#Cold War intrigue

[threeravenspublishing]

When a man has nothing to lose, he's Disposable.

[hypodermicfroggy]

I really like Psychonauts and its writing, don't get me wrong, though after having read the very ancient Li-Po Backstory Document I do wish we could have gotten more from some of the concepts that had been in there.

Like the fact that Sasha's real struggle with his father wasn't just "lol he accidentally caught his father thinking about sex with his dead mom" (though don't get me wrong I love a good Freud joke and overcoming your traumatic intimacy issues for the one you love as much as the next person), but was in fact due to him having an existential crisis over the nature of the human mind and concept of a soul and that's also why he so doggedly went into scientific experimentation. Could also tie into his fascination with extraterrestrial life and wondering if they, too, qualify for his existential studies, or even given us interesting interactions with Camper Phoebe.

(Also, stopping a terrorist/bomber with the help of his father was a cool as fuck detail.)

Or the fact that Milla actually ended up moved from mental facility to mental facility before she was finally able to be helped with quieting down the nightmares and voices of the orphanage children (among others she was able to hear) through psychoisolation. Could have more insights on her extreme pyrophobia and how she manages to come to grips with the fact that Whispering Rock *does* in fact encourage pyrokinesis.

We could have had a chance to expand on Oleander's animal telepathy/empathy powers (post Psy1, it could have been some improved character development/showing he's at least trying to not be so warhawkish), especially since we know that's also a very strong power in the Booles and Sam Boole was assigned to him as an intern.

Or how about Truman being a distinctly "conservative" and extremely politically-motivated figure with regards to how he apparently rose to power as the Head of the Psychonauts? Sure, we see parts of the fatherly side with Lili, but we don't see the politics of the Psychonauts apart from glimpses through Hollis, and maybe a tiny bit with regards to poor Bob. Hell, that political-mindedness could have even contributed to the estrangement between Truman and Bob over Bob's addiction issues, and Lili's personal apathy as well since she's basically a 'prodigy' who has never been properly challenged *since* she's a Zanotto. It could even be part of why Oleander was even recruited in the first place. Animal empath or not, he's the militaristic type that a more openly political and conservative Truman would potentially want in the organization.

And of course I know the big one was how they changed the Aquato lore and backstory from the document, and again, I LOVE what they did with that writing in Psychonauts 2 with regards to Maligula and Ford. But at the same time the Galochio family rivalry would have been so FASCINATING. Zalto could even become a future villain to deal with, possibly tied to a Grulovian mission or arc since it was hinted at the end of Psy2 they'd have to go there anyway to recover Helmut's body. Raz back in his family's homeland! The Galochios reigniting the family feud! FINALLY GETTING PROPER WATER LEVELS! Insert a joke about "why is it always you?" with Raz's Protagonist Syndrome!

I also want literally ANYTHING else with regards to the camp and interns, too. Elka has an entire backstory that is not once remotely implied in the first game that her entire family has extreme powers of clairvoyance to the point an ancestor was basically a Norwegian prophet/soothsayer. Are you kidding me? That is cool as shit. And besides horrific traumatic events, how do you even figure out your kids are psychic? Like some families clearly show an aptitude for it (the Aquatos, the Booles, the Zanottos), but is it just a genetic quirk, is it through direct Psitanium exposure causing mutation, or is it just random chance? How do you qualify to be part of Psychonauts programs? Also does Loboto actually have a kid or was he just talking insane nonsense?

Maybe if we ever get a Psychonauts cartoon like I'm coping for we could get some of these ideas returned to and elaborated on.

[manuscript-or]

*kicking my legs and pounding my fists* i don't wanna write political intrigue, i don't wanna

[mickstart]

I can't get over how Park is like 20 years younger than everyone else (except Lazar and maybe Bell?) in the cold war safehouse because. Like. I know the Doylist explanation is "call of duty could not conceive of a Woman Desired By A Man In The Story who wasn't in her 20s" but the Watsonian explanations make her fucking fascinating like she must be a prodigy with psychology / chemistry to have ended up working on that project. She's *28* and she's basically running a secret CIA experiment and teaching one of the CIA's top agents how to brainwash.

She's not even 30 and she's working with living legends in her field, handling top secret MKultra shit, AND has survived an ATTEMPTED DECAPITATION. When Park was NINE YEARS OLD Mason and Woods attempted to assassinate Castro. And she's ordering them around.

And I'm just thinking about how. The kind of evil she brings to Bell's brainwashing is different to Adler's it's a more clinical, detached, "I'm just doing my job" kind of evil that's intensified when you consider the ambition and work ethic that must have got her to this point. But at the same time she has these little tinges of regret and she argues with Adler about endangering Bell. It's like she's coming to terms with what she's capable of, because she's *young* and hasn't had these conversations with herself, hasn't had to face someone like *Adler* who is BEYOND the line she's willing to cross. She's still learning what her rules are, what she has to live with to do her job. And she CAN live with it, is the fucked thing. She's just learning that she can.

Raven Software I am in your walls Helen Park is so fucking FASCINATING DO MORE WITH HER!!!!!!!!!

[acourtofquestions]

“He'd deceived her, had lied to her. This man who she'd believed held no secrets between them. She didn't know why it made her want to shred everything within sight.”

— cause um… as you just said Miss Manon YOU CARE (& it’s even giving Chaolaena vibes in the I CARE way)… so like all I’m saying is you love him duh?

[batsplat]

Hello! I have a question about tyre pressure penalties. Why do they pop up so often and why now? It didn't seem to be a big topic a few years ago, what changed? The tyres, the bikes, the rules?

Thank you so much for answering

yeah, the rule was introduced in july of 2023, so it is still a very new thing! and... well, it's basically the bikes and the rules that have changed, whereas the tyres haven't changed as much as they need to. here's the tldr on why the rule was initially introduced:

so I'm afraid the actual explanation is going to be a bit longer and more complicated - but here's the most basic summary. if you don't read anything else, hopefully this will give you a general sense of what is going on here:

last few years: more aero, ride height devices, faster bikes = more stress on the tyres, more heat, higher tyre pressures

when you follow another rider, your tyre pressure may rise very quickly; when you're in clean air it'll get lower

too low tyre pressures = tyre may degrade which can be safety issue

too high tyre pressures = bike buckles under you, makes overtaking harder and crashing more likely (also competitive disadvantage)

controversy in 2022: leaked michelin document showing several riders weren't above minimum tyre pressure level. rules just hadn't been enforced -> teams demanded change

proposed rules in 2023 for minimum tyre pressure: seen as very strict + harsh penalties were criticised. the penalties were reduced, rule when introduced was still controversial

particularly heated discussion when it looked like it might influence the title fight, with both pecco + jorge receiving a warning

rules changed for 2024, made somewhat more lenient than initially proposed, but clearly it remains an issue

okay, that's the short version. let's give a little more context. discussion surrounding this proposed rule introduction really got going in 2022, as a result of a controversy surrounding the lack of enforcement of the existing rule. we've had tyre pressure rules since basically forever... it's just that michelin wasn't actually going to the stewards and saying 'hey, you've got to penalise these riders'. the thing is, all teams are chasing low tyre pressures to gain a performance advantage. you're trying to get the tyres to operate in the ideal window of grip level - if you're setting them low, you're attempting to ensure that you won't be screwed over if your rider ends up in a race situation where the tyre pressure suddenly rises outside of that level. see this from 2022:

so, again, to be clear: the existence of tyre pressure regulations isn't new, it just hasn't been enforced. the article I linked to was from a piece after jerez 2022. it's about how a leaked document from michelin confirmed that several riders, most notably pecco and ducati, had essentially run their tyres in an illegal manner but would not be penalised for it. this had been common practise for years and years, but at last other manufacturers were complaining about this state of affairs - which stemmed from a "gentleman's agreement" between the manufacturers and michelin not to disclose any breaches. for obvious reasons, this is not ideal. it's a) unfair from a competitive standpoint, and b) quite possibly dangerous. which also doesn't really make this bit ideal, does it:

and here's the leaked michelin document:

'only 0 laps' slay

so basically it was the manufacturers themselves that had kinda had enough of the status quo and provided the initial impetus for change (ironic, given where the rest of this post is going). the situation also wasn't helped by how michelin had told journalists like a race earlier that infringements were "very rare", which obviously they were not

which, okay. seems straightforward enough, right? teams are chasing performance advantages - but they should be penalised if they're pushing things too far. tough for them if higher tyre pressures are making them slower! the issue is... well, these fluctuating tyre pressures and how often they end up getting very, very high is actually a massive issue in and of itself. it doesn't just make bike performance worse... it makes the racing worse. from another article at the time, that outlines how few overtakes there had been in recent races and how this was a problem riders up and down the grid had talked about:

basically, the idea is that if you end up following another rider too closely, your tyre pressure might suddenly rise to the stratosphere. (obviously, you saw the reverse of that in assen - marc worrying his tyre pressure was too low and having to fall back behind diggia to try and get it up again.) it's described as quite a radical difference, not just in terms of performance (making it harder to overtake), but also in terms of handling... and ultimately safety, because suddenly rising tyre pressures can make crashes more likely. I'll give a bunch of quotes from riders here, but I'll also summarise them afterwards

and to get slightly more technical with this, here's how bastianini described the issue:

so, tldr for the above quotes:

even tiny changes in tyre pressure can make a massive difference in how the bike handles

following a bike closely can cause the tyre pressure to rise enough to make it start buckling under you, making it a lot easier to crash. specifically, it becomes really hard to brake in a controlled manner

it's easier to lock the front when you're braking in these conditions (with a smaller contact patch between tyre and ground), so you're compensating by pushing more when braking, with less grip - that's what makes you more likely to crash

this makes overtaking harder, essentially relying on bikes in front to make a mistake. unless you have a clear speed advantage, you may be stuck in a pattern where you gain but then have to drop back for tyre pressure reasons

it's very hard for the teams to figure out beforehand how to set the tyre pressures, not least because obviously it depends on what sort of race situation their riders will be in

and that's the problem in a nutshell. low tyre pressures are a problem for safety reasons. high tyre pressures are also a problem for safety reasons, plus come with the added downside that they have contributed to making the racing a lot worse in recent times. it's tough for teams to predict how they should set their tyre pressure, but some teams had been deliberately going high risk (low pressure) for a competitive edge - even if their riders weren't always aware of it. and the rule wasn't being enforced

so, let's tackle the obvious question: why has this become such an issue at all specifically in the last few years? I'm going to basically just summarise the linked article for this, though obviously I'd recommend you go read that in full:

the michelin front slick tyre has always been sensitive, though it's gotten particularly bad these last few years

the racing is both faster and closer now than it used to be, so these small margins have become more important

the out-sized aerodynamics have reduced wheelies and led to greater downforce during braking, which means you have more load on the tyre. to explain a bit more (from here): tyres are being pushed down by weight of bike + rider, the engine generates friction, which determines grip - and also heats the tyre up. more heat = more pressure

rear devices: dropping the rear of the bike on straights for reduced wheelies and to "adjust the angle of the downforce aero". so basically you're sticking the tyres to the ground, you're keeping the bikes super low, there's more weight, you're putting a lot of stress on the front to do the front to do the braking and you're braking from higher speeds. all of this raises the temperatures enough to be a problem

slipstreaming: typically a massive part of racing in motogp, as it gives the rider behind an advantage when following. the problem is if you have aero that's creating such a massive vacuum that it's essentially sucking the rider in... creating a lower-than-atmospheric pressure that makes it super hard to brake. because low pressure = good when you're on the throttle and trying to go fast, by extension low pressure = bad when you're attempting to brake and go slow

I hope this is like... more or less clear - we could get more technical with this and I'd advise you to follow the links I've provided, but I'm trying to keep it relatively straightforward. also, obviously I'm extremely not an expert on this either. basically, it's aero and ride height devices and sheer performance that are putting a lot of load on the tyres. increased stress means more tyre pressure fuckery and threatens the integrity of the tyre. high tyre pressures are dangerous. low tyre pressures are also dangerous. not ideal. these michelin tyres also fundamentally were not designed with aero and ride height devices in mind (they've been working on a new front tyre since 2019). there's a few different reasons why michelin hadn't been able to roll out more suitable tyres, including a) covid-caused delays, b) the reluctance of riders to actually test new tyres (preventing enough data from being collected), and c) the reluctance of motogp to force the issue by having enough testing and bullying riders into using the tyres. all this has meant that now, in 2024, we still don't have a front tyre that's really suitable to the actual bikes we have

so, what to do? now, obviously *casey stoner voice* maybe you should simply ban literally all this shit. strip off every single wing, chuck out everything that even looks like it might be applying for 'device' status, take a hammer to anything that wasn't on these bikes twenty years ago. also, just slow the bikes down! while michelin isn't responsible for most of this and being a tyre supplier in a motorsport is a notoriously thankless job, they are the primary reason why everyone is smashing lap records left right and centre this year. get rid of all of it. racing was better twenty years ago. return to the glory days, bring back the real sport *end casey stoner voice*

given they're not going to change the tech regulations overnight - and the proposed next ruleset (while far from perfect) does include changes that theoretically should help address this problem - it was felt like a more immediate change was needed. so over the course of 2022, there were more and more discussions about how you'd more firmly clamp down on teams playing fast and loose with the existing tyre pressure rules. initially, the new rules for tyre pressures and how strongly they'd be penalised were supposed to be introduced pretty early in 2023, with the introduction of a unified monitoring system that ensured these teams didn't like... just pretend their own problematic numbers were down to their inability to measure their own numbers

these proposals were met with massive backlash - and I think you should be able to guess why. these tyre pressure rules are about mandating a minimum level... but a lot of this post has been about why high tyre pressures are also a massive problem. as we've established, different race situations can also lead to very sudden changes - so if you're setting it higher to begin with, it might end up being so bad you cause a lot of crashes:

the other big complaint was about the harshness of the proposed penalties, which were initially going to be instant disqualification. eventually, once the rule was finally introduced in mid-2023, it was with lighter penalties:

another quirk was that, initially, it was checked through randomised post-race inspections. this is because they didn't want to just rely on the new system they'd installed in the bikes, but also wanted to manually check afterwards - which they didn't have the capacity yet to do on all the bikes. even with this change, the rule wasn't exactly universally popular. one complaint, expressed here by zarco, was with the idea that low front tyre pressures even are as dangerous as they're being portrayed as:

and again, the argument that this is bad for racing:

the more moderate version of this complaint was aired by aleix - the rule itself was fine, but the exact application was too strict:

this situation is the definition of lose-lose-lose. it's bad for riders because they're constantly having to monitor tyre pressures, running the risk of being penalised and also racing in a dangerous manner if their tyres aren't exactly right - plus racing in a dumb manner if they have to adjust how they're conducting their race to what their tyre pressures are doing, for instance by dropping back into the pack to get back to an acceptable level. it's bad for michelin because everybody's constantly complaining about this rule and their tyres - and while this rule they've insisted on doesn't necessarily appear to be the best solution for an imperfect situation... of course they're not the main party to blame for the imperfect situation in the first place. and it's lose for the viewers because, well, it makes the racing processional and at times extremely daft

now, there was obviously plenty more discourse about this, but the controversy really got going again late last year - at the height of the title fight, when both jorge (after thailand) and pecco (after sepang) ended up being slapped with warnings, with a penalty to follow with another infringement. obviously, given how close the title fight was, the idea that it might be decided by something this dumb was appealing to literally nobody. martin was particularly outspoken after sepang about how it was impacting the racing:

it was very visible in the sepang sprint how jorge was adjusting his tactics to this race situation - he just couldn't race normally because of the tyre pressure calculation they'd made not matching to the race situation. on the flip side, bastianini was given a warning after the race for his low tyre pressure... but well, he won that race, and it was obviously worth it for him to low ball it, given the absolute lack of championship implications and how the rules essentially gave him a freebie. which, if this is a safety rule, how is that a reasonable way of regulating it? you're allowed to chew up your tyres in a dangerous manner but just this once, as a treat?

