for the company of the royal family and their subjects, the castle is unchallenging for a newcomer to get lost inside without a proper guide. Every room is catered to a specific event, person, meeting, or occasion in this place. On top of that, multiple guest chambers are meant for the guests invited under the King’s audience to rest.

…But it seems that Gojo and Sukuna are not retiring for the night anytime soon.

How could they sleep when you’re being a courteous host, letting your childhood friends spend the late hours in your room? Just like when you were young and playmates or learning to master a weapon. The only thing is that these two aren’t the same as two decades ago; they are men, branded with titles and responsibilities, blood already stained their knuckles, and duties hold them to a high expectation that you know all too well.

And, like all men, they have a salacious curiosity only appropriate for the bedroom. An interest you knew would one day be prevalent in your life if you agreed to take either as a husband…Yet, you’re not as prepared on the chance you’d face both realities simultaneously.

All three of you are stationed in your bed, clothes decorating your floor to leave you all bare for each other to see and marvel at — more so on your part. You lie on your back to a giant broad chest and stomach, Sukuna right behind you with his lower arms holding your feet by the back of your knees. Knees spread apart, your naked lower half is out, free for the monster to insert a single thick digit of his left upper hand into your wet chasm while the right fondles your left tit.

Never in your life did you think you were capable of producing such indecent noises. Low whimpers are embarrassing to recollect as the demon king plays with your most tender parts. His big fingers tweak your nipple, and the digit – way thicker than yours – inside your cunt is enough to stretch your opening, wiggling and scratching the inside. Fingering yourself never felt like this, your body experiencing a refreshing sensation you hadn’t known of. And to have the eastern king of all people to bestow this feeling on you brings just as much awe as humiliation.

Nonetheless, that indignity doesn’t cease. Gojo stands on his knees before you, propped between your sunder legs, while his hand strokes an erect limb. Yes, as a virgin maiden, tonight would be the very first time you ever see a living, breathing member, and the northern lord takes that honor with a lustful smile. His solid cock gets stiffer with every jerk, a left curve protruding the more your appearance excites him. To be observed and used as material as your slit is fingered? How lewd!

“Nnnn, ahaahn…” Sukuna’s finger rubs on your velvety surface, your legs wanting to squirm despite the monster’s hold. “Oh Gods…Ohhh!!”

“Damn, you look so good,” Gojo mutters under his breath, precum drizzling his fingertips. “Looks like it feels good, huh, princess?”

“Sure feels like it,” every word that Sukuna utters causes tremors to pass down his abdomen to your back, the very vibrations crawling on your skin like the tongue that licks your back to make you arch. “Hm? Tell us how you really feel, little one.”

The usage of that name causes your vaginal walls to twitch; he has never called you as such, and picking such an intimate time to do so makes your frame feel awkward and warm. “…I-I—fffmm!—don’t know…”

“Hmph, you dare lie to me,” he bends to your ear, and his deep chuckle ignites your stomach to knot itself. “Like your body doesn’t speak for itself, clenching on my finger like you want to snap it off.”

“Th-that’s not—“The graze of your upper wall cuts you off, and your hands struggle to find places to grab, gripping the skin of Sukuna’s thigh and grabbing tuffs of his apricot hair.

The demon king snickers more when his middle finger teases your taint, pressing a kiss on your cheek before a quick bite. “Only one finger in, and you’re already wailing like a common whore; be lucky that I haven’t added another, then you’d really be prepared for me…” You feel something brush up against your back, the tips of Sukuna’s cocks reminding you of his eventual promise.

“Wooow, calling the future heir a whore; must’ve forgotten whose room we’re in.” The white-headed man had something to say about that, satisfyingly ruining the mood for the demonic being.

“They don’t seem to mind, at least their cunt doesn’t,” uncouth cords that speak truth, your vulva squeezing his finger constantly. “Who would’ve thought the beautiful, refined, and compassionate princess,” each enunciated word has consequences that are a lick and bite to your helix. “Was, in fact, a dirty, nasty girl?”

“Holy shit,” Gojo’s hand goes faster, his dick ready with stiffness. The image of you melting under the Fallen Star’s hold is too hot for the young man to witness. “God, I wanna fuck you so bad, baby…”

Sukuna clicks his teeth. “Well, hurry the hell up and do it before I change my mind and fuck them myself.”

“And have them bleeding to death because of your giant dicks on their first time? Fuck that,” He ignores the four rolled eyes as he maneuvers closer to you, Sukuna pulling his finger out of your wet slit and slithering further down to your anus. He coaxes you to relax your tense muscles, pushing his digit into your puckered hole second by second. The gasp you release once it’s added sends shivers up Gojo’s shoulders. “A princess should be treated like a pearl – tended to with the utmost care.”

“Go–jooo…” You whine as the human heir cups your cheeks to squeeze.

“What did I say about using my family name?” He scolds with a cheeky tune, gauging your reaction as he disposes his cockhead to the folds of your vagina.

“…S-Sa—Mmmph!” The push of his pink tip is a new sensation.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” He coos, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Relax, just focus on me.” Your eyes lock with his, distracted by the twinkle and swirl of his azure irises, like a whirlpool sinking into the darkness of his dilated pupil. “What’s my name, cutie?”

“Saaa…Sato—Ohhh!!” And just like that, the tip of his limb enters inside, bypassing your knowledge until the wince of pain snaps you out of your distraction. “…to’ruu…”

His teeth glisten under her grin. “That’s my good girl.”

Gojo keeps propelling himself inside you, gradually shoving every inch of his lengthy girth. You bite your quivering lip at the stretch of your opening, accommodating the foreign body part burrowing inside your inner channel. The left curve of his has his penis rubbing on parts of yourself you hadn’t thought possible; a graze of your G-spot causes your legs to quirk and toes to curl.

But then, once his silverish pubes meet your outer labia, he reaches the depth of your cervix and gives it a chaste kiss. And your frame suddenly shuts down briefly, your senses running cold before you cry aloud without knowing. Your hands rush to cover your mouth, but the damage is too late.

Sukuna raises a brow. “What a shout.” He then uses your reaction to add another digit into your ass.

“Ahhhh, there it is,” Gojo swallows thickly, hips speaking for themselves as they sway. “That was cute as hell–the way you twitch feels so good…” Another poke to your cervix, and your legs can’t help but wrap around Gojo’s waist.

“Satoru, please…!” You plead with knitted eyebrows. “Pleasee, be gentle with me…”

Blue eyes narrow. “God, who told you to be so adorable?” Gojo angles down to your face, his nose mere centimeters to yours. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll treat you right tonight…Hmmm.”

The man leans in to place his lips on your forehead before his own, and the pace of his thrusts quickens to mediocrity. The rubs on your silky texture become frequent, lightly pounding his shaft into your to till his testes knock your chasm, the whimpers you try to repress boost to a louder volume. His left curve spikes up your nerves with every push and pull, easing the itching heat that permeates around your lower half.

Hands writhe around to calm around Gojo’s cold back; you say his name in prayers. You can feel something coming, and if he keeps rutting to you like this, it’s bound to come earlier than expected. “—Nnaaa, Sat’ruuu, w-wait!! I can’t—Ahaann!!”

“—Mmmm! Yeah, just like that, princess, keep gripping on me like that…” He doesn’t listen, too lost in your warmth and wetness that he can’t stop. The flex of his abs increases, plunging into your pussylips desperately as if he can sense the eventual you fear.

“T-Toruu, wait, go slooww!!” Words mean nothing, hips not declining in their needing cadence. Oh Gods, I can feel it; it’s coming! Nerves climb to a peak way too fast for your comprehension, nails digging into Gojo’s skin before your orgasm hits you, choked squeaks leaving puffy lips as your cunt contracts around the prince’s girth and your asshole clamping around Sukuna’s fingers.

And Gojo is right there experiencing your climax with you, moaning under his breath and pressing his forehead to yours before he completely melts under the fluttering motions of your genitalia. “—Mmfff, ffffshit, so tight…!” He can’t stop thrusting into you, moving his pelvis slowly to draw out the sensation before he sinks into a crescendo of his own. “Fuuck! Yeah, cutie, that’s right; ride it out,” he snaps an abrupt drill to your aching entrance. “Ride it out…”

Sukuna scoffs lightly before whispering in your ear. “Done already, human?” Patronizing attitude to make you fidget. “Better be ready for me still.”

“Ehhh, but I’m not done here.” The snow-haired man retorts, massaging your waist out of the quakes.

A thread snaps in the wake of the other’s words, and Sukuna’s lack of patience drives him to push you and Gojo off of him. The two of you roughly position to where you are essentially straddling Gojo, his erection still inside your slick-coated cavern. The devilish man swiftly ends up on his knees before contorting his massive figure to dwarf both humans beneath him.

“Gahhh!! Sukuna, what the fuck w—Mmmph?!?” With the spawn of a mouth, the eastern king shuts the northern man up by slamming his upper left hand onto his mouth for an unexpected kiss. Gojo muffles under the other’s palm, the tongue shoving itself inside.

“Shut up,” Sukuna orders with annoyance. “So damn chatty…And you,” he uses his lower hands to steady your ass, and you stifle a yelp at the contact of something pressing up against the opening of your butt. “Stay still, or I can make it hurt real bad.”

His warning is enough to keep you immobile, following his instructions and stationing your breathing to a steady rhythm. Your hands-on Gojo’s chest ball to fists once Sukuna pushes his tip to your asshole, your mouth forming a permanent ‘o’ shape once he eventually gets the cockhead inside. Just when you thought this night couldn’t get any more extreme, you had forgotten about the taller individual’s well-endowed self: two hefty, girthy limbs that you NEVER, in your wildest dreams, imagine would put inside your body — not even one!

However, tonight was the night that would be put to the test, and at the very least, Sukuna compromised, using one of his members to ravage your interior while the other skims the crevice of your asscheecks. He goes excruciatingly slow; rather than just ramming the entire thing in one go, it’s better. Gods, no, you’d be shedding more tears than you already are. Every inch that’s plunged inside you pushes out shaky breaths, sobbing from the intrusion and bits of drool slowly escaping you.

“Daahhnn, ohmyG—Nnnm!!” It’s finally all in, all swallowed up by the ridge of your bottom. You call to him, “S-Sukunaa…fuull, so fuulll…”

“I bet you are.” He adds more weight, scrunching down, making it worse by caging you under his bow. Sukuna grinds his hips, which evoke sharp cries, “Hmmm, fuck, so tight…”

The salmon-haired behemoth rocks his enormous hips, the propulsion strong enough to rock you and Gojo concurrently. This time, unlike the northern man under you, Sukuna’s movements exude dominance; from his firm grip on your waist to the confident pull of his hips, everything he does is marked with a purpose. You can tell by how his big, weighty balls smack on your sexed union with Gojo.

Speaking of whom, the polar royal subsists in the kiss with Sukuna’s hand. Yet as the seconds turn to a minute, his expression morphs into a less perturbed display. Instead of fighting it, he kisses back with the palm and bucks his hips into you. The action of his cock rubbing on the sweet spots of your vagina while the one carves and churns your butthole and the other glides on your crack grinds your brain to turn into mush. Your nerves have yet to calm down from the prior orgasm, senses overloaded with constant commotion going on in your private parts.

Sukuna’s pushes become quicker and mightier, and the more he ruts, the more your clit grinds onto Gojo’s pelvis, sending shocks straight to your head. There’s no room for rest…! “—Ohhh, hooooh’Kunaaa, Kunaa, pleaseee…!”

“‘Please, please,’ please what?” He mocks you, knowing you’re powerless to reprimand him in this predicament. “Just whining and whining like a bitch in heat; have you no shame, princess?”

“Ohhh, I’m gonna—shtoooop!!” He licks your ear as you moan aloud, steamy tears striking down your hot cheeks. The pace increases, and so does the swipe of your clit and the bump of your womb. “Ohhhfuck, fuck, fuckfuuuuck…!!”

“Kehaha, look at you; the poor princess finally breaks their poised picture,” dark, pleased chuckles seep out of the demon king’s lips, biting onto your shoulder harshly to make you scream. And judging by him licking your added wound, you’re sure he drew blood.

“Ahhsshh—ohmyGod, ohmyGod!! S’kuna, don’t!!” Desperate pleads slur out. “I’m gonna break; y’re gonna break meee…!!!”

“Good, I want you to be broken,” he sneers as his upper right arm pushes you to face him. “Break for me; think of nothing else other than being mine. Right now, your mind, body, and soul are mine to torment and tear apart. You are my little dove, small and easy to break from now till your dying breath. Am I clear, pet?”

Scared? Of course. The way his scarlet orbs bore holes into your very being had you petrified; he doesn’t need his hellish aura and brawny hands that can snap a tree in half to assimilate fear into your heart. Witnessing the true power of the King of Demons with just his stare, nothing scarier than that…And yet, your anus and chasm can’t stop squeezing like crazy.

“…Yess, my Lord,” you croak, his finger wiping the saliva on his fingertip. “I am your pet from this—nnmm!!—this moment until the…very last.”

Anxiety doesn’t diminish when he broadens a devilish smile, but it transforms into perplexity once he slams his lips onto yours—your first kiss, taken by the eastern King, along with the chastity of your rear hole. And there’s Gojo, who is the very man who has taken claim of your virginity. Two men, your childhood companions, taking your firsts! Tonight, indeed, is marked down as an eventful occasion for you.

You sink into the passionate kiss, your tiny tongue swirling around with Sukuna’s, his fangs grazing the muscle teasingly before he nibbles on it to hear you shrill for him. All the while, his hips go erratic, motivating Gojo to increase his tempo. The feverish rhythm leaves you breathless, crying in the company of lust and rapture to the point that you’ve become numb. Your vision becomes blurry, your head foggy, and the air between you three misty. Noises of skin smacking onto each is all you hear, drowning you further into another spazz you couldn’t adequately foretell.

Gojo and Sukuna chase their climaxes together after your walls quirk and spasm uncontrollably, letting their fluids burst inside to fill your holes to the very brim. You howl in Sukuna’s mouth, who chews on your bottom lip roughly, same with Gojo’s with the palm before snatching his hand away. The snowy-headed man huffs and pants, nearly choking on spit as his midsection flexes with every jerk of his ejaculation. And the giant above you groans while rutting into your ass, not stopping until his high passes through, the free girth ejecting semen to paint across your sweaty back.

For a few seconds, it’s utterly hot and cold at the same time, your figure trembling with the acute shocks coursing through your bones. Eyes roll to the roof of your canopy, and limbs wobble and give way for you to slump after Sukuna releases you from his breathtaking kiss. Luckily, Gojo is there to catch you, the comely noble attending to you with kisses to your temple.

“Look what you did,” he spits to his left, wanting to rid his mouth of whatever remnants Sukuna left with that disgusting kiss. “You weren’t kiddin’ when you said you wanted to break them.”

“Hmph, don’t ever take me for a liar,” the demonic man stretches after withdrawing his length out of your butt, chortling at the sight of his essence sticking to you. “Oi, dove, you hear me?”

“Princess, you all right…?”

Whatever words the two were saying to you had begun to fade away despite their proximity. Your eyelids refuse to fight the urge to close, and your skin allows the cold breeze to blanket you. Everything goes black, your breathing returns to balance, and the sound of the fire cracking comes back to sing you to sleep.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“My Lady, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“Huh?” You snap out of being zoned out for the sixth time today. Your vision is now present with the gazebo view, the ocean glistening from the morning sun in the distance, contrasting with the beautiful greenery of your garden. Many flowers of different shapes and sizes, various colors painted on top of the veins and roots separated from the yellow brick road coursing around it.

You sit at the gazebo for your morning tea; it’s part of your morning routine after a nice bath and Utahime helping you pick what to wear for the day. Usually, when you sit here, you admire the tranquil sounds of the outside space and the sweet taste of your hot beverage.

“—Mmmm! Yeah, just like that, princess, keep gripping on me like that…”

“Stay still, or I can make it hurt real bad…Hmmm, fuck, so tight…”

Memories from last night flash one after the other, ringing your ears with nothing but the erotic noises and voices from the night before. Your cheeks dial in warmth, recollecting the senses of having both men — your childhood friends — so intimately close to you. The hotness of their breath touching your skin, the wet, teasing licks of the tongue from Sukuna’s stomach, Gojo’s slender fingers swiping and pinching your clitoris as he sucks on your nipple, and Sukuna using one of his arms to restrain your hands behind your back as he uses two others to keep your hips still to hammer your holes with his girth.

“Princess…” the way Gojo says your name, your stomach flips to the smooth tone of his voice. His striking blue eyes survey your expression like you’re his lost treasure. His hard body meshing together with your sweaty, soft figure is a sensation you’ll probably never forget…

“Princess…” Sukuna, with his red eyes and demonic face structure, put you in a paralysis spell, and his intimidating aura suffocates you to submit to his gaze and hold. Under his bow, you felt as though you were nothing but his and his alone. And you can’t tell if that is scary or intriguing…

“…—dy Lady….MY LADY!!”

“Y–Yes!?” Your attention swerves to reality, Utahime’s face mere inches from yours. Her brown eyes filled with worrisome confusion, scanning your expression.

“What on Tengen’s Earth is going on with you?” She says with a sigh, “Are you sick? Did you not get enough rest last night? Tsk, it must’ve been Lord Sukuna and that blue-eyed jerk. My apologies, my Lady. I hope their intrusion didn’t keep you awake for too long.”

You shake your head to your best friend. “No need to apologize, Utahime. And it’s all right; the Lords didn’t give me too much trouble.”

She gives a nod to your response, observing you picking up your teacup and taking a sip before setting it back down gently. “Still, I find it odd that both lords wished to see you so late at night. At the same time, too…If you don’t mind me asking, my Lady, what did they wish to speak with you?”

Again, she is your best friend, so you can trust her with the information you’re about to give. “…Apparently, both Lord Sukuna and Lord Gojo wish to have my hand in marriage—“

“MARRIAGE!!??”

“Shhhh!!” With haste, you stand from the table to cover your lady-in-waiting’s mouth from uttering another word. You swiftly survey the entire garden to see if anyone from the castle heard the shout. Luckily, it was just the two of you. “Please, Utahime, not so loud.”

The woman with her mouth covered blinks once, twice, before giving an assured mod for you to release her lips. She now speaks in whispers with you, “My apologies. But…marriage??”

“I know, it surprised me, too. It seems my father gave them his blessings to ask for my hand. It could be for the sake of our families and relations or to strengthen the bond of our empires to maintain the powerhouse that is our continent.”

“Mmm, those are valid reasons to consider, especially after the Great War, and that the bond of the three empires would give a good message…Or perhaps, did the Lords wish to wed you for more personal reasons?”

They did. That’s what you wanted to say. But instead, all you could do was think about their proposals from last night. The way they both stood on one knee and took two hands. Gojo’s eyes never looked so sincere and soft when looking at you, placing his soft lips on your left ring finger to gently kiss it. He looked like his princely self. But that night, he showed the caring and soothing cadence you had fallen in love with all these years. And Sukuna, oh Lord. Never did you think you’d live to witness the day this giant being before you took a knee for anyone – especially for you. Your right hand easily dwarfed in his grasp, brought to his lips that you’d only ever dream to have touch you. And those piercing eyes of his, red like blood, examining every single feature of yours as if you were the thing that made him strong yet weak. It was subtle, something only meant for your eyes to see. But most of all, it was genuine.

“…That might be it, as well.” You mutter under your breath, your cheeks becoming warm while reminiscing the scenes to yourself.

However, your chambermaiden was no fool at all. She could tell from your wandering gaze that something, in fact, did happen between the three royals that night. She lifted a brow at your response, “I think that is the case, seeing as though you’re trying to hide the smile from me.”

You squeak, immediately facing in her direction, seeing the foxy grin on her beautiful, scarred face. “I’m smiling?”

“Aha!” Oh no, I fell for it. “Gotcha! Oh my, it seems my Lady is having troubles with the heart. Could it be you are considering the marriage proposals?”

“W–Well…I don’t know myself,” it was an honest answer; you didn’t know the answer yourself. “The matter caught me off guard; I wasn’t expecting either of them to come to my quarters, let alone propose to me on the night of their arrival—“

“That’s not my question, my princess.” You gulp when she cuts you off, Utahime narrowing her feline eyes as she speaks. “It made you incredibly nervous that the three of you would be here at the same place, thinking those two would go at each other’s throats. Now, two Lords still stand, asking for you to be by their side, and you can barely keep a straight face. If you ask for my piece, I’m relieved they came here with the thoughts of marriage rather than spark up talk of another war in this continent.”

You hum along to your maiden's words, taking in her reasoning. Yet she continues, “And judging by how fidgety you appear to be on this fine morning, something tells me you’re on the fence of accepting. Who will take my Lady’s hand? Lord Ryomen? Gojo? Ugh. If it’s the latter, I’ll only deal with him for your happiness. And Lord Ryomen, oh my. Being the spouse to the most powerful beast of Holy Tengen's continent , it’s something out of a fairy—“

“Utahime, calm down!” You stop the lady from her excitement bubbling into something substantial. You can tell she’s itching to plan your wedding – whenever that be – once your tea time is finished. “I…I didn’t accept their proposals, not yet.”

The dark-haired woman drops her jaw; how unfortunate it is for you to lie to your best friend. “What do you mean!? You didn’t? Then how come you three were discussing for such a long time? I saw Lord Gojo return to his quarters in the middle of the night, and I figured it was because you all had an in-depth discussion.” You open your mouth, but your words are caught on the back of your tongue. You couldn’t formulate a proper excuse or lie in time. Because of that hesitation, Utahime’s brows draw upward with wide eyes, her mouth changing into a small “o” shape. It was at that moment that you realized you dug yourself a grave.

“Princess,” her voice was still hushed, speaking slowly as if not to jump so hard to her assumptions. “…What exactly were you doing with Lord Satoru and Ryomen?”

“PRINCESS! PRINCESS!!”

Saved by another voice entering the fray, you and your lady-in-waiting turn around to see another person coming to the garden, running down the brick road to your destination. As they came closer, you could tell from the bright blue hair and uneven bangs that it was Utahime’s apprentice, the lower-status handmaiden Kasumi Miwa. Your lady-in-waiting was the first to correct her before getting closer, “Maiden Miwa! I’ve told you about running so freely around the castle. What if you were to bump into someone?” When Miwa is in the presence of the two of you, she’s huffing and puffing. “And stand up straight!”

“Eek! Sorry, Lady Iori, but I come bearing news for the princess!” Miwa fixes her posture and messy blue hair while trying to situate her breaths steadily. “Princess, I’m here to tell you that Lords Sukuna Ryomen and Satoru Gojo wish to speak with you!”

Huh??!! “Pardon??”

“Yes, they wish to discuss their proposals with you from last night. At least, that’s what they told me…Oh, there they are!”

“Miwa, shhhh, don’t point!”

You pay no mind to your chambermaid lecturing her young student because your eyes follow the brick pathway up to the castle steps where two figures stand. Sukuna and Gojo stand at the entranceway to the garden, both wearing their respective clothing. Not that it matters, though, because the memories from last night with your nude bodies being connected still haunt your senses. And now they’re here, big grins on their faces that share the same reason. They know, and they know that you know. Who knew that such a night full of unexpected passion and heat would happen to you and with your closest friends since your little years, who have grown to become such strong, handsome, and powerful men.

Perhaps this was the union you’ve wished for — the union that could finally bring you three back together…Perhaps.

“…Tell them that I’m available to speak.”

4K notes · View notes

keeryhours · 22 days ago

Text

an heir for an emperor - emperor geta

Emperor Geta x Empress! female! reader

Masterlist

Summary:

The Emperor wants an heir.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), major breeding kink, porn no plot

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N:

This is inspired by a character letter I got that I can’t stop thinking about. If this is historically incorrect I’m so sorry, I’m just horny as hell for this man.

—

It had been three blissful months of marriage with Geta.

The ruthless emperor was something different when he was alone with you. A side of him no one else was privileged to see. He was soft, affectionate, eyes only for you.

He knew you didn’t care for the bloodshed of the games, but he loved having you accompany him all the same. He would distract you when things got to be too much, holding your hand and even turning his attention away from the spectacle to comfort you if you needed it.

He couldn’t show his soft side in public often, but his love and adoration for you was obvious.

You enjoyed the finer things in life. You loved to attend the theatre, the plays and displays of beautiful music. Music was your favorite thing, and you loved to sing. Your singing voice was of the angels, as Geta would say, and oh how he loved to make you sing.

One thing both you and Geta were looking forward to was producing an heir. You had always wanted a family. You had felt the call of motherhood since you were a child, dreaming of the day you would marry and bear children. You hadn’t even fathomed of being an Empress, however.

You came from a rich family, and always knew you would marry highly, but Geta had been unexpected. The second he laid eyes on you, he knew you were to be his. You had no choice in the matter, but you would have chosen him a million times over anyway.

He had planned a romantic weekend getaway for the two of you alone, in one of his villas outside of the city. Leaving Rome in the hands of his brother and the Senate wasn’t ideal, but he wanted the chance to spend time with his beloved without interruption.

“You look divine, Carissima,” Geta remarked in adoration, his hands roaming the fabric of your tunic, gaze hungry. He pulled the fabric higher, lifting it up and over your body. “You will provide me with the most perfect heir.”

Naked before him, your nipples peaked among the cool air on your body, Geta dipping his head to take one of your nipples in his mouth. He sucked on it, tongue running over the sensitive bud. You moaned, hand resting on the back of his head. He moved to the other, giving it equal attention.

He lay you gently down on the bed, before removing his own clothing and moving over top of you. His crown still sat atop his ginger locks, and he looked as regal as ever, bared to you and cock achingly hard, all for you.

“I never imagined I would have such a luminous beauty as my wife,” he hummed, lips trailing along the skin of your neck. “Never could I have imagined a beauty like yours existed. You are sent from the gods themselves.”

“As are you, my beloved,” you said, eyes falling closed at the feeling of your husband’s lips upon your body. “You are more than I ever could have hoped for.”

Geta smiled tenderly, before pressing his lips to yours. You kissed him back eagerly, hands sliding around his shoulders. His skin was warm beneath your palms, your innocent touch making him impossibly harder against your thigh. His tongue slid across your bottom lip, and you let him inside, tongues dancing together.

He rested his weight on one arm while the other roamed the soft skin of your side, making you shiver beneath his touch. “Magnificent,” he remarked purely to himself. “Beautiful.”

He pulled away from you, sitting on his knees as he spread your legs for his view. You took in the visage of your Emperor before you, looking regal as ever as he gazed down at your core like it was his next meal.

“Just a taste, Carissima, before I fill you,” he said, moving down between your legs. You gasped as you felt his tongue against your pussy, licking up to your clit, where he sucked gently, causing your back to arch off the bed.

“Geta-!”

He hummed in appreciation, a smirk felt against you as he continued to devour you, lapping up all your slick like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. You moaned loudly - no one would be able to hear you here, you were in Geta’s private villa far from the bustle of the city. It was the most uninhibited you had felt as you let the proof of how good your Emperor made you feel fill the air.

“That’s it, my love, sing for me,” Geta praised you, before dipping his tongue into your hole, driving you mad. You grabbed onto his hair as you felt your orgasm approaching, needing to hold onto something. Geta chuckled lowly as he grabbed onto your thighs, keeping your legs spread wide for him.

“I’m…I’m…”

“I know, darling, let go for me,” He said, moving back up to pay special attention to your clit once more. The harsh suck he left on the sensitive bud sent you over the edge, and you were cumming hard, grinding against his face as he moaned and eagerly licked up all you gave him.

When he rose from between your legs, his mouth and chin glistened with your wetness. He looked absolutely sinful. He wrapped his hand around his cock, rings glittering on his fingers. He pumped himself a few times as he looked down at your already-wrecked body.

“I’m going to fill you with my seed so deeply, my love. Over and over again until it takes, until I get to see your belly round and full with my heir.”

You wanted that more than anything, the idea making your heart race in your chest. You felt his tip prodding at your entrance, and he leaned over your body again as he pushed inside.

It had only been three months, so you were still getting used to the intrusion of him when you’d lay together like this. You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers digging into the strong muscle of his biceps.

“You can take it, my love. So good for me - gods, so tight and hot.” He began a slow pace, mindful of letting you adjust to the size of him. He groaned beautifully as he began thrusting into you, and you were struck with how lucky you were to see your Emperor like this, so open and vulnerable, face contorted in pleasure because of you.

“Are you ready for me to move faster?” he asked, voice strained from holding back his true desire. The Emperor pleaded with no one, but his eyes told a different story.

“Yes, please,” you breathed, now that the pain has faded you wanted, needed more. “Please, Geta, need you to fill me.”

Geta groaned loudly, hips stuttering against you as he picked up his pace. He was truly fucking you now, left hand gripping your hip to hold you where he wanted you as he pounded into you. “I will do just that, Carissima, fill you so deeply with my heir. I wish to see you, glowing and beautiful with child. I will hold games in your honor.”

He pressed his lips to yours once again, kissing you deeply, showing you just how much he loved you with his body. Between the feeling of his glorious cock pressing deeply inside of you, pressing against that perfect spot he reached every time.

“You are magnificent,” he moaned, regal head thrown back on his shoulders, muscles clenching as he fought off his release. “Divine. Miraculous. All mine.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head as you writhed beneath his movements, and he moved his free hand to caress the side of your face. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, my Emperor,” you said, returning all the affection in his gaze.

“Need to feel you cum for me, my love,” he said, hips picking up speed as his own release approached rapidly. He moved to grip your thigh around his waist, moving into you at a new angle that had you seeing stars.

You cried out as your second orgasm hit, and Geta smiled cockily, knowing he was the only one who could bring you such pleasure, the only one privileged to see you like this, falling apart on his cock for him.

“Oh gods, Geta, yes-!”

“That’s it, my love, let me hear you,” Geta rasped out, his own release hitting him seconds later. “Take me, my beloved, take all of my seed! Gods yes, let me fill you, take it all,” he rambled on as he shot ropes of his hot cum deep inside you, pushing in as deep as possible to not waste a drop.

He stayed buried inside you as you both caught your breath. His strong chest was heaving with his heavy breaths, and he tenderly combed his fingers through your hair, looking at you with such love it made your heart stutter in your chest.

When he pulled out, he looked between your legs, gathering up his release that had spilled out of you with his fingers and pressing it back inside. “Cannot afford to waste a drop, Carissima,” he told you with a smile.

You giggled, totally blissed out from the pleasure he had just provided you. He lay his naked body on the bed next to you, resting his hand on your stomach.

“I truly cannot wait to see you carrying my heir,” he mused quietly, fingers rubbing circles into the skin of your abdomen, as if he were picturing it. “Our child.”

“Neither can I,” you told him, a blissful smile on your face.

“I would do this over and over again, as many times as it takes.”

You laughed, snuggling against the side of your Emperor. “I know you would.” You hummed, fingers trailing over the taut skin of his muscular chest. “I love you.”

“And I you, my beloved.”

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rowdyluv · 2 months ago

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WHAT’S MINE IS MINE jh⁸⁶

disclaimer: you are responsible for your own interactions with posts on the internet. the text of this post is not intended for anyone under the age of 18. if you are a minor and choose to ignore the disclaimer, other warnings, and continue to read you, yourself, are at fault.

summary: in which y/n has wondering eyes while in a relationship with jack, jack gets fed up and reminds her who she’s with.

word count: 3.08k

warnings: porn with a lot of plot, protected p in v, degradation, praise if you squint, sad jack if you squint, spit kink, nicknames (baby, babygirl, etc) to cover: downright filth

notes: hi there request finished for @sweetestdesire after rewriting five times? i think? her and basically wrote it together in our texts so I scratched that one and we ended up here 🥲

The fire crackled and spit, throwing shadows across the faces of the small group huddled around the makeshift pit. The scent of roasting marshmallows filled the night air, mingling with the faint whispers of the surrounding forest. Y/n, caught in the warm embrace of Jack, leaned back into his broad chest, her heart racing in a way it hadn't in months.

The friends surrounding them were all familiar faces, all people she was comfortable with. There’s one. Just one she was particularly a little too comfortable with.

At least in her desire for him. Which she knew was wrong. She knew she shouldn’t have some silly crush on her long term boyfriend’s best friend. But she did.

Trevor.

Tonight, Trevor sat across from her and Jack, the flickering firelight playing across his jawline and the sharp lines of his cheekbones. His eyes met hers every so often, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down her spine. Y/n felt Jack's arms tighten around her waist as if he could sense her wandering thoughts about Trevor, and she forced a smile engaging in a conversation with someone on the opposite side of his direction, pretending she hadn't noticed the way Trevor's eyes lingered on her.

Jack’s body tensed. He was looking at his supposed best friend, watching him practically eye fuck his girlfriend right in front of him. He’d had enough of this shit. This summer was supposed to be a time for all of them to kick back, relax, and enjoy the lake house. But every time Trevor was around, Jack felt like he was fighting for Y/n’s attention.

The one person he shouldn’t have to fight for.

The tension grew thicker than the smoke rising from the pit, and the conversation around them grew quieter between some of the non-regular Hughes guests. Y/n felt it too, her heart fluttering as she tried to ignore the dance of the shadows on Trevor’s face. The way his teeth glinted as he took a sip of his beer. The way the flames reflected in his eyes, making them look like molten gold. How his eyes squinted when he laughed at a “joke” Quinn told, that wasn’t really a joke, so the rest of us would laugh at Trevor for laughing so hard.

Jack's grip grew firmer over time, his thumb idly stroking her side. It was a gentle touch, but one that sent a possessive message that wasn’t lost on her. She took a deep breath and turned her gaze back to the fire, focusing on the hypnotic dance of the flames. She knew Jack was watching her, waiting for her to acknowledge the tension. But she couldn’t. It would only make things awkward the next three months.

Her eyes flicked back over once more, shocked to see Trevor’s eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed. Jack’s hand slid to her thigh and gripped slightly. Just enough to make her jump.

“Up. Let’s go.” he murmured in her ear, his voice a dark rumble that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Wha— What?” Y/n stumbled over her words, standing up as Jack started standing before she was ready.

“You heard me. Let’s. Go.” He repeated through gritted teeth and grabbing ahold of her hand. “G’night everyone.” He muttered before pulling her inside.

Once they were out of earshot and inside the dimly lit cabin, Jack pushed her up against the first blank wall he could find. The suddenness of his movement made her gasp, but she didn’t resist.

“Did you just forget that I existed out there? I’d say not fucking likely since you were on my lap.” He huffed. “What the fuck was that huh?”

He didn’t give her time to answer before taking ahold of her hand again and continuing on to their bedroom.

Y/n's breathing grew heavier with each step, her heart racing as Jack's hand remained a firm presence around her wrist, almost as if he was afraid she'd bolt. The room was dark when they entered, the only light coming from the crack under the door from the hallway, but it was enough to illuminate the anger on Jack’s face. He pushed her down onto the bed, his eyes blazing with a mix of jealousy and desire.

"What is it about him?" Jack’s voice was low and gruff, so different from his casual softness that always fills the air around him. Y/n felt the heat rise in her cheeks, her body betraying her with the way it flushed in desire.

"I... I don't know," she stumbled over her words, trying to pull her hand away. But Jack's grip was like iron, unyielding as he leaned into her. She could feel the heat of his breath on her face, the scent of his minty gum and the woodsmoke clinging to him. "He just... I don't know, babe."

Jack's eyes searched hers, his jaw clenched tightly. "Is it because you think he can give you something I can't?" His voice was a dangerously low whisper, the kind that promised both passion and pain if she didn't give him the answer he wanted.

Y/n felt her stomach tighten at the accusation, but she couldn't deny that the thought hadn't crossed her mind. Trevor was... well different. There was something about his filthy stories that made her curious, lustful. Something raw and primal. But she didn't dare voice it. Instead, she tried to play it cool, her voice a shaky whisper. "It's not like that, Jack."

“Bullshit. I bet if I touched you right now you’d be dripping.” Jack dropped his hold on her wrists and moved to her thighs. “Would I win that bet?”

Y/n swallowed hard, trying to keep her cool. But the way his eyes bore into her, the way his hands ghosted over her skin, it was hard to resist the heat that was already building in her core. He was going to prove to her that she didn’t need Trevor. That she only needed him.

"Jack, it's... it's all for you always for you," she blurted out, her voice trembling. "I swear, it's just... I don't know, curiosity."

He stepped away from her. “Curious? You’re curious about if he can fuck you better than me?” There’s a hint of playfulness in his tone.

“Oh sweet, sweet pathetic baby girl, there’s no one else that will ever be able to make you cum like I can. Especially not Trevor Zegras” He took a hold of her by the side of the neck, the tips of his calloused fingers gripping the back.

“Do you understand that, or do I need to fuck your tight little cunt to remind you?” Jack says confidently, pushing her back against the bed and kneeling over her.

Y/n bit her lip, the heat of embarrassment and arousal mixing in her cheeks. She couldn’t resist the urge to look back up at him, his eyes gleaming with a mix of challenge and desire.

Jack smirks and without saying another word, he tugged at the waistband of her shorts, pulling them down in one swift motion along with her underwear, leaving her bare and exposed. A cool breeze kissed her skin, making her shiver. He spread her legs wide, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of her.

He placed a single finger at the apex of her thighs and dragged it along her slit, parting her folds. Y/n's breath hitched as the sensation sent a jolt through her body. The warmth from his touch was a shock compared to the chilly air of the cabin, causing her to jolt her body up to meet his hand.

Jack's smirk grew into a full smile at her reaction. He knew she was sensitive there. He knew how she liked it. "Mhmm, looks like I won that bet," he said, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction. He pushed a finger inside of her, a silent burning challenge in his eyes as he waited for her to react.

“So wet, just like the little slut that you are.”

He quickly added two more fingers, and they delved inside her, working deeper into her each pump in, his digits coated with her slick arousal. His other hand worked in tandem with his fingers, his knuckles grazed her clit with every stroke. Y/n’s eyes rolled back in her head, a soft moan escaping her lips followed by whimpers.

She couldn’t believe she was letting him do this out of sheer jealousy, but the way he touched her, the way he claimed her, it was all of the intense emotions she’d been wanting from Trevor. All of the stories she’d heard them share where he was such an intense partner in bed, she wanted that, craved it truthfully.

Yet her body responded to her boyfriend with such an urgency that surprised even her. Her hips bucked, pushing her closer to the edge of ecstasy. His fingers were relentless, a constant rhythm that seemed to sync with the beat of the music now playing in the distance outside. The all familiar warmth spread through her, her pussy clenching around him as she grew closer to her orgasm with every second that passed.

“Jack.” His name left her lips in the softest breathless whisper one could ever share. “More please.”

Jack leaned in closer, with a menacing chuckle as he studied her already fucked out features.

“You’re such a needy whore, aren’t you?” He murmured against her ear, his teeth nipping at her lobe. He watched her face contort with pleasure, her eyes roll back slightly, and before her back could arch he removed his fingers abruptly.

“Not so fast.” He tsked. His slick coated fingers grazed her bottom lip, which she took in her mouth without hesitation. “You’ll cum when I cum. If I decide we’re going that far.”

Y/n whimpered, unable to form coherent words as she nodded frantically. She could feel her wetness seeping from between her thighs and onto the bed beneath her, she was aching, begging for more of his rough touch.

“Jack.” His name drawn out the only thing she could manage to string together.

Jack chuckled darkly.

He grabbed her hips and yanked her to the edge of the bed. His mouth claimed hers in a bruising kiss, his tongue invading her mouth. His hands were everywhere, running up her thighs, grabbing her ass, moving to cradle her head. His hands moved down her arms, rough palms grazing her skin, sending goosebumps in their wake, until he reached the hem of her shirt.

“Take it off.” He demands of her, and with a swift upward motion, y/n lifted it over her head. She had made the decision to go braless a simple tease to both boys, yet a fact she hadn’t even noticed herself in the heat of the moment.

But now, her nipples were peaked and begging for attention, standing tall against her pale skin.

“You wanted him to look at you. You wanted him to think about what these,” Jack pinched her nipples at the same time “felt like in his mouth, how you reacted when they were played with. Didn’t you?” He accused her. She avoided looking up at him, until he grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him.

“I asked you a fucking question.”

“I did it for both of you. I wanted you both to look at me.”

Jack shook his head in disbelief, his eyes smoldering with a new intensity.

“Listen to me y/n. Trevor,” he growled, his voice low and dominant. “Is not your boyfriend, he’s not to look at you the way I do. He’s not the one who is supposed to lean into you when you talk, throw his head back laughing at your silly jokes.” There was a small growl in his words. “Most of all he shouldn’t be looking at your tits like I get to.”

Y/n nods and her eyes fall from holding eye contact with him.

“Because you’re mine. All fucking mine.” He huffs before spitting on one nipple and gliding his fingers across it while pinching the other, earning him a delighted gasp and her eyes jerking back up.

"Is that what you want me to do?" He asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You want me to spit on you, claiming you this way?"

Y/n's cheeks burned with a mix of shame and arousal, the words hitting her like a slap across the face. She nodded, unable to speak, her heart racing as Jack leaned closer to her body and spat in the middle of her chest, the saliva landing on her cleavage, his finger spreading it down her stomach, and teasingly slipping down and over her clit.

His hot breath ghosted against her ear as he whispered, “If you’re good and do as I say the rest of the time, I may just reward you and spit in your mouth like I know you’re really wanting.”

They shared a heated kiss, his hands on her chest working their way down to her thighs spreading them wide. “Bend your knees and put your feet on the edge of the bed.” His tone back to demanding.

Jack's hand smacked down onto her pussy, his fingers plunging back into her without warning for a teasing few thrusts. His thumb and forefinger pinched her clit roughly, then rubbing it in a way that made her back arch off the bed. The sting of his touch mixed with the pleasure, a delicious cocktail that made her head spin.

After snagging a condom from the drawer and rolling it on, he spat once more aiming for and perfectly hitting her clit. Taking his painfully hard cock he rubbed the spit across her pussy.

“Jack. Please just,” Y/n whimpered.

He kept teasing her. Sliding the head of cock just barely in and right back out, the back up over her clit.

“Are you sure you deserve it,?” He teased.

She eagerly nodded and at that he thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt in one swift movement.

She cried out his name, her nails digging into the bed sheets as he filled her completely. He didn't pause, didn't give her time to adjust. He just started moving, his hips pistoning into her with a brutal rhythm that had her seeing stars. Each thrust was punctuated with a grunt, his breath hot on her neck as he claimed her over and over again.

Y/n's body was on fire, each stroke of his cock sending waves of pleasure crashing over her. She could feel herself getting wetter, her walls tightening around him as she neared climax. Jack's hands roamed over her body, his rough calloused touch a drastic difference to the smoothness of her skin. He pinched her nipples, rolled them between his thumb and forefinger, drawing out her moans.

He knew her body like he knew hockey, knew every button to push, every spot that made her whimper and writhe with pleasure.

The room was filled with the maxed out sound of their heavy breathing and the slap of skin on skin. The headboard banging against the wall was a steady metronome to their passionate symphony.

Y/n's eyes rolled back in her head as Jack's thumb found her clit again, rubbing it in tight, fast circles that had her teetering on the edge of release. She could feel the tension coiling in her stomach, the heat building between her legs.

"Jack," she screeched. "I'm going to come."

He smirked, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Come for me, baby. Show me how much you're mine."

The words pushed her over the edge, and she shattered around him, her orgasm ripping through her like a tornado. She clung to him, her nails leaving half-moons in his back as she rode the waves of pleasure. He didn't slow, didn't stop, his rhythm relentless as he pushed her through the aftershocks of her climax.

Her legs were trembling when he finally pulled out, his cock slick with their combined juices. He flipped her onto her stomach, his hand pressing into her back as he re-entered her from behind. The angle was deeper, more intense, and she moaned into the pillow, her body still sensitive from the first orgasm. He meant what he said earlier, she would cum, when he came and he was keeping that word.

Jack sat them up, still fucking her from behind, hitting all new areas, and all new angles. An entirely new position for them.

“Baby, I’m so.” She couldn’t finish her sentence as her body shuttered.

“Let go, pretty girl.” His voice was at its most normal all night at that moment. His resolve breaking.

As she came again, her pussy spasming around him, had Jack letting out a something like a roar. He pulled out, his cock pulsing with his own release into the condom. He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back giving him access to suck on her collarbone, marking her, not caring who will see for the days to come. The act was a reminder of his earlier promise, he grabbed her by the hips, flipping her over so he could see her face.

“Open baby girl. You were so good for me.” He said tapping her lower lip and leaned over, spit pooling in his mouth, and without a moment of hesitation, he leaned in and spit into her mouth. She swallowed, her eyes locked on his watching, waiting.

He kissed her hard then, his tongue pushing into her mouth, tasting himself on her. It was a claiming, it was desperate and a branding of her as his own. And as he pulled away, the hard tough man look from before was gone. It was replaced with a look of insecurity and worry.

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to get you a towel and start you a bath.” His voice soft as if he was concerned now that someone may hear him.

He grabbed his underwear and was pulling them on when Y/n reached for him.

“Jack, I think you should say what’s on your mind.” Her voice just as soft as his seconds ago.

Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands that he was fidgeting with.

"Please… Please tell me that you're only mine. Just mine," he pleaded his back to her, his voice thick with need. If his words had been drawn out heartache would be circling every letter of every word.

"Of course I am," she whimpered, her voice muffled by the lump in her throat. "Always yours, only yours.”

Jack turned and looked at her, “Always?”

“Always.”

#cay writes #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x you #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes angst #18+ mdni #mdni #hockey smut #nhl smut #hockey fic #nj devils smut

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spatialwave · 8 months ago

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“𝓼𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓪 𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓼𝓮, 𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓪 𝓬𝓸𝔀𝓫𝓸𝔂”

pairing: pre-war cooper howard x fem!reader word count: 938 summary: you’re cooper’s favourite cowgirl. warnings: mdni! smut, porn w plot, affair/cheating, riding, cooper loves the view ;) notes: two posts within 12 hours?? i am addicted 🫣

you’d met cooper on a film set working as a seamstress, your skilled hands sewing and tailoring the clothing he wore on the big screen. the two of you grew close as the weeks and months passed by, especially when his career took a turn for the worst when he started filming advertisements for vault-tec. it was unfortunate to watch him as his energy depleted, each day looking worse for wear as his passion vanished.

gossip spread like wildfire, and you’d learned from a few girls in the makeup pertinent about his life at home and how he and his wife were going through a tough spot—a divorce. you couldn’t imagine the heartbreak.

you were careful to bring up barb in conversation, the pain in his eyes taking forefront anytime her name was mentioned, but acting like it was no issue.

you were there for him as much as you could be, taking him for a hot cup of coffee once in a while in an attempt to bring some cheer into his life. to be a friend of cooper howard was a title you held near and dear to your heart, you hadn’t expected for it to get any farther than it did.

it all started one night when you two met for drinks—gin, whiskey, martinis and everything in between. it only took three drinks for cooper to spill his guts about barb. how she wasn’t who he thought she was, and that it was destroying their family.

he didn’t go into the gritty details, but you believed him and you were there for him. what was only a polite, reassuring touch on his shoulder had ignited a flame in both of you, eyes connecting when you shared the same thought.

an hour later you found yourself on your bed, with cooper’s tongue pressed against your wet arousal and your fingers tugging on his dark, greying hair. it became a regular occurrence, but you kept telling yourself that this was okay. it was okay because he was going through a divorce.

even if they were technically still married… even if he was still living at home with barb and his daughter, still wearing his wedding ring. this was okay.

right?

“oh my god—“ you cried out, your legs spread open as your lover fucked you with his face buried into your neck. he peppered you with hundreds of kisses, biting and leaving the faintest of marks along your soft skin, “don’t stop, coop, fuck me,” you whined into his ear, your eyes closed while your fingernails scratched down his back.

he moaned against your skin as his cock stretched you with each forward snap of his hips. he was tired, sweat beading on his forehead—he didn’t have the endurance like he used to, but he had an easy fix.

cooper pushed himself back until he was settled on his knees, pulling out of you as his thick cock sprung up and gave you quite the view. you let out a whiny, pitiful sound at the emptiness as you clenched around nothing like a needy young thing. the older man could stay like this forever, happily watching his lover begging and pleading to be fucked by him until you were filled up with his cum—a sight for sore eyes.

just before you could protest his actions and ask him to keep fucking you dumb, he wrapped an arm under your waist and moved to rest on his back with you straddling him. your knees dug into the plush comforter, palms flattening onto cooper’s bare chest.

your voice cracked as you shuddered out a moan, the overbearing fullness of his cock pushing deep inside your slick cunt. his calloused hands were tight on your hips as he guided your movements, wanting to see you fuck yourself on him.

“look at me,” cooper drawled, that disgustingly beautiful smirk on his lips, “what a pretty cowgirl. you look so good ridin’ me like that,” he murmured, thumb now circling over your clit as you started grinding your hips against his to get the friction you craved.

obediently, you forced your eyes open to look into cooper’s hazel orbs and lifted your hands away from his chest to settle on weight on his hips. you gave him the perfect view, able to watch as you rolled your hips forward and seeing how your perky tits bounced. his eyes glazed over as his mouth opened, a heady moan falling from his lips as you rode him with the practiced movements you’d learned from the handfuls of nights shared together.

“am i your favourite cowgirl?” you asked, pouting your lips and moaning while his thumb rubbed slow, calculated movements along your clit. you both had slowed your movements, taking in the raw intimacy and pleasure you shared. savouring every last bit of it because neither of you ever wanted it to end.

“don’t be coy with me, baby,” he answered quietly, reaching his free hand to touch your breast, giving a firm squeeze, then rolling your nipple between his fingers, “you know the answer.”

mewling, you closed your eyes tight when he pinched your puffy, hard nipple and a sharp pain shot through your nerves before settling into a sick, twisted feeling of pleasure.

“keep, ridin’,” he whispered, voice raspy, “c’mon, doll, i know you want to cum on my cock.”

you nodded pitifully, trying your best to will your thighs to keep bouncing on him, even as you ached.

cooper watched you with a lazy grin, keeping his thumb right where you needed it until you came with a loud cry—loving every goddamn second.

#cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #walton goggins #fallout fic #fallout prime fic #cooper howard fic #the ghoul fic #wordsbyspatial

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readsaboutreid · 5 months ago

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Permanent Solution | S.R.

cw: big big warning for suicidal ideation (first person POV so you get some of the full on thought spiraling) typical criminal minds violence (reader gets kidnapped by an unsub and tortured but it doesn’t get too descriptive), extreme angst, Morgan being a dick at first (I love him but he was the only person I could really see for the role he fills in the plot with his tell it like it is vibes) but he gets his redemption in pt 2 i promise

no request for this one i had a real bad day and needed to use my thought spiral in some sort of creative outlet to get myself out of it so i took it out on spencer and reader sorry in advance y'all

"None of us like you."

The words rattled around in my brain as I walked absent-mindedly, my destination already in the back of my mind. I hadn't made this walk in five months. The five months before that had been focused on reducing the number of times I took this path.

First, the goal had been to reduce the number of times I felt compelled to take this particular walk. Walks overall weren't out of the question, and were actually encouraged. Especially walks where I shared the company with someone else. But this specific one was different. It carried a different weight. The initial goal set with my therapist had been to reduce how often I walked this path from nearly every night to no more than two or three times a week, substituting it with a different path through a different and more active part of town. After that, the goal was to move to only walking this path once a week. Then, ideally, none at all.

Ten months. Ten months of twice-weekly therapy sessions down the drain. With five measly words. I started to wonder what Spencer would say if he knew where I was headed, but shook my head free of the thought. He'd be better off in the end, anyways. The wind bit into my cheeks and I tugged the green cardigan that hung loosely off my shoulders so that it was tighter around me, the only protection from the cold that seeped down into my bones. I began to walk faster as I shivered, trying anything I could to warm up my body even just a little bit, and thought back to the encounter from earlier that had caused me to spiral so suddenly and severely.

"—none of us like you," Morgan said to me, cutting me off right as I was attempting to defend my previous decision to turn down the previous drink night invitations in the twelve months since I'd been at the BAU, resulting in Spencer also turning them down and going home with me, instead for the last eleven out of twelve of those months. The expression on his face matched the complete and utter disdain dripping from each and every word. "Not even Hotch, who got you the job in the first place, seems to want you on the team anymore. The only person who ever wants you to be around is Reid, and none of us can figure out why." When he finished I took a look around the table to see everyone else just looking down and avoiding my gaze, including Penelope, who had become somewhat of a sister to me in the past year.

"You—," my voice caught in my throat at that point and I cleared it, trying to sound as steady as I could as I asked, "A-all of you share this sentiment?" Despite strength I had tried to muster to ask that question, my voice only came out thick and wavery, and it was all I could do to keep my lip and lower jaw from trembling. I had tried as hard as possible to overcome myself since starting at the BAU, to believe that the people around me genuinely enjoyed my presence and didn't secretly roll their eyes and sigh in relief when I left the room, but apparently I had failed to make them like me and that's exactly what they felt.

"You'll have to excuse me, please," I gasped as the information presented to me sank in. I then stood, my eyes swimming with tears, and ran from the table they had all situated themselves into at the bar, only to run head on into Spencer, who grabbed my by the shoulders with a soft laugh and gentle smile.

"Easy there, (Y/N)," he chuckled while steadying me. It was only then that he realized something was wrong and his smile was immediately replaced with a concerned frown. "Hey, what's wrong, angel?" I shook my head, shook free of his grasp, and kept making for the door, my head slowing down a bit as I finally was able to take in a breath of fresh air as I made it outside.

Spencer hastily followed after me, right at my heels. "(Y/N)! (Y/N), wait!" He called after me, pushing his way through the crowd and finally out the door as well before wrapping me tightly in his arms. "Hey, now, what's wrong, love?" He cooed as he pressed my head into his chest and wrapped his cardigan around my shoulders when he felt me tremble.

I hesitated, debating what to say to him. I could either tell him the truth and earn the further ire of our colleagues by snitching or I could do what I do best: blow every thing up so there would be nobody else to blame but myself. I opted for the latter.

With a deep, shuddering breath, I finally managed to force the words from my throat. Each one stabbed into my chest with the force of a dull butter knife. "I— th-this—," I stumbled, "th-this isn't working, Spencer." My voice was barely above a whisper by the end when I finally met his eyes, which quickly filled with tears at hearing my words.

"Wh-what?" The word came out as nothing more than a breath but within it I swear I could hear the crack in his chest that echoed the one in my own. "Why— wh-what— I don't— where is this coming from?"

"I'm sorry," I said through soft sobs before I turned and ran off, leaving him standing on the sidewalk with tears slowly beginning to fall down his cheeks.

I had broken his heart, ensuring that he, too, would hate me. That was the plan. I had to push him away and make him hate me as much as the rest of them so that it would hurt him less when they found me. I made the last turn and found myself at my destination - the 11th Street bridge.

Spencer stood on the sidewalk, staring after her long after she had disappeared around the corner up ahead. He ran through the events of the past hour, trying to figure out what he could have done.

"You can go without me, Spencer," she protested as he tried to convince her to go out for drink night with the rest of the team.

"Please come with me? It will be fun, I promise!" It was a strange reversal for him to be the one trying to coax someone else into going out. Usually it was Morgan trying to convince him to go out (Garcia had literally forced him to go out with her after a particularly rough case or two), but now he decided to pay it forward to get his girlfriend to come out with their team and have some much needed fun. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"What if they don't actually want me there?" She asked, her voice small and timid.

"That's ridiculous! Why wouldn't they want you there? You're amazing," he smiled at her, starting to pepper her face with kisses in an attempt to cheer her up. She giggled quietly, not really trying as she made to push him away. He continued his assault, kissing her cheeks, forehead, nose, and lips, over and over with light pecks. When she finally acquiesced, he was giddy with excitement and felt a swell of pride in his chest at the progress she had made since they met.

As they stepped out of his car he grabbed her hand and saw her face twist with anxiety. He gave her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze before his phone rang, the number for the mental facility his mother currently resided in showing on the screen. "I need to take this, head on inside and I'll be right there, okay angel?" She swallowed nervously and walked inside, and he took the call.

5 minutes and 29 seconds.

That's how long he had been on the phone. Whatever had happened had taken only 5 minutes and 29 seconds. And it ended his relationship.

Spencer found himself pushing the door open and walking back inside the bar. His blood rushed in his ears as he approached the table and stared at all of his coworkers.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard above the music.

"Reid," Morgan started, but Spencer cut him off. "Don't look at us like th—"

"Whatever was said in the 5 minutes and 29 seconds I was on the phone with my mother's hospital resulted in me getting dumped on the sidewalk outside when not even 30 minutes ago (Y/N) was laughing, and smiling, and happy. So what. Happened?" He seethed.

"Alright, you want to know what happened, Reid?" Morgan snapped, preparing to stand up and tell him off before being stopped by Penelope, who looked as though she was still on the verge of tears.

“Reid, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she stood up instead, standing in front of Spencer. “I should have stopped him,” she continued, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have let him talk to her like that.”

“What did he tell her?” Spencer turned to Garcia, interrupting Derek as he opened his mouth to interject.

“I told her the truth,” Morgan slurred, finishing off what the rest of them knew was his fourth glass of whiskey. Spencer opted to ignore his clearly drunk colleague and continued to address Garcia.

“Garcia, what did he say to my girlfriend?” Spencer insisted, his anger being slowly replaced by a sense of growing dread.

“He— he told her nobody wanted her around,” she admitted, her eyes closing and her face twisting with guilt before she hastily added, “which of course that’s not the case! I love (Y/N) like she’s my own sister...” Spencer felt his heart drop into the pit that had become his stomach as his fears were confirmed.

“But?” Spencer added, tilting his head to the side, his voice growing quieter as the conversation continued.

“...but the rest of us miss you, Spence,” JJ finally spoke up. “We haven’t seen you in ages outside of work! If she’s keeping you from spending time with your friends, that's a little bit of a red flag, isn't it?” She reasoned, standing to put a hand on his bicep to calm him.

He angrily shook her off, the anxiety coursing through his veins shifting back into an icy rage. “She hasn’t kept me from doing anything, Jennifer,” he spat through gritted teeth as he held her gaze, which was a mix of shock and hurt at his tone.

“Spence, I just meant that—” JJ started, but was immediately interrupted by Spencer, whose rage was steadily growing to the point where he was certain he was visibly trembling.

“In fact, she has been continually insisting that I leave her behind to come out with you all, but given that I don’t drink much to begin with I usually just opt for a night in with her. I didn’t realize I needed permission from the rest of the team to make that decision for myself,” he bit back before turning to leave.

“Where are you going, Reid? Reid! Come on, man, be reasonable!” Morgan called out, only for Spencer to ignore him and keep walking. If he stayed there any longer, he knew he would end up saying something he’d regret, and with the way most of them were talking about his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—he figured they’d find some way to blame her for his outburst if he did.

When he finally exited the bar, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist and he turned on his heel, preparing for another round of arguing, only to be met with the now tear-streaked cheeks of Penelope Garcia.

“What do you want, Garcia?” He snapped, his face softening as he took in her apologetic expression.

“I— I’m sorry, Spencer,” she whispered. “I should have told Derek to shut up, I’m so sorry! I just— I hate when the people I love start fighting like that! I shut down and— and I know I should have stood up for her but I just— I just froze like a coward and—” her voice grew more frantic and upset before Spencer cut her off.

“Garcia, it’s not your fault,” Spencer sighed, his anger fading away until the only thing he felt was the ache in his chest. “Derek was drunk and belligerent. You’re not responsible for his actions.” He paused as he took a deep, shuddering breath. “I just wish I could have been there to put a stop to it. She’s so sweet, and kind, and utterly terrified of people. I shouldn’t have sent her in by herself knowing that." His voice cracked as a fresh wave of tears started to fall down his own cheeks.

“Spencer, you had no way of knowing any of this would happen,” Penelope wrapped Spencer in a tight hug, and he finally broke down. His body shook gently with soft, nearly silent sobs and he cried into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I know how much you love her.” Garcia’s own voice cracked as her heart ached for the crying boy in her arms.

“Wh— what do I do, Penelope?” He mumbled into the sleeve of her sweater. “I just want to help her feel better.” That’s all he’d wanted since he’d first laid eyes on her. He’d never forget how emaciated she had looked, her skin pallid and her eyes nothing more than dim, lifeless pits with dark bruise-like rings underneath them.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Dr. (Y/L/N). She just graduated from the academy and has expertise in psycholinguistics as well as a doctorate in neuropsychology, so I have no doubt she’ll be an excellent addition to the team.”

Spencer had tried his hardest in the two months after that initial introduction to get to know her, to understand why she looked like a reanimated corpse (albeit a very beautiful one) who had just wandered out of a morgue. Over those two months, the two of them had grown closer and closer, thanks to much insistent pushing from him. At first, it came in the form of attempting to get her to join the rest of them for drinks at their bar of choice (the others would never invite her themselves but Spencer would insist to her that it was okay, that she was a part of the team), but quickly he realized that all might be a bit too much for her. So, one night, he told the team he wasn’t feeling up to going out and instead privately asked (Y/N) if she’d want to join him for pizza and a movie at his place since he wasn't feeling up to big crowds and he had a feeling neither was she. He had been prepared to be turned down but was pleasantly surprised when her face showed the slightest expression of piqued interest and she agreed.

He then started to skip out on pretty much all of the future invitations to go out for drinks with the rest of the team, opting instead to go home for pizza and Doctor Who or Star Trek marathons with her, and he started seeing a whole other side to her that no one else had even suspected could have existed. She’d slowly opened to him, occasionally letting out quiet and restrained laughs at his goofy jokes and puns at the beginning of their friendship.

Eventually, those soft titters grew into ebullient, beautiful laughs that were like music to his ears. Her smiles went from being forced and never meeting her eyes to lighting up her entire face, at times so brightly that Spencer swore she could illuminate a dark room with nothing but her smile. She showed that there was a side to her that was goofy, outgoing, and full of life.

It was around then (November 17 at 11:57 PM) that their relationship had started officially with a soft, tentative kiss goodnight; but from the very first time he heard her let out a soft, breathy giggle at his goofy joke about Spock having three ears (‘a left ear, a right ear, and a final front-ier!’), Spencer knew that he would marry her someday.

Or at least he had thought so, until tonight.