as ever, jorge was backed up in his complaints by aleix:

make engineers less anxious 2k23

also, I do just need to quickly bring in another thing jorge said, because it's still very funny to me

no?? don't do that?? just because pecco also has a warning, that does not mean you can take all the risks you want?? how does that even WORK?? what if pecco plays it sensible and he doesn't get a penalty??

anyway, of course neither of them ended up being penalised - though diggia lost a podium at valencia. with plenty of talk again at valencia, obviously it was a concern going into the next season, especially given the penalties were supposed to be escalated so that a rider would be disqualified at first offence. the organisers ended up changing their mind on this rule last minute - and now we have a mere 16 second time penalty instead. more importantly, the actual threshold was made a little more lenient:

relatively speaking, the situation this year... well, it could be worse. there's been a few penalties here and there, like fabio's in the jerez sprint - which obviously was a complete chaos race where fabio from pee five million on the grid really wouldn't have been expecting to run in clean air. (four other riders were also penalised there.) marc's assen one is particularly memorable, given it included those bizarre moments where marc let other riders ahead of him to get his tyre pressure in an acceptable range. that still wasn't enough and due to (according to marc, anyway) the bastianini contact he ended up just falling afoul of the laps you need within the allowed margins. of course, none of this is ideal. there's a bunch of ways in which it makes racing worse: for safety reasons, by making overtaking harder, by making it harder for riders to adjust to unexpected race situations. there's also not really an easy solution and no party here is 100% blameless. hopefully michelin will at least construct a new tyre that makes all this a little better. hopefully we can one day fire ride height devices into the sun

[frostise]

👀 , for wukong cuz y not!

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓   ┇   accepting ♡

❝ you again? give me a damn break. ❞ it comes out as a hiss and ends with a scoff. killer frost has never liked dealing with whatever this 'wukong' is — was it a metahuman or something from another planet? did it even matter after what he did? — nor will she tolerate the amount of destruction he had done to her contract jobs, causing her superiors to give her lectures every time they heard of her reports and soon deemed her unfit to work on high profile contracts anymore due to the 'duplicate frost' incident from all those weeks ago, but what really makes this killer tick is the sight of the monkey king grinning from ear to ear as he drinks in her miserable expression.

a sharper glare is sent his way. wukong's been a royal pain in her ass from the very beginning and always will be. the mere thought of him releasing more chaos into her work life starts to boil her blood to limits she didn't know were reachable.

bold all that definitely/currently applies, italicize what could potentially apply.

get to know: NEVER! | i'd rather not | convince me! | sure why not? | yes please | ALWAYS (only bc she has no info to use against him)

befriend: NEVER! | i'd rather not | convince me! | sure why not? (hard maybe from her side but rn? nope) | yes please | ALWAYS

date: NEVER! | i'd rather not | convince me! | sure why not? | yes please | ALWAYS

kiss/make out: NEVER! | i'd rather not | convince me! | sure why not? | yes please | ALWAYS

hook up with: NEVER! | i'd rather not | convince me! | sure why not? | yes please | ALWAYS

protect: NEVER! | i'd rather not | convince me! | sure why not? | yes please | ALWAYS

help: NEVER! (louise says, "help your damn self!" 😭) | i'd rather not | convince me! | sure why not? | yes please | ALWAYS

kill: NEVER! | i'd rather not (wukong solos? period) | convince me! | sure why not? | yes please | ALWAYS (fails)

have drinks with: NEVER! | i'd rather not | convince me! | sure why not? | yes please | ALWAYS

have dinner with/cook with: NEVER! | i'd rather not | convince me! | sure why not? | yes please | ALWAYS

do a heist with: NEVER! | i'd rather not | convince me! | sure why not? | yes please | ALWAYS

make a mixtape for: NEVER! | i'd rather not | convince me! | sure why not? | yes please | ALWAYS

resolve a mystery with: NEVER! | i'd rather not | convince me! (big hMM) | sure why not? | yes please | ALWAYS

[morgenstern16]

"WELCOME TO THE AZURE TREE GENTLEMEN. I WILL NOT LIE. THE CHANCES OF YOUR SURVIVAL ARE SMALL. SOME MAY EVEN TURN AGAINST YOUR FRIENDS AS LIVING CORPSES. BUT YOU HAVE MY WORD, THAT I WILL USE MY ARCANE GIFTS TO ENSURE YOUR BODIES ARE GIVEN UNTO AIDIOS' GARDEN. THIS IS THE GREATEST REWARD, MORE THAN EVEN GOLD, FOR THE FATE OF YOUR SOUL IS AN ETERNAL CONCERN. NOW COME. FOLLOW ME. STRIKE DOWN THE MONSTERS THAT RISE AGAINST US. ALLOW ME TO FIND THIS ELDRITCH SEPT-TERRION.

I ASK NOT FOR MY OWN SELFISH STUDIES, BUT FOR THE GOOD OF EREBONIA."

Commission for Peter, Emma Millstein attending a lecture on advanced magic by Balthasar Gelt ✍

[tmarshconnors]

"Nobody ever leaves the KGB, by the way. Once you're there, no matter what you say you've done next, nobody ever leaves the KGB."

Rush Hudson Limbaugh III was an American conservative political commentator who was the host of The Rush Limbaugh Show

Born: 12 January 1951. Died: 17 February 2021.

[mossadegh]

As soon as he took his post in Dec. 1953, the new British Charge D’Affaires in Iran, Denis Wright, found himself entangled in palace intrigue and the “vindictive hostility” of the young Shah.

The Mossadegh Project

[r0ugesun]

just thinking about grumpy!aemond x sunshine niece!reader, that's all

Intimidating uncle who only smiles for his sweet niece?? How can I refuse? :> I hope u like it anon

Synopsis: Aemond’s icy demeanor softens as his playful niece, Y/n, brings joy and warmth into his life through her persistence and tender moments.

Aemond x Niece!Reader

The vast expanse of the Red Keep stretched before them, a labyrinthine structure of ancient stone and intricate tapestries of the Targaryens rich history. Within its cold, echoing halls, moved with his customary stoic grace, his singular eye perpetually narrowed, his demeanor perpetually grave. It was a disposition well-suited to his character, a shield against the tumultuous world he inhabited. Yet, like a glimmer of sunlight piercing through storm clouds, his niece, y/n, was a stark contrast to his brooding presence.

Y/n’s laughter echoed through the halls as she flitted about, a vision of radiance and mirth. Her wit was as sharp as Valyrian steel, and her spirit as unyielding as dragonfire. She was a beacon of joy in a court often shrouded in intrigue and gloom, and though many found solace in her presence, Aemond was not among them. Or so he would have others believe.

The gardens of the Red Keep were a sanctuary for y/n, a place where she could escape the stifling formality of court life. She found Aemond there one afternoon, standing by a marble fountain, his expression as inscrutable as ever. With a mischievous smile, she approached him.

“My dear uncle, why do you always seem to be plotting the downfall of the Seven Kingdoms?” she quipped, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Aemond’s eye flicked towards her, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I find little cause for humor, niece. Unlike you, I am not so easily distracted by frivolity.”

“Frivolity?” she repeated, her tone playful. “Surely, you do not think the pursuit of happiness to be frivolous, Uncle. It is the very essence of life!”

He huffed, turning his gaze back to the fountain. “Happiness is a fleeting illusion, y/n. It is duty and strength that endure.”

“Ah, but what is duty without joy? What is strength without laughter? A kingdom built on sorrow and scowling faces is a kingdom doomed to fall” she countered, her voice gentle yet firm.

Aemond’s expression softened ever so slightly, a fleeting hint of amusement in his eye. “You are relentless, aren’t you?”

“Relentless? Perhaps. Or simply persistent in my never ending quest to make you smile” she replied with a toothy grin. “I believe there is a smile hidden somewhere beneath that scowl.”

Aemond arched an eyebrow. “You overestimate your abilities, niece.”

“And you underestimate mine, uncle” she shot back, her tone light but her words carrying a subtle challenge.

Days turned into weeks, and y/n’s persistence in engaging Aemond in conversation did not wane. She would find him in the library, poring over ancient tomes, and offer her commentary on the latest court gossip. She would join him during his solitary walks along the battlements, teasing him about the weight of his thoughts.

One evening, as they dined with the royal family, y/n’s quick wit came to the fore once more. The courtiers were discussing a recent skirmish at the border, the atmosphere laden with a slight tension. Aemond’s expression was particularly dour, his mind clearly occupied with strategic considerations.

“Uncle Aemond” y/n began, her tone deceptively innocent, “do you believe the enemy quakes in fear of your legendary glare? Perhaps we should send a portrait of you to the battlefield. It might end the war without any bloodshed.

A ripple of laughter spread around the table, even King Viserys chuckling at her jest. Aemond’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile breaking through his stern facade.

“You have a dangerous tongue, y/n” he said quietly, though there was no malice in his voice.

“Only when it is necessary to cut through the gloom” she replied with a wink.

Despite himself, Aemond found his defenses weakening. There was something irresistible about y/n’s unwavering cheerfulness, her ability to find light in the darkest corners. She was not deterred by his gruffness, nor intimidated by his icy demeanor. Instead, she met him with a courage and joy that was both infuriating and captivating.

One evening, as the sun set over the Blackwater Bay, they found themselves alone on the roof. Y/n leaned against the balcony, her eyes reflecting the golden hues of the sunset.

“Do you ever tire of being so serious, Uncle?” she asked softly.

Aemond sighed, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It is not a matter of choice, y/n. The burdens I bear are heavy, the responsibilities immense.”

“And yet, you bear them with such strength. But even the strongest warriors need respite” she said, turning to face him. “Allow yourself a moment of peace, Aemond. If not for your sake, then for mine.”

He looked at her then, truly looked at her, and saw the sincerity in her eyes. The walls he had built around his heart began to crack, ever so slightly. Perhaps there was wisdom in her words, a truth he had long ignored.

“Very well,” he conceded, a faint smile gracing his lips. “For your sake, I shall try.”

Y/n beamed, her joy infectious. “That is all I ask, dear Uncle.”

In that moment, he found a glimmer of happiness he had thought lost forever. As he leaned closer to her, their breaths mingling, he felt an unfamiliar but welcome warmth.

With a gentle tilt of his head, he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them.

They drew back slightly, their foreheads touching, and Aemond could not suppress a soft chuckle.

“It appears you’ve managed to disarm me with a kiss” he said, his tone lighthearted.

Y/n’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she responded, “I had hoped that a kiss would be more effective than a sword. It seems I’ve found a more persuasive weapon.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow with a playful grin. “Am I to expect a steady stream of kisses to temper my seriousness?”

“Only if it ensures that you’re less somber” her smile teasing. “But fret not, I shall reserve my attacks for the most opportune moments.”

“Special occasions, then?” he inquired with mock seriousness. “I shall need to prepare for such events.”

Y/n’s laughter was light and musical. “Indeed, but for now, simply relish this one. It appears to be quite effective.”

Aemond shook his head, still smiling. “Your talent for lightening my mood is alarming. I may have to enlist you as my personal jester.”

“And here I thought I was merely your charming niece” she retorted in faux indignation, giving him a gentle nudge.

“Charming niece and occasional troublemaker” he corrected, “but I find I am quite content with both.”

Their shared laughter filled the space between them, making the day’s burdens seem lighter.

[cupofteatoyou2]

Sex Is a Luxury Item

(+18)

The nursery door closes with a soft click that feels louder than it should. You both stand there for a full ten seconds, like you're trying to will the silence to hold. Then—very slowly—you back away.

“Did she…?” Alexia whispers.

You hold up a single triumphant finger. “Out. Cold.”

Alexia’s whole body visibly deflates with relief. “Praise. Be.”

You tiptoe down the hall like you’re sneaking out of a haunted house. Once you’re safely in the living room, she collapses onto the couch with a dramatic grunt.

“I’m never using the word ‘down’ again unless it’s followed by ‘to clown’ or ‘for real this time.’”

You laugh, slumping beside her. “I sang the ABCs, and I did that swaddle shuffle thing you made fun of.”

“I don’t make fun of it. I fear it.”

She reaches for your hand, twining your fingers. Her thumb brushes over your knuckles and it’s the softest touch you’ve felt all day.

It makes your chest ache a little.

“I missed this,” she says quietly. “Just being able to… sit with you.”

You glance over at her. Her hair’s a mess, hoodie slightly damp from some earlier baby-related incident, but the look in her eyes is calm. Warm. Need.

“I missed you,” you say softly.

“I missed your mouth,” she says, just as softly—except hers is a little more direct.

You smirk. “Oh, we’re skipping right to that?”

“It’s been weeks. I’m done playing it cool.”

You shift closer, legs touching, your hand sliding to her thigh. Her eyes darken. “Don’t tease.”

“You used to love that.”

“I used to have eight hours of sleep and an immune system.”

You giggle, then tilt your head and kiss her.

It starts slow. Gentle. Careful. You haven’t had space for this in so long, and you both know it. Her fingers slide under your shirt. Yours tangle in her hair. It builds like a fire you’re finally allowed to light.

You shift onto her lap, her arms circling your waist like she never wants to let go.

“I’ve wanted this,” she murmurs against your mouth. “God, I’ve needed this.”

You kiss her again, deeper, slower, letting her feel it.

And just when her hands start to slip under your hoodie—

click.

Rustle.

A small sound crackles from the baby monitor.

You both freeze.

Then a soft sigh.

“Don’t move,” Alexia whispers.

“Maybe she’s shifting in her sleep.”

“Maybe. Or maybe she’s sensing happiness and preparing to destroy it.”

You both stare at the monitor like it's a horror movie screen.

There’s another soft grunt.

And then—one, single, high-pitched cry.

Alexia slumps back onto the couch. “She’s awake.”

You blink, heart sinking. “We didn’t even get a boob out.”

“I didn’t even make it past second base.”

You press your forehead to her shoulder. “What do we do?”

She sighs. “I’ll go.”

“No, I’ve got her.”

“You did bedtime. I’ve got her.”

You squeeze her hand. “Together?”

She looks at you, eyes soft and tired. “Always.”

You both rise like soldiers going back to war. As you pad toward the nursery, Alexia reaches back and flicks off the light in the living room.

“Tomorrow,” she murmurs.

“Tomorrow,” you promise.

Alexia was moving like a woman possessed.

You watched her storm around the house with a candle in one hand, wine bottle in the other, and the baby monitor clenched between her teeth.

“What are you doing?” you asked from the couch, half-laughing, half-intrigued.

She spat the monitor onto a pillow and said, “Tonight, I’m reclaiming my title as your wife. Not just your co-parent. Your sexy, romantic, occasionally sleep-deprived wife.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Should I be scared or impressed?”

“Both. I cleaned spit-up off my ear today. I deserve this.”

You tried not to laugh, but her eyes were wild with determination. She lit the candle dramatically and dimmed the lights.

“She’s fed, changed, burped, rocked, lullabied, and snuggled within an inch of her life. The monitor says she’s sleeping like a rock. We have—statistically—at least one hour.”

“And you used that hour to set the mood?”

“I used five minutes to set the mood. I plan to use the next fifty-five to ruin you.”

You flushed. “God, I missed you.”

She moved closer, cupping your face gently before kissing you, slow and warm. You melted into her, everything soft and familiar, her hands on your waist pulling you in.

“Tell me you want this too,” she whispered.

You grinned, leaning your forehead against hers. “Of course I do. But slow, okay? I just want to feel close to you again.”

Her lips curved. “Slow is my middle name.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Tonight it is.”

She tugged you down onto the couch, mouth finding yours again. Her hands moved carefully, like she remembered every part of you and needed to touch it all. Your shirt came off, hers followed. You gasped into her mouth, and her teeth scraped your bottom lip in that exact way that used to make your knees weak.

Her hand slid under your bra—

click.

You both froze.

Alexia’s eyes darted to the baby monitor. A tiny grunt. A rustle.

“Don’t you dare,” she muttered. “Do not wake up. I’m begging you.”

You pressed your ear to her chest, listening with her.

Another rustle. Then silence.

“She’s just shifting,” you said, exhaling.

Alexia didn’t move. “I’ve never wanted a mute button more in my life.”

You burst out laughing and pulled her back down. “Crisis averted.”

Your fingers went to the waistband of her joggers. Hers slid behind your back again—

And then—hiccup.

Sniffle.

You both slowly turned toward the monitor again.

“Maybe she’s just—”

WAHHHHHHHHH!

You both groaned in perfect sync.

Alexia flopped backward, dramatically throwing an arm over her face. “I love her so much, but she is truly the tiniest, cutest pussyblocker I’ve ever met.”

You were already pulling your shirt back on, laughing into the fabric. “We made her too powerful.”

“She’s weaponized her timing,” Alexia muttered, slipping on her hoodie. “We’re under siege.”

In seconds, you were back in the nursery. The baby blinked up at you both, looking thrilled to be awake again.

“I swear she’s doing this on purpose,” Alexia said as she rocked her. “She senses hormones like a shark smells blood.”

“Maybe she just misses us.”

“She sees me kiss your neck and goes, ‘That’s enough out of you. Stay away from my mommy’”

The baby yawned. Then sneezed directly in Alexia’s face.

You giggled so hard you nearly dropped the burp cloth.

“Still love her?” you teased.

Alexia wiped her cheek and said, “I’d take a thousand sneezes to the face if it means we eventually get to have sex again.”

Once the baby was back in the crib, snoring softly, you both tiptoed out like burglars escaping a crime scene.

Back in the living room, you didn’t even speak—you just pounced.

Alexia caught you, laughing breathlessly, and pulled you right back into her lap. Your lips locked, more eager this time, more desperate. Her hand slid down your thigh. Yours pushed up under her hoodie.

“I missed your skin,” she whispered against your jaw. “Missed the way you sound.”

“I’ll show you,” you murmured. “Just keep kissing me like that.”

Shirts peeled off again. Breathing got heavier. Her hand moved under your waistband—

BWAAAHHHHHHHH!

Both of you nearly screamed.

The monitor lit up again.

“She was asleep for eight minutes!”

“She sensed skin-to-skin contact!”

Alexia stood dramatically and pointed at the monitor. “You, young lady, are a menace to intimacy.”

You were crying with laughter as you stood. “She’s literally a baby, Lex.”

“A baby with an agenda.”

you both went in together again and took turns holding her. You whispered lullabies while Alexia made up dramatic Shakespearean monologues about interrupted foreplay.

“Sleep, my tiny villain. For tonight we are merely shadows of the lustful beings we once were.”

You were shaking with silent laughter.

Back to bed. Again.

This time, neither of you even pretended to go fast. You laid beside each other, fingers intertwined, foreheads pressed together.

Alexia sighed. “I love her so much it physically hurts.”

“I know.”

“But if I don’t get to see you naked soon, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You grinned. “We’ll get there.”

“You think when she’s in college we’ll finally have sex again?”

“Oh, I think we’ll be nasty empty-nesters.”

She laughed and pulled you close, tucking your head into her shoulder. “You’re still the most beautiful thing in the world to me.”

“Even covered in milk stains?”

“Especially then.”

Your baby snored on the monitor. Peaceful. Temporarily.

You kissed Alexia one more time and whispered, “maybe Tomorrow?”

Alexia yawned. “I’m scheduling it like a dentist appointment.”

Alexia stood in the kitchen, barefoot, holding a baby spoon like it was a laser pointer in a corporate meeting. Her hoodie was stained with milk, her bun was half falling apart, and yet she radiated authority.

“We need a new strategy,” she said, pointing the spoon at you with conviction.

You shifted your baby on your hip and squinted at her. “Is this about sex or war? Because your vibe is giving NATO crisis response.”

“Sex is war,” she muttered dramatically. “And right now, we’re losing.” She gestured broadly to the chaos around you: toys scattered across the floor, a bib hanging from the lamp, a rogue pacifier floating in someone’s half-drunk tea. “We are being outmaneuvered by someone who can’t even hold her own head up yet.”

“She’s a baby,” you reminded her, kissing said baby on the head.

“She’s a tactical genius,” Alexia said, narrowing her eyes at the infant. “Every time we so much as touch lips, she makes a sound like she’s being exorcised. She waits. She listens. Then she strikes.”

You snorted. “We’re being pussyblocked by someone who thinks her own feet are a conspiracy.”

“Exactly!” Alexia snapped her fingers. “It’s a psychological game. She doesn’t even know she’s winning, and that’s what makes her so powerful.”

You bounced the baby gently. “Okay, war general. What’s your big plan?”

Alexia marched over to the fridge, yanked off a magnet, and slapped a Post-it to the surface like it was a classified briefing. In bold, scribbled handwriting, it read

OPERATION: SEXY SUBMARINE

You stared.

“Tonight,” Alexia began, pacing, “we follow a strict schedule. No detours. No distractions. No Netflix, no chatting about the laundry, no doomscrolling while she naps. We do everything early—feed her early, bathe her early, snuggle her into a sleepy little puddle of baby bliss. Then we put her down.”

She paused dramatically.

“And then, we retreat. Bedroom only. Lights off. Curtains drawn. Door closed. Silent mode. Like a stealth mission. No candles. No ambiance. Just pure, uninterrupted—” she made an expansive gesture “—reconnection.”

You bit your lip, amused. “What’s with the submarine part?”

“Because we’re going under the radar. No noise. No trace. Pure stealth.”

“And because it’s been so long, we’ll probably have to dive deep into foreplay before anyone remembers how anything works?”

Alexia’s face lit up. “Exactly. See? You get me.”

You kissed her cheek. “Alright, Captain Putellas. I’m in.”

That night, you prepared like Olympic athletes warming up for a relay.

Dinner was served 47 minutes ahead of schedule. Alexia made airplane noises while feeding mashed peas, which ended up mostly on her shirt, but you were both undeterred. Bath time included the new sparkly bubble soap and a rousing three-minute duet of “Let It Go.” Your daughter clapped for you both like you’d just taken a bow at a Broadway matinee.

Book time came next. You sat side-by-side in the rocking chair, your daughter balanced across both your laps. Alexia read The Very Hungry Caterpillar with the dramatic timing of a Shakespearean actor on a caffeine high. Then she followed up with Goodnight Moon in a soft whisper, pausing between each “goodnight” like it was a prayer.

The final lullaby was sung in hushed tones. Alexia cradled the baby like she was made of glass, her voice wrapping around the room like a blanket.

“She’s out,” you breathed, watching her chest rise and fall in rhythmic peace.

Alexia’s eyes sparkled. “You ready?”

You tiptoed like trained spies out of the nursery. Alexia carefully shut the door with the reverence of someone sealing a tomb.

Once inside your room, she didn’t waste time. Her hands slid around your waist as soon as the door clicked shut. “No talking,” she whispered. “You might jinx it.”

Your lips met hers, slow and deep. She pulled you to the bed, her hand warm against your lower back, your knees already going weak. Clothes started to come off—carefully, quietly. Her hoodie hit the floor. Your shirt followed. Her hands traced your ribs like she was relearning you from scratch.

“I missed this,” she breathed against your collarbone.

You ran your fingers through her hair, tugging gently. “I missed you.”

She leaned in, kissing along your throat, one hand sliding up your bare thigh—

THUMP.

You both froze.

Then:

sniffle.

hic.

whimper.

Alexia slowly looked over her shoulder. “No. No, she’s bluffing.”

“Lex…”

“She’s testing us.”

A louder whimper. Then a soft wail.

Alexia flopped onto her back and buried her face in a pillow. “This is a conspiracy. A full-scale operation against our libido.”

You sighed but couldn’t stop the giggle bubbling up. “The Sexy Submarine has been compromised.”

“She’s too strong,” Alexia groaned into the pillow. “She’s outmaneuvered us again.”

You pulled on your shirt, patting her back. “Come on, soldier. We’ll regroup.”

“She doesn’t even like books,” Alexia muttered as she stood. “I read two stories. Two! With voices!”

In the nursery, your daughter greeted you with wide, innocent eyes.

Alexia lifted her gently, holding her close. “You are lucky I’m weak for cute things,” she whispered, nuzzling into her soft hair. “But seriously—do you have to wake up every time I try to get laid?”

You were laughing into your hand.

By the time she was back in her crib, you were both too tired for round two. You collapsed onto the bed fully clothed, limbs tangled together.

Alexia turned to you with the softest look in her eyes. “I love you,” she murmured. “Even if we never have sex again until she’s in preschool .”

“Preschool’s only few years away. We can make it.”

She groaned. “No. No we can’t.”

You reached for her hand. “We’ll find our way back. We’re just in the baby fog right now.”

Alexia smiled, eyes already drooping. “At least we’re in it together.”

You drifted off to the sound of your daughter snoring through the baby monitor.

The silence was golden. Sacred. A rare miracle.

Your daughter was finally asleep. For real this time—tiny limbs sprawled, cheeks flushed, pacifier bobbing softly with each breath. You and Alexia stood outside the nursery like two burglars about to flee a heist.

Alexia turned to you, eyes dark with purpose. “If she even makes a noise in the next hour, I swear to God—”

“Shhh,” you whispered, grabbing her hand and yanking her down the hallway like you were both escaping prison.

Back in the bedroom, the door clicked shut behind you, and Alexia’s lips were on yours before you even had a chance to breathe. Her hands slid under your shirt, warm, insistent, and you melted into her like it hadn’t been weeks of stop-starts and frustrated cuddles.

“God, I forgot how soft you are,” she whispered, mouth grazing your neck. “I feel like I’m kissing a memory.”

You laughed softly, tugging her shirt over her head. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m starving for you.”

The kiss deepened—slow and messy, teeth and tongue, her fingers dragging down your sides until she was pushing you gently toward the bed. You went easily, smiling against her mouth, thighs parting instinctively as she climbed over you.

She kissed down your chest, taking her time, teasing. You ran your fingers through her hair, tugging just enough to make her hum against your skin.

“You’re being mean,” you whispered, breath catching as she took a nipple between her lips. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Alexia looked up at you, grinning wickedly. “I’ve had four weeks to plan this.”

Her kisses trailed lower. Lower. Her hands slid under your thighs, spreading you open slowly, reverently. You moaned as her breath hit your inner thigh.

Then she paused.

“Lex—”

“I’m savoring.”

“You’re torturing.”

She grinned and lowered her head.

And then—

Then—

Just as her tongue touched you—

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

It was immediate. Loud. Gutting.

The baby monitor crackled to life like a horror movie villain.

Alexia froze. Lips still pressed against you.

You whimpered. “No. No, no, no—”

She dropped her forehead to your thigh with an actual whimper. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

You stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, already mourning the orgasm you had almost tasted.