“Give her some space to sort out her emotions, Spencer,” the voice of Penelope Garcia in his ear dragged him back into the present, her arms still wrapped tightly around him. “She loves you more than anything, and we both know that.” She let go and gave him a teary smile before wiping her cheeks.

“You’re right,” he replied, taking in another deep, shuddering breath. “Plus, she walked away with my cardigan, and we both know she’s a stickler about returning borrowed clothing!” He attempted a joke, but the laugh he tried to give after cracking it came out more like another choked sob.

“If I were you, I’d just give her a quick phone call and let her know that you love her no matter what anyone else says or thinks, okay? She needs to know that more than she needs anything else right now.”

“Right. Yes, you’re right,” he muttered, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve. “Thank you, Penelope.”

“I’m always here for you, Spencer,” she smiled at him before adding, “both of you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go tear Agent Morgan a new asshole for getting you dumped and hurting my best friend.” She took a second to shake her head and rub her own cheeks to dry them. “Call me once she makes it home safely to you, okay? Promise?” He nodded quietly. “Uh-uh-uh, what was it that one kid had told you a while back? ‘A promise doesn’t count unless you say it out loud,’ right?”

“I promise,” Spencer felt a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. He then walked down the block to his car, got in, and drove home to wait for (Y/N).

When he arrived and had walked through the doorway, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed her number. It rang four times and then went to her voicemail.

“Hi, you’ve reached the voicemail of Dr. (Y/L/N), I can’t come to the phone right now but if you leave your name and number, I’ll return your call as soon as I am able. Thanks!” Beep.

“Hi, (Y/N). So, Penelope filled me in on everything that happened,” he began shakily, and took a deep breath before he continued. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to stop Morgan from saying all of that, but please, please know that no one hates you, I promise. Penelope assured me that she was going to tear him a new one for what he said, and I promised her that I’d call her once you made it home safely.” He paused, searching for his next words carefully, and settled on, “I love you so much, angel. Please, please never forget that.” And then he had to hang up the phone, his eyes filling with more tears.

He made his way to the couch and sat down, turning the TV on and finding a marathon of Buffy the Vampire Slayer playing. Knowing it was her favorite show, he left it on and patiently waited. On the couch sat a small stuffed cat with a blue and white spotted mushroom for a head that he had gifted her on a whim, Dr. Mewshroom, as she had taken to calling it. He grabbed Dr. Mewshroom and hugged it close to his chest as he leaned back on the couch and eventually dozed off.

I paced up and down the 11th Street bridge for an hour before I decided to hop up and sit on the railing. My walking had warmed me up significantly, so I shed the cardigan Spencer had wrapped around my shoulders. Hopefully, it would be returned to him when they eventually found me. I stared down into the dark water beneath my dangling feet and tried to find the courage within me to jump, but I couldn’t give myself the final push I needed, just like all of the previous times I’d made this trip.

I must have sat there for fifteen more minutes or so before I decided to give it up and go home to Spencer. Maybe, if I begged and pleaded with him, he’d take me back. I checked my phone to see that I had a missed call from him. Weird, I hadn’t even heard it ring. Before I could turn myself around to hop off the railing, I was grabbed from behind and a cloth was pressed to my mouth and nose, blocking me from screaming. My nose and throat filled with a burning sensation before everything faded to black...

#criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer x reader #spencer reid #heavy angst #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fic #angst

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imaginesbymonika · 4 months ago

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LOML- loss of my life | Prologue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Plot: You knew him at a time when he didn't, and now he is looking for you...

Warnings: depiction of violence, angst, mentions of (perhaps) death, angst, fluff at the end (maybe), takes place after TFATWS

Bucky didn't like to think back to the years when he was working for Hydra. No matter how many times people named him a victim, an instrument - it didn't change the fact that he was operating for them. Going on those missions- slaughtering hundreds of people. Innocent fucking civilians. He couldn't possibly look past that. His therapist informed him that this kind of mindset is what's keeping him from fully recovering.

Maybe she was right about that.

Perhaps that was the root of his never-ending nightmares. The ones where he can still smell the blood whenever he wakes up in a cold sweat. Where he stares down at his hands, and for a split second he can catch a glimpse of their blood. Or maybe it is his blood. He lost track of that a long time ago.

A couple of months ago he had read a psychology book where someone argued that memories are primarily silent. And he couldn’t have thrown that book any faster against the closest wall. Because fuck whoever wrote that piece of crap. He’d be happy if for once he couldn’t hear the screaming of his victims, their begging and crying…followed by his metal arm making this eerie sound whenever it crushed someone’s spine into little pieces.

Bucky takes a deep breath. God, how he yearned and wished for silence. But then again, God has abandoned him a while ago.

His dreams only consist of flashbacks. Please, I have children waiting for me at home! Stop, stop, that hurts! Your work is fundamental for mankind! Oh my god, please stop! Make this stop, please! My oldest is 7! Please, don’t forget that you’re still human underneath it all. Bucky’s eyes open and when he sits up he can not stop gasping for air. Please, don’t forget you’re still human underneath it all.

He inspects his worn out features in the mirror. When had he started to dream of her? When did she manage to tiptoe her way into this hellfire of memories? What was her name again?

You slightly flinched when Pierce's hand made contact with The Winter Soldier’s cheek. The sound echoed through the empty corridors of the facility. And her gaze quickly drops to her clipboard. Everybody around her was silent, staring at either the long-haired man or the one in the suit. Pierce looked beyond furious before his eyes fell on you and he cleared his throat:” What are you writing down.”

Fuck. You took a deep breath, and quickly improved your posture:” I am just documenting the bruising, Sir.” The older man hummed and furrowed his eyebrows:” Let me see.” Out of nowhere, he snatched the clipboard out of your hands. You slightly groan at the burning sensation the plastic left on your skin. The entire time, you were able to feel The Winter Soldier's eyes on you. How you loathed this job. But you needed to remind yourself that you didn’t have much of a choice, whether or not you wanted to be there. For almost three years, you were one of the top physicians at NYC’s best hospital. Then one evening, while you were walking back to your car, you got kidnapped. You-

“Bucky?”, Sam’s voice brings him back into the present: “Are you still with me?” There is a playfulness to his voice. One that quickly disappears, once Sam notices the look on his friend’s face. And for a few seconds, the two men just look at one another, before Bucky shakes his head:” Yeah no. I’m fine.”

“You’re gone a lot these days.”

Bucky tilts his head and blinks in perplexity:” What’s that supposed to mean? We have been working on this case together since last week, we-.”

“Mentally, Bucky.”, Sam cuts him off and brings his cup of coffee up to his lips. And he can detect an emotion in Bucky’s eyes that tells him he struck a nerve. There is a heavy silence filling the kitchen before Sam speaks up again, his voice gentle and understanding:” Where are you going?”

#bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #the winter solider x reader #the winter soldier #the winter solider imagine #marvel x reader #marvel #sebastian stan

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mrderondncefloor · 4 months ago

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new to town.

wolverine (logan howlett x f!reader)

summary: logan is new to town and a frequent patron at the bar you work at.

wc: 1.5k

warnings/tags: MDNI. porn with plot. lumberjack!logan. reader has no description besides hair that is long enough to push behind ear. logan looks at readers cleavage. public sex kinda?? size kink if you squint. unspecified age gap. dirty talk. fingering. logan is a MUNCH. unprotected sex (wrap it up!). facial. i think this is it but lmk if i missed something!!

authors note: pls like reblog and follow if you enjoy!! also leave a request for my future logan writing!

you remember the first time he came in the bar like it was yesterday. a face you’d never seen before, god knows you would’ve remembered him if you had. he was handsome, gauging the scene with a slow look around the bar, most eyes fixed on him. your town was small, quiet, tucked away in the mountains, passerby’s few and far between which meant he stood out like a sore thumb. that was a month ago now, and in the time since the handsome stranger has become a regular at the bar, sat at his same barstool a couple nights a week. he kept to himself, only muttering a quiet “thanks” for his drinks before he’d leave, a generous tip tucked under his empty bottle. you’d heard from your coworker june that he was a logger with her husband- as if he needed to be any more attractive than he already was. the bell strung up above the door rang when it pushed open, heat flushing through you upon sight of him. you didn’t even know his name but had a physical reaction to the sight of him. his work boots thud against the floor as he made his way up to the counter, you already had a beer open by time he slid onto the stool and for a second he pauses, looking up at you then back at his drink. “m’that predictable already?” he asks, bottle grasped by the neck and brought to his lips. it seemed so small in his large hands but you’re careful not to let your eyes linger long, wiping down the back of the bar. “you come in three times a week for the same drink, figured i was right in assuming.. which, by the looks of it, i was.” you nod. he breathes out a laugh, “tracking my schedule too?” “take a look around. i know every regulars schedule.” you muse, motioning around the almost empty bar. even on the busiest nights you could still find an empty seat. he shrugs his shoulders as if to say fair enough. “know enough about me already and i haven’t even got your name?” he cocks a brow, watching as you turn from him to grab a bottle off the back shelf for another patron that stepped up to the counter beside his stool. you fill the bottom of the glass and slide it across the counter to dave, a regular who worked at the only gas station in town, looking between the both of you before he walked back to his table. you share your name, leaned against the back of the bar, pressing your breasts together with your forearms folded against the polished wood. “and you are?” “took you long enough to ask. logan.” his bottle meets the counter again with a soft thud and you watch as his tongue licks out at his wet bottom lip. it’s brief but you catch the way his eyes dip lower to take a glimpse at your pushed out cleavage, his mouth curling up at the corners.

since that first night he walked into the bar logan has never stayed until closing, that is, until tonight. jesus, maybe you had been tracking his schedule. the bar cleared out early tonight, and as you switched off the open sign in the window you caught sight of his reflection where he’s sat at the bar, flannel stretched across his broad back where he’s sat nursing his last drink of the night. “so what brought you out here anyway?” you ask, room falling silent when you unplug the jukebox for the night, floors creaking beneath you as you made your way around the bar, picking up glasses and empty baskets of food. he shifts on the stool, turned to face you, leaned back slightly against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and his thighs slightly spread. “it’s quiet. i needed quiet.” he answers after a second of thought, brow furrowed in. “well you found the right place.” you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “ain’t this the part where you kick me out, bub?” he checks his watch and you look back at him from across the bar, “well maybe i just like the company? that too hard to believe?” you muse and logan shakes his head with a quiet laugh, “promise m’not the company you should want to keep.” you hum in response, bent over into a booth to grab a couple napkins left behind. logan’s eyes fixed on the swell of your ass as you bent forward, trailing back up your spine when you stood upright again. when he came here he told himself that he’d keep out of trouble but fuck you were asking for it. “seem like fine company to me.” you shrug, turning back to him with a smile curled on your lips, looking sweeter than ever. a true test of his patience. “that right?” he leaves the stool with a deep sigh, sauntering closer around the tables that stand between the two of you.

your pulse is incessant, pounding harder with each step he drew closer until his taller frame stood before you. “guess there’s one reason i might be decent company.” your head tilts with curiosity, lips parted to question what that reason is but he cuts you off with a hard kiss before you could get the words out. your hands slide up over his shoulders, coming up into his hair as he stepped closer into you, back of your thighs knocking the table behind you. you might as well be weightless with the swiftness he has while lifting you onto the table, hips drawn towards the edge so they’re flush with his own. your hands push at the flannel he wore, feeling the warmth of his bare arms beneath his t-shirt that you claw at next. “easy, girl. m’goin’ to give you what you want.” he nods, giving your thigh a firm squeeze before he comes back to your lips, swallowing hard breaths you exhaled. his fingers work at the button of your jeans, lips moving over your jaw as he tugged the pair down your thighs, discarded thoughtless on the floor. you shouldn’t want this as bad as you do, on the table at your job with a man whose name you leaned mere hours ago but as he knelt down between your legs any comprehensive thought went out the window, laying back against the table as his tongue licked a slow strip against your core. “logan,” you gasp, reaching a hand into his dark hair, a low groan muffled against your pussy when you tug. the way he eats at you is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, his tongue desperately rolling against your clit while he sunk two fingers inside, slowly thrusting inside you. you choke for air between moans, chest heaving as your nails dig into his arm that had reached up to pull down the front of your tank top, bare breast engulfed by the warmth of his palm. the feeling rips you from the inside out, thighs trembling as you come undone under the assault of his tongue against your swollen clit and the plunge of his thick fingers combined. “atta girl.” he grins, pulling himself up from between your thighs, glistening fingers already tugging at his belt. the metal clanks and the tug of his zipper follows, “c’mere. turn around, bub.” he nods, watching as you stand from the table with wobbly legs, hands pressed to the tabletop to steady your yourself, ass arched out. he fills you slow, your hands grasping at the table as your head drops forward. “fuck, logan. s’so big.” you cry and his mouth curls up to a slow grin, “ain’t many boys your own age here to fill you up. guess i’ll have to do the job. could tell you been wantin’ me to fuck you anyway, girl. smelled it on you first time i walked in this place. desperate.” he shook his head, rocking his hips into yours with a hand held around the middle of your throat. “what’d your boss say f’he knew his best bartender was gettin’ fucked on his table while she’s still on the clock?” his brows sink in a furrow, looking up at the reflection of you both in the glass, pulling your hips back into his hard thrusts. your vision goes blurry as you watch yourself, tears welling up in the corners, rolling down over your cheeks slowly as he fucks into you. “it’s so good, logan, fuck.” you whine, desperately pushing back against him. “takin’ it so fuckin’ good,” logan groaned, gritting his jaw as his head rolled back against his shoulders, the soft slap of skin filling the room. you’re a mess when the second orgasm rips through you, legs threatening to give out beneath you as they tremble, clawing hard at the arm logan has around you which earns a hiss from him in response. “onto your knees, bub.” he nods, drawing his hips back from yours and and wraps a hand around himself, jerking himself as you sunk to the floor in front of him. he grabbed your jaw with his free hand, long spurts of cum landing on your tongue as a low growl rumbles out the back of his throat, forehead creased with a furrow. he breathes hard, watching as you swiped his cum from the corners of your lips onto your tongue. “still think m’fine company, bub?” he asked with a grin and you nod. “perfect company.”

#logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett smut #xmen x reader #x men fanfic #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine

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brunchable · 3 months ago

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Winter King, Part Five : I Knew You Were Trouble

Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Out of place Queen Reader Words: 19K Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, profanity. Warning: Implied poisoning, murderous intentions. Summary: The court pressures James to consider a consort, while Y/N takes control by offering to choose the consort herself, leading to a heated arguement with James, who refuses the idea. A/N: Soryy it took so long, I had rewrite the plot multiple times until I was satisfied ;___;

Over the past three months, things have shifted in subtle yet deeply unsettling ways.

It began innocuously enough—a shared cup of tea, offered with a bright smile and grace, becoming a fixed part of your daily routine. Morning and evening, without fail, Sharon appeared in the gardens or your chambers, her manner gentle and unobtrusive as she poured the fragrant liquid. What had once been a sporadic, almost ceremonial gesture slowly evolved into something far more rigid and persistent—a ritual that seemed to encompass your every waking moment.

“I thought I’d try something new today,” Sharon would say with a smile, handing over a new blend of tea. Each time, the liquid carried a faint floral aroma mixed with something unplaceable, something slightly bitter that lingered at the back of your throat. But you forced yourself to accept it, convinced it was meant to calm your fraying nerves.

At first, you accepted Sharon’s presence without question, appreciating what seemed like genuine concern and support during a difficult time. But as the days bled into weeks, and the weeks slipped into months, something began to change. It started as a faint dizziness, an inexplicable haze clouding your thoughts. Then came the irritability, creeping in like a shadow at the edges of your mind. The slightest inconvenience sets you on edge. The frustration of being unable to conceive—each failed attempt at another wound on your pride and your heart—gnawed at you, leaving you brittle and raw.

“Perhaps we should take a break,” Bucky had suggested softly one night, his hand resting gently upon yours. His eyes, though filled with understanding, held a trace of helplessness. “You are placing too much pressure upon yourself.”

“No!” The word snapped from your mouth like a whip, sharp and venomous. You pulled your hand away, fingers trembling.

“A break?” you nearly shouted, your voice rising in pitch. “A break is something we cannot afford! Do you believe this is some trivial matter that we can simply abandon until we feel ready to face it again?” You stood abruptly, your hands clenched at your sides as you glared at him. “How can you even suggest such a thing?”

Trying to conceive had once been an exciting endeavor—one filled with passion and hope. Every night you spent together had been charged with anticipation. But now, it felt clinical, almost like a job you were both obligated to fulfill. The intimacy you shared seemed tainted, weighed down by expectation and the pressure to produce an heir.

“Because I am afraid of losing you,” Bucky replied quietly, his gaze steady despite the tremor in his voice. “If this continues as it is… it will break us apart.”

“Losing me?” you repeated, incredulous. “You will not lose me because I am tired or upset, Bucky! You will lose me because you have given up! Because you refuse to endure what I must endure every single day!”

“That is not true,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I have never given up—”

“Then what would you call this?” you interrupted, gesturing wildly. “This pathetic attempt to avoid conflict? To ease your own guilt?” Your voice turned icy, each word sharper than the last. “You want to take a break, Bucky? Fine. Perhaps you should not have married me in the first place if you lacked the strength to handle what it truly means to be a husband.”

Bucky’s expression faltered, pain flickering across his face. He opened his mouth to respond but closed it just as quickly, his jaw tightening. He took a slow breath, looking at you as if searching for something—some trace of the person he knew beneath all the hurt and anger.

“Very well,” he said softly, his voice strained. “I see… I see that you need space.”

He stepped back, shoulders tense and jaw clenched, struggling to keep his composure. “I shall leave you for now. But we will speak of this again.” With a final, lingering glance, he turned and walked away, the soft sound of his footsteps echoing in the silence.

You watched him leave, the room feeling colder and emptier without his presence. The sting of regret tugged at your heart, but the anger was still too raw, too fresh, to let go of.

Since then, there had been a distance between you—one neither of you seemed able to cross. He’d reach out to comfort you, but you’d shrink away. And on the rare nights he could muster enough strength to join you, something always seemed to come up—an intense headache or exhaustion that rendered him unable to even speak.

Your frustration grew, not just with Bucky, but with everyone around you. Even Sharon, whose constant presence had begun to grate on your nerves in a way that was impossible to ignore. One afternoon, as Sharon approached with a familiar smile and a steaming cup of tea, you felt something inside you snap.

“I don’t want it,” you said sharply, surprising yourself as much as Sharon.

Sharon blinked, her expression smoothing into one of mild concern. “I just thought—”

“I said I don’t want it,” you repeated, your voice rising slightly. “Thank you, but… I’m fine.”

For a moment, Sharon simply stood there, her eyes flickering with something too quick to name. But then, with a gracious nod, she set the cup down on the table beside you and stepped back.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Sharon murmured, her voice soft, soothing. “If there’s anything else I can do—”

“There’s nothing,” you cut her off, turning your gaze away.

The small rebellion felt both liberating and hollow. The tea, left untouched, sat there until it grew cold and lifeless. After that incident, you found yourself spending more time away from the palace, seeking solace in places that offered you a semblance of peace.

Whenever you felt the walls closing in, you would steal away to the grand oak tree at the edge of the garden—a place that had become your sanctuary. There, you would climb up to one of the higher branches and settle in, surrounded by the rustling leaves and the gentle sway of the wind. It was a place where you could breathe, away from prying eyes and the weight of your title.

Other times, when the frustration grew too overwhelming, you would escape on horseback, galloping through the meadows beyond the palace grounds with Steve riding at your side. The wind in your hair, the thundering rhythm of hooves pounding against the earth—it was the closest thing to freedom you could grasp. Steve’s presence, though silent, was a comfort. He never asked questions, never pushed you to speak when you didn’t want to. He simply rode beside you, his steady gaze offering a quiet reassurance that you weren’t entirely alone.

And yet, even Steve’s presence came with its own peculiarities. Every time Sharon handed you a cup of tea, Steve’s demeanor would shift. Without fail, he managed to spill or knock over the cup—his hands suddenly clumsy and uncoordinated in a way that seemed almost unnatural for a man of his precision and strength.

“Steve, honestly!” you had laughed one morning after he’d accidentally brushed against your arm, causing the cup to tip precariously before shattering on the stone path. “Has guard duty made you clumsy?”

“Maybe,” Steve had replied lightly, his eyes scanning Sharon’s face for the briefest flicker of something—anything—that would give him a clue. But Sharon only smiled indulgently, bending to pick up the shards with the utmost care.

“No harm done, Captain,” she murmured, her gaze lifting to his with a flash of what looked like irritation. “I’ll make sure to bring another cup.”

The accidents became so frequent that you found yourself wondering if he was doing it on purpose, but Steve never offered an explanation. Instead, he stayed close by, his eyes never straying far from the cup or from Sharon herself.

In the shadows of the palace, Isaac had been moving quietly, digging deeper. His investigations started with whispers—rumors and innuendos that pointed to something far more sinister than mere court gossip. There were mentions of deals made in hushed voices, promises exchanged behind closed doors, and the growing influence of certain factions within the court. But each lead only raised more questions, leaving him grasping at shadows.

“It’s not just about the queen’s reputation,” Isaac had told Bucky one evening, his voice low and urgent as they spoke in the confines of Bucky’s study. “There’s something bigger here, something coordinated. The rumors are just the surface. Someone’s trying to destabilize the throne.”

Bucky’s gaze had sharpened. “Do you have any names?”

“None yet,” Isaac had responded, frustration lacing his words. “Whoever’s behind this, they’re covering their tracks well. There are a few lords who seem to be involved—whispering in the council, making moves that don’t add up. But I can’t connect them to anything concrete yet.”

Bucky had nodded, the tension in his shoulders visible even beneath the tailored fabric of his coat. His headaches, which had plagued him for years, were worsening, often rendering him unable to focus or hold conversations for more than a few minutes at a time. The sessions with Doctor Zemo were becoming more frequent, more intense, and each time, he left the basement chamber pale and drawn, barely able to stand.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. The pressure to conceive an heir, your growing emotional turmoil, and his own inability to perform his duties as a husband and king—it all weighed heavily on him. More often than not, he found himself standing at a distance, watching you with a mix of longing and frustration, unable to bridge the gap that seemed to widen between you with each passing day.

And all the while, Sharon continued to smile and pour her tea. Morning and evening, every day without fail.

Something was happening. Something dark and insidious that reached beyond the typical political machinations of the court. And with each passing day, as Sharon’s presence grew more prominent and your health seemed to falter, Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out.

× × × ×

The days leading up to the Queen Dowager’s 60th birthday ball passed in a blur of decisions and preparations. The grand ballroom echoed with the clatter of servants arranging tables and hanging elaborate floral displays. The scent of roses and lavender filled the air, but even that failed to soothe your frayed nerves.

“Your Majesty, should we add another string quartet or leave it to the chamber orchestra for the opening?” an attendant asked, hovering nearby.

“The chamber orchestra will suffice,” you murmured absently, your gaze drifting up to the ceiling’s intricate carvings. “Save the quartet for the dining hall.”

The attendant nodded and scurried off. You turned back to the table before you, staring at the neatly arranged seating chart. Every name, every position had been carefully planned, yet as you looked at it now, a hollow emptiness settled in your chest.

“You are managing admirably,” Lady Natasha murmured, stepping up beside you. Her voice, though soft, held a firmness that always made you feel seen. Lady Wanda and Lady Pepper were nearby, inspecting the floral arrangements and occasionally gesturing to the attendants. Nat’s eyes lingered on your face, a hint of concern in her gaze. “But you need to rest, if only for a moment. You’ve been exerting yourself beyond reason.”

You offered a faint smile. “I assure you, Nat, I am well. I just wish for everything to be as it should be.”

“It already is,” Lady Wanda added, joining the conversation with a small smile of her own. “But that does not mean you must work until you’re spent. We’re here to assist, and everything is progressing splendidly.”

“Wanda speaks true,” Lady Pepper agreed as she approached, a resolute glint in her eyes. “You have overseen every detail; pray, allow us to take up the mantle for a while. It is time for you to step back.”

You nodded, though the gesture felt hollow and stiff. They meant well, you knew that. Yet, the truth remained—this meticulous planning, this tireless organizing—was the only thing anchoring you in a world that seemed ever on the brink of slipping from your grasp.

“Thank you,” you whispered, casting your gaze once more upon the chart, your eyes blurring ever so slightly. “I’m feeling well, I assure you.”

Lady Natasha exchanged a quick glance with Wanda, who took a step closer. “We know it has been… arduous,” Wanda murmured gently. “And it is no shame to relinquish a little control. We are more than capable.”

“Yes,” Lady Pepper agreed softly, her voice laced with understanding. “Take a breath. Trust that all will be as you envisioned.”

You swallowed against the tightness in your throat, the ache in your chest growing sharper with every word of encouragement. It was exhausting, pretending everything was fine. Smiling when all you wanted to do was scream.

Forcing your gaze back to the seating chart, you nodded again. “Just a few more adjustments,” you murmured. “Then I shall heed your counsel and rest, I promise.”

But as you looked down at the list of names—each one meticulously placed according to rank and favor—familiar doubts crept in. Would any of this make a difference? Would this small victory in the face of so many challenges bring any peace? Or would it all be overshadowed by what you couldn’t control?

The thought lingered, bitter and cold, but you swallowed it down. Smiling tightly at your ladies, you straightened your shoulders. “Thank you for standing by me,” you said softly, meaning every word. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Natasha’s gaze softened, and she reached out, squeezing your hand gently. “You don’t have to carry this alone, Y/N.”

× × × ×

The morning hustle in the palace hallways had a different energy today—a curious buzz that lingered in the air as servants whispered excitedly to one another. After months away, Lady Monica Rambeau, head of your ladies-in-waiting, had finally returned. It was an unexpected homecoming, and though grief hung over her like a heavy shroud, she carried herself with the same grace and authority that had always marked her presence.

Monica’s heart beat faster as she approached the Queen’s private quarters. Her hands tightened around the edges of her dark mourning shawl, the fabric stark against her vibrant, rich complexion. She’d hoped—prayed, even—that during her absence, things would have gotten better for you. That the strain of court and the pressures of producing an heir would have eased. That she’d return to the same bright, resilient queen she’d left behind.

But the moment Monica stepped into your sitting room, her breath caught in her throat, and her heart clenched painfully.

You were seated by the window, a pale stream of sunlight casting an ethereal glow over you. You wore a flowing white gown that seemed to blend with the light, making you look almost ghostly. Your hair, which had always been meticulously styled, fell loosely around your shoulders, as if the care and attention that had once been given to it had been abandoned.

The most striking change, however, was your eyes—once vibrant and full of life, now dulled by a weariness that had etched itself into every line of your delicate features.

“Your Majesty…” Monica whispered, the words falling from her lips in a breathless rush as she took a step closer.

Your gaze lifted slowly, and for a moment, it seemed you didn’t recognize Monica. Your eyes lingered on the familiar face, a faint smile tugging at your lips. But it was weak, fragile, as if even that small gesture took too much effort.

“Monica,” you murmured, your voice soft and thin. “You’re back.”

Monica swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. The queen looked so different—so much thinner, almost brittle. The sight made her heart ache. She took another step forward, lowering herself into a graceful curtsy.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’m so sorry it took me so long to return.”

“Don’t apologize,” You said quietly, the words seeming to drift through the room like a fragile breeze. “You were with your mother. She needed you.”

“Yes,” Monica whispered, blinking back tears as she straightened. “But I’m here now. And… I—” Her voice broke, and she inhaled sharply, steeling herself. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I should have been here. I should have—”

“Monica,” You interrupted gently, holding up a hand. “Please. You did nothing wrong. You did exactly what you needed to do.” There was a flicker of warmth in your gaze—brief, but real. “I’m glad you could be there for her.”

Monica nodded, but the guilt still gnawed at her insides. She should have been here, at your side, through whatever had happened to bring you to this state. The queen she remembered had been strong, vibrant, with a light that could cut through even the darkest of times. But now…

“Your Majesty,” Monica said softly, her voice trembling. “What has happened in my absence?”

Your smile faded, and you glanced out the window, your gaze distant. “Nothing worth worrying about,” you murmured. “Just… the usual struggles.”

Monica’s heart twisted. She didn’t believe it for a second. She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a gentle murmur. “Please, my queen… let me help. Tell me what’s going on.”

You remained silent for a moment. Then, slowly, your shoulders slumped, and a sigh escaped you—a sound so weary, so defeated, that it nearly broke Monica’s heart.

“They’re all waiting for me to fail, Monica,” You whispered, your gaze still fixed on the horizon beyond the window. “Everyone. The council, the court… even the people. They whisper that I’m incapable, that I’m… barren.” your voice caught on the word, as if it tasted like ash on your tongue.

Monica’s breath hitched, and she reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm. “No, that’s not true. They’re just—”

“They’re right, Monica,” you interrupted softly, your voice hollow. “It’s been months, and still… nothing. I can see the disappointment in Jame’s eyes, even if he doesn’t say it. What if I can never give him what he needs?”

Monica’s grip tightened, her heart aching with every word. “My queen, you are more than enough. You are everything. Don’t let those vipers make you think otherwise.” Her voice dropped to a fierce whisper, filled with a determination that burned like a fire. “You are not alone in this, do you hear me?”

You turned your head slowly, your gaze locking onto Monica’s. A crack appeared in your carefully constructed mask, and a tear slipped down your cheek, glistening in the pale morning light.

“Sometimes, I feel like I am,” you whispered, your voice breaking on the last word.

Monica’s breath hitched, and before she could stop herself, she pulled you into a tight, fierce embrace. “No, Your Majesty. You are never alone. I’m here now. And I swear, I won’t leave you again.”

You trembled in her arms, but she didn’t pull away. You let Monica hold you, let her warmth and strength seep into your tired bones. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean on someone.

“I’ll stay with you,” Monica murmurs, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “Every step of the way, until you’re strong again.”

The words are a promise, one that sends a faint spark of warmth through your chest. For the first time in weeks, you feel a glimmer of hope.

You open your mouth to respond, but the door to your chambers swings open suddenly, the handle clicking softly against the wood. Both you and Monica turn at the intrusion, surprise and wariness mingling in the air.

Sharon steps inside, a porcelain tray balanced in her hands, her expression calm and composed—until her gaze lands on Monica. Her eyes widen just a fraction, surprise flashing across her face before she quickly smooths it away. But it’s too late; Monica already seen the flicker of shock that she tried to mask.

“Lady Monica,” Sharon says slowly, the words measured and careful. “I… I didn’t realize you were back.” She hesitates for the briefest of moments, her gaze darting between you and Monica, then down to the tray she carries. “I was just bringing some tea for Her Majesty.”

Monica’s posture stiffens beside you, though she quickly masks her reaction, offering a polite smile. “Sharon,” she replies, her voice light but steady. “I returned just this morning. I wanted to surprise Her Majesty.”

There’s an edge in her tone, something protective and firm that makes you glance between the two of them uncertainly. You’ve always known Monica to be fiercely loyal, but right now, she seems almost… guarded. As if Sharon’s mere presence sets her on edge.

“Of course,” Sharon murmurs, the smile on her lips tightening just a fraction. She shifts the tray slightly, the delicate porcelain teacups clinking softly against the polished wood. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I thought the queen might enjoy a fresh cup of tea. It’s the blend she’s grown fond of lately.”