Alexia lifted her head, eyes wild. “She’s possessed. She’s got, like, a sixth sense.”

“She was dead asleep,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I felt her soul leave her body. What even—”

Another scream. A hiccup. The unmistakable sound of a pacifier hitting the crib floor.

Alexia let out a strangled growl, crawled up your body, and collapsed on top of you. “I’m going to cry.”

“She’s probably just—”

“I don’t care. I’m staying here. She can put herself back to sleep.”

You giggled, threading your fingers through her hair. “You want her to self-soothe at nine months?”

“I want to finish going down on my wife, is what I want.”

You were still breathless. Still throbbing. Still too turned on to laugh properly. But you laughed anyway. “Five more seconds and I would’ve blacked out.”

Alexia rolled off you with a dramatic sigh and reached for her hoodie. “I hate how much I love that baby.”

You smiled. “You don’t hate her.”

“No, I just think she’s doing this on purpose.”

“She’s nine months old.”

“She’s a genius-level saboteur with a personal vendetta against my sex life.”

You groaned as you slid your shirt back on. “You going or me?”

“I’ll go. I know the look in your eyes. If I let you walk in there all flushed and dripping, she’ll cry for another hour.”

You made a face. “Rude but fair.”

Alexia shuffled out, still muttering to herself.

You lay there, legs still parted, body aching, mind spinning. You could still feel her mouth on you. You could still tastewhat you almost had.

Through the monitor, you heard her gentle voice:

“Shhh… shhh… no más drama, cariño. Mamá is this close to having a breakdown.”

More hiccups. Some giggles. A thump.

You closed your eyes and moaned into your pillow.

Fifteen minutes later, Alexia returned looking like she’d been through battle.

“She kicked me in the boob and laughed about it.”

You sat up, arms open, and she dropped into them with a full-body sigh. “I want you so bad it’s physically painful.”

“She’s asleep again?”

“Temporarily. Probably until I touch you again. I think it’s her new defense mechanism.”

You kissed her temple. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Alexia looked at you. “If I don’t eat you alive tomorrow, I might die.”

You pulled her close. “I’ll let you. But we have to move faster. Get in, get off, get out.”

Alexia laughed softly. “Operation Quickie Reloaded?”

You nodded. “Or just Operation: Don’t Wake the Baby.”

She smiled. “Tomorrow. We win.”

You’ve never seen Alexia this unhinged.

She marched into the bedroom like she was about to defuse a bomb, except the bomb was your daughter’s cry and the stakes were your sex life.

“White noise?” she asked, holding up the machine like it was the Holy Grail.

“Set to rainforest,” you replied.

“Doors locked?”

“Deadbolt and chair wedged under the handle.”

“Monitor?” she asked.

You held it up. “Battery: full. Volume: high. Vibe: non-threatening.”

Alexia exhaled like she’d just completed a NASA launch checklist. “We’re not being pussyblocked tonight. Not by our own baby. Not by fate. Not by a squeaky floorboard. Nada.”

You grinned, already lying back on the bed in just her Barça tee and a pair of lacy panties she hadn’t seen since the third trimester. “God, you’re hot when you’re this paranoid.”

She climbed onto the bed, eyes dark and focused. “Do not speak her name.”

“The baby?”

“She has ears like a bat. And emotional radar.”

You laughed, pulling her in by the collar of her hoodie. “You’re acting like we’re about to commit a crime.”

“We are,” she said, voice low and sinful against your neck. “We’re gonna fuck. And we’re gonna finish.”

She kissed you like it was her last act on earth. Her hands skimmed up your thighs, under the tee, finding bare skin and making you jolt.

“Oh,” you gasped, “we’re skipping foreplay?”

Alexia pulled back, scandalized. “This is foreplay. This is tactical sensuality. I’ve been edging myself emotionally for weeks.”

You blinked. “You’ve been… emotionally edging?”

“I’ve imagined going down on you while rocking the baby back to sleep.”

You choked. “That’s hot and disturbing.”

“Motherhood’s weird like that.”

You pulled her back down, breathless with laughter and lust. “Okay, tactical sensuality. Show me what that means.”

Alexia sat back on her knees, peeled her hoodie and tank off in one smooth motion, and tossed them over her shoulder. “Step one: remove barriers.”

You raised a brow. “Physical or emotional?”

“Panties,” she replied, and yanked yours off like she had a vendetta.

You gasped. “Damn, mamá’s not playing tonight.”

She grinned and ducked down between your legs. “Shh. You’ll wake the boss.”

The second her mouth touched you, your legs jerked up in shock. You slapped a hand over your mouth.

She laughed against your skin. “God, I missed how sensitive you get.”

You whined. “You’re not allowed to be cocky about it when we’ve been dry for, like, nine months.”

“I’ve been tracking your ovulation by instinct alone.”

You were laughing and moaning now, torn between arousal and actual tears.

Alexia licked a long, slow stripe, and your hips bucked. “Fuck—Lex.”

“Yeah?” she said, smug as hell, holding your thighs down with both hands like you were her personal reward.

“I swear if you stop, I will file for sole custody.”

She looked up, mouth glistening, smirk savage. “Not even God’s interrupting us tonight.”

You grabbed the pillow beside you and threw it at her. “Shut up and keep going!”

She did.

She devoured you like a woman who’d waited far too long, who’d dreamed about this every time she’d rocked a crying baby at 3 AM, who’d looked at your bare shoulder while brushing her teeth and thought, soon.

And now?

Now was finally here.

No interruptions.

No cries.

No disaster.

Just Alexia between your thighs, moaning like your pleasure was oxygen.

You threw your head back, already dizzy, and whispered, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t—”

A pause.

A beat.

A quiet.

You both froze.

Alexia slowly raised her head. “Was that—?”

“No,” you said firmly. “It was the white noise. Wind in the trees. Jungle frogs. Shut up. Keep going.”

She stared at you for one more second—then dove back in with a muttered, “For the love of all things holy.”

And this time? You knew it.

She wasn’t stopping for anything.

Your thighs were shaking, and your hands were tangled in Alexia’s hair like you were holding on for dear life. Her mouth moved with slow precision, her tongue relentless and so smug about it, you could practically feel the grin in the way she licked.

“You’re gonna kill me,” you gasped, chest rising fast under her tee.

Alexia hummed like that was exactly the plan. You felt it vibrate against your skin, and it sent a shock straight through your core. The kind of touch that made your whole body lock up before melting again, like your nerves couldn't decide if they wanted to tense or just give up entirely.

“I haven’t even started,” she murmured between strokes of her tongue. She looked up at you with her chin glistening and eyes filled with that cocky, dangerous glint—like she had something to prove, and your body was her proof.

She flicked her tongue again, just a bit firmer now, and you jolted, moaning her name as if it was the only word your mouth remembered how to form. “Lex… oh my god.”

“Still so sensitive,” she said, half awe, half victory. “And still mine.”

You groaned, one leg twitching at the knee, a helpless spasm you couldn’t even stop if you tried. She wrapped her arms around your thighs to hold you steady, fingers digging into your skin in the gentlest kind of possessive grip.

Her mouth found you again, unrelenting, licking slow and deep before switching to short, tight circles over your clit—soft, then harder, like she was playing a rhythm only she knew.

You squirmed, unable to stop it, and she moaned low at the way your hips moved. “Fuck. That’s it. Just like that.”

Her hands slid up and found your chest, warm palms cupping you like she missed this just as much as you did. She squeezed gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and your body practically convulsed.

“Lex—Lex, I’m gonna—”

She pulled back, just barely, mouth still wet, panting slightly. “You better. I’ve waited months for this. You think I’m gonna let you off easy?”

You whimpered and bucked your hips up toward her mouth, needy and too far gone to care. “Alexia—”

“Say it again.”

“Alexia.”

She grinned—pure sin. “Good girl.”

And then she sucked.

Your whole body arched off the bed. Your hands tightened in her hair and pulled, not even on purpose. It was just instinct at that point—desperate, overwhelmed, chasing release like it was life or death.

You were loud. Too loud. But you didn’t care. Not until you realized what you were risking.

“Shit—the baby—” you gasped, eyes flying open, chest heaving.

Alexia popped off you with a wicked look, then licked her lips like she’d just finished dessert. “She’s sleeping.”

You reached for the monitor blindly on the nightstand. “We can’t be loud—”

“She sleeps through the dog barking, thunder, and your snoring. She can handle a little moaning.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Bebé…” she smirked, already crawling back up between your legs, “I love you, but yes, you do. It’s cute. It’s like tiny dinosaur growls.”

You were about to argue—but her tongue was already back where you needed her most. And suddenly, snoring didn’t seem like the hill to die on.

You tried, for a full ten seconds, to stay quiet. You bit your lip. You pressed your hand over your mouth. You even turned your head into the pillow.

But when Alexia slid two fingers inside you and curled them just right, you squealed.

“Fuck.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth like it was going to do anything at that point.

Alexia chuckled, not stopping for a second. “So much for quiet time.”

You couldn’t answer. All you could do was breathe fast and try not to scream as she fucked you with her fingers and sucked your clit at the same time, the kind of multitasking only someone with pure chaos in their DNA could master.

She kept her pace slow and steady, dragging you toward the edge in the most excruciating way possible. Your thighs started trembling again, tighter this time, clenching around her head like your body was trying to trap her there.

And the worst part? She loved it.

You felt her moan into you. Felt her speed up. Felt the smugness in every move like she was daring you to come and wake the baby up. Like this was some fucked-up game.

And you were losing.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please, Lex, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” she said, voice muffled. “Come on. I wanna feel it.”

Her hand was gripping your thigh, holding you open, and her mouth was pure destruction.

You broke.

The orgasm crashed over you like a wave that had been building for weeks—months, maybe. You shook, you cried out, you grabbed the sheets and her hair and anything you could reach, and your whole body convulsed as pleasure took over. Every nerve lit up and then gave out all at once.

You were panting, a wreck, your limbs limp and twitching.

Alexia finally pulled back, face flushed and shining, looking like she’d just finished a workout.

“Goddamn,” she said, breathing hard. “That was worth the wait.”

You didn’t have the strength to speak. You just blinked at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, brain full of static.

Alexia crawled up next to you, her arms sliding under your body, pulling you into her chest.

She kissed your shoulder, then your neck, then your jaw. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think you broke something. Like… structurally.”

She laughed, full and loud, and you smacked her arm weakly. “Shh. She’s actually going to wake up if you don’t shut up.”

Alexia smirked against your skin. “Let her. I earned that orgasm.”

You rolled your eyes, still breathless. “You say that like you carried the baby for nine months.”

“I did carry the diaper bag for nine months. That counts.”

You swatted her again, and she caught your hand, kissing it sweetly.

“Tell me the truth,” she murmured. “Was it… okay? After everything?”

You blinked, turning your head to look at her. And for a second, all the teasing fell away. Her eyes were soft, warm, maybe even a little nervous.

You nodded slowly. “It was everything.”

Alexia’s face relaxed, and she leaned in to kiss you, this time sweet and lingering and full of everything unsaid.

“You’re everything,” she whispered.

And then—

crackle.

The baby monitor buzzed to life with a hiccup.

Both your heads whipped toward it like you’d heard a ghost.

Another hiccup. Then a whimper. Then silence.

Alexia narrowed her eyes at the monitor. “Don’t you dare.”

You held your breath.

Another soft sound. Then… nothing.

Alexia reached for the monitor, flipped it face-down, and muttered, “I swear, she’s got a sensor for sex.”

You laughed into the pillow.

“Next round?” Alexia whispered. “Face. My face. Ride it. I’ll even play with your boobs.”

You looked at her, amused and dazed. “You’re insatiable.”

“I’m starving.”

You rolled over, still dizzy from round one, and gave her a look. “Bathroom. Five minutes. Before she wakes up for real.”

Alexia perked up like a golden retriever. “You serious?”

You grinned. “You better bring the monitor.”

She was already out of bed, grabbing it with one hand and your wrist with the other. “Say less.”

The cold of the tile never stood a chance against the heat in your body.

You straddled Alexia’s face like you were born to be there, knees digging into the bathroom floor, one hand braced on the counter and the other fisting in her messy hair. She looked up at you with flushed cheeks, parted lips, and those dark, feral eyes like you were her next meal.

You barely had time to moan before she latched onto you—mouth open, tongue flat, licking one long, devastating stripe through your folds. Your whole body shuddered.

“Oh—fuck—Lex…” you gasped, already rolling your hips down against her mouth.

She groaned in satisfaction, hands gripping your thighs like she was anchoring herself. “That’s it. Use me, cariño.”

You did. Hips grinding down, thighs trembling around her head as she worked you over with slow, confident licks. She licked your clit with the kind of deliberate pressure that drove you insane—just enough to tease, just enough to ruin.

“You taste like heaven,” she muttered between strokes, voice muffled but smug. “Missed this pussy so fucking much.”

You let out a strangled moan, rocking harder. “Then shut up and eat.”

Alexia laughed, hot breath fanning over your core. “Bossy now, huh?”

But she obeyed, and when her lips sealed around your clit again, you almost lost it. She sucked hard, tongue flicking rapidly, her grip on your thighs tightening to keep you in place. You were practically sitting on her face now, and the way she moaned underneath you told you she loved it.

Then her hand slid up your thigh—and before you could prepare yourself, she sank two fingers into you.

You gasped loud, the stretch sudden and perfect. “Lex—fuck—”

She didn’t wait. Didn’t tease. Just started pumping her fingers deep and fast, curling them at just the right angle to make you see stars.

“God,” she breathed against your clit, “you’re so fucking tight—clenching like you’re trying to suck me in.”

Your head dropped forward, forearms now braced against the sink, body shivering under the weight of her mouth and hand.

“More,” you whispered. “Give me more.”

She obeyed without a word—three fingers now, pushing in with a wet, obscene sound that had your entire body jerking. Your moans were loud, shameless, bouncing off tile walls.

“That’s it, baby,” she murmured. “Fuck—you’re taking me so well. Look at this pussy—dripping all over my hand.”

You whimpered, hips grinding, thighs starting to shake.

And then she started fucking you with her fingers, hard and deep, curling with every thrust. Her mouth stayed latched on your clit—tongue swirling, flicking, licking with relentless precision.

You were coming apart. Muscles locking, breath catching, fingers digging into the counter.