You glance at the tray, recognizing the familiar, subtle fragrance wafting up from the cups. It’s the same tea Sharon has been bringing you for months now, the one she claims promotes relaxation and balance. You’ve grown accustomed to it, its soothing properties a small comfort amid the turmoil of court life.

But something about the tension in the room has you hesitating. Monica’s presence beside you, her shoulders squared and her gaze locked on Sharon, makes the space feel suddenly charged.

“Is that so?” Monica says lightly, her tone carefully neutral as she steps forward, gesturing toward the tray. “How thoughtful of you, Lady Sharon. It’s always a comfort to know Her Majesty’s needs are being attended to so diligently.”

Without waiting for a response, Monica reaches for one of the cups, the steam curling gently in the cool morning air. “I’m sure Her Majesty appreciates the gesture.”

Sharon’s fingers tighten on the tray, her smile faltering for just a heartbeat before she carefully sets it down on the low table beside you.

“It’s nothing, really,” she murmurs, her voice smooth and controlled once more. “I just want to ensure the queen’s comfort, as always.”

“Then leave it here,” Monica says gently, turning to face Sharon with a polite but firm expression. “You’ve done your part, Sharon. Her Majesty and I have much to discuss, and I’m sure she would appreciate the privacy.”

Sharon’s gaze flickers toward the cups, and she hesitates—just for a second. It’s barely noticeable, but Monica catches it. You see the subtle shift in Monica’s posture, the way her lips press together almost imperceptibly as if sensing some deeper undercurrent in Sharon’s reluctance.

“Oh, but…” Sharon’s voice trails off as she glances between the two of you. “I’d be happy to stay and pour. It’s no trouble, really.”

“Leave the tea, Sharon,” Monica repeats softly, a slight edge to her words now. The shift in her tone is almost imperceptible, but it’s there—a quiet authority that brooks no argument.

Sharon’s smile tightens, and she inclines her head, her gaze dropping briefly. “Of course, Lady Monica.” She straightens, smoothing the front of her dress. “I just wanted to ensure it was to Her Majesty’s liking.”

“It always is,” Monica replies, her gaze never leaving Sharon’s. “But I’m more than capable of attending to Her Majesty now. I believe you have other duties to see to, don’t you?”

The words are light, almost offhand, but there’s an underlying firmness in them that makes Sharon’s shoulders tense. You watch, confused by the sudden shift in the atmosphere, unsure what to say or how to ease the strange tension that’s settled over the room.

“Of course,” Sharon murmurs, forcing a smile as she steps back from the table. “If there’s anything else you need, Your Majesty, you have only to ask.”

You nod slowly, offering her a faint smile. “Thank you, Sharon.”

With a final curtsy, Sharon turns on her heel and moves toward the door. But just before she reaches it, she pauses, glancing back over her shoulder at Monica.

“It’s good to see you again, Lady Monica,” she says softly, her gaze lingering on Monica’s face for a beat too long. “I’m sure Her Majesty is glad to have you back.”

Monica’s smile is polite, but there’s no warmth in it. “Yes, I’m sure she is.”

Sharon dips her head one last time, then steps out of the room, the door closing softly behind her. The instant the latch clicks shut, her practiced smile crumbles, the polished facade slipping away like a mask tossed carelessly aside. Her jaw tightens, and she sucks in a sharp breath, struggling to contain the simmering vexation roiling just beneath the surface.

She walks away briskly, each step measured and precise, though there’s a tension in her posture that betrays the emotions clawing at her insides. Her fingers tighten around the empty tray, knuckles turning white as she makes her way down the corridor, past the guards stationed discreetly at the queen’s door.

Her gaze remains fixed ahead, but her thoughts whirl in a storm of anger and frustration. She hadn’t expected Lady Monica’s sudden return—hadn’t anticipated the way the queen’s loyal lady-in-waiting would insert herself between them, throwing her off balance just when everything had been proceeding so perfectly.

Damn her, Sharon thinks viciously, teeth grinding together as she rounds the corner. Damn that meddling woman for reappearing now, of all times.

Her steps quicken, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor as she disappears into the shadows at the far end of the hall, seething in silence.

Sharon turned sharply at the end of the hallway, her gaze fixed on the floor as she tried to will away the burning frustration coiling tighter and tighter in her chest. But in her haste, she collided solidly with a broad, unyielding chest. The sudden impact jolted her, and she stumbled back, eyes widening as a hand shot out to steady her.

“Careful there,” a low, smooth like honey voice drawled, laced with a hint of amusement.

Her head snapped up, and she found herself staring into the shrewd, calculating gaze of Prince Isaac. His brow arched slightly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he studied her with unsettling intensity.

“Prince Isaac,” she breathed, dipping into a quick, reflexive curtsy. “My apologies, I didn’t see you—”

“Clearly,” Isaac murmured, his grip on her arm gentle yet firm. He tilted his head, his dark eyes narrowing as they lingered on her face, taking in the flush of her cheeks, the tight set of her jaw. “You seem… distracted, Lady Carter.”

Sharon’s heart hammered against her ribs as she forced a polite, if strained, smile. “Just preoccupied with my duties, Your Highness. I didn’t mean to—”

“Preoccupied?” Isaac echoed, his tone deceptively light. His gaze flicked briefly to the empty tray she still held, then back to her face. “You know, it’s curious… I’ve seen people carrying all sorts of emotions through these halls—anxiousness, pride, even fear. But you, Lady Carter… you’re wearing something quite different.”

He took a step closer, leaning in slightly, his gaze sharpening. “What is it? Anger? Frustration?” His smile widened, though there was no warmth in it, only a keen, dangerous interest. “You look as though you could tear something apart with your bare hands.”

Sharon stiffened, her grip tightening around the tray until her knuckles turned white. “I assure you, Your Highness, it’s nothing of the sort. Merely… overwhelmed by the responsibilities of the day.” She forced her expression to smooth out, letting out a carefully controlled breath. “I didn’t expect Lady Monica’s return so soon. It’s taken us all by surprise.”

“Has it now?” Isaac murmured, his gaze lingering on her face a moment longer before he finally stepped back, releasing her arm. “You know, I’ve found that surprises can either be delightful… or deeply inconvenient, depending on one’s perspective.”

He paused, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. “And I’d wager you’re finding this particular surprise to be quite the inconvenience, aren’t you?”

Sharon swallowed hard, struggling to maintain her composure under the prince’s piercing scrutiny. She dipped her head slightly, offering a tight, controlled smile. “As I said, Your Highness, I’m simply adjusting to the changes. But I assure you, I will continue to fulfill my duties to the queen to the best of my abilities.”

Isaac’s lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile, his eyes glittering with a dark amusement that sent a shiver down Sharon’s spine. “I’m sure you will, Lady Carter. But a word of advice—” His voice lowered, taking on a soft, almost dangerous edge. “Be careful how you react to… unexpected obstacles. You wouldn’t want to show the wrong people just how easily they can rattle you.”

His gaze held hers for a heartbeat longer, then he stepped aside with a graceful, sweeping gesture. “After you, Lady Carter.”

Sharon dipped her head once more, murmuring a stiff, “Thank you, Your Highness,” before hurrying past him, her heart pounding as she walked away, his words echoing ominously in her mind.

Isaac watched her go, the smile never quite leaving his lips. Interesting, he mused, his gaze lingering on her retreating figure. Very interesting indeed.

× × × ×

The palace’s kitchens, usually a hub of bustling activity, were relatively empty at this hour—most of the staff having moved on to other duties now that breakfast had been served. Only a few cooks remained, murmuring quietly as they prepped for the midday meal.

Lady Monica Rambeau stood at the long wooden counter, her gaze fixed on the delicate porcelain teacup that Sharon had left in Y/N’s chambers earlier that morning. It looked innocent enough—a simple white cup with a floral motif, the faint remnants of tea staining the bottom. But there was something about it that held Monica’s attention.

She hadn’t thought much of it initially—Sharon’s insistence on Y/N drinking it in her presence had seemed overly protective, but perhaps the lady-in-waiting had merely been concerned for her queen’s well-being. After all, Y/N’s health had taken a visible decline over the past few weeks. It’s just tea, she had told herself, dismissing her unease.

But then, Monica had taken a closer look at Y/N’s medical records that the physician had shared upon her request—records she wouldn’t have normally questioned. She’d noticed a pattern in Y/N’s symptoms that didn’t quite fit.

There were inconsistencies.

A persistent lethargy. A delayed cycle that had seemed to worsen over time. And then there was the most telling clue—Y/N’s sudden aversion to certain herbal remedies that had once brought her comfort. Remedies that, now that Monica thought about it, seemed strangely similar to the blend Sharon had been bringing.

That realization had made something click in Monica’s mind, the unease blossoming into full-blown suspicion.

Her fingers hovered over the cup, hesitation flickering across her face. You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgement, she chided herself silently. But even as she tried to dismiss it, the unease remained.

She glanced around, ensuring she was alone, then carefully lifted the cup. The faint aroma of the tea lingered, delicate yet strangely medicinal. Monica’s brow furrowed as she inhaled again, a soft, thoughtful hum escaping her.

What is that smell?

The scent wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. It was floral—light and sweet with a hint of something sharper beneath. Chamomile, perhaps. Maybe a touch of lavender. But there was another note, barely detectable, that made her pause.

Gingerly, she brought the cup closer, inhaling deeply. Her senses prickled with recognition, and her eyes narrowed. It was subtle—so subtle that most wouldn’t have noticed it at all. But Monica had spent years studying apothecary arts, learning the properties of herbs and plants, both medicinal and otherwise. Her mother had been an apothecary before her, and Monica had learned to identify even the faintest traces of herbs.

She set the cup down gently, her mind racing as she tried to place the scent. It was almost… bitter. Faintly astringent, like a hint of nettle or mugwort. But that alone wouldn’t cause concern. She needed to be sure.

Without another thought, Monica crossed to the corner of the kitchen where a neat row of jars and vials lined the shelves, each meticulously labeled. She scanned the contents quickly, selecting a small vial of dried herbs that she knew well.

She returned to the counter, pulling the lid off the vial and holding it beside the teacup. As she breathed in, the similarities between the two scents became more pronounced. Her eyes widened slightly.

“Silphium leaves,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

It was a common enough herb in the right hands—used to soothe headaches, ease tension. But in higher doses, or combined with other herbs…

Monica’s heart began to pound. No, it couldn’t be…

She glanced around again, her gaze sharp and assessing. No one seemed to be paying her any mind. Steeling herself, she lifted the cup once more, this time dipping a clean finger into the remaining liquid. Carefully, she brought it to her lips, tasting just a drop.

The bitter edge hit her tongue immediately, followed by a faint numbness that made her stomach twist. She spat it out hastily, her expression darkening.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath, her pulse thundering in her ears.

Silphium on its own was relatively harmless in small doses. But this… this wasn’t just Silphium. There was something else mixed in—something that caused that peculiar numbness, something that could only have one purpose.

She massaged her head, trying to keep her breathing steady. She needed to be sure—absolutely certain before she took this to Y/N. But if her suspicions were right…

“Monica?”

She jumped, spinning around to find one of the head cooks, a kindly older woman named Greta, watching her with a curious frown. “Is everything all right, my lady?”

Monica forced a smile, though it felt strained. “Yes, Greta. Everything’s fine. I’m just… inspecting this tea.”

Greta’s brow furrowed, and she stepped closer, eyeing the cup warily. “Inspecting? Is something wrong with it?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Monica replied carefully, her mind still whirling. “But I need to run a few more tests.”

Greta nodded slowly, then leaned in, taking a cautious sniff of the tea herself. Her nose wrinkled slightly, and she pulled back, shaking her head. “It smells… odd.”

“Exactly.” Monica’s gaze sharpened. “Tell me, has anyone else seen this tea?”

Greta shook her head. “No, my lady. It was brought directly to the queen’s chambers this morning by Lady Sharon. But she’s been bringing tea regularly, hasn’t she? For weeks now.”

Monica’s grip on the cup tightened. For weeks.

“Greta,” she said slowly, keeping her voice calm and even. “Do we have a testing kit for foreign substances in the herbs storage?”

“We do,” Greta confirmed, her concern deepening. “Shall I fetch it for you?”

“Yes, please. Quickly.”

Greta nodded and hurried off, leaving Monica alone once more. Monica turned back to the teacup, her mind racing.

If Sharon has been bringing tea regularly… if it’s been laced like this for weeks…

The implications made her blood run cold. It would explain everything—Y/N’s increasing fatigue, the irregular cycles, the constant lethargy, irritation. It wasn’t a natural decline. It was being induced.

But why? And for what purpose?

Monica swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. She needed proof—solid, undeniable proof. Only then could she confront Sharon, could she protect Y/N from whatever sinister plot was unfolding right under their noses.

As she stood there, waiting for Greta to return, the door to the kitchen swung open abruptly. A figure stepped inside, moving with grace of someone accustomed to navigating unfamiliar spaces.

Monica’s gaze snapped up, her breath catching as she recognized Isaac Barnes. His keen eyes flicked to her immediately, taking in her tense posture, the cup in her hand, the look of determination on her face.

“Monica?”

She spub around to find Prince Isaac Barnes standing in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted by the morning light streaming in from the corridor. He arched an eyebrow at her, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Your Highness,” Monica stammered, dropping into a quick curtsy before straightening. “What are you doing in the kitchens?”

Isaac’s gaze drifted to the cup of tea, then back to Monica’s face. His smile widened ever so slightly, a glint of curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Just exploring, my lady,” he replied, his tone light. “And you? I wouldn’t have expected to find you here, of all places.”

Monica’s eyes narrowed slightly, though she kept her expression polite. Isaac’s answer was deliberately vague, but she knew better than to press him for more. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what had brought him here, now of all times.

“I’m… just checking on something,” she replied cautiously, then gestured toward the cup on the counter. “Lady Sharon left this for Her Majesty earlier, and I wanted to make sure it’s… suitable.”

Isaac’s gaze lingered on the cup, his expression unreadable. “I see.” He took a slow step forward, his eyes flicking to the various jars and vials scattered across the counter. “Quite the collection you have here. Does something seem off about the tea?”

Monica hesitated, then nodded slowly. “There’s a… bitterness to it that shouldn’t be there,” she murmured, choosing her words carefully. “I’m not certain yet, but I need to conduct a few tests.”

Isaac’s smile softened, though there was a hint of something serious in his gaze. “Well, then,” he said quietly, “I trust you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

There was a beat of silence, and then he glanced around the kitchen, his gaze sweeping over the shelves and simmering pots with a casual air. But Monica caught the subtle way his eyes lingered on certain areas—the vials, the herbs, the jars lined neatly on the shelves.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Your Highness?” Monica asked, curiosity threading through her voice.

Isaac’s smile widened slightly, and he shook his head. “No, Lady Monica. I think I’ve found what I needed.” His gaze returned to hers, his expression open yet somehow… guarded. “But thank you for the offer.”

Monica nodded, still feeling the faint stirrings of unease as she watched him turn toward the door. Just before he stepped out, he paused, glancing back at her over his shoulder.

“Good luck with your tests,” he murmured, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. “I have a feeling they’ll be… enlightening.”

With that, he disappeared into the corridor, leaving Monica standing there, her heart racing. She stared after him, her mind buzzing with questions.

What is Isaac up to?

She shook her head, focusing on the task at hand. Whatever his reasons for being in the kitchens, she couldn’t let herself be distracted. There was something wrong with that tea—something that could be harming Y/N. And until she knew exactly what it was, she wouldn’t rest.

Stay focused, she told herself firmly, her gaze hardening as she turned back to the teacup. She needed proof—solid, irrefutable proof.

Because if her suspicions were right, then someone very close to the queen was playing a dangerous game. And Monica would make sure that, when the time came, the truth would be revealed.

With grim determination, she set to work, the faint scent of herbs and deceit hanging heavy in the air around her.

× × × ×

The grand council chamber was cloaked in an almost suffocating stillness. The light filtering through the tall, arched windows cast long shadows across the polished marble floors, and the faint murmur of voices fell silent as Bucky took his place at the head of the table. A heavy mahogany door creaked shut behind him, sealing the room from the rest of the palace—and from those who had no place within.

He stood, shoulders tense, expression unreadable. To his left, Steve stood at attention, his sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered lords with an air of silent authority. To his right, Isaac leaned against the back of his chair, looking every bit the disinterested observer, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest in a restless rhythm.

Bucky’s gaze drifted, focusing somewhere in the distance beyond the walls of the council chamber, the voices around him merging into a low hum of meaningless sound. He blinked slowly, the heaviness in his skull dulling his senses. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the past week, each night plagued by the unrelenting pain behind his eyes and the growing anxiety of the throne slipping through his grasp.

“And what of the queen’s health?” a voice broke through the haze, the sharpness of it pulling Bucky back to the present.

He blinked, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the source—Lord Pierce, leaning forward with a concerned furrow on his brow that did nothing to mask the cunning glint in his eyes.

“We’ve heard concerning reports that Her Majesty has been… indisposed as of late.” Pierce paused, his gaze sweeping the table, ensuring he had the attention of every lord present. “It’s been three months now, and still, no progress has been made in producing an heir.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. The question, though veiled as concern for Y/N, was nothing more than a thinly disguised attack on their marriage—on his ability to rule. The unspoken words hung in the air: Without an heir, your position on the throne is not secure.

Steve shifted slightly, his gaze flickering to Bucky with a trace of unease. Isaac, however, only sighed, his eyes rolling skyward as if to express how utterly predictable this line of conversation had become.

“Are we really going to discuss this again?” Isaac drawled, his voice low and edged with impatience. “We’ve already established the queen is under care and following every recommendation from the royal physicians. What more do you want—an announcement every time she sneezes?”

A ripple of murmured protest rose from the gathered lords, but Isaac’s pointed stare silenced them quickly enough.

“We are simply saying,” Lord Haynesworth interjected smoothly, his tone deceptively placating, “that the matter of succession is a pressing concern. If Her Majesty’s health is truly hindering the—”

“She’s not ill,” Bucky snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. The entire chamber stilled, all eyes turning to him. Bucky took a slow breath, reigning in his frustration, but his eyes burned with a warning as they swept over the faces of the council. “My wife is not ill.”

Lord Carter, who had remained silent until now, leaned forward, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. His gaze was calm, almost pitying, as he regarded Bucky. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, no one is questioning the queen’s capabilities. We all wish for the royal family to flourish. But in the event that her condition does not improve—”

“Condition?” Isaac echoed, pushing off the chair and crossing his arms, his tone edged with mockery. “What condition, exactly, are you implying, Lord Carter? Do enlighten us.”

Lord Carter’s lips curved in the slightest smile, as if he’d been anticipating this confrontation. “We must consider the stability of the throne. Should Her Majesty continue to face difficulties in… fulfilling her role, the council must be prepared to suggest alternative solutions.”

The blood roared in Bucky’s ears, drowning out the whispers that erupted around the table. He forced himself to breathe evenly, his vision narrowing on Carter.

“Alternative solutions?”

Carter’s gaze was steady, unflinching. “If, in a few more months, there is still no heir… it may be prudent to consider the option of a consort. Someone who could—”

The rest of his words were lost in the rush of anger that surged through Bucky, the very air around him seeming to vibrate with the force of it. A consort. Another woman. The very idea was an insult, not just to Y/N, but to him—to everything they’d fought to build together.

The chamber fell deathly silent, waiting for his response.

“Absolutely not.” Bucky’s voice was low, a deadly calm washing over him. ”

A few lords shifted uncomfortably, but Haynesworth leaned forward, his gaze critical as he regarded Bucky with a frown. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, the role of a consort is not merely a matter of convenience. It’s a tradition as old as the crown itself, woven into the very fabric of our history. Even your father had consorts—”

“My father is dead,” Bucky cut in, his voice sharp and final. “And so are the traditions for consorts.”

Murmurs erupted around the table, half of the lords exchanging incredulous looks. Lord Pierce’s gaze darted toward Carter, a flicker of triumph in his eyes at Bucky’s seemingly reckless declaration.

“Your Majesty, tradition is not something that can be discarded on a whim,” Carter interjected smoothly, his voice dripping with feigned patience. “It is a foundation that keeps the kingdom steady. Without it—”

“Without it, we’d be free to build something better,” Lord Tony Stark interrupted, his voice laced with disdain as he glanced pointedly at Carter and Pierce. “You speak of tradition as if it were sacred law. But tell me, how many traditions have been cast aside in the past century alone? Were those changes not necessary?”

“And who decides which traditions are necessary to change?” Haynesworth countered, his tone rising with indignation. “You, Lord Stark? Or perhaps you, Your Majesty?”

“Traditions are nothing but the opinions of dead men,” Lord Laufeyson drawled from his seat, a bored smile playing on his lips as he toyed with the silver ring on his finger. “They only hold power as long as the living allow it. If the king says consorts are no longer needed, then they aren’t.”

Carter’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering to Laufeyson with a flash of irritation. “You would so easily dismiss centuries of precedence?”

“Precedence?” Lord Pietro Maximoff scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “If you’re so keen on maintaining ‘precedence,’ then why aren’t you suggesting more consorts for your sons, Haynesworth? Why isn’t your house volunteering to uphold this glorious tradition?” The young lord’s smirk was infuriatingly smug, his silver eyes gleaming as he cast a sideways glance at Lord Carter. “Or perhaps it’s only a tradition when it benefits certain families.”

“That’s enough!” Haynesworth barked, his face flushing an angry red. “This isn’t about personal gain—”

“No, it’s about power,” Lord Odinson interjected, his voice like thunder in the tense silence. He stood from his seat, his imposing frame casting a shadow over the table as he fixed Haynesworth and Pierce with a steely gaze. “And you’re using the absence of an heir as an excuse to push for changes that would weaken the crown’s authority.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the lords aligned with Stark, Laufeyson, and Maximoff. Bucky could see it—the lines of division forming along the table, the alliances and rivalries that had long simmered beneath the surface now bubbling up to the fore.

“Enough of this,” Bucky growled, the low, dangerous tone of his voice cutting through the clamour. “There will be no consort. No matter what you call it—tradition, necessity, or whatever else you think to dress it up as—it won’t happen. My wife is my queen, and she will remain so.”

“Your Majesty,” Carter began again, his voice coaxing, but before he could continue, Isaac’s dry laughter filled the chamber.

“Do you not understand plain speech, Lord Carter?” Isaac said lazily, his gaze flicking over the gathered lords with thinly veiled contempt. “Or do you need the king to draw you a picture?”

“You should mind your tongue, Prince Isaac,” Lord Pierce warned, his tone dark. “You speak too freely.”

“And you speak too much,” Isaac shot back, his smile cold and predatory. “All this talk of tradition and stability… it’s starting to sound like you’re questioning my brother’s authority.”

The tension in the room shifted palpably, a collective breath held as all eyes turned back to Bucky. He remained still, his gaze locked on Lord Carter, a predator sizing up its prey.

“I won’t repeat myself,” Bucky said, his voice like a blade cutting through the silence. “There will be no consort. If the council’s time is to be spent arguing over dead traditions, then this meeting is over.”

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, slowly, Lord Stark nodded, a faint smile curving his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “Well said, Your Majesty. The council should be focusing on more pressing matters. There’s no point in entertaining these… outdated notions.”

“Agreed,” Lord Laufeyson murmured, his gaze never leaving Lord Carter’s face. “Perhaps it’s time we turned our attention to what truly ails the kingdom.”

A ripple of grudging assent swept through the room, but Bucky’s gaze remained hard, unyielding. He would not bow to pressure, nor would he allow anyone to question his wife’s place beside him.

“Good,” Bucky said softly, his voice cutting through the air with an edge of finality. He leaned back slightly, casting a withering glance around the table as he continued, “Then let us move on—"

The door to the council chamber swung open with a sharp crack, and every head snapped toward the sudden sound. There, framed in the doorway, stood the queen, your chin lifted high, shoulders set with a defiance that dared anyone to challenge your presence. Scott hovered just behind you, his face pale and eyes wide with a mix of fear and guilt.

“Your Majesty, please,” Scott implored, his voice a desperate whisper meant only for your ears. “It’s not wise—”

“Enough, Scott.” Your tone was quiet, yet it cut through the air. You didn’t spare him a glance, your gaze fixed firmly on the room beyond.

The lords scrambled to their feet, chairs scraping loudly against the marble floors. Uncertainty flickered across their faces, and a ripple of discontent moved through the room as they exchanged uneasy glances.

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice was low, the surprise evident in his gaze as he half-rose from his seat. “What are you—?”

But you didn’t look at him. You turned instead to face the gathered lords, the light catching the gleam of determination in your eyes. For a moment, there was only silence—an oppressive, suffocating silence that seemed to stretch on forever, the lords standing like soldiers before a battle.

“If you’re all so desperate for an heir—so willing to throw around the idea of a consort,” you said, your voice clear and ringing with a strength that made even the most brazen lord falter, “then I will choose the consort myself.”

The words fell like stones into the silence, echoing in the shocked stillness of the chamber. The lords stared at you, their expressions shifting from disbelief to outrage to confusion in a matter of seconds. Isaac straightened, his brows lifting in interest, while Steve’s gaze sharpened, his entire body tense as if ready to intervene.

“Your Majesty—” Lord Pierce started, his voice wavering slightly, but you silenced him with a sharp look.

“You think I don’t know what you’re all doing?” you continued, your gaze sweeping over each of the lords in turn. “You think I’m blind to the whispers, the rumors, the little games you play? You may talk of ‘concern’ and ‘stability,’ but all you really care about is securing your own power, making yourselves indispensable to the throne.”

Lord Carter’s face tightened, a flicker of something dark passing through his eyes. “Your Majesty, this is highly improper—”

“What’s improper,” You shot back, your voice rising with each word, “is discussing my marriage as if it’s some business transaction, as if I’m not even a part of it!” You took a step forward, your fingers trembling slightly as you drew yourself up to your full height, daring any one of them to speak. “But if you want a consort so badly, then I will choose her.”

“Y/N, No—” Bucky began, his voice strained, but you cut him off, turning to him for the first time since entering the room.

“Yes,” You said softly, but there was no softness in your gaze, no weakness in her stance. “If this is what they’re going to keep pushing for—if they want to undermine us at every turn—then I will take that choice away from them.” You glanced back at the council, a bitter smile twisting your lips. “I’ll pick someone none of you have power over. I’ll pick a woman who won’t be swayed by your schemes and bribes. You’ll get your heir, but it will be on my terms.”

“Your Majesty, with all due respect,” Lord Haynesworth interrupted, his voice tight with thinly veiled anger, “you cannot simply decide something of this magnitude on a whim. The council—”

“The council,” you spat, the word laced with scorn, “seems to forget that I am not a doll to be moved around at your convenience. You may think you have a say in this, but you don’t.” Your eyes burned as they locked onto each lord in turn. “Not when it comes to my husband or to my family.”

“Y/N—” Bucky’s voice was quieter now, but you shook your head, a fierce resolve radiating from you.

“I won’t let them dictate what happens in our marriage, James,” you murmured, but loud enough for all to hear. “If they want to discuss consorts, then let them. But they’ll do it under my terms, with my rules.” You turned to the council, your smile now a razor-sharp edge. “And if you push me on this, I promise I’ll choose someone who will make your lives a living hell.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Lords shifted uncomfortably from where they stood, glancing at one another with unease. It was one thing to murmur about a consort behind closed doors; it was another entirely to have the queen confront them head-on with a promise to turn their own weapon against them.

Pierce cleared his throat, his voice strained. “Your Majesty, no one is questioning your authority or your—”

“Good.” Your tone was crisp, “Then we won’t need to have this conversation again, will we?”

No one dared to answer.You held their gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment before turning on your heel, your skirts sweeping behind you as you strode toward the doors. The lords remained standing, unsure whether to sit or move, their eyes locked on you retreating form with a mix of wariness and resentment.

As you passed Scott, who hovered anxiously at the entrance, you glanced back at Bucky, your gaze softening—just for a fraction of a second.

“Scott,” you said quietly, without turning to look at him. “Have someone compile a list of eligible bachelorettes from every house in the kingdom. I want it on my desk by morning.”

Scott’s eyes widened in shock. “Your Majesty, but—”

“Just do it,” you whispered sharply, your voice carrying the weight of all the suppressed emotions swirling within you. “Please.”

Scott hesitated only a moment longer before bowing his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

You didn’t wait for his response, didn’t look back as you continued down the hall, your steps steady and sure. But with each stride, the reality of what you’d just promised—what you’d committed yourself to—settled deeper into your bones.

The door to the council chamber closed behind you with a soft thud, sealing you away from the heavy silence of the room, and the questions burning in Bucky’s eyes.

Back inside, the lords shifted uneasily, their voices hushed as they exchanged tense murmurs. Isaac let out a low whistle, a grin tugging at his lips as he glanced at Bucky.

“Well, that was unexpected,” he drawled, arching a brow. “Didn’t think she’d take the whole consort suggestion so… personally.”

Steve shot him a warning look, his jaw clenched. “Isaac, now’s not the time.”

Bucky’s eyes were still locked on the door through which you had vanished, his expression frozen in a mask of strained calm. But there was no hiding the storm brewing behind those blue eyes—the anger simmering just beneath the surface, the tension thrumming through his frame like a tightly wound wire.

One by one, the lords exchanged wary glances.

Lord Pierce shifted to his seat, clearing his throat lightly as he dared to break the silence. “Your Majesty… we only have the kingdom’s best interests at heart.”

His attempt at placation fell flat, the words ringing hollow in the wake of Bucky’s unflinching stare. Another exchanged look between Lord Carter and Pierce—a fleeting, unspoken conversation passing between them.

Lord Carter leaned forward, his brow furrowing with a hint of uncertainty, the carefully maintained mask of composure slipping ever so slightly. “Perhaps, Your Majesty, if we could—”

Bucky’s gaze snapped back to the gathered lords, eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. “Enough,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to reverberate through the very air. “I’ve made myself clear.”

There was a collective shift among the lords, shoulders straightening and spines stiffening, as if they were preparing for the storm that was Bucky’s wrath. But not one of them dared speak again.

Instead, they exchanged more guarded looks, wary glances laden with questions and uncertainty. This time, no one stepped forward. No one dared push any further.

The subject of a consort—their audacious suggestion—hung in the air like a bitter aftertaste, a tension that thrummed like the final, discordant note of a song that hadn’t ended quite right.

But Lord Carter’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. The faintest twitch of his lips betrayed the simmering rage he kept tightly leashed, his gaze drifting to the door where you had disappeared moments earlier. For a heartbeat, his mask slipped, revealing something dark and dangerous beneath the surface.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepling beneath his chin as he exhaled slowly through his nose. “We hear you, Your Majesty,” he murmured, the words carefully measured, lacking the usual oily charm. “I simply fear that… certain sacrifices may be necessary, given the circumstances.”

A subtle dig—aimed not at Bucky, but at you.

Loki’s eyes, sharp and knowing, flickered briefly to Lord Carter, his lips curling ever so slightly in faint amusement. Pietro, lounging near the end of the table, raised an eyebrow, his keen gaze catching the fleeting look of disdain on Lord Carter’s face.

“Sacrifices,” Loki echoed softly, his voice a low purr that seemed to coil around the room, drawing attention like a magnet. His gaze shifted lazily between Bucky and Lord Carter, his expression a mask of feigned curiosity. “An interesting word choice. I do wonder… whose sacrifices are you referring to, my lord?”

Lord Carter’s eyes darted to Loki’s, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features before he schooled his expression back into something more neutral. “The sacrifices of the crown, of course,” he replied evenly, though his tone carried an underlying edge. “The sacrifices one must make for the good of the realm.”

Pietro let out a soft snort, his fingers tapping idly against the table. “Ah, yes. The sacrifices of others—always easier when one’s own comfort is preserved, isn’t it?”

A few of the lords shifted uneasily, the corners of their mouths twitching as they tried to suppress small, furtive smiles. Bucky, however, wasn’t smiling. His gaze remained fixed on Lord Carter, unblinking, assessing.

“Do you have something more to say, Lord Carter?” Bucky’s voice was deceptively soft, yet it carried an unmistakable weight—a warning.

Lord Carter’s eyes flicked to the other lords, his jaw clenching as he forced a tight smile. “No, Your Majesty,” he said slowly, each word clipped and deliberate. “I only meant to remind the council that time is of the essence. We cannot afford to wait forever.”

“Then stop wasting time,” Bucky bit out, his tone slicing through the room like a blade. “This discussion is over.”

The finality of his words reverberated through the chamber, leaving no room for argument. Yet the flash of anger in Lord Carter’s eyes lingered, hidden just beneath the surface. He bowed his head slightly, his expression placid and composed once more.

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” he murmured.

But as the council members began to rise, murmuring their goodbyes and shuffling toward the door, Loki’s gaze lingered on Lord Carter, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

× × × ×

Isaac, now leaned casually against the pillar near the council chamber’s entrance, his posture relaxed, almost bored, as he watched the scene unfold. From this vantage point, he looked every bit the disinterested observer—a younger brother with no real power, no real role. But anyone who looked closely would see the slight narrowing of his eyes, the faintest twitch of his lips as he listened intently to every word exchanged between Bucky and the council members.

“Then stop wasting time,” Bucky bit out, his voice hard and edged with authority. “This discussion is over.”

Isaac’s gaze drifted lazily to Lord Carter, whose expression remained impassive, though the subtle clench of his jaw betrayed the fury simmering beneath the surface. Isaac suppressed a smile. There it is.

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Lord Carter murmured, bowing his head in acquiescence.

But it was Loki’s soft, almost offhand remark that caught Isaac’s full attention. The trickster’s voice carried through the room with a hint of sardonic amusement. “For someone so concerned with sacrifices, you seem rather… invested in the queen’s inability to produce an heir.”

Isaac watched, his gaze sharp and curious, as Lord Carter’s face tightened imperceptibly. A fleeting shadow of irritation crossed the man’s eyes before he composed himself, forcing a tight, practiced smile. He inclined his head to Loki, then turned on his heel, his movements clipped, precise.

“You’re really testing the waters, aren’t you, Loki?” Isaac murmured under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching as he took in the scene.

Lord Carter’s exit was abrupt, but Isaac noticed the way his fingers flexed at his sides, knuckles white with suppressed rage. Isaac shifted slightly, his gaze following Lord Carter’s retreating figure. So much for keeping up appearances.

Loki’s and Pietro’s soft exchange reached his ears, but Isaac kept his face carefully neutral, feigning disinterest. He straightened slightly, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve as if to give himself something to do, something to focus on—anything to maintain the illusion that he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention.

“He’s furious with her,” Pietro muttered, a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he leaned closer to Loki.

“Indeed,” Loki murmured, his voice low and smooth. “And that, dear Pietro, is what makes him so very interesting.”

Isaac’s gaze flicked between the two men, watching the way their eyes followed Lord Carter’s departure with almost predatory intensity. So, you’re paying attention, too.

He shifted his weight, drawing in a slow, deliberate breath. Then, with a deliberately casual air, Isaac pushed off the pillar and strolled forward, offering Loki and Pietro a languid, almost lazy smile as he stepped into the center of the room.

“Lively conversation, wasn’t it?” he drawled, his tone light, almost teasing. “I thought Lord Carter might have a stroke when you mentioned sacrifices.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, his expression inscrutable. “Oh? You were listening?”

“Hard not to,” Isaac replied, a hint of innocence in his tone as he shrugged. “It’s not every day we see the lords so…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Riled up.”

Pietro’s lips curved into a grin, and he inclined his head slightly. “A delicate subject,” he mused. “One that seems to strike a nerve.”

Isaac hummed thoughtfully, his gaze flickering briefly to the door where Lord Carter had vanished. “Yes, well, some people are more invested in the outcome than others, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” Loki echoed softly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Isaac. “But what of you, Prince Isaac? You seem to be taking this all in stride.”

Isaac’s smile widened, a flash of mischief lighting his eyes. “Me? I’m just here for the show, gentlemen.” He inclined his head, a mockery of a bow. “And what a show it was.”

× × × ×

The moment the doors to their private chambers slammed shut behind you, Bucky stood in the center of the room, his shoulders rigid, his jaw clenched so hard it appeared as though he might shatter his teeth.

You faced him, your chest heaving as you struggled to maintain composure. You had walked straight into the lion’s den—into the council chamber where you did not belong—and spoken words that could not be taken back.

"I cannot believe you did that," Bucky growled, his voice low and dangerous. It was the voice of a man hanging on by a thread. "Do you have any idea what you have just done?"

"I know exactly what I have done," you shot back, your voice trembling with the effort to hold yourself together. "I did what was necessary."

"What was necessary?" Bucky repeated incredulously, taking a step toward you. His eyes were blazing, the blue of them almost electric. "Do you believe it is your responsibility to waltz in there and discuss choosing a consort as though you are deliberating the color of drapes for the dining hall?"

You flinched, but held your ground, lifting your chin. "What was I supposed to do? Stand there and allow them to tear me apart,, without uttering a word in my own defense?"

"You had no right!" Bucky roared, the words echoing off the walls. He took another step closer, his anger barely contained. "No right to enter there and—and agree with them. You do not defend our marriage by making it sound as though it is expendable."

"Expendable?" you scoffed, the sound harsh and bitter. Your voice dropped to a whisper, the pain in it cutting through the air like a blade. "Do you believe I desire this? To even consider such a possibility?"

"Then why say it?" he snapped, his hands flexing at his sides. "Why offer them the satisfaction of hearing you say you would choose a consort?"

"Because it was the only way to make them stop!" you cried out, your voice breaking. "They were never going to relent, Bucky. They would have continued pushing and pushing until—"

"Until what?" Bucky interrupted sharply, his gaze narrowing. "Until I gave in? Until I agreed to replace you as though you were a mere piece of furniture?"

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back furiously. "No, until they decided I was not worth defending anymore. Until they convinced you I was not worth defending."

Bucky recoiled as if you had struck him. His expression twisted into something raw, something almost wounded. "Is that what you think?" he asked, his voice thick with disbelief. "You think I would turn on you? Just like that?"

"I do not know what to think anymore!" you shouted, your voice breaking on the last word. "You scarcely speak to me. You gaze upon me as though I am some fragile thing you must keep at arm's length. You defend me to the council, and yet you cannot even look me in the eye when we are alone!"

"I defend you because you are my wife!" Bucky’s voice cracked like a whip, the force of it reverberating in the space between you. "Because I cannot bear the thought of them tearing you down. And all I have done for the past three months is fight for you—while you are in there, agreeing to throw it all away?"

"It is not that simple, Bucky!" you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You are not the one they scrutinize every second of every day, whispering that I am not good enough, that I am failing you. Failing the kingdom."

"And you believe this is any easier for me?" Bucky shot back, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Watching you suffer, knowing I can do nothing to help you? Knowing that every night we try—every night I fail—you are the one they blame?"

You flinched, the words striking deep. You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek before you could stop it. "Bucky, I..."

"I have been defending you since the day we wed," Bucky continued, his voice hoarse. "And do you know what hurts the most? It is not what they are saying. It is not the rumors or the accusations. It is you. It is that you do not believe I am on your side."

"That is not true!" you protested, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "I know you are on my side, but I—"

"But you still walked in there and handed them the one thing they have been trying to take from us," he cut you off harshly, the fury in his voice barely leashed. "The moment you agreed to choose a consort, you handed them a victory. You handed me over."

You staggered back, the accusation hitting you like a physical blow. "No... Bucky, I was merely trying to—"

"To what? Save me?" He laughed, a bitter, humorless sound that sent a stab of pain through your chest. "Do you truly believe they will stop at a consort, Y/N? Do you believe they will be satisfied with anything less than taking you away from me?"

"I was merely... I was trying to make things easier for you," you whispered brokenly, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over. "I did not wish to make you choose."

"Choose?" Bucky’s voice dropped, a dangerous softness creeping into his tone. "There was never a choice, Y/N. There will never be a choice. It is you. It has always been you."

His words hung in the air, the truth of them stark and undeniable. But there was no comfort in them—not in this moment, not when the damage had already been done.

The ache in your chest deepened as you gazed into his eyes, seeing the rawness there, the hurt and anger and love all twisted together in a knot that neither of you seemed able to untangle.

"Bucky..." you breathed, your voice trembling. "I cannot—"

"No," he cut you off sharply, his jaw clenched. "You do not get to finish that sentence. You do not get to stand there and pretend this is something you must shoulder alone."

"I am not pretending," you cried, your voice breaking on the words. "I know what this means. Do you believe I do not hear the whispers, that I do not see the way they look at us—at me? As if I am some failure, as if I am the reason this kingdom does not have an heir?"

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, the fury simmering beneath his skin barely contained. "It is not your fault—"

"Then whose is it?" you interrupted, stepping forward, your hands trembling as they reached for his. "Every month that passes without an heir, it worsens. The pressure, the doubt... the guilt." You swallowed hard, trying to push back the sob threatening to tear free. "And now, because of me—because I cannot give you what they want—they are pushing for a consort."

Bucky’s hands were like iron around yours, his gaze blazing as he shook his head. "This is not on you. It is them."

You nodded, a bitter smile twisting your lips. "I know. But if it is not me, it will be you. They will twist everything until there is no option left but to..." You closed your eyes, sucking in a shaky breath. "Perhaps it is better if I just... step aside."

"Step aside?" The words were low, dangerous. "You expect me to stand by and allow them to replace you?"

"I am not saying you must stand by," you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of it. "I am saying... I am saying I shall do it. I shall choose the right consort. Someone who will support you, someone who will not attempt to take the throne—someone who will give you an heir."

Bucky froze, his entire body going rigid as if struck. The silence that followed was suffocating, a heavy, choking thing that made your lungs burn. For a heartbeat, two, you thought he might turn and walk away—leave you to shatter in the emptiness you had just carved between you.

But then, slowly, Bucky’s hands tightened around yours, his grip bruising in its intensity. His eyes, when they met yours, were dark, filled with a kind of anguish that stole the breath from your lungs.

"You believe I would allow you to do that?" he asked softly, each word a deliberate, precise strike. "You believe I would permit you to choose another, allow them to take your place in our bed? In our lives?" He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "I would burn this kingdom to the ground before I allowed that to happen."

Your chest hitched with a sob, tears streaming down your cheeks as you shook your head. "But they will make you, James. They will twist everything until you have no choice. If I choose—if I step aside—they cannot say anything."

"Do you not understand?" Bucky’s voice broke, raw and strained, reverberating off the cold walls of the chamber. His grip tightened around your arm, not in anger, but in desperation. "It will never be anyone else. You are my queen. You are my wife. And I care not if we have a hundred heirs or none—I will not allow them to take you from me. Not like this."

Your heart ached at the sight of him, the pain etched across his face. He looked torn apart, pulled in too many directions, and you knew—you knew you were one of the forces pulling him, tearing him at the seams. You glanced away, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. You could not afford to be weak now.

"You are the King, Bucky." Your voice was steady, but it carried a hollow echo. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, even as your vision blurred. "I shall choose in the morning."

Bucky recoiled as if struck. His hand fell away from your arm, his expression crumbling into one of utter frustration and disbelief.

"No." He shook his head, chest heaving with the effort to keep himself together. "No, I do not want a choice. I do not wish for you to have to make that choice."

But you merely stood there, unmoving, a pillar of silent resolve. "It is not about what you want, James. It is about what is best for the kingdom."

"Damn the kingdom!" he exploded, the words tearing out of him like a curse. His voice reverberated through the chamber, the force of it shaking the very air between you.

"I need you—do you not understand that?" His hands moved as though he wished to reach out to you again, but he faltered, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He looked down, squeezing his eyes shut as though trying to ward off the storm building inside him.

But it was too late.

A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his skull, sudden and brutal. Bucky stumbled back, a guttural groan escaping him as he clutched his head. He tried to breathe through it, tried to force the pain down, but it only grew sharper, the pressure building until it felt like his skull might crack open.

"Bucky?" You stepped forward, your earlier resolve forgotten as fear tightened around your heart. You reached out, your fingers brushing his shoulder, but he jerked away as though your touch burned him.

"Stay away!" His voice was strangled, twisted, and not entirely his own. He staggered backward, the muscles in his neck straining as he fought against the change clawing at his mind. "Just—just stay away from me."

But you could not leave him. Not like this. "Bucky, please, let me—"

"No!" His roar echoed through the chamber, and then everything seemed to happen at once, "STAY AWAY FROM ME."

One moment he was there, staring at you with wide, tortured eyes. The next, his expression twisted, his features contorting into something savage, something unrecognizable. His arm lashed out, faster than you could process, and then you were flying back, your body slamming into the wall with a sickening thud.

Pain exploded across your back, and you gasped, the air knocked out of your lungs. The world spun, black spots dancing at the edges of your vision. But before you could even regain your breath, a vice-like grip closed around your throat, lifting you off the ground.

The Winter Soldier’s face loomed before you, his eyes dark and empty, his expression a mask of cold fury. The hand around your neck tightened, cutting off your air, and you struggled, your fingers scrabbling uselessly against the unyielding metal.

"B-Bucky…L-Let go. . ." you choked out, tears stinging your eyes as you tried to reach him, tried to break through the void in his gaze. But it was like staring into the abyss—there was no recognition, no flicker of the man you knew. Only the Soldier.

The edges of your vision began to blur, your lungs burning for oxygen as you clawed at his arm. But he did not flinch, did not even seem to notice your struggle. He just kept squeezing, his gaze locked onto yours, unseeing and merciless.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash as the door to the chamber burst open.

"Bucky! Stop!" Steve’s voice thundered through the room, filled with an urgency that made the air crackle. He was at the Soldier’s side in an instant, his hands closing around the metal arm with a strength that only Steve Rogers could muster.

"Bucky, let her go!" Sam’s voice joined Steve’s, and together, they pried at the Soldier’s grip. But it was as if Bucky’s strength had doubled, the force of his hold unrelenting. Your vision was dimming, your struggles weakening as the world faded around you.

"Let her go!" Steve roared, and with a surge of strength, he shoved Bucky back, the force finally breaking the Soldier’s grip.

You crumpled to the ground, gasping and coughing as precious air rushed back into your lungs. You barely registered Scott’s panicked voice beside you, his hands shaking as he tried to help you sit up.

The Winter Soldier staggered back, a snarl twisting his lips as he whirled on Steve. But Steve did not back down, his gaze locked onto Bucky’s, unflinching and determined.

"Come on, Buck," Steve murmured, his voice low and steady, meant for Bucky and Bucky alone. "You are stronger than this. Do not let it win."

For a moment, the Soldier paused, a flicker of something—something human—crossing his face. But then his expression twisted again, and he lunged, his metal arm swinging with brutal force.

Steve ducked, sidestepping the attack, his movements precise and controlled. "Sam, get Y/N out of here," he ordered, not taking his eyes off the Soldier.

"Got it," Sam replied tightly, his arm sliding around your shoulders as he lifted you to your feet.

"Bucky…" you whispered, your voice a broken rasp. You tried to reach for him, but Sam gently pulled you back.

"Not now, Your Majesty," Sam murmured, his tone soft but firm. "Let Steve handle this."

As you moved toward the door, you cast one last, desperate glance over your shoulder. The Soldier was still fighting, still lashing out with a mindless fury that sent shudders through you. But somewhere, buried deep beneath the violence and rage, you thought you saw a flash of blue—just for a second.

"Bucky…" you breathed, and then Sam was leading you away, your heart breaking with every step.

Behind you, Steve faced down the Winter Soldier alone, his voice a steady murmur as he tried to coax his friend back from the darkness.

"It is all right, Buck," Steve murmured, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "We are going to get through this. Do you hear me? We are going to get through this."

But the only response was a roar of fury as the Soldier lunged again, and the door slammed shut behind you and Sam, cutting off the sound of the battle that raged within.

"Your Majesty, please," Scott’s voice was shaking as he hovered beside you, his face pale with fear. "We need to get you somewhere safe."

But you did not respond. You merely stared at the closed door, your breath coming in short, painful gasps as the weight of what had just happened settled over you like a suffocating shroud.

It will never be anyone else.

His words echoed through your mind, a haunting reminder of what had been—and what might never be again.

× × × ×

The late morning sun filters softly through the delicate lace curtains of your private sitting room, casting a warm, golden glow that does little to dispel the chill clinging to the air. The room, usually filled with laughter and quiet conversations, now feels suffocatingly still. Monica, ever vigilant, hovers nearby, her gaze flicking between you and the door, as if expecting trouble to walk right in.

The soft click of heels on marble announces Sharon’s arrival before she even enters. With the same serene smile she always wears, Sharon steps through the door, a polished silver tray balanced perfectly on her palm. The teacup, filled with the familiar amber liquid, gleams invitingly under the morning light.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Sharon greets smoothly, the warmth in her voice radiating false cheer. She sets the tray down on the small table beside the chaise where you sit, her eyes skimming over your face with a hint of concern. “I thought you might like your tea a little earlier today. I added extra herbs for relaxation—something to help ease the tension.”

Monica nods politely, her expression neutral, betraying nothing of the unease simmering beneath her skin. “Thank you, Lady Carter,” she says, her tone gracious. “Just leave it here. I’ll see to it that Her Majesty drinks it.”

You glance up, the movement slow and deliberate, and for a fleeting moment, Sharon’s smile falters. Your fingers absently rub at the base of your throat, where the skin has turned a mottled shade of purple. The faint bruises stand out starkly against the pale column of your neck, a reminder of the night before—of Bucky’s unrelenting grip and the darkness that had taken hold of him.

“Your Majesty…” Sharon’s voice softens, laced with a concern that almost sounds genuine. She takes a small step forward, as if she wants to reach out. “Are you… feeling all right?”

Your gaze drifts to the cup of tea, then back to Sharon. For a moment, there is something unreadable in your eyes—something sharp and wary. But you force a smile, though it’s strained and barely touches your lips.

“Just tired,” you murmur, your voice hoarse, almost painful to listen to. You wince slightly, your fingers still pressed gently against your bruised throat. “But the tea will help, I’m sure.”

Sharon’s gaze lingers on your neck for a beat too long before she catches herself, her smile brightening. “Of course. Please, do take your time. It’s a special blend—calming and soothing. I brewed it myself this morning.”

You nod, reaching for the teacup. Your fingers brush the delicate handle, the porcelain cool beneath your touch. But just as you begin to lift it, a gentle hand wraps around your wrist, halting your movement.

“Your Majesty,” Monica says quietly, her voice steady but firm. She doesn’t look at Sharon—doesn’t acknowledge the tension that suddenly crackles between you. Her eyes remain on you, a silent plea and warning all in one. “Perhaps it’s best to let it cool a little. You know how sensitive your throat is right now.”

You blink, taken aback by the interruption. You glance between Monica’s serious expression and the teacup still poised in your hand, feeling the subtle but unmistakable pressure of Monica’s grip. Slowly, reluctantly, you set the cup back down on the saucer.

“Right,” you murmur, your brow furrowing slightly. “I suppose… it might irritate it.”

Monica nods, releasing your wrist with a barely perceptible sigh of relief. “Exactly. We don’t want to cause more discomfort.”

Sharon’s smile tightens, though she quickly schools her expression back into something more pleasant. “If Her Majesty prefers, I could bring something else,” she offers smoothly, her eyes shifting to Monica with an almost imperceptible edge. “Perhaps a broth, or a different blend of herbs—something gentler on the throat.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Monica replies before you can speak, her voice calm and composed. “I’ll see to her comfort. Thank you, Lady Carter.”

For a moment, the air in the room seems to freeze. Sharon’s gaze lingers on the cup of tea, then flickers back to Monica, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. But she only nods, her smile never wavering.

“Very well,” Sharon murmurs, dipping her head in a graceful nod. “Please, do let me know if there’s anything more I can do for Her Majesty.”

Your fingers twitch toward the teacup once more, but Monica’s hand rests gently atop yours, stilling the movement.

“We appreciate your concern, Lady Carter,” Monica says evenly, the weight of her gaze finally meeting Sharon’s. “But as I said, I’ll take care of it from here.”

There is a beat of silence, thick and heavy, before Sharon’s smile widens, all teeth and no warmth. “Of course. I’ll take my leave, then.”

She turns, her movements fluid and unhurried as she makes her way to the door. But just before she steps out, she glances back, her eyes locking onto yours with a peculiar intensity.

“Please rest well, Your Majesty,” she says softly. “And remember, I’m always here if you need me.”

The door closes with a soft click, and the tension in the room eases slightly. You exhale slowly, your fingers still brushing the delicate handle of the cup.

“Monica…” you begin, but the older woman’s gentle but firm voice cuts you off.

“No, Your Majesty,” Monica says quietly, her hand still resting on yours. “Not today.”

You frown, confusion and fatigue warring in your gaze. “But it’s just—”

“Not today,” Monica repeats, her voice soft but resolute. She glances at the teacup, her expression darkening. “You don’t need that today.”

You stare at the cup for a long moment, then nod slowly, allowing yourself to be guided away from it. As Monica leads you to the chaise, your eyes linger on the abandoned cup—on the amber liquid that seems to shimmer ominously under the soft glow of the morning sun.

For the first time in weeks, the tea remains untouched.

× × × ×

The air in the study of the Carter estate crackled with tension, the grand fireplace roaring with heat, but the chill in the room was unmistakable. Lord Carter stood by the window, hands clenched behind his back, his frame rigid with barely contained fury. His gaze was fixed on the darkening horizon outside, the sky tinged with the last traces of sunset, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere—burning with rage.

Behind him, Sharon stood near the door, her head slightly bowed as if she could avoid the inevitable storm brewing in her father’s expression. She’d seen him angry before, but this was different—more intense, more dangerous. She could feel it in the air, thick and suffocating, as though the walls themselves were pressing in.

“She dares,” Lord Carter spat, his voice shaking with anger. “That wretched queen dares to think she has outsmarted me. After everything… she thinks she knows everything.”

Sharon flinched as the words hit her, but she said nothing. She had learned, long ago, that silence was sometimes the best defense against her father’s fury. He paced in front of the window now, his hand twitching as thought resisting the urge to break something. The study, usually an image of calm authority, now felt like a tinderbox waiting for a spark.

“She humiliated me in front of the entire council,” Lord Carter continued, his voice low but simmering with hatred. “James stands there like a whipped dog, defending her—that woman—and you…” His gaze snapped toward Sharon, and for the first time that evening, she wished she could disappear. “You promised me progress.”

Sharon’s stomach twisted. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words stuck in her throat. She had been so sure, so certain that her plan would work—that weakening the queen’s health would make her more compliant, more vulnerable. But now…

Her father’s voice cut through her thoughts like a knife. “How is the tea going, Sharon?” He asked the question quietly, too quietly, and that made her pulse race even faster.

Sharon swallowed hard, finally forcing herself to meet his gaze. “She hasn’t been drinking it. . .” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was making progress, but… Monica is back. She’s been by the queen’s side constantly since her return.”

Lord Carter’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles in his neck strained.

“Monica,” he hissed, as though the very name tasted of poison. He turned away, fists clenched at his sides. “I warned you, Sharon. I warned you not to let anyone get in the way.”

Sharon flinched again, instinctively stepping back. “Father, I’m trying—”

“You’re failing,” he snapped, rounding on her. His eyes flashed with an intensity that made her heart pound. “If Monica is back, then she’ll suspect something. She’s always been too clever for her own good. You should have handled this before she returned.”

“I didn’t expect her to come back so soon,” Sharon tried to explain, her voice trembling slightly despite her efforts to keep calm. “But I can still—”

“You can still what?” Lord Carter cut her off, his voice a dangerous growl. “This was supposed to be simple. A quiet weakening, a slow descent into illness. But now she’s refusing the tea, and Monica is back to interfere. You’re letting this slip through your fingers.”

Sharon bit her lip, her mind racing for some solution, some way to fix the mess that was unraveling before her. But no matter how much she tried, every path seemed blocked by Monica’s return.

Lord Carter turned away from her again, his fingers tapping against his chin as he stared into the flames of the fireplace. His silence was more terrifying than his anger.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again—his voice low, cold, and utterly devoid of emotion. “Then you know what needs to be done.”

Sharon’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean?” she whispered, though she already knew.

Lord Carter didn’t look at her as he continued. “Monica has always been a problem. If she’s standing in our way, we remove her. Permanently.”

Sharon’s breath hitched, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You want me to… to kill her?”

Lord Carter turned then, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous resolve. “You’ve already been poisoning the queen,” he said flatly, his tone as casual as if they were discussing the weather. “Killing Monica is no different. She is just another obstacle.”

Sharon’s eyes widened in horror, her breath catching in her throat. “W-What? Poisoning the queen?” she echoed, her voice trembling with disbelief. “You said it was just… just contraceptive, Father!”

Lord Carter’s gaze remained cold and unyielding, his lips curling in disdain. “And you believed that? You thought preventing an heir was all we needed? No, Sharon, it had to be more. The queen’s power had to be diminished entirely. You were simply too naive to see the bigger picture.”

Sharon’s heart pounded as she stood there, frozen by the weight of his words. She had done terrible things before—sabotaged, lied, manipulated—but this… this was different. This was murder.

Lord Carter’s expression softened slightly, but there was no warmth in it. Only the cold steel of a man who had long since buried any sense of morality. “You’ve come too far to back out now, Sharon. Either you do this, or you lose everything. Do you understand me?”

Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. But then, slowly, she nodded. She had no choice. Not if she wanted to survive her father’s wrath.

“Good,” Lord Carter said, turning back toward the window. “And if anyone else stands in our way—Monica, the queen, anyone—remove them. We’re too close now to be stopped.”

Sharon’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched her father’s back, her mind racing with a thousand dark thoughts. She had always known her father was ruthless, but this… this was something else entirely. She wasn’t sure if she had the strength to go through with it.

But as the flickering flames cast shadows across the room, one thing became painfully clear: she had no choice.

× × × ×

Monica descended the stairs, her soft footsteps echoing faintly in the emptiness. She had just finished a late meeting and was heading toward her chambers, her mind lost in thought.

Above her, hidden in the shadows at the top of the staircase, Sharon stood, her pulse racing with every passing second. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind: “Monica must be removed. She is a threat to everything we've worked for.”

Sharon’s hands clenched tightly, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew she was running out of time. Monica’s constant presence by the queen’s side was unraveling her carefully laid plans. Tonight had to be the night. She couldn’t wait any longer.

The grand staircase was the perfect opportunity—isolated, with no one around to witness what was about to happen. Sharon had made sure the railing had been loosened earlier by a servant. But now, patience was no longer an option. Monica needed to be dealt with immediately.

Monica, unaware of Sharon’s presence, continued her descent, her steps steady. She reached the middle of the staircase when Sharon silently slipped out of the shadows, her movements quick and precise. Her breath came in shallow bursts, her heart hammering in her ears as she neared her target.

Without hesitation, Sharon surged forward, closing the gap between them. Just as Monica reached the next landing, Sharon struck. She placed her hands firmly on Monica’s back and shoved.

The push wasn’t strong, but it was well-timed.

Monica’s eyes widened as she felt the unexpected force behind her. Her arms flailed as she stumbled forward, desperately trying to grab hold of the banister. But the railing, already weakened, gave way with a loud, splintering crack.

A sharp gasp escaped Monica’s lips as she lost her balance completely. She tumbled down the stairs, her body slamming against the stone steps with brutal force. Her ankle twisted, and she could feel the sharp pain as her head hit the cold marble. She rolled painfully down several more steps before finally crashing at the bottom, her limbs sprawled awkwardly, her breathing shallow.

Sharon stood frozen at the top of the staircase, watching the scene below her. Monica lay still, her body motionless except for the faint rise and fall of her chest. Sharon’s heart pounded in her ears, her mind racing. She had done it. She had pushed Monica.

But then she hesitated—what if Monica wasn’t dead? What if she survived? Panic set in.

Monica stirred, a faint groan escaping her lips as she tried to move. But the pain in her body was too much. Her vision blurred as she attempted to sit up, the world around her spinning. She felt blood trickling from a wound on her forehead, the coppery taste filling her mouth. Her head throbbed, and before she could even process what had happened, darkness overtook her. She lost consciousness, her body slumping back against the cold stone floor.

Sharon’s breath caught in her throat, and her body tensed. This wasn’t the clean, easy accident she had planned. Fear surged through her, and without waiting to see if anyone had heard the fall, she turned and fled back into the shadows. She needed to get away before someone saw her.

Her footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor as she hurried away, her mind racing with panic. She couldn’t afford to be caught.

Moments after Sharon disappeared, two palace guards patrolling the nearby hallway heard the distant sound of something—someone—falling. Their footsteps quickened as they reached the staircase. At the bottom, they found Lady Monica lying unconscious, blood staining the side of her face, her body twisted painfully.

“Lady Monica!” one of the guards shouted, rushing to her side. He knelt down, feeling her faint pulse, relief flooding through him. “She’s alive. Quickly, get the physician!”

The second guard ran off, disappearing down the hall in search of help, while the first guard stayed by Monica’s side, carefully positioning her to avoid further injury. The grand staircase, usually a symbol of regal elegance, was now tainted with the scent of blood and the ominous aura of a near-tragedy.

× × × ×

After the incident where he lost control and harmed the queen, he had needed to leave—a necessity to keep you safe… from himself. Bucky lay in bed, his face pale and drawn from the relentless headaches that had plagued him for years. Isaac sat by his bedside, his expression grim, while Steve and Sam stood nearby, their eyes fixed on their friend with concern.

Bucky shifted slightly, trying to ease the pounding in his head. "What is it, Isaac?" he asked, his voice hoarse but lined with worry. Isaac had been unusually quiet since entering the room, a sign that something was terribly wrong.

Isaac exchanged a glance with Steve and Sam before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "It is about Monica."

Bucky’s brow furrowed, his body tensing immediately. "Monica? What of her?"

Isaac took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "She fell… down the grand staircase earlier this night."

The words struck the room like a hammer blow. Bucky’s eyes widened in shock as he pushed himself up slightly on the bed. "Is she well?"

"She is," Isaac answered quickly, nodding. "She has only recently regained consciousness, but… there is something you must know."

Steve and Sam exchanged uneasy glances, stepping closer to the bed, sensing the gravity in Isaac’s tone.

"What is it?" Bucky pressed, his voice thick with concern.