“You gonna come?” she rasped. “Gonna make a mess all over my face?”

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

She moaned against you, her free hand slipping up to grope your boob, fingers rolling your nipple. “You’re everything, you know that?” she murmured. “My perfect girl. Let go for me.”

You choked on a cry, orgasm ripping through you like a wave—violent, pulsing, unstoppable. You came with your whole body, hips stuttering, thighs clamped tight around her head as her fingers drove deep and her mouth kept sucking.

Alexia groaned like she was the one coming, still moving inside you, still licking every aftershock from your body like she was addicted.

And then—just as your high started to ebb and you collapsed onto her chest, legs shaking, completely destroyed—

The baby monitor crackled.

“Waaaaawaaaa…”

You froze.

Alexia’s head dropped back onto the tile, and for a long beat… silence.

Then “Oh, come on!” she groaned, exasperated but laughing.

You buried your face in her shoulder, still panting. “Are you kidding me?”

“She waited,” Alexia said, wide-eyed and breathless. “She actually waited until you were done. That’s progress!”

You snorted into her neck. “She’s a pussyblocker with manners now.”

You both started laughing, tangled together on the bathroom floor, sticky, sore, and finally satisfied.

Alexia pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We made it, mommy.”

“Barely,mama” you whispered back, grinning.

Then the baby monitor made another soft sound—your daughter babbling like she knew exactly what she’d just interrupted.

Alexia groaned, rubbing her face. “We’re never gonna have sex again, are we?”

You kissed her, slow and sweet. “Not without a timer and industrial-grade earplugs.”

She smirked. “And maybe duct tape for the baby monitor.”

You laughed, standing slowly, legs wobbling.

“Come on,” you said. “Let’s go check on our pussyblocking miracle.”

Alexia groaned again, getting to her feet. “At least we got few orgasm. I’m calling that a win.”

You smiled, taking her hand. “A very wet, very loud win.”

And together, you padded out of the bathroom—laughing, limping, and still very much in love.

[winterarmyy]

Against All Odds | Part I

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Summary: In a medieval kingdom where magic and political intrigue are woven into the fabric of society, Y/N, the youngest daughter of a noble Earl family, finds herself in an arranged marriage to James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke. Known as the Winter Soldier, Bucky's reputation as a monster in war had instilled anxiety into Y/N's heart. But that fear quickly begins to crumble when she discovers that her husband is not the brutal figure society depicts him to be.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 8.1k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: fantasy/medieval au, i did not write this with much knowledge of fantasy nor medieval lore. I write it solely for plot and the couple dynamic lmao. if you're expecting full blown fantasy novel; this ain't it, man. anyways, 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), marking kink (i think), soft fluffy smut, a wee bit of dirty talk. soft!reader and even softer!bucky. (idk what else, so tell me if there's something i miss.)

P/S: This is the fic for an idea I had earlier this year. The first chapter will only cover the original post but what happens next is something you will need to look forward on the upcoming chapters. Enjoy your read!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N stood in front of the grand mirror in her chamber, her reflection staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. The delicate lace of her wedding dress was the opposite of the twisting anxiety in her stomach. Today, she was to marry James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke of the kingdom, a man labelled to be more beast than human.

He was known as the Winter Soldier, a title whispered with both fear and awe. Tales of his gruesome feats in battle, his merciless brutality, and his cold, metal arm was deemed as a horror story for the children in the kingdom. People spoke of him as a monstrous weapon, a beast moulded by the Emperor to do his bidding without question or hesitation. 

Y/N had heard the stories many times before; and it has always been a hushed conversation that floats around whether a ballroom of a gala, or at the tables of the garden parties, sometimes even in between the racks of books in the library.

They always painted a picture of a man who lived only for war, devoid of humanity.

She couldn't help but let these tales feed her imagination. What kind of man was he truly? Did he revel in the violence, or was he a prisoner to his fate? Y/N shuddered at the thought, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty.

Her father, the Earl, had made it clear why she needed to marry him. It was a political manoeuvre, a strategic alliance to strengthen their family's position. The duke, Bucky's father, wielded considerable power, and their union would bring the Earl closer to the heart of the kingdom's influence. 

And when he heard that the duke was looking for a wife for his bastard son, he knew that she would be perfect. That was when Y/N, the youngest daughter, became the pawn in this game. Her father's ambitions certainly outweighed any consideration for her feelings or desires.

Y/N had always longed for a marriage of love, a dream she clung to despite her circumstances. She was a hopeless romantic through and through; much like her late mother. She remembered the nights when her mother would read to her and her siblings, spinning tales of prince charming and valiant heroes.

The fire crackled warmly in the hearth as her mother’s soothing voice filled the room. Y/N and her siblings, her older brother Eric and sister Clara, lay tucked under blankets, their eyes wide with wonder.

"And then the prince, with a heart full of love, swept the princess into his arms, vowing to protect her forever," her mother read, her voice a melodic whisper.

Y/N, her eyes sparkling with innocence, declared, "When I grow up, I want to marry a prince charming too!"

Clara, ever the practical one, nodded in agreement. "Me too! He has to be brave and kind."

Eric, being a little boy, scrunched his nose in distaste. "I don’t want to get married. I want to be a knight!"

Their mother chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s forehead. "It does not matter if he is a prince charming or a humble knight. As long as you marry the one you love, that is what truly matters."

Y/N's heart ached at the memory. How she wished her mother were still here to guide her through this terrifying day. The gentle knock on the door brought her back to the present.

"Lady Y/N, it’s time," one of the maids said softly.

Y/N took a long and deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. She followed the maid down the corridor, her mind a swirl of emotions. Reaching the grand doors of the church, her father waited for her.

"Remember, Y/N," he said, his voice stern. "Do not mess this up. Just endure it. And you'll be fine. This is the most useful you can be to our family."

Her heart sank further; yet she nodded obediently.

Compared to Y/N, her elder brother, a celebrated swordsman, and her sister, a master in the art of business, had always outshone her in their father's eyes. Y/N's talent with languages; ancient and modern – was seen as a useless skill, something that brought no tangible benefit to the family. 

Her father had never been cruel when she was younger but everything changed when her mother died. In fact, everyone in the family had lost a piece of their soul when she left. Now, his lack of affection only increases the number of scars on her heart.

The doors opened, revealing the crowds of high-ranking nobles; who were mostly strangers – staring at her. Some were judging her; some pitied her. She reminded herself that she was doing this for her family, for the greater good. But the little girl inside her who dreamed of prince charming certainly felt a pang of sorrow.

As she walked down the aisle, her legs trembled, and her hands shook so violently that she had to clasp them together to steady herself. From afar, she saw the silhouette of the man she was destined to marry. His tall and huge figure stood out compared to anyone in the hall. As she got closer, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, too afraid to look up at her husband-to-be.

When she finally reached the altar, the priest began the ceremony. His speech was long and dragging, giving Y/N too much time to entertain her growing curiosity that she dared to glance up at the man next to her. Even from behind the veil, she could see his towering and broad-shouldered build, his presence commanding the room. His long hair was slightly untamed, and a scruffy beard framed his face. His metal hand, glinting in the sun that leaked through the church’s windows, was a jarring reminder of the rumors that surrounded him.

There were no heartfelt vows to recite to each other; only their promise of "I do" was exchanged. And that was the first time Y/N heard his voice. It was deep and resonant, sending a shiver down her spine; but there was a certain warmth in it that contrasted sharply with his fearsome reputation.

When the priest announced their union and Bucky lifted her veil, Y/N was struck by the unexpected gentleness in his eyes. They were a brilliant, mesmerizing blue, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Bucky's eyes softened as he looked at her, his gaze tender and almost reverent. Slowly, he placed one hand gently around her waist, pulling her slightly closer. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle against her skin.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as he leaned in, her breath catching in her throat. When his lips met hers, they were soft, warm, and so unexpected. She could smell his cologne; an earthy, woodsy scent mixed with a hint of something fruity; like peaches or tangerines. It made her head spin and her heart jumped all at the same time. 

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, very much differs to the forceful gesture she had feared. As he pulled away, Y/N found herself blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her fear momentarily replaced by confusion and a surprising awe. She was caught off guard by the tenderness of his touch, the way his lips had brushed against hers so gently.

Could the rumors about him be wrong?

"I’m sorry if I startled you," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear."

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to process the sudden shift in her emotions. The fear that had gripped her so tightly seemed to dissipate, replaced by a confusing mix of relief and intrigue. Her hands, which had been trembling, now rested at her sides, feeling strangely steady. Her eyes met his, and she could see softness in his gaze that contradicted the harsh rumors she had heard.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. She took a deep breath, her cheeks getting warmer as she processed the endearment he just called her. On the other hand, her mind was racing as she tried to reconcile the man in front of her with the fearsome figure of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky’s eyes mellowed even further, his gaze glazed with a tenderness that seemed to pierce through the weight of the room. A warm smile spread across his face, and he held her gaze with a comforting assurance.

“Good,” he said, his voice carrying a gentle affection. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The reception that followed was a blur of faces and polite conversation. Y/N moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky than the rumors suggested. Every time she caught his eye, he gave her a small, reassuring smile that made the butterflies inside of her go wild.

As the evening drew to a close, they were escorted to one of the Emperor’s palaces, a grand and opulent residence that was to serve as their temporary home before they traveled north to Bucky’s territory. The palace, with its lavish furnishings and golden accents, seemed to mock the uncertainty Y/N felt. She had been assigned a chamber to prepare for the night, and the palace maids were bustling around her, helping her into a set of elaborate, far-from-modest lingerie.

The palace’s maids’ whispers and side glances did nothing to ease her growing anxiety. Their condescending tones and occasional snickers were laced with cruel speculation about how roughly Bucky would treat her. The more Y/N overheard, the more her apprehension grew. Despite the gentleness Bucky had shown her earlier, she found herself doubting its sincerity.

Could he really be the caring husband he appeared to be, or was it all just an elaborate show?

The maids finally left, their laughter fading down the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in the grand chamber. Her heart raced, and cold sweat formed at her brow as she sat quietly on the edge of the ornate bed. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, her hands fidgeting in her lap. The room felt enormous, its sheer size heightening her sense of isolation and dread.

The door creaked open, and Bucky entered the room. Y/N’s heart nearly stopped as she heard the heavy, measured footsteps approaching. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, her body tense and her mind a swirl of panic and unease. She almost held her breath entire when she felt the slight indentation of the mattress beside her.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice was soft and coaxing, a distinct difference to the coldness she was expecting. “Look at me.” He continued. She hesitated momentarily; torn between obeying and disobeying but ultimately decided to raise her eyes to meet his.

The sight of him; his upper body bare, revealing a tapestry of scars and the stark metal of his prosthetic arm; made her breath hitch. Her eyes traced the lines of his faded wound, particularly the jagged marks where his shoulder met his metal arm. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow and concern. Her fingers, almost of their own accord, reached out to trace the contours of his chest and shoulder.

Bucky let the innocence of her touch to trace the most tainted parts of him; however noting her trembling eyes, he misunderstood her apprehension. “I want you to know, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, “that I will never hurt you. You are safe with me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart aching. She felt an unexplainable pain growing in her chest as she gazed at him. Her fingers still lightly touching his scars; her eyes, full of unshed tears, silently asked a question she was too afraid to voice. “Does it still hurt?” she wanted to ask, her expression betraying her concern.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with affection, and he took her hand in his, holding it tenderly against his chest. “Don't worry. It does not hurt anymore,” he said with a reassuring smile. 

The connection between them was electric, charged with a deep, unspoken understanding. Bucky’s gaze was steady and filled with a depth of unspoken emotion that took Y/N’s breath away. “I know this is difficult for you, Y/N,” he said, his voice laden with sincerity. “But I promise, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

His words and the way he looked at her left Y/N feeling both comforted and overwhelmed. For the first time since their wedding, she felt a genuine, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, their marriage could become something more than a mere political arrangement. Bucky’s assurances, his gentleness, and the tenderness in his eyes began to dissolve the fears she had harboured since the beginning of their union.

As they sat there, the weight of the night’s expectations seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile but growing trust. Y/N had entered this marriage with a sense of duty, convinced that she would have to endure the consummation of their union as a matter of obligation. But Bucky’s tenderness, his understanding, and the sincere reassurance he had given her began to change her perspective.

The idea of fulfilling her marital duty had initially felt like a burden she had to bear. She had steeled herself to face it with resignation, convinced that it was merely another part of her role in this arranged marriage. But now, she found herself reconsidering. The idea of being with him no longer felt like an obligation but a possibility of something more profound and intimate.

Y/N hands softly toyed with the delicate strings of her sheer lingerie, pulling it softly as her doe eyes signalled her husband of her intention. Bucky, sensing the shift in her demeanor, looked into her eyes with a mixture of concern and affection. “Are you sure, my dear?” he asked softly. “I want you to feel safe with me and not afraid of me.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the depth of her emotions. “I am,” she said with quiet conviction. “I feel safe with you, James”

Bucky's hand naturally went to brush her hair behind her ear, “It’s Bucky, my dear,” he corrected softly.

“Hmm?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

He chuckled warmly. “You can call me Bucky from now on. It’s a nickname only a selected few who I trust and love knows.” Her eyes sparkled at his choice words; trust and love.

“Bucky…” she tested the name on her tongue, the syllables feeling strangely intimate. Upon hearing his name from her lips, Bucky’s heart swelled, almost bursting from his ribcage. He hummed in approval, “That's right, my dear. I’m your Bucky.” 

His reassuring smile grew wider, his calloused thumb gently stroke her cheek causing a shiver to strum all over her nerves; sending an emerging desire. One she had not fully acknowledged until now. The way he looked at her, the pure and raw endearment in his eyes, and the softness of his touch stirred something deep within her.

As the moments passed, Y/N realised she wanted this. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to explore the warmth of his hands, to connect with him on a level she had longed for. The yearning for his touch, which had been dormant under layers of fear and uncertainty, now surged forward with undeniable intensity.

Without fully understanding why, Y/N found herself leaning closer to him, her breath coming in soft, eager gasps. She whispered, her voice barely audible but full of longing, “Bucky, please.”