Isaac hesitated for a moment, choosing his words with care. "Monica… claims she did not fall. She claims she was pushed."

The room fell deathly still.

Steve furrowed his brow, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. "Pushed? What do you mean, pushed?"

Isaac’s gaze shifted to Steve. "That is what she said. She recalls someone behind her… someone pushing her down the stairs."

Sam’s face darkened, and he stepped forward. "Why would someone do such a thing? Who would do this?"

Isaac shook his head slowly, the weight of the situation pressing down upon the room. "She did not see who it was. She lost consciousness after the fall. But she is certain—someone pushed her. This was no accident."

Bucky closed his eyes briefly, his jaw clenched in anger and frustration. "Could it be related to what is happening with Y/N? Could they be trying to reach her through Monica?"

Steve’s brow furrowed deeper, the tension in the room mounting. "It is possible. Monica has been by Y/N’s side since her return, caring for her… She has always been loyal. Perhaps someone views her as a threat."

Isaac suddenly let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head as though something had just clicked in his mind. The sound caught the attention of the others, and they turned to him, startled by the shift in his demeanor.

"Do you find this amusing?" Steve asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

Isaac leaned back in his chair, still shaking his head, a dark smile curling his lips. "What a mess this is," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible but laden with realization. He looked up at Steve, his expression now serious. "And no, Steve. I do not find it amusing."

“Then why—”

Isaac’s eyes darkened, cutting Steve off before he could finish. “Because I may know who is behind this… and you had best pray it is not connected to the matters I have been investigating outside the palace walls.”

Bucky, still propped up on the bed, straightened, his brow creasing with concern. "What are you implying, Isaac?"

Isaac stood up, his expression hardening, determination visible on his face. “I must return to the palace tonight. There is more at work here than mere court politics. If this is tied to what I have uncovered, then the danger is far greater than we could have foreseen.”

Steve stepped toward him, his eyes searching Isaac’s face for answers. "Isaac, what exactly are you dealing with?"

Isaac gave Steve a brief glance but shifted his focus back to Bucky. The words were on the tip of his tongue, and they were too important to delay. He stepped closer to his brother’s bedside, his gaze sharp.

“Y/N is not safe within the palace,” Isaac said bluntly, his voice cold and honest. "And I do not mean solely because of those who plot against her."

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you saying?”

Isaac’s gaze flickered with a mixture of frustration and concern. “I am saying that even with you there, she is not safe. You cannot control what is happening to you, Bucky. We both know it.” His tone was brutally honest, cutting through the room like a blade. "What will happen the next time you lose control?"

Bucky’s face tightened, the memory of what he had done to you cutting deeper than any physical wound. He did not respond immediately, his breath catching in his throat. His mind flashed back to that dreadful day—your face pale with fear, your body fragile beneath his grip as the Winter Soldier surfaced. He had not meant to hurt you, but he had.

Isaac’s tone softened slightly, though his words remained firm. “I do not say this to hurt you, brother. I say it because you must face the truth.”

Bucky’s fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. “I would never—”

“You did not mean to,” Isaac interrupted, his voice steady but relentless. “But it happened. And what is to stop it from happening again? You battle yourself every day, and the more you seek to protect her, the more dangerous you become.”

The room was thick with tension, the truth of Isaac’s words hanging heavily in the air.

Steve’s face was taut with concern, but he remained silent. He knew Isaac was right—Bucky’s unpredictability, especially with the Winter Soldier still lurking deep within him, posed a constant threat. It was only a matter of time.

"I shall return to the palace," Isaac said decisively. "I will continue my investigation, but you must prepare yourself for whatever is coming. If Sharon—or anyone else—is behind this, then this is far from finished."

Isaac glanced briefly at Steve and Sam, his expression unreadable, before turning and heading toward the door.

As he reached for the handle, he paused, casting one last look at his brother. “I will do all in my power to keep Y/N safe. But we must be honest about the dangers we face.”

Bucky said nothing, the weight of Isaac’s words bearing down upon him. His heart ached with the memory of the moment he had lost control, the horror in your eyes. Isaac left without another word, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the silence. × × × ×

You sit at the grand desk, your fingers lightly tracing the edges of the parchment before you. On the table lies a list of names—potential consorts for Bucky—that Scott had handed you earlier. The sight of the names only deepens the pit of discomfort in your stomach.

Your eyes scan the names, but your mind is far from the task. Despite the formalities, the political pressures, and the expectations of the court, all you can think of is Bucky—of his absence and the aching space it leaves in your heart.

A soft knock on the door startles you from your thoughts. The door creaks open, and you glance up, your heart skipping a beat. For a moment, you think it’s Bucky. But as the figure steps further into the light, your breath catches.

It isn’t him.

It’s his twin brother, Prince Isaac. The resemblance is uncanny, though there is something sharper in Isaac’s demeanor—an edge that sets him apart from Bucky’s more familiar warmth. His presence fills the room in a different way, his dark gaze locking onto yours as he steps forward.

You quickly stand, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you try to compose yourself. You’ve seen Isaac around the palace, of course—always lingering in the background, watching but never approaching. But this is the first time you’ve spoken face to face.

"Your Majesty," Isaac greets with a formal bow, his voice smooth, yet carrying an undertone of something darker, something almost unreadable. "I hope I am not intruding."

You blink, recovering from your initial surprise. "Not at all," you reply, your voice measured. "I—" You hesitate briefly before continuing. "I thought you were Bucky at first."

A faint smile tugs at the corner of Isaac’s lips, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. "A common mistake," he says, his tone light, yet there’s an undercurrent of something heavier. "Though I assure you, the differences are far more than they seem at first glance."

You nod, still feeling slightly off balance from the unexpected encounter. You gesture toward the desk. "I was just reviewing… some matters of state." You don’t want to mention the list of consorts, as the topic feels both awkward and deeply personal.

Isaac’s gaze flickers to the papers on your desk, though he says nothing about them. Instead, he steps further into the room, his hands clasped behind his back. "I’ve been meaning to introduce myself properly, Your Majesty. It seems fate has delayed that until now."

You incline your head slightly. "Yes, I’ve seen you around the palace, but we have not had the chance to speak."

Isaac gives a slight nod, his eyes never leaving yours. "I apologize for that. Matters of… importance have kept me away from more formal introductions."

You sense the weight behind his words, though you’re unsure if you should press him on it. Instead, you decide to keep the conversation polite, at least for now. "You needn’t apologize. I am aware that you’ve been preoccupied with other affairs. I hear your work takes you far beyond the palace walls."

Isaac’s expression shifts subtly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he quickly masks it. "Yes. My duties are… varied." He pauses, his gaze growing more intense. "But my primary concern is always the safety of the royal family."

There’s something in the way he says it that makes you uneasy, though you can’t quite place why. You fold your hands in front of you, offering a polite smile. "I appreciate your concern, Prince Isaac."

Isaac’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer before he glances back toward the desk, where the list of consorts lies partially rolled up. "And how goes the selection of potential consorts for my brother?" he asks, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

Your fingers tighten slightly on the edge of the table. You don’t want to discuss it with him—especially not when your heart feels so conflicted. "It’s… a process," you reply vaguely, trying to brush off the question. "One that requires much consideration."

Isaac arches an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Indeed. I can imagine it is a difficult decision. Though I am sure you will choose wisely." There’s a pause, and then he adds, more quietly, "I doubt anyone could replace you in Bucky's heart, though.

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Bucky’s name, and you find yourself momentarily speechless. Isaac has touched on a truth you’re trying so desperately to ignore—that no matter who is presented to you, no one will ever replace the place you holds in Bucky's heart.

Isaac’s gaze softens slightly, though his voice remains firm. "The court may demand certain things, but the heart seldom aligns with such demands."

You look up at him, a flicker of vulnerability crossing your expression. "I... suppose you’re right."

Isaac steps closer, his presence looming but not oppressive. "If I may speak candidly, Your Majesty," he says, his tone quiet but steady, "I know my brother better than anyone. He left because he believed it was the only way to protect you."

You feel a lump form in your throat at the mention of Bucky’s departure. "He thought he was protecting me by leaving, that sounds about right." you murmur, more to yourself than to Isaac.

Isaac’s gaze softens further, though his eyes still hold that sharpness. "He lov— means well. That is why he left." He pauses, his voice lowering. "But you should know, running away from the ones we care about does not always keep them safe."

Your chest tightens at Isaac’s words. The weight of your decisions—of the future you’re supposed to secure, and the person you love who is far away—presses down on you all at once. You look down at the list of consorts again, your heart heavy with uncertainty.

Isaac takes a step back, his expression unreadable once more. "I shall leave you to your considerations, Your Majesty," he says, his voice formal again. "But if you ever need counsel… you know where to find me."

You open your mouth, words bubbling up as uncertainty grips you. "Wait."

Isaac pauses, turning back to face you, his expression unreadable. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

You glance at the list of names on the desk and then back at him. The idea of selecting someone to fill the void in Bucky's absence feels too heavy, too painful to do alone. "I… I need your help."

Isaac’s eyes narrow slightly in surprise. "You want my counsel in choosing a consort?" His voice carries a note of disbelief, as though he hadn’t expected this request.

You nod slowly, your voice soft. "Yes. I trust that you know Bucky better than anyone. I want to make the right decision, for him… for the kingdom."

For a moment, Isaac says nothing. He studies you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of recognition, perhaps even sympathy.

"I understand," he finally replies, stepping closer once again. His tone has shifted, quieter, more serious. "I will help you."

Relief washes over you, though a lingering unease remains. You gesture to the list on the desk. "These are the names the council suggested. But I do not know some of them personally. I want someone who would truly support Bucky, someone who would not try to—" You hesitate, unable to finish the sentence, your heart aching at the thought of someone else standing beside him.

Isaac steps beside you, his gaze sweeping over the list. "These names," he says slowly, "are politically motivated. The council seeks alliances that strengthen their own positions, not necessarily what is best for my brother."

His words confirm what you feared, and you let out a soft sigh. "Then who would be the right choice?"

Isaac’s fingers lightly trace one of the names, his gaze thoughtful.

Natasha Romanoff Carol Danvers Yelena Belova Wanda Maximoff Sharon Carter Ivanya Haynesworth Jane Haynesworth Ciara Pierce Alana Ross

"There are few here who would serve Bucky's interests. But I can tell you who to avoid."

You look up at him, your heart clenching at the dilemma before you.

Isaac's gaze meets yours, and his voice drops to a whisper, firm and reassuring. "Bucky will return, and when he does, he will not care about a consort or the court’s demands. You know that, do you not?"

His words strike deep, echoing a truth you’ve been trying to ignore. You swallow hard, looking back down at the list, your voice barely audible. "I don’t know anymore."

Isaac places a hand gently on your shoulder, his voice steady and certain. "Trust me, Your Majesty. Together, we will ensure no one takes advantage of this situation. We will make the right decision, for Bucky and for you."

For the first time in a long while, you feel a flicker of hope. You meet Isaac’s gaze, nodding slowly. "Thank you," you whisper.

Isaac offers a faint smile. "You are not alone in this. I am here to help, Your Majesty."

You lean forward slightly, resting your hands on the edge of the desk, your gaze drifting back to the list of names. "Wanda… she’s kind and empathetic. I know she would be supportive of Bucky in the way he needs." You glance up at Isaac, searching for some reaction, hoping for guidance.

Isaac’s expression remains neutral, but there’s a flicker—so brief it’s almost imperceptible. His eyes soften just for a second at the mention of Wanda’s name, a subtle shift in his otherwise composed demeanor.

"Wanda is indeed… remarkable," Isaac says, his voice steady but with a weight behind his words that lingers. He glances away, only for a moment, as if guarding a thought he won’t voice. "She would be a strong choice, no doubt."

There’s a silence that follows, one you can’t quite place. You catch the faintest trace of something in Isaac’s tone—admiration, perhaps? It’s gone before you can fully grasp it, but the subtle hint lingers in the air between you. He composes himself again quickly, his gaze meeting yours, sharp and clear.

"But whether she would want this role, as we’ve discussed, is something to consider," Isaac continues, his tone once more composed, giving no further indication of the brief flicker you saw. "Her loyalty and strength, however, would make her an asset to anyone she chose to stand beside."

You nod slowly, feeling as though you’ve glimpsed something more, but unsure if it was truly there. The conversation shifts back to the list of names, yet the faint trace of Isaac’s earlier reaction stays with you, leaving you with the slightest suspicion that perhaps Wanda occupies a place in his thoughts beyond simple respect.

As the conversation with Isaac winds down, the weight of your decisions still presses heavily on your mind, though the subtle sense of clarity Isaac has provided lingers. You stand, smoothing the fabric of your gown, your gaze drifting once again to the list of names on the desk.

Isaac watches you for a moment, his expression thoughtful but unreadable. "If you need anything else, Your Majesty, do not hesitate to call upon me," he says, his voice formal once more.

"Thank you, Isaac," you reply softly, offering him a small but sincere nod. "Your counsel has been invaluable."

Just as Isaac is about to turn and leave, you feel a sudden tug in your chest—a need for one last question, one that’s been lingering at the back of your mind since he arrived. Before he can reach the door, you take a breath and call out softly, “Prince Isaac?”

He pauses, hands on the door handle, and turns back to face you. His expression shifts slightly, as though he knows what you’re about to ask but has been waiting for you to voice it.

“How… how is Bucky?” you ask, your voice quiet but filled with concern. “In Annecy, I mean. Is he doing… is he all right?”

Isaac’s features soften, and the sharpness in his gaze briefly gives way to something gentler. He steps back toward you, his demeanor more personal now.

“He’s managing,” Isaac replies, careful to choose his words. “Annecy has been a place of respite for him. He’s doing what he needs to do, focusing on himself for now.”

You nod, though your heart aches with the unspoken worries swirling in your mind. “I just… I miss him. I want to be there for him.”

Isaac’s gaze lingers on you, understanding etched across his features. “He knows that,” he says gently. “And I believe he’ll return when the time is right. For now, he’s doing what he feels he must, but it’s not forever.”

A wave of relief mixes with the ever-present ache of Bucky’s absence. You offer Isaac a small, grateful nod, managing to keep your emotions steady.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “For telling me.”

Isaac offers a brief smile, dipping his head slightly. “Take care, Your Majesty,” he says, his tone formal again but still carrying a trace of warmth.

With that, Isaac turns and exits the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The door clicks shut, and you exhale slowly, the conversation lingering in your mind. You feel both reassured and uneasy, knowing Bucky is far away, but at least he's safe for now—so you hope.

You glance back at the list of potential consorts, but your mind is elsewhere, focusing instead on the people who matter most to you—those who’ve stood by you, offered their strength and loyalty. You take a deep breath, resolving that this next step must be handled delicately.

"Scott?" you call, your voice soft yet firm.

Within moments, Scott appears at the door, his posture respectful as always. "Yes, Your Majesty?" he asks, his tone deferential.

You offer him a gentle smile. "Please extend an invitation for tea. I would like to meet with Lady Maximoff. This afternoon, if she is available."

Scott nods immediately, his professionalism unwavering. "Of course, Your Majesty. I will deliver the invitations at once."

As Scott exits the room to carry out your request, you let out a quiet sigh, your mind already racing through the upcoming meeting. These women are not just potential allies—they are people you trust, whose opinions matter deeply to you. The thought of seeing them, of discussing the choices ahead, brings a small sense of comfort, despite the heavy decisions still lingering on the horizon.

You glance once more at the abandoned list on your desk, knowing that whatever lies ahead.

Tags: @theendofthematerialgworl @httpb3a @spiidergirlsworld @sebastians-love @stevesbbgorl

@targaryenhues @almosttoopizza @scott-loki-barnes @brckenmemories @vicmc624

@classicrebound @nommingonfood @greatenthusiasttidalwave @railmesebstan @annawilk

@landoslutmeout @winterslove1917 @missvelvetsstuff @s0kovianwitch @lveegsoi

@suckerfordylansstuff @daydream-believer19 @shadowzena43 @itsshellzy @decaffeinatedjellyfishduck

@melsunshine @barnesxstan @singsosworld @kitsunetori

@im-normal-about-characters @hayleythecannibal @tallaennatargaryen

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pixiesfz · 10 months ago

Text

teammates k.c

plot: you vowed never to date a teammate every again.

warning: suggestive, sorry Courtney Nevin I love you

You swore you would never date a teammate again.

At first you opened your arms to the idea, your heart exploded when your crush kissed you at your game at the under 17’s World Cup.

You remembered Courtney’s smirk when you backed away with fluttery eyes and blushed cheeks.

You didn’t know the heartbreak it would cause you months later.

“Courtney we only see eachother at camps I- I don’t think I can do the long distance anymore” you sobbed to the blonde girl who sat on the bed next to you.

Courtney stayed silent, looking down at her feet.

“Please say something” you begged, leaning over to grab her hand.

“I slept with someone” she blurted out and you quickly pulled your hands away, your mind ran a thousand miles per hour.

You stayed silent as she was now the one who was begging from a sound out of your mouth.

“With who?”

“Just some random girl- I swear it didn’t mean anything I swear” she talked but you jumped off the bed.

“Courtney I need you to stay away from me right now, or for a while” you muttered, walking back to the door.

“y/n”

But it was too late you had slammed the door shut, making your way to your and Mary’s shared room.

You swore never to date a teammate again.

You had met Kerstin through Mary, constantly having to deal with the girl FaceTiming her Man City friend. “Fowler let your friend sleep” she laughed as it was clear you were trying to sleep in the background.

“Please listen to her Mary I told Kyra I would sit next to her in the bus and she won’t let me sleep”

You heard the Dutch woman’s laugh in the other end as Mary huffed.

During many camps after that you were invited into the FaceTimes, sometimes even talking to Kerstin yourself whilst Mary’s in the bathroom or running errands.

You found your cheeks blushing one time after a game, you were talking to Kirsten as Mary was washing her hair for the teams dinner tonight.

“I took Inspiration from you” she smirked “oh how?” You asked and she lifted her arm

You tried not to draw your eyes to the veins that popped out but you couldn’t help yourself. “Look a number three, inspired by your hatrick” she laughed and you rolled your head back “what is it you Australians say…you’re a gun!” She cheered and you blushed, too embarrassed to see the notification that Kirstin had taken a screenshot at the interaction.

Mary walked into the room with her hair wrapped up in a towel “looking fancy” you stated and panned the phone to her “nice Fowler, looking scrumptious” the Dutch girl laughed and you joined.

“if you guys are ganging up on me now I wonder what it’s going to be like when y/n joins city” Mary sighed and Kerstin gasped “your joining city?” She asked and you nodded your head “signed a contract not that long ago, so surprise?”

You were welcomed to City with open arms from all the girls Alanna taking you under her wing as she felt protective over you.

After all she was the one who caught you crying in the hallway after Courtney had told you she cheated, your eyes filled up with so much tears you could barely see.

“How’s Manchester treating you?” Allan’s asked as you sat with her and Leila, a Spaniard you had grown close with.

“Good I’m enjoying my time here everyone is so nice”

Whilst the three of you sat in the corner Jill cornered Kerstin who was ‘subtly’ looking at you from the other side of the room.

“You like her” Jill piped up and Kerstin jumped “nuekan!” She whisper yelled and Jill smirked “no I don’t” she denied.

“Yes you do”

“No I don’t”

“Yes you do”

“Yes I do”

Jill smiled triumphantly and clapped her hands together “then ask her out” Jill encouraged

“Ask who out?”

The two Dutch girls widened their eyes at Mary who had innocently jumped in on their conversation “uhm” Kerstin started and Jill looked around.

“Nobody”

“Y/n”

The two spoke at the same time and Mary’s eyes widened as she turned to her friend and hit her “why did you tell Jill before me” she said as Kerstin pulled away “ow stop” she said as Jill laughed and turned to Mary, pulling her away from her friend.

“So” Jill trailed off “do you know what y/n thinks of Kerstin?” She asked and Mary’s face fell and with that so did Kerstins “oh my god” she groaned.

‘I’m so stupid’ she thought but Mary grabbed her arm “It’s not that she doesn’t but it’s just that she doesn’t date teammates, she’s very big on it” Mary said and Jill shrugged “why?”

“Well when we were younger her and Courtney dated during Matilda’s camps and well when Courtney moved to Leicester and y/n stayed in Melbourne well…” she trailed off

“It’s easy for a couple to break up cause of long distance” Kerstin said as she thought of couples she knew “it wasn’t just the long distance, Courtney cheated on her and it really hurt her, so she’s vowed ever since” Mary said and the two girls nodded “oh” was all Kerstin said as she looked over to where you sat.

You were roomed with Mary for your first away game as your international teammate now was on edge from keeping Kerstins secret from you.

“You and Kerstin are close” she spoke up and you blushed, thankfully you were facing away from your friend so she couldn’t see the small smile that erupted on your face.

“I guess” you shrugged and Mary nodded “I know you vowed off dating-“

“Mary” you warned her and she groaned “I know but Kerstin isn’t like that”

“Yeah well I thought Courtney wasn’t like that either” you defended and Mary dropped her head “look” you started “if we weren’t teammates and there was no chance of having a weird team dynamic after we break up sure yes I would take her on a date” you shrugged

“I mean she’s nice, really cute, makes me laugh aswell as laughs at my jokes and has the tattoos that I’m attracted to and sure she would probably make a good girlfriend and-“ you stopped talking as you looked up to your fellow Aussie who was grinning ear to ear.

“I like her” you realised

“You like her a lot” Mary sang out and you slapped her.

You didn’t know what to do with your newfound information. Everytime Kerstin came up to you at trainings or at games you blushed and ran away like a little school girl.

“Y/n/n what’s up?” she asked you one day as she ran behind you “oh nothing” you trailed “any weekend plans?” She asked shakily as you both stopped.

You could lie and say no just incase she wanted to hang out but you found yourself wanting to hang out with her, by yourself…with nobody else there.

“None at the moment why?” You asked with a smile and the girl blushed “we should go out for coffee or lunch or something” she said and your breath hitched “or we could not-“

“I’d like that actually” you smiled and the Dutch girl nodded “great”

And with no thought your mouth betrayed you.

“Sounds like a date”

And you ran off.

The weekend came and you found yourself with Kerstin walking through a couple of clothe stores before you went out.

You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t like the way how Kirsten’s body would press behind you when you looked at a top for too long.

“That would great on you” she mumbled, her breath hitting your neck due to the height difference.

The top was nice and you were looking for your size until and idea popped into your head.

You turned your body to her, faces inches apart “how about we buy a piece of clothing for eachother and wear it out”

“wear it to our date?” She asked and you smiled, nodding and dropping your head to hide your blush.

“Okay but the top I like for you is near so close your eyes” she said with a grin as you did so “you pick yours then I pick mine I saw something at the start that is perfect”

Kerstin tried to be quick as she picked up a flowy top near where you stood, she remembered how your eyes lingered on it when you walked in.

“Okay I’m done” she announced before you smiled, a jump in your step as you made your way to a sweater vest that you knew that she would like and you knew she would look hot in.

“Okay I’m done too” you said and the Dutch girl laughed “alright let’s go pay and then get changed because we are already five minutes late to our reservation”

Getting changed you tried to ignore the way your heart was racing when she picked out the top that you secretly hoped that she would.

Kerstin stepped out with a grin “Love it” she smiled and lifted up her arms to flex as you laughed but secretly admired.

You both sat down and ate, Kerstin offering to pay as she invited you out. “Well next time I’m paying” you told her

“Next time?” Kerstin asked and you sheepishly nodded “yeah”.

It wasn’t until your next international camp that your teammates buckled down on you.

“No love life in Manchester?” Kyra teased as you smiled and you blushed, ignoring the stare on your face from a certain blonde.

“She would tell me” Alanna boasted and Mary choked on her food “no she would not” Caitlin told her “Yeah Lani if I was y/n I wouldn’t want you Interrogating my new girl” Mackenzie laughed.

“Well is there?” Charli asked with a grin and you shook your head as a ‘no’ but your facial expressions betrayed you.

“Who?!”

“What?!”

“I have to approve!”

“Aight everyone off her” Mary laughed before Steph quirked her eyebrow “you know” she stated and Mary shrugged “Well I’m the one who has to leave our room whenever she comes over” she groaned and you laughed from your spot.

“So does she follow you for all your matches?” Teagan asked and you nodded “you could say that”.

You laid on top of Kerstin, straddling her hips as you kissed down her neck “you know people are starting to catch on” you smiled, lifting your head up to press a kiss to her lips.

“So let them I don’t care” she mumbled “you’re just saying that cause you’re enjoying me right now.

“I have a pretty girl on top of me what else is there to ask for?”

“The FA cup?” You perked up as you both laughed.

“I’m just happy I finally got my own room this camp” you tutted “also my team knows I’m seeing someone but they don’t know who”

“Even Courtney?” Kerstin asked and you nodded. You saw hunger creep into your soon to be girlfriend’s eyes as you talked about your ex.

“I don’t like that your with her for the week” she said, her grip tightening on your hips.

“Then why don’t we show her that I’m taken” you smirked , leaning back down and kissing Kerstin.

You moaned in pleasure as she moved her lips down your neck, sucking hard on certain parts, knowing when to stop so they wouldn’t show up for your Matilda’s game.

You decided that you liked it when Kerstin was jealous.

You broke away as Both your hands went to the ends of your top, trying to take it off before knocking was heard at your door.

“Y/n!” Little Harper Gorrys voice yelled out as you rolled off Kerstin pulling your top back down “ow” you cursed and threw a blanket over Kerstins body who was silently laughing at your fall.

Opening the door you looked down to Harper who was smiling “you make weird noises in your sleep” she giggled and you nodded “where’s your mum?” You asked and she pointed down the hallway where you saw Katrina talking to Allanna who was on the phone.

“There you are Harps” Katrina smiled and walked over to you where Harper put her hands out for her “go to mama” you coed as Allanna got off the phone.

“Hey you and Kerstin are close yeah?” she asked and you nodded “yes” you nodded, panic laced in your voice as the said girl was hidden underneath a blanket metres away.

“Jill called said she’s not at the hotel they’re staying at” she said “oh” you mumbled, trying to look around your room to see if there was a clear body on your bed.

But a gasp was heard.

Katrina had her hand to her face and the running footsteps of both Kyra and Mary were heard as they went to your room.

“You have a hickey!”

“I know who you y/n is seeing!”

The mother daughter duo spoke at the same time as all eyes returned on you.

“Did your girlfriend follow you to Netherland for one game?” Alanna asked as Katrina laughed.

“That’s who you’re seeing?” She asked, putting the pieces together and you sheepishly nodded.

“Who?” Alanna asked, still confused as your nerves rose but a hand grabbed onto your back for comfort.

“Jeez Lani you’ve suffered one too many concussions in your life”

“KERSTIN!”

she latched onto your waist and placed her head on your shoulder “surprise?”

#woso #woso x reader #matildas #woso soccer #woso community #kerstin casparij #kerstin casparij x reader #manchester city #alanna kennedy #jill roord

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wosoamazing · 11 months ago

Text

Emails, Transfer Disputes and Harper

Summary: You get a long awaited email, there are some transfer disputes at camp and you spend time with Harper

Warnings: Some swearing, yelling I guess, angst (I think)

A/N: Plot twist..... maybe, maybe not?

You were sitting against the back wall of the common room finishing off the last of your schoolwork for the day. When you got an email, not just an email, the email, you opened the email and started reading, not caring that essentially the rest of the team was in the room.

‘Dear Y/F/N Williamson, this email is regarding your senior education, blah blah, after many discussions within our team and consultations with Arsenal FC and Football Australia we have come to a decision on your request, blah blah, I am pleased to inform you that your request has been fulfilled in addition to the removal of all internal exams, which will instead be replaced with assignments, thus in your final year of your education you will have three assignments per subject to complete. Blah blah blah’

It’s safe to say a wave of relief flooded over you, you had put in this request 6 months ago, your final year of school was looming just 3 weeks away now, and so too were the Olympics in a year, tears started to stream out your eyes, you couldn’t believe it, you didn’t think they would say yes, the request was purely put in to see, no one thought they would say yes, let alone do more.

“What’s wrong” a soft voice said as a small hand was placed on your shoulder, you looked up to see sweet little Harper in front of you.

“These aren’t sad tears Harps, these are happy tears,” you replied to her, pulling her in for a great big hug.

“What’s happening, are you okay Y/N/N?” Steph said as her and Sam walked in totally confused, everyone turned around to see you tears streaming down you face, hugging harper, with a huge smile on your face, they were also totally confused.

“They, they said yes Steph,” “Who did? Wait. No, they said yes! Om my God, I’m so happy for you.”

“Who said yes?” “The education people, she-”

“Read,” you said shoving the computer into Steph’s hands, standing up, now holding Harper, who just pressed her head into the crock of your neck and relaxed, which Mini took a photo of, she had so many photos of you and Harper together, she could fill a stadium with them.

“Dear Y/F/N Williamson, this email is regarding your senior education, whatever, whatever, after many discussions within our team and consultations with Arsenal FC and Football Australia we have come to a decision on your request, whatever, I am pleased to inform you that your request has been fulfilled in addition to the removal of all internal exams, which will instead be replaced with assignments, thus in your final year of your education you will have three assignments per subject to complete. Whatever, whatever.” Said read the email out loud, her mouth dropped in shock. “Wait, they’re doing more?”

“Yep” you replied emphasising the P.

“Wait this means you are available to be picked for the Olympics now, we need to go to Tony”.

“You do know there is no guarantee you will be picked though right” someone said.

“Uh, have you seen the girl play,” Sam responded.

“She makes the oppositions defence look like a joke; trust me I’ve been on the other side of it” Alanna added.

“Anyway, if I don’t get picked for this team, I have been promised there is a spot for me on another team. I’ll tell Tony tomorrow; I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been told as well though.”

“You know what I loved to see you place against Barca,”

“Well, if you accept Emma’s offer that could hap-” Sam started but you cut her off “Yeah and if I accepted Barca’s offer I could play for Barca.”

“Wait, you’ve got offers from Barca and Chelsea?” Steph asks.

“Yeah, and City, and like basically every other club, can we not talk about this right now?”

“But have you actually thought about this, this is serious,” “Yeah, I’m not an imbecile contrary to what you may think, Arsenal found out and offered more than Barca and Chelsea, but they raised them, I told Arsenal, and they are coming back to me,”

“Wait, Emma raised her offer? She was already offering more than she pays me, that’s insane, and Barca did too, and Arsenal might raise them again.” Sam questions with surprise in her voice.

“Yeah” you say back to her, slightly insulted by how much shock she is in.

“So, you’re staying at Arsenal?” Caitlin askes.

“I don’t know, I have to think about it, talk to my parents about it, have the dreaded conversation with Leah, honestly Leah is probably the reason Arsenal is trying to raise again, if I go, she’ll probably go too. But even if she doesn’t go lets be honest, the team works the way it does and its successful because of the dynamic we have, a very fragile dynamic at that, with any one of us gone, its going to fall down a cliff, which is risky, its risky to stay at Arsenal, Barca might not ever offer this sort of money again, or even worse they might not ever give me an offer again” you pause for a moment before you put Harper on the ground “why don’t you go back to your Mama” she nods and walks back over to Mini, who sends you an apologetic look, she knew why you put Harper down and it shouldn’t have to be that way but it is “Arsenal is the dream team, you are all amazing everyone there is my family, but Barca is also the dream team, playing with the best players day in day out at training, competing against some of the best, a +66 goal difference, I mean how could you not want that, and the fact that they increased their offer after Arsenal raised them that means something, you get an offer at Barca you jump at it you, don’t look at the figure, you don’t question, we all know how it works, you question, you hesitate Barca takes the offer away, and Lucy and Kiera say everyone there is super friendly and lovely and they think I would fit right in.”