Bucky’s expression softened, and a tender light filled his blue eyes, “May I?” he asked, his voice low and gentle as he held out his hand. There a shy hesitation before she finally placed her hand in his.

With a gentle but firm pull, Bucky lifted her onto his lap, his careful hands beginning the process of undressing her. Each movement was full of care, yet almost deliberate, as he slowly removed her dress, leaving her in nothing but the flimsy lace piece covering the sacred area between her thighs.

Bucky's eyes roamed over her bare skin, admiration clear in his gaze. Y/N could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes traced every curve and contour of her body. The intensity of it made her feel both vulnerable and cherished, a potent combination that sent pleasurable shivers all over her body.

Seeing the hunger in his blue eyes, she felt the warmth of his body and caught the scent of him; the same once she noticed at the church; warm and comforting. Her breath quickened, and she found herself unsure of what to do or where to place her hands, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

Noticing the subtle panic, Bucky reached for her hands and guided them through the thick strands of his long hair. “You can touch me as you please, my dear,” he whispered, his voice soothing as he reassured her. He leaned in to kiss her bare shoulder, then moved up to her neck, along her jaw, leaving a trail of warmth on her skin.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, the softness surprising her. The intimacy of the moment, combined with his gentle kisses, began to dissolve the last remnants of her anxiety. The feel of his lips on her skin was electrifying, each kiss sending waves of sensation she never felt before.

Bucky’s hands, still careful and tender, caressed her back, drawing her closer to him. Her breath hitched as he kissed the valley of her breasts; soft gasps escaping her lips as Bucky begins to lick and sucked on her delicate skin; likely trying to mark his claim on her. 

Every touch and little kisses he left sent shivers straight to her already dripping core. And by the time his lips grazed her nipple, her body jerked forward; in response, unintentionally dragging her aching pussy against his thick thigh.

His lips latched around her right nipples as he licks and sucks the hardening skin; lapping at it as if he was feeding from her. The sensation was overwhelming, yet she found herself leaning into his touch, her body responding to his gentle ministrations. The grip on his hair grew tighter as the strings of moans poured out her lips.

Bucky’s large hands find their place on her hips, guiding her to gently rut on his thigh. Trusting him, she followed his lead as he continue to grind her clit through the thin fabric she was wearing; introducing the sweet friction in on her core. Bucky pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of subtle affection and desire. “You’re doing wonderfully, my dear. Can feel your pussy leaking on me. Do you feel good?” he murmured as he dipped back to kiss her neck.

Oh, he was filthy with his choice of words but surprisingly she was not mad about it. In fact she didn’t even notice the whimpers purring in her throat upon hearing those sinful words.

It was as if Bucky recognized that needy sound she made; it caused a smile to spread on his lips. She can feel it grow against the skin in between her breasts, “My my, is my sweet wife feeling needy right now?” he teased playfully as he effortlessly lifted her up and laid her down on their bed. 

Placing himself in between her soft thighs, his lustful gaze trained on her naked body; he admired the marks he has left on her breasts, the wet patch on the flimsy fabric covering her cunt, and the way her breath shuddered when he teasingly grind his harden cock against her.

Y/N can feel the contrast of his hands on her thigh, one warm, one cold. Her eyes drew her attention from his hands to his gorgeous face. Oh, the pure unfiltered lust in his eyes was pulling her in so effortlessly; seducing her to submit her body and soul to him completely. Shying away from his stare, she dragged her view down to his chiselled jaw, his broad chest then slowly to his beautiful abs. 

She admired his body as much as he did of hers.

But what was more prominent out of all, was the way she could feel his erection throbbing against her heat. Blood went rushing towards her face when Bucky guided her hips against the confinement of his cock, which in response; causing her hands naturally found their way to cover her face in embarrassment.

A deep chuckle bubbled from Bucky’s throat; he found her reaction to be absolutely endearing. He leaned down towards her, one hand holding himself up and another tenderly pulling her hands away, then drawing it close to his chest, right against his beating heart. 

Having nowhere to run, Y/N’s teary eyes drowned in his ocean blues, “Don’t hide from me, dearest.” He peppered a delicate kiss on her forehead, then on her nose, then on her cheek. She could feel the prickly sensation of his beard grazing on her skin. It was ticklish and a little bit painful and yet weirdly enough, it felt good that it naturally made her want to nuzzle it more.

But before she could, Bucky’s lips were already making their way down to her stomach. Her body responds to how soft his lips trailing down; and further down until she could feel them on her clothed core. A surprised yelp fell from her lips as he tore the last piece of clothing from her.

“Now, hands away from your face, my dear. I want to see that beautiful eyes of yours when I eat your sweet pussy.” his voice was honeyed when he made himself comfortable in between her thighs. His hands reached upwards to intertwine both of her hands with his own; acting as a restraint to restrict her from covering her face.

Y/N almost sat up upon hearing his words, “Eat what now?”, the question she had in mind was unable to be vocalised; due to her confusion. Prior to marriage, she had learned about sex and its purpose in her marital studies. Unbeknownst to her, the knowledge she had was few and limited for academic purposes only. Which means there were only the few illustrations of penetration depicted in books and the process of how children are bred as a result of it.

So what does he mean when he said those words? While she was still lost and confused, Bucky on the other hand was in his own world; completely and utterly transfixed on the glistening need of her cunt. She was dripping wet; the juices covering her slits perfectly; her scent was intoxicating and if it weren’t for the fact that this is her first time, Bucky would’ve ate her like a man starved of touch. But, he can’t do that. Not tonight. He wanted to be gentle; to cherish her, to love on her.

Seeing the darkened clouds in his eyes as he stared at her private, Y/N braved herself to ask, “What are you– ohh hmmm” her sentence ended up transforming into a toe curling moan as she felt Bucky’s wet tongue flattened across her weeping core. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he dragged her clit into his mouth and sucked. He strummed her clit with his tongue, causing her to arch her back and he took the opportunity to push his face further into her cunt; licking and sucking quite the literal soul out her.

It felt amazing but her self-consciousness won the battle in her head, she let out a whimpering plea, “Buc--bucky st-stop. That’s dirty.” as she gripped on his hands, trying to escape from his grip. Bucky growled against her in response to her futile protest. The sweet vibration only caused her pleasure all over her fluttering core. 

When Bucky pulled away for a moment; it caused her to feel a sense of loss. “It’s not dirty, my dear. In fact, it’s so sweet.” His lips moved to kiss on her inner thigh, murmuring against her skin as he left yet more of his marks on her, “So fucking sweet.” He releases his right hand from hers, just to rub his thumb on her clit, slowly dragging it in between her slit; smearing her wetness all around her throbbing bundle of nerves. Her thighs trembled to the sensation of his rough movement of his thumb and a string of shaky mewls fell out of her.

“But..” she tried to protest but immediately stopped when Bucky brought his soaked thumb to her mouth. Her lips were wet from how he gently smeared the juices on her, “Taste yourself.” He lured her softly. Hesitation glints in her eyes as her cheeks redden. Bucky’s eyes grew tender at her watery ones, he whispered lowly, “Sweetheart, do you trust me?” 

She does; but she does not trust her own voice to not come out sounding like a needy moan, so she simply nodded. Bucky’s pink lips spread into a smile, “Good girl. Now, open up.” he coaxed lovingly.

Y/N opened her mouth as she was told and let Bucky slip his thumb inside; he was not shy to smother her juices across her tongue, coaxing her to suck on it. To get a taste of what he was having. “It’s sweet”, she thought to herself. A muffled moan purred in her throat at the thought of her husband enjoying the taste of her.

Bucky smirk grew at her reaction, “Tastes good huh, sweetheart?” he pulled his thumb away, leaving her nodding to his question. “Now are you going to let me enjoy your pussy?” his brow quirked when he tilted his head to the side. How can she deny him now? Her eyes glazed with need as she replied,  “Yes, please”.

Her mouth falls open in anticipation as a low moan creeps up her throat. Bucky’s tongue slips past her folds, she watched him between her legs, savouring her pussy with his unfiltered groans vibrating against her sensitive spot. Breathless moans and incoherent pleads fall from her mouth as the soft and firm tip of his tongue circled her swollen pearl and flicked it. Bucky’s hands went to her hips, guiding it in time with her own movements, giving her partial control to set the pace.

“Buckyyyy.” She gasped as she alternated between wanting to push his head away or keep him in place. Meanwhile, the man in between her thighs had lost himself; consumed by pure desire the more he drank from her cunt. His tongue moved faster against her clit when he noticed the beat of her throbbing cunt increased. She was going to come. He was sure of it.

The way that she was practically creaming on his tongue drove him near feral. He kept lapping at her juices as if it was the sweetest honey he ever tasted; fuck he even sucked her clit in hopes to force out more of her nectar to leak; then he’d lap on it again. 

The sweet cycle had pushed Y/N over the edge, her eyes rolling back as pleasure and her hips slightly lifted as pleasure surges through her veins.“Oh oh Bucky please please.” She didn’t what she was begging for as she chanted his name. “I’m gonna, ‘m gonna–“ her words died as she squealed; her body trembling in pleasure. 

His tongue moved faster against her clit; her cum was dripping out of her; coating his beard but his frantic licks didn’t stop even when she continue to gush on his tongue. 

“Bucky please, sensitive..” It was too much; her orgasm, her swollen clit, his tongue. Everything. 

Unfortunately for her, Bucky was far gone to stop now. He had the taste of her cum, now he wants nothing more than to have it again. Despite her protest, Bucky held her hip down, interlocking his hands across her stomach to keep her in place and continue to lick and suck on her overstimulated cunt.

Her whiny pleas didn’t come across as a sign for him to stop; instead it kept him going causing him to bury his face further in between her legs. His cock continued to throb in his pants, probably leaking with so much pre-cum and in need of some sort of relief but he ignored it. He wants nothing more than for Y/N to cum on his tongue again.

And that is exactly what happened next.

The moment she fell over the edge, Bucky pushed her even harder against him as her whole body spasmed. He maintained his pace on lapping up at her all throughout her high as her hands went from his hair to the headboard, trying to hold her limp body upright. Y/N took a moment to gather herself together, panting heavily as she regained their senses; while Bucky was swift to pull his pants off and throw it to the side.

He grabbed on her hips, holding her firmly in place as his heavy leaking cock nestled between her aching pussy. “Are you sure about this, my dear?” his hot breath fanning against her neck as he gently ruts into her heat. Even though Bucky can see the darken lust in her eyes, he still wanted to make sure that she was sure of her decision.

Y/N’s heart swelled at his concern, and she found herself smiling, a genuine smile that reflected the warmth she felt inside. She pulled him closer and kissed him, pouring all her newfound trust and affection into the kiss. “Yes, Bucky. I am very sure. ”

Bucky quickly responded with equal passion, his tongue slipped in between her lips; exploring the warmness of her mouth, the softness of her tongue. Their muffled moans filled the silenced room, his hands moved to caress her sides, drawing her even closer before breaking away from the heated kiss.

Resting his forehead on hers, his eyes trained on her beautiful face; not wanting to miss his chance to witness the pleasure contorting on her expression. He nudges her clit first, rubbing it slow and sensual before trailing down to her entrance. Gradually, he inches closer, he pushes in and through the tightness of her sacred channel.

Delving impossibly deep, her tightness wrapped around his thick cock until the tip of him reached the deepest parts of her. The sudden feeling of fullness on her untainted pussy caused her to experience both pain and the delightful sensation inside her. The ecstasy of being so knitly connected to each other caused both of them to simultaneously let out moans and groans of raw pleasure.

Bucky waited for her to adjust to his size; leaning down to pamper her with the softest kisses and praises that tears started to swell in her eyes. It was as if Bucky knew exactly what she wanted to hear, how she wanted to be treated and what makes her feel good.

“You’re doing so good, my dear.”

“Look at how perfect your pussy’s taking my cock. So perfect.”

“Made for me aren’t you, sweetheart?. Made to be loved by me, made to be stuffed full of my cock.”

“I promise you’ll be safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

When Y/N finally gave him the permission to move, Bucky kissed her pouty lips and murmured sweetly, “Thank you, my dear.” His hands travelled to find her ankle; which he then gently prop her calf over his broad shoulder. He started pumping in and out slowly, letting her get used to the friction. 

Bucky couldn’t help but to groan out to the feeling of her wet hole gripping his cock ever-so-tightly. It was slippery and dripping, that he almost completely slid out of her. Gripping her closer he continue ramming himself back in, deeper, harder; sliding in and out of her at an even pace. Each force of his cock causing her body to jerk in ecstasy; hitting that good spot in her so perfectly.

“S-shit, sweetheart,” he moans deep and heavy as he felt her pussy tightening around him. His metal hand slid in between them and his thumb hones in on her clit. The coldness of his finger made her jolt at first but when he proceeded to rub and pinch on it, everything suddenly started to feel too intense; so incredibly good.

With his fingers assaulting her clit, each thrust of his cock and every deep guttural moan and groan coming from Bucky, she felt her release was growing closer. Bucky also started thrusting faster and harder; he knew he was about to come. Especially when he can feel how much pre-cum has been leaking inside her.

He leaned and rested his forehead on hers, his needy ruts became more and more irregular when her pretty doe eyes looked up at him, “Cum for me, my dear.” his lips brushed against Y/N’s as he coaxed her to her sweet release. His thrusts got harsher and deeper and the friction of his metal finger working on her clit got her cunt to frantically tremble around him, “I wanna feel you milk my cock, sweetheart. Then, I’m gonna my pump cum inside you until you’re leaking.”

Although his words were debauched to no end, however Y/N could sense his genuine affection for her. She felt his sincerity in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her, in the silenced gaze they shared. Overwhelmed with pleasure, her nails dragged across Bucky’s back as she moaned and screamed out his name; letting the high took over her body.

“Fuck,, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum!” groaned as he took in the sound of her pleasured mewls. He ruthlessly grinds into her, savouring the feeling of her cunt tightened around him. With one last rut, he thrust his cock, balls deep inside and let his warm white strings filling her up to the brim. His cock twitches in her fluttering cunt, his legs tensing with every small grind he makes, groaning lowly at her as he bites down on her shoulder, almost drooling on her as he emptied himself completely into her.

Y/N continued to let out strings of soft moans as he pulled out from her leaking cunt; all swollen and sensitive. While she thought she could finally catch some breaths, she didn’t notice the way Bucky was biting on his lip at the sight of his cum dripping out of her, or how his hands lazily tugging on his now hardened cock.

“Dearest?” Bucky hovered above her as he cradled her by her flushed cheeks. She smiled sweetly as she leaned to his touch, “Yes, Bucky?”, she was anticipating him to utter more of those soft words and praises to her; but instead his lips curled into a devilish grin when he slid his cock back into her, immediately pulling a long sinful mewl of his name from her. Bucky hummed approvingly in response; he gently brushed his lips against hers, “May I fill you up again?”

As the morning sun streamed through the windows, Y/N slowly stirred awake. She reached out, instinctively searching for the warmth of her husband beside her, but found the space empty. A pang of loneliness touched her heart, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity when she saw a bouquet of bluebells, her favourite flower, placed delicately on the bedside table.

Next to the bouquet was a note. With a small smile, she picked it up and began to read.

"My Dearest Y/N,

I hate to leave you alone this morning, but I must ensure our journey home is smooth and safe. I trust you slept well, and I promise to return to your side as soon as I can.

Yours always,

Bucky"

The words written on the note were filled with sincerity and reassurance that made her heart flutter. She smiled, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she wondered how he knew bluebells were her favourite.

Just as she was lost in thought, the door opened, and the palace’s maids entered the room. Their faces were a mixture of curiosity and impatience, clearly expecting to see a frightened and bruised young bride.

However, when they saw Y/N's skin, they temporarily froze in their spots. Her skin was indeed bruised, but each one of them recognized the marks for what they were: love marks, not signs of harsh abuse that they were expecting. The traces of Bucky's possessive love were prominent all over her neck, chest, and inner thighs, leaving Y/N blushing as the maids, too, found themselves flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” one of the older maids muttered under her breath, her tone laced with irritation. Another maid, with a more condescending sneer, huffed. “Looks like we lost the bet, ladies. Who would have thought the beast could be so... tender?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and pride. She could feel their resentful glances and knew they were not pleased with the outcome. The marks on her body were a testament to the affection and desire Bucky had shown her, and despite the initial fear, she now wore them as symbols of the unexpected bond they had begun to forge.

The head maid, who had been the most vocal the night before, now seemed to handle her with an edge of bitterness. The other maids, who had been so quick to judge, were now silent, their eyes wide with resentment.One of the younger maids, braver than the rest, couldn’t hide her frustration. “Well, my lady, I suppose you’re alright, then?” she asked, her voice barely masking her disappointment.

Y/N looked at her, considering the appropriate response. If it was up to her, she ought to punish every single one of them for not knowing their place. Unfortunately, they were not her maids to begin with, but the palace's staff. Otherwise, she would likely fire each one of them. 

The memory of Bucky’s affection and care filled her heart, leaving no room for anger or resentment. The warmth of his embrace and the gentle way he had treated her made the maids' behaviour seem petty and insignificant.

She could still feel the lingering touch of his lips on her skin, the way his hands had caressed her so delicately, and the sound of his reassuring voice. Her body was still tingling with the remnants of the previous night's intimacy. Her skin bore the marks of his love, not of brutality, and each bruise was a testament to the passion they had shared. It was completely different to the vile expectations of the maids.

A small smile playing on her lips despite the blush that still coloured her cheeks. "Yes," she said softly, "I am quite alright."

The maids exchanged annoyed glances, their expressions a mix of frustration and disbelief. Their muttered disappointments were tuned out as Y/N focused on the lingering warmth from the night before.

She couldn't hear a single thing except her heart beating to the thought of her husband. She missed him already. Who would’ve thought she’d be swooning for him so soon?

She found herself yearning for his presence, the comfort of his touch, and the sound of his reassuring voice. The memory of his gentle kiss and tender words lingered in her mind yet again, making her heart flutter.

As the maids continued their work, Y/N hoped they would at least perform their duties well enough to cover up for their childish behaviour. She wanted to be ready to see Bucky, to greet him with the same warmth and affection he had shown her. Despite their rudeness, she resolved to focus on the positive, cherishing the newfound bond with her husband.

Bucky stood at the head of the table, his stern expression and commanding presence filling the room. He was reviewing the logistics of their journey home, his voice cold and decisive as he issued instructions to his knights. His trusted knight, Sam, was detailing the possible hotspots for bandits they might encounter along the way.

"We'll likely face trouble here," Sam said, pointing to a spot on the map. "We should send some of our best men ahead to clear the path."

"Agreed," Bucky responded, his tone unyielding. "Deploy the knights in advance. Ensure the path is secure before we proceed."

Sam nodded and continued outlining the plan. He paused, expecting Bucky to reconfirm, but noticed a change in his leader's face. The harsh lines softened, his eyes filled with a tender warmth, as he stared intently at something across the room. Before Sam could look or utter a word, Bucky turned and walked away with determination.

Sam followed Bucky's gaze and understood immediately. "Ah, that's why," he muttered to himself as he watched Bucky approach Y/N. The change in Bucky’s demeanour was striking. He moved with a grace and warmth that was at odds with his usual stern and imposing presence.

Bucky’s eyes softened as he took in the sight of Y/N. He admired her beauty with a gaze filled with awe and adoration. The way he looked at her was as if he was seeing a vision he had longed for, a rare and precious gem that had finally come into his life.

As he extended his hand toward her, a gesture usually seen as etiquette but now entirely with different meaning, especially with the hearts bursting our of his blue eyes. Y/N’s face lighting up with a shy smile, took his hand; almost too eagerly. Bucky's fingers closed gently around hers, his touch tender and reassuring. The contrast between his usual, fearsome reputation and the gentle way he interacted with her was profound, making it clear that his feelings for Y/N were deeply genuine.

Bucky kissed the back of her hand, his lips softly caressing her knuckles. "My dear," he greeted her, using the endearment he had chosen when they first met at the altar. 

The scene seemed like it was pulled raw from a romance novel that the surrounding staff and knights simply watched in shock and awe. "Did he just..." one knight whispered, eyes wide. "Called her 'my dear'?" another finished, equally stunned.

Sam, who had witnessed firsthand the monstrous side of Bucky in war, found himself in a state of utter disbelief, jaw dropped loose. He had seen Bucky’s sword painted blood-red, his face splattered with the gore of countless enemies. The Winter Soldier was a force of nature on the battlefield, his brutal efficiency leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. Sam recalled the sight of Bucky’s cold, unyielding eyes as he cut through foes without hesitation, his armor and weaponry gleaming with the blood of those who dared oppose him.

And yet, here he was, the same man who had struck terror into the hearts of many, now standing before Y/N with a tenderness that seemed unimaginable. Sam could hardly believe his eyes. The disparity was pronounced and bewildering. Bucky’s expression was soft, his movements gentle as he held Y/N’s hand in his.

“I’ve missed you,” Y/N said softly, her eyes shining with affection. She truly did, it would be a lie that she didn’t felt the ache in her heart when she woke up alone that morning. The emptiness beside her had felt profound. The bed still carried his scent, a lingering warmth that whispered of his recent presence. Even though the separation had been brief, as evidenced by the thoughtful note and the bouquet of her favourite flowers he had left behind, the loneliness she felt was palpable. His absence, however fleeting, had created a void that left her feeling incomplete.

Bucky’s heart seemed to burst with emotion. He couldn't care less about the gawking staff surrounding them as he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. She initially froze, caught off guard and embarrassed, but soon melted into his kiss with a blossoming confidence.

As their lips met, memories of their tender and passionate night together surged through Bucky's mind. The way she moan his name, the taste of her cum, the tightness of her pussy gripping on his cock, the way his cum leaked out of her, every single sinful scene replayed in head; infinitely. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and he found himself nearly losing control. Reluctantly, he pulled back from the kiss, his breath uneven and his gaze filled with an unspoken hunger.

"God, what should I do with you, hmm, sweetheart?" Bucky whispered, his voice laced with seduction as he continued to place gentle kisses along her cheeks and jaw. His lips brushed softly against her skin, whispering how much he had missed her and expressing a wistful desire to stay wrapped in the warmth of their shared bed just a little longer.

Y/N’s soft giggle rang out as she felt the roughness of his stubble against her delicate skin. The sound was like music to Bucky's ears, brightening his mood and filling him with a profound sense of joy. Despite the joyful exchange, he reluctantly ended the sweet torment, his kisses lingering just a moment longer before he pulled away.

“We should be ready to begin our journey shortly,” Bucky said, his tone shifting to a more practical note when e turned to Sam, who had approached during their moment of intimacy.

“Y/N, this is Sam Wilson, he is one of my trusted knights.” Bucky introduced, his gaze shifting to his wife. Sam gave a respectful nod to Y/N, a hint of surprise still evident in his expression from witnessing Bucky's affectionate display. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N smiled warmly at Sam, appreciating the introduction. “The pleasure is mine, Sir Wilson.”

Sam, sensing that the formality was unnecessary given their imminent interactions, decided to ease the situation. “Just Sam, my lady,” he said with a friendly tone. Y/N repeated his name with a touch of amusement. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

Bucky, observing the growing camaraderie between his wife and his trusted knight, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of protectiveness. The easy familiarity between them seemed a bit too casual for his liking. His eyes narrowed slightly as he gave Sam a warning look. “Watch it, Wilson.”

Sam, not missing a beat, chuckled at Bucky’s protective demeanour. “What’s the matter, my lord? Can’t handle a bit of friendly conversation?”

Y/N, noticing the playful tension and Bucky’s slight irritation, couldn’t help but laugh. The contrast between Bucky’s usually soft demeanour that Y/N had witnessed and his current protective stance were both endearing and amusing. Her laughter lightened the mood, making Sam’s teasing even more enjoyable.

Bucky's stern gaze softened as he watched Y/N’s laughter, though his protective instinct remained palpable. Steering the conversion back to the preparations, he allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth despite his earlier warning.

“I trust you can escort my wife to the carriage,” Bucky said, his voice serious but tinged with a hint of a smile. “However, I expect you to maintain proper distance and adhere to these additional guidelines.” He paused, ensuring his words were clear. “No unnecessary physical contact or overly familiar behaviour. And if you could, avoid any casual conversations that might be misinterpreted.”

Sam looked at Bucky in disbelief, shaking his head with a bemused expression. “Seriously, Barnes? You’re laying down rules for me to keep my distance from your wife now?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Consider it a precaution. I’d rather not have any misunderstandings.” Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes as he complied. “Understood. I’ll make sure to follow your... guidelines.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement, her earlier shyness melting away into a warm appreciation for Bucky’s protectiveness. The scene, tinged with a touch of comedy, only deepened the connection between them.

Bucky, intent on making a point to Sam while expressing his affection, pulled Y/N close and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. The gesture was both intimate and deliberate, a subtle yet clear indication to Sam that she belongs to Bucky. “I’ll join you shortly, my dear,” Bucky said softly, his voice filled with warmth as he gazed into her eyes.

Sam, unimpressed by Bucky’s display, rolled his eyes at the seemingly childish antics. “This way, my lady,” he said with a hint of impatience. Y/N nodded in agreement but paused before turning her back on Bucky. With a loving smile, she whispered, “I’ll see you later,” before following Sam.

Bucky watched as Sam guided Y/N away, his gaze lingered with a mix of affection and something much deeper; an unspoken sadness. As their silhouettes walked further and further away from his sight, a sombre glaze settled over his eyes.

Beneath the surface of his composed exterior, his heart ached; the was a silent reflection of a pain he had hidden deep within his heart. It was a lingering sorrow that had shadowed him ever since he stood at the altar, the weight of unvoiced grief clinging to him as he gazed at his future bride.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Wondering why he was in the feels at the end? We’ll know it soon enough. I’ll see you in the next parts! Thank you for reading!

[tigerpearlsworld]

Pick a card...

Your appeal vs your true self

Before you chose the cards know that this is a general pick a card. There are infinite energies in the universe and the energies if align with your stars will guide you to my reading. So, welcome. Know that you can only chose one card. This pick a card is meant for your soul not for you to resonate but for you to realize when you get the message and truth in time. To pick a card you must follow your hearts tug and instinct and look deep within each image something about yourself rather than what you want it to be Breathe in and Breathe out, light a candle/ incense, meditate to the beating of your heart and let every thoughts come through and accept what is coming in your heart and then light and form a picture in your heart as you close your eyes and meditate in yourself. After that when you open your eyes choose the image where your heart calls for the most and remember your heart is your guide not your brain so.....

Sorry if my english is bad.

To those who stumble across my reading i pray to the stars to bless you with pure energy and strength.

Choose the pile:

The reading starts...

Pile 1:

The Vibes i get from this pile : Like a Ocean

Cards: (Page of pentacles, Page of wands, 6 of wands, The emperor)

Your appeal:

First of all the appeal you guys have is of both practicality and passion, Beauty and distance, warmth and silence. This are the contradicting things of how you are perceived as. Your natural appeal is of curiosity to learn, its also about devoting yourself to do the routine work which you had promised without any lack. People may find your nature very practical and sometimes dull when you are in your work mode. But when you get back to your creative self i see you charming anyone without any effort. Also there is a certain shy awkward confidence which i don't understand but its coming like that to me. I see you are very likeable due to your nature of not being so dominant. Your appeal to the opposite gender may even be of seductive allure and submissiveness although that may not be your intention. I also see in nature your appeal has a lot to do with your creative sense and fashion. Some of you may even be a tattoo/henna artist i also see fashion designer. Your appeal can be equated with vines its delicate, its intricate and so different yet its so far out of reach and so creative in its climbing ability to get the light.