“You’ve spoken to Lucy Bronze and Kiera Walsh about Barca? But haven’t mentioned a word about it to anyone at Arsenal, your club”.

“Yeah, it’s not like I owe you guys anything”.

“So, Chelsea isn’t on the cards th-” “No Sam Chelsea isn’t on the cards, Chelsea was never on the fucking cards, it was always going to be Baraca or Arsenal. Why am I letting you all do this to me? It’s my decision. It’s my fucking life! I’m going up” you start to walk away, before you turn around and look at Sam and Steph “and don’t you dare even think to follow me,” and with that your gone.

______

“Shit” Sam said.

“Well, we fucked that one up,” Steph added.

“Yep, you did” Raso replied as she got up.

“Where are you going?”

“To go check on her,”

“But-” “no, that was directed at you two, and also anyone else who said something, I’m neutral territory here”.

The team was left in silence until Steph broke it “Shit, I have our Room key. We were on better terms this morning; we didn’t think she would need her own”.

“I’ll go up, give it here, she probably won’t want to stay in there tonight anyway. She can stay with me. Here Charli take Harper, I’ll be back down for her though”.

____

“Hey kid, are you okay?” Hayley asks you; she seems very hesitant, she didn’t get much else in before Mini came up.

“Rass, I’ve got it from here” Mini said, Hayley got up and left, knowing this was more of a Mini job.

Mini sat down next to you, “No, but are you okay?” she asks while putting an arm around your shoulders, a few tears escape your eyes, which you quickly and aggressively wipe away.

“I-I, I don’t know” you sigh.

“They shouldn’t have done that, they immediately regretted it, but still they shouldn’t have done that, it’s absolutely incredible that, this is happening, they should be happy for you, but I think they let their pride and hurt egos get in the way.”

“I just don’t understand how they can go from talking about how ‘amazing’ I am to then being surprised I got an offer from more than one club, and from big clubs at that.”

“Yeah, I know, I think Steph was a bit caught out, she spends so much time with you and-”

“Yeah, but it’s not like anyone knew, not even Leah”.

“Yeah, I know, I think Steph was truly caught off guard, you talk like Arsenal is your home and then just blurt out you’re thinking about moving, I don’t think she thought you had thought about it.”

“Well, Arsenal is my home, but they say home is where the heart is, and I think if you take out the players my heart isn’t there, and I just feel like things are getting too easy at Arsenal, and I want a change, I’ve been part of arsenal for so long, first through Leah, then the academy and now, I love arsenal, it will always hold a piece of my heart, but I think I need to move, I want to improve, and that’s not going to happen at Arsenal”

“Well, that was easy”.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty certain you’ve made your decision, you just need to tell Leah, and the others. Trust me, once they get over their hurt egos, and feelings of betrayal they will be happy for you, and Leah has already been caught off guard by you once”.

“Yeah okay, where is my number one supporter by the way?”

“Oh she is downstairs with Charli, I thought it was best if I left her down there so we could have an adult conversation, but I have this which you might want.” She hands you your room key, “get the stuff you’ll need for tonight and tomorrow, you can have a sleepover with harper and me tonight, she is going to be so excited.”

“Y/N/N!” Harper exclaims when she walked into her room to find you sitting there.

“Harper” you exclaim back matching her energy, she jumps into your arms, and you throw her into the air and catch her, before jumping onto the bed, “what do you want to do?”

“Ice cream?” you look over to Mini.

“Why not, let’s go”. You Mini and Harper go out to ice-cream together, as you walk past the others in the common room you just ignore them, they all seem to be sitting in an awkward silence.

“Harper, you are all sticky, where are the wipes?” you exclaim as harper smushes her sticky face into you for a hug after she had finished her ice-cream.

“Here,” Mini slides the wipes over to you.

“No don’t, hey come back here,” Mini pulls her phone out to film the two of you, harper is running around the park to get away from you and you’re chasing her with a wipe in either hand.

“Ha, got you,” you say as you grab her, proceeding to wipe her sticky face and hands.

“Park?” “You want to go play in the park?” Harper nods her head, so you take her hand and walk over to the park together, you spent most of the afternoon in the park. You pushed harper on the swings. Unsuccessfully taught her how to pump herself on the swings. You went down the slide, a few too many times. Your afternoon was finished off by teacher harper how to do the monkey bars, which she was very good at – with help of course. Mini sat at the table while you two played, she looked up every now and then to check things were okay, but she seemed to make many phone calls, usually you would ask who it was, but you were having too much fun with harper to care.

_____

“I just won’t have dinner tonight, I’ll be fine,” “No, you will be going to dinner, Tony said he wanted everyone there, especially after what happened today, and no one is allowed to leave until he has spoken to us” you huff “Come on lets go now, you can sit with us, just sit at one of the back tables, you can then sit somewhere so you don’t have to see them,” Mini said as she dragged you up.

“Here take her, go sit, I’ll get food,” Mini says handing Harper to you as you walk into the dining room, there are only 4 people in there currently not including you three, yet somehow one of the people you really don’t want to see is standing at the food bar. You go and find a seat, Mini comes back, with food. You have finished yours, but Harper hasn’t even touched her diner, she insists you feed her, so that you do, until Mini saw something.

“Um,” “What?” “I’ll message you,” she pulls out her phone, you phone vibrates on the table, and you quickly pick it up to read her message.

Gorry: Steph just walked in, gave Sam a dirty look as she walked past and Sat down at a different table.

Your jaw drops and Mini nods her head, you make questioning eyebrows at her and she just shrugs. You two captains always sat next to each other during mealtimes, or at least at the same table, you were often seen with them too but every now and then you sat with others, trying to expand your social circle. So, the fact that they aren’t sitting together is very odd.

After everyone had basically finished their dinner Tony got up, and started to talk, “Girls, I would just like to say the behaviour today was unacceptable, and I am extremely ashamed at the actions of our captains and older teammates, if anything it was our youngest teammate who showed the most maturity by walking away. Please know that if this sort of behaviour ever happens again on camp there will be punishment, and I’m not just talking laps. Steph and Sam can I talk to you outside please, the rest of you are free to enjoy your night.”

“I can’t believe I am having to do this girl, and I still can’t believe I saw what I saw this afternoon.” Tony starts yelling at your captains not realising the door hasn’t shut completely.

“Wait what happened? Why am I not getting in trouble, he wasn’t there was he?” you ask Mini.

“I don’t know, and no he wasn’t”.

“Oh boy did you two miss something, it was kind of good you left when you did,” Macca started.

“Yeah so basically once you had gotten harper and left, Steph finally broke the really awkward silence and asked Sam why she reacted the way she did when you said Arsenal raised and then Barca and Chelsea did again, and Sam was like ‘She is only sixteen and getting paid more than me, and I’m assuming you too’, which to be honest was a low blow, like she just attacked Steph there but anyway, Steph then said ‘Well, yeah she is fucking good’, and Sam replied ‘oh course you would say that,’ Steph asked her what she meant and she was like ‘oh well she’s your little mini me, always with you, always coming to you for help, and you always drop everything to help her, you act as if she is the sun and we all revolve around her’ which obviously Steph was taken aback by and was like ‘Oh, so now I’m the bad guy for not only fulfilling my captain duties but being a nice person, you know Sam we are meant to be approachable and help our teammates especially the younger ones, and of course she comes to me for help, she’s a kid, like we joke Kyra and Charli and all that are kids but she is actually a kid, you have to take more care with her, help her more, help her understand. Just because your ego is hurt at the fact that a 16-year-old is going to get paid more than you and you don’t know how to feel because a 16-year-old is better than you doesn’t mean you can take it out on me, and you are blind if you actually were surprised that Barca and Chelsea raised their offers again, she is incredible, will be the player of her generation,’ and then Sam just scoffed and was like ‘whatever you suck up’ and then Tony walked in and got super mad and send us all to different rooms and stuff” Hayley gives you both a brief recount of the day.

“Yeah, you really did miss a lot,”

“Yeah, it seems we did,”

“But wait Steph was protecting me, I thought she was having a go at me? I think I was just so mad at Sam; I kept it going”.

“Yeah no, originally I don’t know if she was having a go or just questioning but after you left, she really did confront Sam and I mean Sam was in the wrong, Steph could’ve just dealt with it in a better way.”

_____

“I think someone is tired, should we head up?” you say, after Harper yawns, looking at Mini for confirmation who nods, you pick harper up and rest her on your hip, she puts her head on your shoulders and her eyes start to droop. Once you arrive to your room you get dressed into your Pjs and so does Harper, you both already have had your showers for the day.

A phone vibrates and look over to mini, “that was you”, so you pick up your phone to see a message from Steph.

Steph: Hey can we talk? I understand if you don’t want too.

You: Hey um yeah but it’s easier if we message, Harper has fallen asleep on top of me.

Steph: Yeah, no that’s fine, I don’t know if I’m allowed to come out of our room anyway and if you even allowed to come in.

You: Oh

Steph: But I just wanted to say sorry for what happened this afternoon, I was out of line, and I just want to apologise, I am really sorry.

You: For what happened when I was there or what you said to Sam?

You: But in all honesty, it’s okay, I was getting defensive at Sam and snapped at you when you didn’t deserve it you were just questioning. But also thank you for stepping up and confronting Sam for me even if it got you in trouble.

Steph: Wait who told you about that?

Steph: But I was just telling her the truth and really, I should’ve stopped her earlier, it shouldn’t have gotten to the point that you had to walk away.

You: It’s okay Steph, I promise I forgive you but maybe not Sam, at least not yet. She was mean to both of us.

Steph: Okay, I will make it up to you I promise.

You: Hmmm, I will think about what I want…..

Steph: I never said I would by you anything, maybe I was just going to be nice, get you out of fitness testing

You: Hey no, that isn’t nice, I looove fitness testing

Steph: Weirdo

You: Hey

You: Love you heaps, good night (well not for you but for me), see you tomorrow, I can’t wait to see you! I have so much to tell you.

You: Shit that was meant for Leah not you

You: But love you anyway, see you in the morning.

Steph: Love you, sorry again, night night

_____

You were standing at the breakfast bar contemplating your morning meal like you were contemplating life when you saw Steph walk in, you immediate walked over to her and hugged her, in which she returned wrapping her arms around you tightly as if to never let go, you could really sense her guilt, you stayed like that for at least a minute and only pulled away because Sam wanted to talk to you.

“Hey, I’m sorry for yesterday, I shouldn’t have said what I said, and I’m really sorry” she said very awkwardly.

“Okay, thank you.” You say bluntly before walking away.

“What so she is hugging you, but I don’t even get an I forgive you?”

“Well, she doesn’t like lying and I don’t think she does forgive you yet,” Steph said before walking away and following you.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #matildas #auswnt

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mbbmz · 12 days ago

Note

Hey again😍I took 2 nights of thinking to actually come up with ANYTHING💀 SO, Brahman Wakasa who casually hooks up with reader to release stress n stuff. But reader realizes she's catching feelings for him and doesn't want him to be with any other girl, so she confesses it to him! Could be happy or sad ending but ngl im kinda in the mood for angst😭

Hi darling! Sorry I took a while to write this I was lacking motivation A LOT lol

Also what I write is a bit different from what you described to me but the spirit is still there, I hope you’ll still like it.

Warnings : Porn with a little plot, smut, ptv sex, riding, Waka is an asshole, kinda angsty and no comfort

NSFW under the cut

Stay.

The room was filled with panting breaths and small grunts, the headboard of your bed hitting the wall every so often. It was hard to keep your eyes open, but you did, for the sole purpose of watching the man under you.

His eyes were closed, his beautiful lips parted and a small frown on his usually relaxed features. It was almost unfair how pretty he was, his eyelashes fluttering everytime your pace varied, going from slow rolls of your hips to fast, small bounces. Your hands were settled on his firm chest, trying hard not to wander and disrupt the pace you were setting. You could feel his fingers digging in your hips, sometimes trailing down to draw lazy circles on your clit, trailing up to play with your nipples before repeating the cycle again. At this point, you didn’t care where he touched you, as long as you felt his hands on you.

You met Wakasa at a bar, three, four months ago. You don’t really remember. You remember hooking up with him, though, as it was probably one of the best nights in your life. Since then, you two became sort of… friends with benefit.

It wasn’t true, and you knew it. You weren’t even his friend. You were just a hook up, a booty call.

You were fine with that, because that’s what he was to you too. Until he wasn’t. Until you started seeing him in a different light. Until you felt a small pressure in your chest every time he was getting ready to leave. Each of those times, the words ‘don’t leave’ were threading to come out of your throat. They never did.

You felt your orgasm approaching, your pace quickening as your movements got slightly shaky, stuttering from the pleasure. You could see a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, neck and chest, making him even hotter in your eyes. His fingers came to play with your clit, rubbing it up and down in an attempt to get you closer to the edge.

A low moan escaped his lips, feeling your walls fluttering, tightening around him from the movements of his index on your sensitive mound. It was a matter of a few seconds until a wave of pleasure coursed your body, your orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks. It always did with him.

You continued moving your hips a bit more, trying to finish him off despite the sensitivity you had down there, and it paid off after a few seconds. You were both panting heavily, trying to come down of your high. Your thighs were hurting a bit, so after gaining some energy to do so, you let his softening cock leave the warmth of your body to lay down beside him, your head on his chest.

This sweet moment lasted five minutes, tops, before he started getting up. Sitting up on your bed, you watched him picking up his clothes from the floor, getting ready to leave.

-"That was cool. Thanks for lettin’ me crash here."

Cool. That was cool. Yeah, that’s exactly how you would describe too. Of course.

You felt the same usual words burning your tongue, you were running out of time. Soon he would go past that door and there would be nothing you can do about it.

-"Why don’t you… stay a bit more?.."

Your voice came out softer than what you intended. You hated it, how desperate you sounded. When you saw him looking at you, you knew he knew. You despised the way he was looking at you right now. His face was as expressionless as usual, but you could see it in his eyes. Almost like pity, but with a tinge or irritation. Like something inconvenient had happened.

-"Needa go, got somethin’ goin’ on tonight."

No goodbye, no see you around, no take care. Just silence as he walked past the door, leaving behind him a used condom, a creaking bed and a broken heart.

Late at night, curled under your blanket, your eyes were stinging a little. You should go to sleep, you had work tomorrow. Yet despite the sting of your eyes and the overwhelming tiredness, you couldn’t take your gaze off the text you sent to him. You couldn’t take off your eyes from the small red lettering next to it.

Not delivered.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tokyo revengers angst #wakasa imaushi #wakasa x you #tr wakasa #tokrev wakasa #tokyo revengers wakasa #wakasa x reader #wakasa smut

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hungermakesmonsters · 7 months ago

Text

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Seven

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour, some of it gets a little rough. Some mention of an emotionally abusive parent, and readers problematic views of her own autonomy. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 4.5k

A/N : I think I've finally sorted the tagging issue.

MASTER LIST

Chapter Seven

“Are you alright?” Karen asked, pulling your attention from your pancakes. “You’ve been really quiet.”

Your cheeks warmed and you immediately felt bad; she’d shown up early to go to breakfast with you before taking you to the Met, and all you’d been able to think about was the Homeland agent who’d approached you the night before.

“I’m fine,” you answered, forcing a smile. “Just tired. We were out late last night.”

“Billy took you out?” She seemed surprised.

“He took me dress shopping,” you explained, reaching for your coffee. “He’s throwing a party next month and he wanted me to have a new dress.”

“Oh, his Vampire Night party,” Karen nodded and you shot her a confused look. “He does it every year, it’s to celebrate the anniversary vampire’s being accepted into society. It’s supposed to be a big deal but, for Billy, it’s just an excuse to throw a crazy party every year.”

“Does he normally invite the person who’s...” you struggled for a moment, not wanting to out-and-out state what you did in the busy little diner, “working for him when he throws parties?”

“Usually - I mean, it’d be pretty shitty to throw a party in the penthouse and not invite the other person living there.”

“So, the others, they all went to his parties and they enjoyed themselves?”

“Yeah, if there’s one thing Billy knows, it’s how to throw a good party,” she answered, fixing you with a look, as if she could sense there was more you wanted to ask. “Why the sudden interest?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. “It just seemed like such an easy job and, I guess, I just don’t understand why anyone would do anything to ruin it for themselves. Do you know what happened to them once they left?”

You needed something, some sort of sign, to tell you that you weren’t wrong, that you were safe with Billy. And, if you weren’t...

Well, in that case, you needed to find a way out that didn’t involve going home with your tail between your legs.

“As far as I know, they all went back to their lives. Though there was one...” Karen trailed off, the thought alone making her wince. You shot her a questioning look, silently begging her to continue. “Not the last one, but the one before, she had to be removed by building security. She tried to come back a couple of times but she eventually got the hint.”

The one before the last one - so, one of the last three, one of the ones Madani thought was dead. She’d been fine when she left and she’d been seen a couple of times since. So, that meant that Homeland was wrong about Billy, right?

With your mind set at ease, you happily finished breakfast and, before you knew it, you and Karen were stepping into the Met. You felt like a kid at Christmas. It was everything you’d imagined and more. Karen could barely hold back her amusement as you moved from exhibit to exhibit, never seeming to lose any of your initial excitement. It was something you’d always wanted to do, filled with things you’d always wanted to see.

By lunch time, poor Karen needed to sit down, and you needed a coffee so you ended up in the cafe. When Karen headed to the bathroom, you looked over the map, making a mental note of what you’ve seen and what you still wanted to see. Distracted, you didn’t notice the figure beside you until she’d taken a seat. The Homeland agent, Madani.

“Are you following me?” You demanded, keeping your voice low.

“I’m trying to keep you safe,” Madani answered, ignoring your sharp tone. “Have you thought any more about what we discussed last night?”

“Look, I don’t know what you think you know, but I’m pretty sure Billy hasn’t done anything wrong.”

She fumbled with her pocket, quickly pulling out her phone and showing it to you. “These are the three missing women; Layla El-Faouly, Krista Dumont and Mary Poots.” With each name she moved to a different photo, letting you see each of the missing women. “Has he mentioned any of those names?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Have you seen anything in his penthouse that might belong to them?” You shook your head, quickly feeling overwhelmed by all of the questions.

“No, and anyway, you said the last three women, right?” You asked and Madani nodded. “People have seen one of them since. She even got thrown out of Billy's building a couple of times.”

“You're sure of that?”

“Yes,” frustration slipping into your tone. “Whatever you're looking for, it's not -”

“Has Russo done anything to hurt you? Is he forcing you into a sexual relationship or have you felt like you’re being controlled?”

“What? No.”

“You might not even realise that he’s doing it. Some vampires are very good at controlling their victims, Russo is -”

“He’s not controlling me,” you told her as firmly as you could, glancing around, hoping to spot Karen. “Can you please leave me alone? I don’t want to lose my job because of this.”

“I can protect you -”

“I don’t need protection, I need this job,” you told her. “Please, I wasn’t kidnapped, he hasn’t hurt me, and I know he hasn’t hurt anyone else. Can you please just leave me alone before you cause any trouble?”

“Okay, I’ll go,” Madani relented, “but I’ll be close by if you need me.”

You muttered that you wouldn’t as she stood and left, just in time for Karen to return.

“Who was that?”

“She was asking me for directions,” you lied, as you stood, not wanting to think about anything Madani had said to you.

It was all crazy, ridiculous. You weren’t being coerced or controlled and you still didn’t believe Billy was capable of hurting anyone. Fortunately, there were plenty of exhibits left to distract you for the rest of the day.

By the time you returned to the penthouse it was getting late. You rushed to draw blood and to throw some pasta onto the stove. When you were done, you found Billy on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the view of the city until he heard you approach.

He smiled and you felt butterflies, and there was a spring in your step as you made your way to the kitchen to grab a glass for his blood before joining him on the sofa.

“You look nice.” His eyes trailing down your body.

“Oh,” you looked down at yourself and the skirt-blouse combination, “Karen took me to the Met. We got back late. I haven’t had time to change yet.”

“I’m glad,” Billy said, taking the glass from your hand, “I love your legs.”

Your cheeks warmed and you bit your lip. As much as Billy liked to pay you compliments, you still weren’t used to it. Honestly, you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to it, especially when Billy managed to make every compliment sound simultaneously sweet and filthy.

“I got you something,” he said a moment later, motioning to a large paper bag on the floor in front of him. Cautiously, you pulled it towards you and pulled out a large yellow, faux-fur blanket. “You can leave it out here for when we watch TV together.”

Butterflies filled your stomach at the gesture, but there was one thought you couldn’t quite shake; “it’s yellow.”

And yellow didn’t exactly match the dark and minimalist decor in the penthouse.

“It made me think of you when I saw it,” Billy shrugged.

The butterflies in your stomach seemed to multiply; it was a warm and happy colour, it was the colour of sunlight, and it had made Billy think of you.

Hugging the blanket to your chest you thanked him before carefully placing it back in the bag.

“I’ve got some time before I need to leave for work, if you want to hang out?” He asked as if he needed to, as if he thought there was any chance that you wouldn’t want to stay there with him.

As he drank, you told him about your day and every little thing you’d seen in the Met. And he listened. It seemed like he was actually listening, hanging on your every word, like he cared, like he wasn’t just indulging you and letting you run your mouth.

“Maybe next time I could take you?” He offered. “They do night openings a few times a month.”

“I’d love that,” you answered without a moment's hesitation.

“Really?”

“Of course. I like spending time with you.”

He finished his drink and quickly put the glass down, licking his lips as he turned himself towards you.

“You like spending time with me?” He repeated.

You couldn’t tell if he was amused or confused. “Yeah, you’re... different to the sort of people I’m used to being around. I like talking to you.”

“Just talking to me?” He asked, a smirk starting to tug at his lips. You felt your face start to heat again as your gaze dropped to your lap. “Still so shy, so easy to embarrass,” he muttered, placing a hand on your bare knee, “but I bet you’re already wet under this little skirt.”

Your breath caught and your thighs clenched together at the realisation that he was right.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look until you realised he was moving. You watched, confused as he slipped onto the floor, his hands on your knees, urging your legs apart so he could sit between them. It wasn’t until he started to slowly kiss your thigh that you realised what he was going to do. Your heart started to race, and Billy noticed.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his cold fingers tracing soothing patterns on your leg.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’ve just... I’ve never...”

“It’s okay, hummingbird,” Billy reassured you, smiling softly. “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

While you managed not to show it, those words almost broke you. He always seemed to care about you, about making sure you felt good, and that wasn’t something you were ever sure you’d get used to.

Your cheeks burned hotter when he reached beneath your skirt and eased your panties down your legs, discarding them somewhere on the floor. But you didn’t have time to dwell on it. He pulled you towards him, lifting your legs over his shoulder while continuing to trail kisses up your thighs. Up and up and up, until -

“Remember the rules,” he told you, gazing up at you from between your thighs, “and breathe.”

Until he mentioned it, you hadn’t even realised that you were holding your breath. With a nod, you let out a slow breath, trying to steel yourself for this new experience. His cold fingers gently parted your folds and a shiver ran down your spine. You bit your lip, keeping your eyes focused on him until you finally felt it. His tongue slipped through your arousal, delicately at first and then with a little more pressure. You back arched and your hips pressed forwards, and you could have swore you felt Billy’s lips pull into a smirk against you.

He alternated between long, slow laps of his tongue and faster flicks, obviously taking note of your reactions. One moment he was focused on your clit, the next, you felt the tip of his tongue against your entrance. Your body shuddered, completely overwhelmed, and you almost lost your mind when you heard Billy groan.

“Billy -” you gasped, knowing that you weren’t going to last long.

“Not yet,” he almost-growled from between your thighs.

Before you could even think to beg, his tongue was against you again. Your fingers slipped into his hair, needing something to hold on to as your thighs started to tremble. It felt like you were being devoured by his mouth, his lips and his greedy tongue making you feel sensations you’d never felt before. Soon enough, it felt like his grip on your thighs was the only thing keeping you from crushing his head - it was too much and not enough all at once, you desperately wanted the release of an orgasm but you didn’t ever want him to stop.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck...” you whimpered, barely holding back. “Billy, please...”

It almost seemed cruel when you felt his lips on your throbbing clit, gently sucking. Your back arched again, trying to press yourself closer but his strong grip kept you in place.

Your fingers tugged on his hair, twisting and pulling, earning another groan from Billy. Every muscle tensed and you felt like a spring coiled too tight, like you could snap at any moment. And, thankfully, Billy seemed to realise that.

“Okay, hummingbird, you can come,” he muttered, barely pulling his lips away from you.

One more flick of his tongue and you were done for, crying out as you came undone. All the while his tongue kept moving, lapping the wetness that spilled from you, and not pulling back until your thighs were violently shaking.

While you struggled to catch your breath, Billy lowered your legs and rested his chin on your thigh, grinning up at you.

“What are you smirking at?” You managed to ask, fighting back a smile of your own.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.”

You bit your lip, your cheeks starting to warm again. “I think the situation called for it.”

That got a laugh from Billy.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said before getting himself off the floor and sitting beside you again. “Did you enjoy it?”

Of course, you couldn’t answer. Once he’d asked the question you couldn’t even look at him. All you could do was give the slightest little nod, suddenly acutely aware that your panties had ended up on the floor in front of the TV and, as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t tear your eyes from them.

That is, until Billy placed a hand on your cheek, turning your face to his. For a few seconds he simply looked at you, almost seeming confused, before smiling again.

“What is it about you?” He asked quietly, his thumb softly caressing your cheek. “Why can’t I get enough?”

Before you could answer, he’d closed the distance between you, kissing you and sending you into a tailspin. How could he keep saying things like that, how could he keep making you feel so special, when he seemed so reluctant to - god, you didn’t even know. You still didn’t understand how this casual thing was supposed to work. The time you spent together left you feeling like there was something, a connection between you, but that wasn’t what you’d agreed to. It was just supposed to be fun.

But, surely casual fun was supposed to lead to sex, right?

“That’s not what I want to see when I kiss you,” he remarked, pulling back a little, leaving you even more confused until he clarified; “you’re frowning.”

“I was just...” you fell into silence for a moment, not sure how to say it. “Do you want me, Billy?”

“Do I want you?” He repeated.

“Yeah, I mean like -”

“Oh, hummingbird, I know exactly what you mean,” he almost laughed, his hand still on your cheek. “I’m just not sure how you can ask me that after I’ve just been on my knees worshipping you.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, you kissed him, tasting the lingering traces of your arousal on his lips and tongue. You pressed closer and closer, until you felt an arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he muttered against your lips.

“You’re not,” you answered breathlessly, sinking back into his lips..

He pulled you closer, positioning you so you could feel the bulge of his erection against you. The feeling alone was enough to cause your hips to shudder and buck, still feeling sensitive from his tongue. Billy groaned, his lips pulling from yours and finding your neck. You barely noticed the buttons of your blouse being undone until he started to push it off your shoulders.

Trembling fingers started to pull open his shirt, hands exploring every inch of cold skin that you revealed, feeling the raised lines of scars beneath your touch. Billy squirmed when your hand trailed over his shoulder, his body pressing up against yours.

Your heart raced faster when you felt him unclasp your bra. You barely had time to finish removing it before his lips were on your breasts, kissing, licking and sucking. Every cold touch sent a jolt of pleasure right to your core and, before you knew it, you were gently rocking your hips against him.

“Billy,” you gasped as his lips closed over your nipple.

Desperately, you dropped your hands to his waist, fumbling with his belt then, when that was open you started on the fastenings of his pants.

A yelp escaped you when you felt his teeth on your nipple, not biting hard enough to break skin but more than enough to give you a shock. An eager growl sounded in the back of his throat as he moved to your other nipple. But his sudden roughness wasn’t enough to stop you.

Despite his cold touch roaming your body, you felt hot, like you were on fire. Every deep breath you took was him; his cologne, his clean shirt, the products in his hair. You were intoxicated, drunk on Billy Russo. His fingertips pressed into your hips with a bruising force, but all you cared about was getting his zipper down and letting him possess you completely.

“My little hummingbird,” he muttered in that low, dangerous tone as his lips moved back to yours. “I’m going to ruin you.”

He kissed you again, groaning into your mouth with an unbridled want that seemed to match your own. The words didn’t shock you like they perhaps should have, they didn’t worry you at all. You trusted him to stay in control.

Clumsy fingers tugged at his zipper and -

“Shit!” You yelped as the zipper nicked your skin, pulling back from him, lifting your finger to your lips.

Billy’s whole body went rigid beneath you, eyes narrowing, dropping to the finger between your lips.

“It’s alright, I just -” you started and stopped just as quickly, looking at the small bleeding cut before looking at Billy.

His eyes seemed to get darker and you watched his throat bob uncomfortable as he tried to swallow. You squirmed as his grip tightened on your hips, holding you in place. The tiny cut bleeding in a way that only tiny cuts could.

“Billy...” you muttered softly, trying to soothe the monster inside of him.

Gingerly, you reached for him, tenderly running your fingers through his hair while you returned your bleeding finger to your mouth, trying to remove temptation.

His jaw tensed before he lunged forwards, pressing his lips to yours, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, desperately seeking your finger and the tiniest drop of blood. You tried to push his face away, your hand on his jaw, your finger ending up between his lips.

“Billy, stop,” you pleaded, “please.”

Suddenly you found yourself hitting the floor as he stood and moved away from you. It took you a second or so to get over the initial shock before you grabbed your blouse and covered yourself. By the time you got to your feet, Billy was halfway to the elevator, buttoning his shirt as he went.

“I’m sorry.” The words left you in a desperate and broken tone, not knowing what you could possibly say to fix the situation or stop him from leaving.

Billy froze, taking an uncomfortable breath before turning back to you, confusion written all over his face. His eyes moved from you to the elevator and back again, weighing his options.

“Why are you sorry?” He asked, a crack in his voice that made your heart ache. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I was clumsy, and I pushed you, and I -” you sniffled, blinking as your eyes threatened tears.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he told you, voice firm and certain, “that’s not what happened.”

“Then why are you leaving me?”

Billy was at a loss, staring as you tried not to break down in front of him. Your mind was racing over everything that had happened, over everything that you had done wrong - all the things that Billy seemed to want to ignore. You’d always been clumsy, never careful enough. Your mother had always chastised you, telling you that you only did it for attention, telling you that you were needy, criticising you for always wanting to be the centre of attention.

It was easy to spiral into those negative thoughts, to see all your faults and failings, to feel broken and unloveable.

He stepped towards you, confusion softening into something more like concern.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeated, “I did. I almost lost control, I could’ve -”

“I shouldn’t’ve complained, I -”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to jolt you from your self-loathing. “I told you that you always have a choice here. Always. No one gets to hurt you, and you never have to go along with anything that scares you or makes you uncomfortable. Do you understand?”

On some level you did, you understood completely, you knew that he was right, but years of being made to feel like you were the problem were hard to overcome.