Your true self:

Like i said in the beginning of the reading your vibes which the stars are whispering are of ocean. You have a depth in your soul like the ocean. You have a beauty about you which is free flowing like water. You can never be chained to anything or anyone yet when you are devoted no one can outrank you in your devotion. I see a bigger than life attitude in your soul. You want experiences or relationships or achievements which gives you satisfaction in a universal way. Your love is like the ocean, it doesn't have any impurities its like a Childs love. And also there is a lot of creative talents and skills which you have with you but you only display those gifts in silence with your friends and family. I see you are a person who is open but there is a very intriguing mystery and coldness which no one can pinpoint not even the people who are in a relationship with you can understand this nature of yours. I see in contrast to how people perceive you as passive or submissive inside you are filled with confidence, dominance and stubborn energy. I also see in your true self you are someone who is very sensitive and aware yet conscious of your actions you display in front of others. Some can say you have this quality about you where you hide your true feelings and thoughts behind your actions. In your truest self no matter what life throws at you but you have this inherent flame or amber inside you which never lets you give up. There is also this sense of war which keeps happening in your life or maybe inside you, its very dramatic the choices. I also see you can also be a spiritual person who does witchcraft, Tarot reading or is interested in gothic things. I also sense there is something about mermaids coming in maybe when you were a child you wanted to be a mermaid. But in your true self i definitely sense you feel more connected with water and you feel more at peace when you are near water. In the future you may even have a house or build a house near the sea or any waterbodies. In your trueself i sense when you work hard on yourself the most or you work at something with true intention without any malice i see you get more results. I also see you have a life of pain where you always had to devote yourself to either your mom or dad or husband in every choice of life no wonder it said life for you is like a dramatic choice and of war. I also see in your true self that you are someone who may not like to tell a lie. your honesty is something dangerous. I see its hard for you to even tell white lies its not like you can't

say because you most certainly can even deceive but you will feel unclean afterwards in your heart and soul. there is also expectance you have from others to be honest which always leads to disappointment. I also sense you can be harsh and very judgmental in times to people who lies to you or maybe you just feel something is off. I see in your true self you are someone who once doing a task or devoting to something/someone can't be shooked easily, you are like a mountain than tall and cruel who wont let anything interfere or come between you and your goal. Even though im telling your vibes are like the ocean but its like the ocean which churns fire and sparks.

Before i even begin the reading this song was being repeated in my head. This may have some messages or something which means something to you.

Pile 2:

The Vibes i get from this pile : Intense Duality

Cards: (The chariot, 4 of swords, The devil, Page of cups)

Your appeal:

I sense in your appeal there is a yin and yang energy. Its like you have two souls inside you which people may not be aware of. I sense your appeal to people sometimes can be scary other times it can be

awkward. People may think you have this boring life about you until they find this rough and scary energy that you possess and also may think that your interest are very alien or very weird. Your appeal to some people even though you may not try but is very intimidating. I sense you may get judged alot quicker than others or people may just try to defend you more especially your peers but no one truly understands you. TBH.

I also sense in your appeal some people may find think you are very discipline and hard to approach and sometimes people may even claim you are controlling or dominating in some ways. In another aspect i sense you appeal can be sort of 'Rest' where people may think you have this easing quality to you like if they are angry and if they talk to you for some reason they may feel more calm and collected.

I sense in your appeal there is something very taboo like something very scary even BDSM like which for some is very intriguing but for others very horrifying. I sense your appeal is like a blue fire

very warm but also very hot which can be like moth to a flame for many people even people from your own gender may be attracted to you but like i said this burning flame keeps long lasting relationship away from you. I see your partners may either get insecure by you or intimidated by you. There is a duality like very bipolar kind of energy to you. I don't know why but some of you may have some Autism, Epilepsy, OCD, ADHD or Bipolar disorder of some kind its really random but im getting the message. the stars are saying to be easy on yourself. And if im being honest your energy is a mess i really cant read it its so mixed.

Your true self:

Now coming to who you are i see that inside you're someone who is very in tune with nature and the universe. I see when you were a child that you may had this idea about being a mage or were just very curious about the abilities to control the weather and rain. its very random i know. um.. i also see you i know again its very random but you had a foot injury or you have a very strong feet.

In your true self i sense there is something very divided like very bipolar in one hand you are someone who is very intense with your thoughts, like you can pierce and find out any information about anyone. But on the other hand you are someone who likes to keep their peace. I sense sometimes you may just get certain information out of no where or you may even get outer body experience during your sleep. I sense you have very sensitive ears and to calm your anxieties and paranoia you may keep your headphones on even when you're out or sleeping. I see that in your true self you are someone who is very misunderstood. I see that in relationship when you give advice to your partner with goodwill they often ignore or just ridicule your advice but i see that in time what you say comes to fruition like a prediction truly. I see that in your soul you are someone who likes to do things in a rhythm, life is a rhythm to you and you like to march on your own beat. I see that in one period of your life you may had shaved your head or you may have been very boyish in your appearance or the way you just dressed. In your true self i see you are a counsellor who has this ability to understand people from every stage of life no matter if you are young or old. I see that your self literally can connect anything in life be it information, energy, people, theories or music. i sense that you are very old soul and you may have a very mature opinions and ways of thinking than the people of your age. I sense that inside you are someone who on one hand is very childlike, innocent and idealistic but on the other side you're also very dark and in conflict with your own feelings. I sense that you may be interested in things which people may find disturbing.

This is very peculiar but only for you two songs came in my head together now you may take it as a message or a sign its up to you....

Pile 3:

The Vibes i get from this pile : Purity

Cards: (The Empress, Ace of swords, 7 of pentacles, knight of pentacles, King of swords)

Your appeal:

I see people have this image of you where they want you for what they idolize you as not for who you are. I see people looking at you as someone who is very alluring and seductive. They feel this compulsion towards you like there is something very magnetic about you. At first people may feel you are weird but later on i see people tend to want to coddle you. I sense people's appeal towards you is of fantasy where they fantasize you in different ways in their head. I also sense people feels there is a disconnect in understanding you as they feel your way of communication or expression is very odd/alien like. Your appeal also come off as someone who is very self contained and people may feel that you're someone who is very unattached to things which people find precious or normal in society so they may misunderstand you or not understand you at all. Sometimes your peers may also feel that you're the oddball of the group and that you have this habit of talking with yourself alone or even when you're in a group. I see they look at you as something which is very sacred and soft but also fierce. I see people tend to forgive you easily too. There is a fluidity to your allure and energy which attracts everyone and makes them question about themselves. I sense people want to do things for you and that your appeal is of someone who is very likeable to everyone of every age its like you're a chameleon which can mold and be anything what the person or the situation wants you to be.

Your true self:

For your true self i see you're someone who is magical. yes. I see that you're someone who although may seem weird and odd but i see that in your truest self you're the most observant and creative. I see that in soul you're a natural introvert. I also sense that even if you have different shape of eyes can be siren, doe, almond, round or downward looking eye i see there is something very dreamy and soft about it which cannot be describe its very ethereal tbh. In your truest self i also see you as someone who fits in this saying of "work smart not hard" You can be lazy too but you get your work done. I also see you don't typically get emotionally attach to people but when it does happen its gets real deep like your love can be compared to the bottom of the ocean, Unknown, dark and all consuming. For the girlies who are reading this i feel like you really don't need a man you're someone who wants something more than just relationship in life. You want the most purest and the most broadest form of love. There is also something very unbothered about you where you may not care what others have to say about how you are... like as long as people who you care about likes what you wear you can give less shiz about others its the truth. There is this quality to you like a switch in you where you can pull your sweet side like a angel or a dark side like Satan for real!!!

I'm also sensing that you will have a rags to riches path in your life. I also sense that even though in your appeal people may conclude you as like a kid who doesn't understands anything but in your truest self you are not even close to what they think or feel about you. You are someone who has this uncanny ability to read people and understand situations. I also sense there is a natural pull towards art, jazz and in abstract things. I also sense there is this dormant feeling inside you where you may empathize more with the villains because of how your truest self feels so different from everyone or may even like characters like Joker. I also sense someone of you may had substance or mental health issues. I also sense that in your truest form you are an advocate for animals and you are someone who likes animal and children a lot. I sense for this group in particular either some of may you lean towards being a celebate or indulging in that pleasure and this i am talking from an extreme angel. I also sense that even though you are kind and understanding but those qualities are often overlooked and that i also feel that sometimes you feel this compulsion inside you to be the person which people paints you to be just for the fun of it. I also see you may like to do or act in a way which surprises people. I also sense some of you have problems like ADHD or insomnia. And in your truest self i see you as someone who overcomes every challenge given your way.

This song was came to me when i was channeling your energy:

[bitterrfruit]

price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat

girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡

18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words

John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.

Here’s part 2!

Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.

Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.

His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.

Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.

But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.

Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.

But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.

He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;

“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”

Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.

“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”

It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.

You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.

Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.

Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.

One, two, three, four…

At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.

There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.

With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”

Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.

“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.

“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”

A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”

“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”

You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”

With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”

“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.

He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c���mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”

You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”

Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.

With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.

“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.

He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.

“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.

But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.

Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.

As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.

Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.

“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”

Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.

“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.

“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”

Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”

“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”

Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”

Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”

He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”

Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.

He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.

So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.

“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”

Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.

“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.

You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.

“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”

“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.

You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”

Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.

He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.

Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.

But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.

“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”

“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”

You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”

“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.

So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.

But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.

“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.

You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.

“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”

You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.

“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”

Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.

“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.

You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”

That was a step over the line.

You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.

And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.

He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.

“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.

A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.

He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.

You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.

“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.

With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”

Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.

And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.

“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”

[lqveharrington]

Fighting For | R.L.

summary: in the middle of the war, you suggest something that throws Remus off guard.

pairing: young!remus lupin x fem!reader

includes: fluff, comfort, remus being a loving man, mentions of the wizarding war

a/n: this won the poll by 2/3 votes!

You and Remus had been going steady since sixth year. It wasn’t something that surprised anyone—your friends had seen it coming long before you did. He was always around, given his place among the infamous Marauders, but unlike James or Sirius with their loud, magnetic energy, Remus had a quieter pull. There was something in his stillness, in the thoughtfulness of his gaze, that intrigued you. So much so that you’d mustered up every ounce of Gryffindor bravery you had to ask him out first. A fact he liked to tease you about, though he’d been the first to say “I love you.”

It was an equal relationship. Comfortable, supportive—you balanced each other. When his self-doubt crept in, you anchored him. When your temper flared, he soothed you. And as the shadow of war grew closer, wrapping its cold fingers around your lives, you both leaned into each other more than ever.

Today was one of those rare, precious days where the world outside seemed to pause. Rain pattered gently against the windowpane, the overcast sky casting a soft, silvery light across the small flat you shared. Blankets piled high around you both in a cocoon of warmth, the chill in the air no match for the body heat shared under layers of quilts and knitted throws. Remus, predictably, had a battered book open on his lap, pages worn and yellowed with time. His free hand ran absentmindedly through your hair, fingers threading through the strands as you lay curled into his side.

You’d been pretending to read your own book for the last hour, but your eyes hadn’t moved past the same paragraph in ages. Your mind, traitorous thing that it was, had drifted far from the ink on the pages.

“Any subject we can think of,” he’d said earlier. A challenge to distract from the looming threat outside. Dangerous words, really.

“Rem,” you murmured, voice soft against the backdrop of rain. Your book thudded quietly onto the bedside table as you shifted, molding yourself further into his side.

“Mm?” His gaze didn’t lift from the page, but his thumb paused its motion in your hair. A subtle tell that he was listening, truly.

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. Then, before nerves could get the better of you, the words slipped out. “I want a baby.”

He nodded absently at first. And then—you felt it—the sudden stillness overtaking his entire body. His head jerked down to look at you, eyebrows lifting in shock. “Excuse me—did I hear that right?”

You gave a sheepish smile, tracing idle patterns along his arm, feeling the tension tighten beneath your fingertips. “What did you think I said?”

“That you want a baby,” he repeated slowly, testing the words on his tongue like they were foreign. His eyes—soft brown flecked with amber—searched yours for a joke, a punchline that never came. He tilted his head, resting his chin against your forehead. “That’s what I heard coming from your mouth.”

“Yep.” You glanced up at him through your lashes, heart thumping. His face was an open book—shock, amusement, fear, love. Always love.

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Not only are we nineteen,” he said gently, “we’re in the middle of a war, dovey.” The nickname, warm and familiar, eased the ache blooming in your chest as he kissed the crown of your head.

“I know.” You sighed, pulling back to meet his gaze fully. “I know how crazy it sounds. Merlin, I know. But—” You broke off, breath catching. “Everything around us is chaos. People we love are dying. Doesn’t it make sense to want something good? Something ours? Something that’s... worth fighting for?”

His expression cracked then, vulnerability bleeding through. He glanced down, his hand slipping from your hair to rest against your stomach, thumb drawing slow circles. Thoughtful. Heartbreaking.

“You are something worth fighting for,” he whispered. “But what if I don’t make it? What if I... leave you to do this alone?” His voice was raw, words torn from somewhere deep and bruised.

Tears pricked at your eyes. “Remus John Lupin,” you murmured. “You’re one of the bravest wizards I know, and I hate to hear you say things like that.”

Silence stretched between you, filled only by the rain and your combined breathing. You felt the war raging inside him—logic versus longing, fear versus hope.

Minutes bled into something longer, timeless. Eventually, he exhaled, a shaky sound. “You terrify me,” he confessed, burying his face in your hair.

A smile tugged at your lips, kissing his cheek. “Love you too.”

It wasn’t a yes. It wasn’t a no either. But as his arms tightened around you, as he held you like you were the last piece of something whole, you both knew that in a world gone mad, this—this messy, complicated, beautiful thing you had—was what made everything else bearable.

Whatever the future held, you’d face it together.

The days that followed were a blur of normalcy and tension, every laugh shadowed by the looming war. Yet something had shifted between you and Remus after that day. His touches lingered longer, kisses deepened with something heavier—an unspoken acknowledgment of what you both wanted and what stood in the way.

One evening, after a long Order meeting, you found yourselves alone in the kitchen. The clock ticked loudly in the background as you poured tea, hands trembling from exhaustion and nerves. Remus watched you from the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“What?” you asked as you felt his eyes burning into your side, setting the kettle down.

“Nothing,” he said, stepping forward to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He let a small smile tug at his lips when he met your loving eyes. “Just... thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” you teased, leaning into his touch.

He chuckled softly but then grew serious. “I want what you want,” he said quietly, clarifying when you sent him a confused look. “A family. A future. Even if it terrifies me.”

Your breath hitched. “Remus—”

“But we’ll do it on our terms,” he continued, thumbing your cheek. “Not out of fear. Out of love.”

You smiled, tears threatening to spill. “Out of love,” you echoed.

He pulled you into a fierce embrace, lips finding yours in a kiss that spoke volumes. Whatever came next—whatever the war threw your way—you’d face it. Hand in hand. Heart to heart.

Together.

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