Reluctantly, he closed the distance between you, his hand finding your cheek, urging you to look at him.

“How you feel matters, hummingbird. What you want matters,” he told you. “I don’t want to scare you. It’s me, I - there’s something wrong with me, something I can’t always control, and you deserve better than that. I don’t want to do anything that you’re not a hundred percent certain about. I never want you to regret anything that we do together.”

It felt like your throat was closing up and your vision started to blur, it wasn’t until the first sob shook your body that you realised you were crying. The idea that you had a choice, that you got to decide what you wanted, and that your feelings mattered - no one had let you have that before. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight against his chest.

“No one gets to hurt you,” he told you again. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Even from himself, though the words went unsaid.

He shushed you as you whimpered the word sorry again and held you tighter when you hid your face against his shoulder. Minutes passed, and Billy held you, not moving, not pulling away. Eventually you stilled, your breathing slowing and the sobs subsiding. But, still, Billy didn’t move. His hold on you didn’t loosen until you slowly pulled back.

Your head instantly dropped, the back of your hand trying to scrub the tear stains from your cheeks. One of his hands remained on you, resting gently on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered.

“What are you sorry for?”

“I don’t know,” you finally admitted.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you?”

The question hung awkwardly in the air between you, neither one of you wanting to answer it. It was more than obvious now that you both had baggage, you both had parts of yourself that you were desperate to keep hidden, but it was also becoming clear that you weren’t going to be able to hide forever.

“I think we’ll have to eventually,” Billy told you.

As much as you hated it, you knew he was right.

Silence lingered for a few seconds before you quietly confessed; “I feel safe with you.”

It felt important to tell him that, like everything else could come after. Despite his little lapses in control, you trusted him. He looked like he wanted to ask how you could feel that way after everything but, at the same time, it was clear that he didn’t want to know.

“Are you... okay?” You asked after a moment of silence.

“It’s complicated,” he said and, for a second, it seemed like he was going to leave it at that. “I just - when you’re a vampire, everything is so loud. Everything feels like it’s too much. It makes you want so much. Sometimes I feel like I can’t control it.”

You stomach knotted as you watched him struggle, the jagged edge to his tone furthering something he’d already let slip days ago; he didn’t want to be like that. He didn’t want to be a vampire.

“I feel like that too, sometimes,” you offered softly. “Not exactly the same but - my mom always used to tell me that no one likes emotional women. Whenever I’d get upset, she’d tell me I was being hysterical or call me an attention seeker. So I started holding it all in. I wouldn’t complain or get upset, I’d just pretend I was fine, and it made me feel like I was going to burst...”

Without warning, he pulled you into another hug, and you let him, your face pressing back into the damp spot you’d left on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, sounding almost guilty, like he thought he was somehow to blame. “You don’t have to hold it in with me, you don’t have to pretend or go along with anything that you don’t want.”

“I do want this though,” you confessed, stopping short of telling Billy that you wanted him, that you were starting to feel something for him. It had only been a few weeks but, already, you felt a connection to him, something you didn’t want to give up.

He seemed torn, almost like he wanted to cut his losses and end things now, and you weren’t sure how you were going to make it through the rest of the year if you had to go back to how things had been at the start. That is, if he even wanted to keep you around. Technically, because of him, you’d broken your contract.

“You need to promise me something; if you’re ever not comfortable, you’ll tell me to stop, and if I ever scare you, you’ll tell me,” he told you in a firm and uncompromising tone.

“I promise, but -” you hesitated, not sure if he’d appreciate your condition, “- but you have to tell me when you’re not feeling well.”

Billy nodded and you sank forward into his arms again, holding him tight for a little while longer until he finally had to get ready and leave for work. And, of course, you felt terrible that he had to go and change out of his crease, tear-stained shirt before he went. He left with the promise of spending time with you tomorrow.

CHAPTER EIGHT

End Note : The Marvel name drops are mostly just easter eggs (and because I HATE coming up with names for side characters. I feel like a lot went on in this chapter but I don't actually have a lot to say about it. I'm just slowly piling on the mystery and angst.

Anyway! Thanks for reading! I've really loved all your comments and questions on this series. Have a great weekend!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt. (I think I've found a way to get tagging to work properly again, please let me know if it doesn't tag you.)

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock

@snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad

@vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17

@sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim

@countryday @weepingwitchofthewest @broadwaybabe18 @bunnygirlwriter876 @oliviaewl

@rosey1981 @benbarnesprettygurl @rachlovesactors @robertthehoover @ladyblacky

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo fanfic #the punisher #(ob)ts ff #billy russo imagine

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goquokka00 · 5 months ago

Text

Switching It Up

Summary: Throughout you and Minho's entire relationship, one thing was absolutely certain: He was dominant, and you were submissive. But after a talk with Jisung one day at work, Minho starts to consider letting you take charge.

Pairing: Minho X Reader (F!)

Genre: PURE Smut (MDNI), Fluff

Warnings: Unprotected Penetrative Sex (reader is on the pill but please wrap it before you tap it everyone), dirty talk, manhandling, creampie, light bondage, nipple play, overstimulation, hand job, use of vibrating cock ring, sub! and dom! reader, dom! and sub! Minho, masturbation (Fem!), degradation, 100% 18+ (seriously like if you're a minor don't read pls and thank you <3)

Word Count: 5.8K

SMUT RIGHT UNDER THE CUT! Seriously, this is like porn with plot, 18+. It literally opens with a sex scene. If you are a minor, scroll right on past. This is not a one shot for anyone 17 or under.

"Fuck!"

"Keep taking me, just like that...fuck, princess..." Minho growled, pushing you further into the bed by your neck. You could feel your air getting short, thanks to Minho having a tight grasp. Add that with how his hips were pistoning into yours, taking out his frustrations on your body...you felt nothing short of an exhilarating pleasure.

You reached a hand back, trying to grab onto his wrist of the hand that was gripping your waist, your other hand holding onto the mattress as you tried to get your ass up higher, trying desperately to hold yourself up.

"Such a good girl, taking my cock in that tight little pussy..." Minho said, smirking as you made desperate attempts to grab at him, pleasure completely overtaking your body. Just like every other time you both had sex.

"Guh...Gonna...M'gonna cum...Minho, I-I'm gonna cum-"

"Go ahead, cum on my cock..." Minho told you. He guided your front half off of the bed, making your back arch as he somehow went harder, faster, bringing you to your edge.

You wailed, your body shaking as Minho pulled your back against his chest, holding you there by wrapping his arm around your neck, while his hand that was on your hip shot down to your clit, rubbing tight and organized circles, which made your legs tremble. Your own hands shot up to grip his arm, feeling Minho bite your ear as he grunted, only getting a few more thrusts in before he burst inside of you as well.

You sobbed at the mass amount of overstimulation you had faced, letting Minho ease you down as he placed kiss after kiss on the nape of your neck and your back, gently pulling out of you so he could watch your beautiful, swollen pussy eject the cum he had just finished giving you.

"Good girl, such a good girl for me..." Minho cooed, helping you lay down onto the bed. You were still trying to come down from your high, you lower body still trembling as it tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. "9 orgasms...that's a new record, princess..."

Usually, you could only handle so much. But Minho knew your limits, and he knew just how far you could go before it was actually way too much and you'd start to get uncomfortable. Something you were extremely grateful for, even now as you hummed a reply.

Minho smiled at you giving him a response, placing a kiss to your forehead before going to the bathroom, turning the bathtub faucet on and getting the bath filled, grabbing a towel and a glass of water for you as he returned to your bedroom. It was his job to perform aftercare for you. It always was.

You see, you and Minho had been in a very long relationship, almost reaching 2 years. Something you were extremely grateful for, as he came into your life at a point in which you were struggling.

It only took you both 2 months for Minho to let you into his home, meet his three feline children, and let you meet the guys. Well, that, and you both also started to have sex. It was only once in a while at first, but now you two go at it like no man's business.

Need your mind taken off of something? Sex. He has pent up stress he needs to get out? Sex. You craving dick? Oral sex. He hasn't seen you in a while and needs you to know how much he misses you?

Sex.

There was only one thing that remained consistent in your passionate love-making sessions, though. Minho was always dominant, and you were always submissive. It didn't matter what position, how rough or slow you were being, what kinks you both were letting yourselves indulge in, the dominance and submissiveness roles never changed.

And if you were being quite honest, you kind of liked it that way. You weren't really knowledgeable in the sex field, and Minho always seemed to love being in charge. That, and Minho loved giving you aftercare, too. He loved caring for you in general.

Partly because he felt so bad about pushing your body to it's limit so often. It was the most valuable thing to him. It was precious. You were precious. That's why he made it his mission to take care of you as much as he could. Whether it be satisfying both of your sexual needs or satisfying your needs in daily life.

Just like right now.

He held the glass of water to you, helping you take a sip or two, before moving back between your legs, wiping the different fluids you both created from your swollen cunt, being as gentle as possible. You let out the occasional whines, mainly just because of how sensitive you were right now. But Minho was careful with you.

"Alright, you're all clean. Let's get you in the bath now, okay?" Minho told you. You hummed in agreement, still exhausted from your activities with Minho. He smiled, kissing your forehead before picking you up, taking you to the bathroom. And once inside, he gently placed you into the water, getting in behind you.

He hugged you to his chest, gently massaging your hips in the warm water as you rested your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes. It was relaxing, being with him like this. And after a bit, you opened your eyes and looked up at him, seeing Minho peer down at you with a soft smile.

"Feeling better?" He asked, watching you nod and smile, stretching your arms up and behind you, clinging to Minho.

"Mhm...I am..." You replied. Minho let out a sigh through his nose, smiling toward you before leaning down and pecking your lips.

"You're so cute..." Minho told you, watching as you gave him a small giggle in return.

This was usually the aftercare ritual. Once both of you had your orgasms and had calmed down, Minho would leave quick to clean himself up and start a hot bath, then come back to wipe a majority of the mess off of you. Once most of it was wiped away, he'd carry you to the bathroom to let you soak in the tub with him in the warm water to help prevent soreness.

To further help, he'd also massage your hips and legs, wanting to work out the knots from the muscle. And once that was done, he'd take you out, dry you off, and dress you in some of his clothing before laying you back in bed, cuddling with you until you both fell asleep.

Yes, he did research. Lots of it. But it was because you deserve the best in his eyes.

"Just let me know when you're ready to get out, okay?" Minho asked you, continuing to place kisses onto your face and neck. And you would a few minutes later, when you looked up and guided his face back down for a small kiss.

"M'ready..." You told him. Minho nodded, getting out of the tub and laying you back.

He quickly dried himself off, before going to you. He guided you out of the tub, drying you off, and then picked you up to take you back to the bed. He sat you down, going to the closet to grab one of his t-shirts for you, and a pair of sweatpants for him. Once he got himself dressed, he went to you and slid the shirt over your body before laying you back.

Once you were tucked in, Minho went to open the bedroom door to give access to Soongi, Doongi, and Dori, going back to you and pulling you into his arms. You happily cuddled into his chest, closing your eyes as your body relaxed against his. Minho couldn't help the smile that graced his face, kissing your forehead.

"Goodnight, beautiful." He whispered. He heard your hum in response, which made him smile. And with that, he closed his eyes, letting himself fall into a deep slumber by your side.

It was a few days later when Minho had been at work, waiting on Jisung to get lunch. He was waiting in the lobby, masked and capped and ready to go, waiting on his friend. The same friend that was running late.

Minho went back onto his phone, glancing at the texts that had been exchanged, and then to the time right at the top of his phone. They agreed on 2, and it was 2:15. It was normal for Jisung to run a bit late, since he was always busy with producing songs or helping Changbin or Bangchan, but this was a little excessive, even for him.

And so, when Jisung finally did so up, Minho turned to look at him, completely unamused of how late Jisung was, until he noticed something else. Something...off.

"Are you okay?" Minho asked, watching Jisung walking up to him. Though, he was walking in a strange way. It almost looked like the same kind of walking that you did when you...wait.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, me and Nari just had a long night. A long night." Jisung said, smiling as he went to put on his own mask. Minho raised a brow, watching Jisung walk past him.

"You mean..." Minho trailed off, Jisung turning to look at him with curious eyes. Almost daring his friend to finish his sentence.

"What?" Jisung asked, watching as Minho walked to him, the two walking out of JYPE together to leave for a restaurant they went to regularly. "Am I not supposed to let my girlfriend peg me?"

"Whoa, okay, watch the bluntness." Minho said, Jisung laughing at his friend's reaction. He could see Minho's ear getting red, meaning he was already embarrassed from how blunt he was being. "I thought that you were more...y'know...dominant."

"Well, sometimes I am." Jisung said, shrugging at his friend's accusation. "I mean, I love being in control sometimes, but I also love letting Nari be in control, too. It's nice to just sit back, relax, and take whatever she wants to give me. And she's hot when she does it, too."

"Really?" Minho asked. He...never thought of it that way before. Probably due to the man-like stereotypes, but still. While it wasn't a foreign idea, he wasn't too certain about how he'd like it. Or how you'd like it. It'd definitely be a big change.

"Oh, yeah. Not to mention how good it feels." Jisung said, tilting his head back at the thought of his own lover being in control of their sessions. "Ugh, just the thought of Nari on top makes me wanna just go to her right now, just let her do whatever she wants, honestly."

"You are an actual freak of nature, you are aware of that, right?" Minho said, raising a brow to his friend who nodded in response.

"Yeah, but you'd never understand what it's like. I mean, you're always dominant with Y/n, right?"

"Well, yeah. But I don't even think she'd be interested in that. I don't even know if I'm interested in that."

"Well, lucky duck you, that's why porn is a thing." Jisung said, pulling out his phone for a minute. "Here, I'll send some links for you to watch."

"You really don't have to--"

"No, I'm going to. That way, it can give you some ideas for the bedroom regardless." Jisung spoke, sending the links he had. "There we go! Now you have homework when you get home."

Minho just rolled his eyes, feeling his phone buzz as they reached the restaurant.

"Great."

And so, once Minho got back to the apartment, greeted the three cats, and saw your note on the fridge about how you'd be at work later than expected, he sat on the couch with a huff and pulled out his phone.

He knew full well that if he didn't watch what Jisung sent him, then he'd never hear the end of it. Besides, he needed something to do while you were away. As Dori and Soonie came to join him on the couch, Minho opened his texts with Jisung, seeing the plethora of porn links his friend had sent.

There were...so many. Jisung definitely had a problem.

But Minho got started anyway, pulling up the first link and sitting back, watching the video. It was a link that took him to twitter, and it wasn't too terribly long. But holy shit, it was hot. It was of a girl edging a guy, making him writhe in his spot and beg to cum.

It was weird, but while watching, Minho imagined you and him in that position. And it only made the link hotter.

He opened the next link, taking him to the same place. This time, the man was getting overstimulated, so much so to the point where he squirted. Minho didn't even know that was possible for a man. It made him wonder if he could do that.

The more he watched, the more he realized something about himself. If you did this to him, overstimulate him, deny him, make him squirm and writhe, he wouldn't be against it. Hell, he'd be all for it, because you'd look so hot doing shit like that to him. He knew you would, you're always hot when you're taking control of situations.

And now that he thought about what Jisung had told him, it would be kinda nice to not do some of the work when the two of you decided to have sex. Letting you take the reins while he got to sit back and relax and let you make a mess of him sounded really nice.

He had just finished the last video Jisung had sent him, letting out a sigh. Well, now there was a few problems he had on his hands. One, he was hard. Hard as a fucking rock. That, and he had to bring this idea up with you. He wasn't going to force you to do something you weren't comfortable with, ever. Your comfort was top priority for him.

"Min, I'm back!" Speak of the devil. You had just gotten back from work, tired and exhausted. The last thing you needed to deal with was some of your coworkers being idiots at your workplace. You eventually got things taken care of, but still.

"Hey, beautiful." Minho turned to give you a smile, watching you take your jacket off and place it next to your bag, slipping out of your shoes before walking over to the couch and sitting down next to him, leaning your body onto his with a sigh. "Long day?"

"Mhm." You nodded, closing your eyes for a second, feeling Doongie come up on the couch and go onto your lap. "I love my job, but my coworkers need to get their heads out of their asses."

Minho couldn't help but chuckle, placing a kiss onto your head as he wrapped an arm around you. He could tell you were drained from your day, the adrenaline from the stress and emotions from earlier making you exhausted. But your energy would return soon, you just needed a second.

"How was your day?" You asked him, looking up at Minho, seeing his warm smile.

"It was good. Interesting, but good." Minho replied. That got you to raise a brow.

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, Jisung went on a rant about his sex life."

"Oh..."

"Yeah. It was, uh...something. And then he sent me a whole bunch of porn links, and it makes me wonder how Nari deals with his ass." Minho joked. It got you to giggle, leaning into him a bit more.

"Yeah? What kind of porn?" You couldn't help but ask, you were curious.

"Fem-dom porn."

"Really?" That was a new one. You could see Jisung being into that, but showing that kind of stuff to Minho? That didn't seem like something he'd like.

But the boner in his pants said otherwise. You could feel it against your leg as you shifted to get a better look at him, kind of shocked at what Jisung had shown your boyfriend.

"Mhm."

"And...you liked it?"

"Surprisingly, yeah." Minho placed a hand onto your cheek as he spoke, admiring your features. "Just the thought of seeing you take control, on top of me and doing whatever you wanted to me...it's kind of a hot thought."

That was even more surprising. Your Minho was saying that you being dominant was hot to him...The same one that claimed that he'd never be into being dominated. You had to be dreaming right now, right?

"Are...Are you feeling okay? Did you and Jisung switch bodies or something?" You asked, placing a hand to his forehead. It made Minho laugh, shaking his head.

"No, I'm feeling fine. Just...up for trying something new, I guess." Minho took your hand away from his forehead, bringing it to his lips to place a kiss to your knuckles as his eyes bored into yours. "I wanna see if the real thing is as hot as it is in my mind."

Oh, that got to you. You shivered, keeping that eye contact as you swallowed nothing.

"O-Oh..."

"Do you not want to?" Minho asked, raising a brow. His feelings wouldn't be hurt, you knew that. But at the same time...

He already did so much for you. Anything you wanted to try that had fit both of you dynamics, he'd help you try. Anything you asked of him was done without a second thought. So what was the harm in doing something that he wanted to try for once?

"No, no. I want to." You gave him a smile, taking your hand back before leaning forward and pressing a kiss onto his cheek. "But...I think we should go over boundaries."

"Good idea." Minho spoke, smiling at your gesture of affection. "We have our safe word and the stoplight system."

"Yeah, but what are you comfortable with me doing?"

"Well, I guess everything I do to you? Minus the whole, y'know...penetration?"

"So, no pegging."

"No pegging." You could do that. After all, it was his night. And you planned on spoiling him.

"Perfect." You gave him a smile, before setting your hand under his chin, gently rubbing his jaw with your thumb. "So then...do you want me to help you out with your little problem?"

Minho wanted nothing more.

"Hell yeah." And with that, he moved to kiss you. But instead, you leaned away, keeping him at a distance.

"Ah ah, I'm calling the shots, remember?" You asked, raising a brow. Minho gave you a sigh through your nose, obviously upset with not being able to do as he pleased. But...you were right. He was letting you be in charge.

"Yeah." He responded, unamused. It made you giggle, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, leaving a centimeter between them as you spoke.

"Why don't we take this to the bedroom, yeah?"

Fuck, that was hot. Minho could feel himself twitch in his pants, not used to seeing you like this. In charge, telling him what to do. But god, did he like it.

And so, the both of you went to the bedroom, leaving the cats in the living room. Minho went to the bed as you went to shut the door, not needing to lock it. And once the door was closed, you turned to Minho, your eyes dark, lustful, beautiful.

"Go ahead and strip down. I don't want any clothing on you." You instructed, watching Minho start doing as he was told. And while he did that, you went to grab the handcuff set for the headboard.

One of Minho's favorite things to do with you was bondage. It was light, mainly attaching your legs and arms to the headboard and corner posts of the bed. But it kept you from touching him. And tonight, you intended on returning the favor.

You decided that you'd go with just his hands though, and so you only needed one set. And as you turned to go to the bed, holding the cuffs in your hand, you were met with the view of your naked boyfriend, sitting on the bed with his hard, angry tipped cock resting against his stomach, gulping at the sight of the cuffs in your possession. His cock instantly twitched upon seeing one of his favorite items to use.

You immediately throbbed at the sight.

"Fuck...you're gorgeous..." You smiled, licking your lip slightly as you walked toward him, pushing him back against the bed. Minho went with you, letting you lay him down. "Give me your hands..." Once again, he followed your instructions, reaching his hands up to where you were. It only made you hum, your smile growing. "Good boy."

And with that, you fastened his hands to the headboard, cuffing his left wrist first, before threading the handcuff through one of the bars and then back through, putting his right one in next. Once he was fastened, not too tightly but not too loosely, you kissed each hand, looking back to Minho.

His eyes hadn't left you once.

Now, the question stood. What did you do to him, first? There were so many choices...you could use a vibrator, you could suck him off or give him a handjob...But then, the idea hit you. And you smirked, which made Minho gulp.

"B-Baby--"

Before he could finish, his breath hitched upon feeling you latch onto one of Minho's nipples. His entire body jerked, his hips bucking up in the air as a low groan left him. If there was anything you'd learned from your time being with Minho, it was that his nipples were extremely sensitive. So much so, it made him squirm, arch his back to you and writhe.

It was exactly what you were going for. His hands pulled against the handcuffs, trying desperately to get to you, to touch you, to have his way with you, but he couldn't.

"F-Fuck, baby...ungh, that...it's sensitive..." He couldn't stop moving his hips, thrusting up into the air. But it was pointless. There was no friction at all.

"I know." God, the way you said it nonchalantly, giggling as you smiled up at him, your tongue just underneath his left nipple as you pressed against it. It was such a filthy sight, and it made Minho moan out.

While your mouth tortured one nipple, your hand went to the other one, gently circling it before giving it a nice pinch. Minho gasped, his hips bucking once again, needing something, anything from you.

But you weren't moving on.

You stayed at his chest, your mouth switching back and forth, doing your best to give each little sensitive bud attention for equal amounts of time. Your stomach twisted with pleasure as you watched Minho struggle against the restraints on his hands, trying so desperately to grab your head, your shoulder, anything. But he couldn't.

"Y-Y/n..." Minho whined. You felt yourself gush. You never thought you'd hear him whine, ever. And yet, here you were, hearing your boyfriend, your dominant boyfriend, whining for you.

"Mhm...?" You pulled away from his chest, gently flicking each nipple with your hands as you looked up at him. "Did you need something?"

"I...I need you..." Minho breathed. The way he was acting was driving you crazy. It almost made you wonder how he was able to do this so easily.

"You need me? To what, baby? Be more specific." You cooed, giving his poor nipples a firm pinch. It made Minho cry out, something you've never heard either, his back arching again.

"Touch me! Please, I...I need you to touch me..."

"But I am touching you."

"You know what I mean!"

"Do I?" You did. You were teasing him, playing with him the same exact way he did to you. Minho knew that, and it made him realize that you were getting back at him for all those years of teasing and torment, of not getting what you wanted. "I did tell you to be specific, didn't I?"

"Fucking christ..." Minho whined, closing his eyes for a moment to try and compose himself. "I...I need you to touch my...my cock..."

You smiled, kissing his cheek before reaching down, taking his beautiful, angry cock in your hands, gently starting to stroke in a tight grip. The action got Minho to moan loudly, his head going back against the headboard as he tried to move his hands, to no avail.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" You asked, looking down to focus on what you were doing.

You were surprised with how much his tip was leaking, how his cock twitched at every sensation. You moved your hand up and down, eventually gliding your thumb against his tip, which made Minho's hips buck. It was hot, seeing him so desperate.

For once, you weren't the one struggling. You were the one creating the struggle. And that turned you on so much, you couldn't help but reach your own hand into your panties, gently tapping your clit. Minho saw that, and moaned, licking his lips at the sight.

You were so hot like this, being in control. He had thought that you might not know what to say, how to make it enjoyable. But you were also his girlfriend, who had a lot of this done to you, thanks to him. So it was a no brainer that you were so good at this. Very, very good at this.

"Feeling good, Min?" You asked, watching Minho nod.

"God...yeah, baby, it...holy fuck, that feels so good..." Minho grunted in response. What you were doing, what you were saying, how you looked...Minho was gonna go crazy. He was so close, all between the hand job and the nipple play alone. "I...I'm close, baby..."

When you heard this, you had an immediate decision you had to make. You could either deny his orgasm or give him overstimulation. What to do...what to do...

"Go ahead, nobody's stopping you." You told him. You figured that you could do one of Minho's favorite things to do to you to him. And that was overstimulation.

You moved your hand quicker, bringing your free hand out of your panties and to his nipple, gently flicking it again. That got Minho to pant and moan, getting louder and louder until he burst, white ropes shooting onto your hand. You hummed, smiling as you watched, biting your lip at how beautiful he looked.

He already looked so fucked out, panting as he slouched against the headboard as his hands went slack, only being held up by the handcuffs.

But you weren't done with him, yet.

"Good boy, Min. Look at you, all tired out when we're only just beginning." You cooed, watching as Minho's eyes widened. It was at that point when he realized something. Your hand never stopped moving. He hissed, feeling the sense of overstimulation course through his body.

"Fuck fuck fuck, baby, s-sensitive...!" Minho whimpered, his hips trying to get away from your hand. But because he was cuffed to the bed, there was no way he was escaping you so easily.

You only had one goal, and that was to not allow his cock to get soft. Hearing his moans and whimpers from the oversensitivity was only an addition. And even then, you looked up at him, your eyes serious for a moment.

"Color?" You asked. You didn't know if it was actually too much, and so it didn't hurt to check.

"G-Green..." Minho whined, which made you smile, going back to focusing on the task at hand.

"Good, that's good...now, stay hard for me, okay?" You asked, your eyes not leaving his. Minho didn't even have to try in order to fulfill your needs, his cock not deflating once. The poor thing was overworked, already having done it's job. But you wanted it to do more. "There you go...such a good boy, listening to me."

With that, you placed a kiss to his forehead, before getting up and going to the closet where your toy chest was, digging through it for a moment before pulling out your toy of choice.

A vibrating cock ring.

Minho had bought it because he was curious about how it would actually feel. And since then, it had been a number one choice for both of you. Between Minho dealing with the vibrations and the tight cock ring, and you getting a vibrating dick and stimulation to your clit, it was a no brainer.

And once Minho saw what you had in your hands, his cock twitched. He already struggled enough, and now you were gonna make him go through the cock ring without being able to touch you? This was going to be pure torture.

"Baby..." He whined, his eyes pinned to the toy. You simply hummed, going over to him. You gently took his cock in your hands, sliding the toy onto him and made sure that it was on correctly, waiting to hear protest.

"Is there a problem?" You asked, raising your brow. He already looked so drained...it was adorable.

"N-No, but...I...I won't last..." You knew that. The cock ring was dangerous for both of you. For one, you lost all sense of sanity, sometimes getting slammed into subspace. And Minho...he didn't last as long when the vibrator was going. Ever.

"That's okay." You told him, smiling once it was ready. You then got up, taking your pants and panties off, going over to him and sat onto his lap, lining yourself up with him. As you did this, you used your free hand to turn the vibrator on, the both of you moaning at the feeling.

"Shit, baby..." Minho moaned, his hands trying to pull against the handcuffs as you finally got him where you needed him to be. And without warning, you sunk yourself onto him.

Both of you moaned immediately.

"Fuck, you...you're so tight, I-I can't, I-" That was the first time you've ever heard Minho say something like that. But it made you clench and start moving your hips, moaning at the feeling.

He always gave you such a delicious stretch, and now that he was vibrating too? It was ecstasy. Pure, raw bliss.

While you moved, grinding your hips and bouncing against him, Minho tried desperately to get his hands free, his hips bucking up into yours. He needed to touch you. He had to feel you with his hands, he'd die if he didn't.

And that's when he realized it...that was why he was always the dominant one. He couldn't deal with not setting the pace, with not making you happy and feeling you underneath him. Call him a control freak, but it was true.

Yes, he loved the sight of you on top of him, taking control and making him feel good, you were hot like that. But he just couldn't do this anymore. He needed to be the one making you be in so much pleasure, you couldn't think straight.

"Ba-Baby, please, I gotta...let me touch you, please, just...release my hands..." Minho whined, watching you continue to bounce on top of him. But there was a tiny problem.

"I...I can't..." You said, looking to him with hooded eyes. You had no idea how Minho was able to do this domination thing so easily. It was hard, keeping calm and keeping control.

"W-What do you mean--"

"I left the keys in the closet..." You had intended on letting him get out of the cuffs after you had both finished, but...you didn't realize how much you'd be craving his touch. How much you were craving being taken care of again.

And Minho wasn't exactly thrilled about that. Instead, his eyes darkened, and a low growl left him as he thrusted up into you, making you cry out.

"The fuck you mean, you left them in the closet?"

"I-I wanted to take the cuffs off after, I-"

That earned you another harsh thrust, making you cry out again, falling forward onto Minho.

"Did you seriously think you could go a whole fuck without my hands on you?" Minho asked, looking dead into your eyes as he started to set a brutal pace, making you wail. "Look at you, all pathetic...you can't even hold yourself up because my cock's too good..."

"M-Min--"

"What, you gonna cum?" Minho growled out harshly. You nodded, watching as he continued his ruthless pace, his harsh words going straight to your pussy. "Must suck knowing that I can't rub that clit of yours, because my hands are all tied up, huh?"

You wailed, tears pricking your eyes. His words, his cock, the vibrations, it was too much. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your legs shaking as you clenched around him. You were close, Minho could tell. He knew your body way too well.

"Go ahead, cum. Nobody's stopping you..." Minho growled. And immediately, you did as told, cumming around him. You immediately moaned, your body trembling as your walls fluttered, Minho groaning at the sensation.

And thanks to the cock ring, Minho wasn't far behind, thrusting up and holding his hips up against yours as he came, a long groan leaving his lips.

You both stayed there for a while. Nothing but quiet between you two, both of you trying to get your bearings back. But eventually, you reached down, turning the vibrator off, looking to Minho afterward. He was panting, his arms slack once more as he took deep breaths.

"Min?"

"Hm?"

"You...you aren't actually upset about the whole key thing, are you?" There was a pause, making you nervous. But eventually, Minho spoke.

"No, I just...I got caught up in the emotions, I guess." Minho explained as you got off of him to go and get the keys. He let out a sigh, watching you dig through the chest before walking back with the keys, going to undo the cuffs. "I...I wasn't too harsh with my words, was I?"

"Huh? No, nonono..." You told him, taking the cuffs off of the bed, watching as he rubbed his wrists. "I thought it was okay. I didn't take any of it to heart, I know you didn't mean it."

"Okay, okay...good." Minho let out a breath, going to lay back against the bed. You smiled to him, sitting back and watching.

"So...we can both agree that you should stay dominant?" You asked, watching Minho smile, a single laugh leaving him.

"Absolutely."

"So...does that mean-"

"Round two the right way?" Minho smiled to you, watching you smile back and nod. It made him happy, seeing that you were on the same page as him.

"I thought you'd never ask."

I...almost just deleted this after finishing it, but I saved it so I'm gonna go cry myself to sleep now 🫠

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d

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