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peachesofteal · 4 months ago

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Raspberry Girl Part One + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ mdni, sexual content, dacryphilia, daddy kink. Reader is neurodivergent.

Simon Riley is a simple man.

Now.

Cobwebs cleared, shattered shards of glass painstakingly swept away, lacerations stitched and glued back together. He's climbed the mountain of his mind and descended down the other side. Hurdles jumped, skeletons dragged into the light and then cut down.

Guess that's what happens when you finally decide you want to live, instead of exist.

At least he figured it out before he died.

He's old now, older, signature sore back and creaky knees worse then they were ten years ago, sciatica pain when it rains, headaches whenever he's spent too long looking at paperwork (should be wearing his glasses, but can only bring himself to do it at home.) He's even soft around the middle a bit.

Still, there are some things that never change, some things that are amplified by time. Skill, focus, dedication. Thirst.

The thirst is what keeps everyone in line, keeps everyone's head down after a salute, eyes shifty and hands clenched. He still strikes fear. He doesn't mind.

It's how he got here. How he ended up standing in front of a team, his team, tackling a debrief. It's only given him more of what he know nows he craves, the aspect of control that was so long missing from his life, taken from him by others, by their actions, their decisions. Now he has it in spades. He learned to indulge it, practice it, hone it, and when it reared its head in other aspects of his life, he didn't shy away. He embraced it, experimented with it, figured out what he liked, what he didn't, what he truly needed. Chewed on it, for a while.

A casual fuck here and there, fine, but not enough, not nearly.

He's built a house after all.

It's all spilled over though. Run away from him and out of the base, infiltrated his home, crawled across town-

and set it's sights on something it can sink it's teeth into. Something it won't let go of.

Daddy's girl.

"C-captain Riley." Your hands press to your stomach, anxiously wiping away smatterings of batter and flour, and he tries to screw his mouth into a flat line to hide his smile at the hitch in your breath.

"Hi sweetheart."

"What can I... what can I get for you?" He sweeps over the case, eyeing the piled high pastries and bagels, muffins and quiches still warm.

"Just a coffee today." You nod, lip tugged between your teeth, hand practically shaking as you reach for the stack of cups. When he was a younger man, he wouldn't have patience for this, or you. Wouldn't see the bright side to this, these moments he shares with his girl at the bakery, his nervous little fawn he's finally coaxed to look him in the eye for more than ten seconds at a time. Being in your forties will do that to you, he guesses.

Time heals more than he ever thought possible.

"Black?"

"That's right." He indulges himself as you turn around, tracing your curves, the swell of your ass in your leggings. You wear an apron at your waist religiously, cinching it tight, hips and thighs and everything else perfectly framed. He loves those leggings, and hates them every time he catches an overzealous prick leering at you over the counter.

"Do you um, do you want room for cream?" The answer is always the same, but you still ask, and he doesn't mind.

"No, I'll just take it as is." He eyes the pan of raspberry sweet rolls sitting on the counter, cream cheese icing slowly melting across the top. They're his favorite, but he's putting on too much weight, and with the next mission around the corner, he can't afford to be too soft. You look up at him shyly, gesturing to the giant buns.

"I made your favorite." Fuck. He can't. He shouldn't... but he can't stomach the idea of dimming your glow, killing you excitement, the eager look on your face as you wait for his approval.

"Y'know what... the boys are always complaining I never bring them anything. I'll take the whole pan." Your eyes turn to saucers.

"The wh-whole pan? Really?" You brighten into a sun, glowing with pride, and he rewards you with a smile.

"Is that okay?"

"Of course!" You blurt, half panicked, "of course I just... okay. Let me-" You go to put the coffee cup down in front of him, but the bottom nicks the edge of the counter and like everything has turned to slow motion, he watches as steaming hot liquid comes flying from the top, half splashing, half spilling all over his uniform. He catches it before it rolls off the end, but the damage has been done, and tears line your lashes.

The woman waiting in line a few feet behind him snorts. His vision turns red and he whirls on her with a glare, satisfied when the color drains from her face and she runs off.

“I’m sorry, I’m so s-so-sorry,” you’ve come around the corner with paper towels, trembling like a leaf as you stare at the stain on his jacket, wide eyed and frantic.

“It’s okay, it was an accident.”

“N-no, your uniform,” you croak horrified, “I ruined it, I’m so sorry.” You hiccup a little, trying to suck in some air while you succumb to panic, and he takes your hands in his, squeezing gently, trying to ground you.

“It’s alright baby, it’s okay,” you don’t even notice when he calls you baby, too preoccupied by your rapidly dissipating oxygen. “Hey, look at me,” he soothes, ducking into your line of sight, grabbing your attention. “Good girl, you’re alright.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, shrinking in on yourself, curling your shoulders forward. More tears, and the sight of them sends blood rushing through his body, uncomfortable pressure starting to build in his cock.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” The shop is mostly empty, the woman behind him gone, and he takes the opportunity to usher you past the counter and into the kitchen where there’s a stool waiting just inside the door. He guides you up and holds steady. “Everything’s okay, I promise.” The paper towels come free from your tension filled grip, and instead of using them on the stain, he presses them to your wet cheeks, blotting away your tears. You lean into the touch, so trusting, so easily his, and he wonders what else you’d let him do. He’s hard against the teeth of his zipper as he thinks about hoisting you onto the table, spreading your legs to find what you’ve been keeping safe for him there.

He doesn’t have many things to care for these days, outside the team, his ultimate responsibility. Keeping a special ops unit alive, planning and executing, cutting through political bullshit is more than enough, but it’s all rough and heavy handed.

He needs something to nurture.

You blink at him as he finishes and tips your chin back, ignoring the way your lips part in awe. “That’s better.”

“Thank you.” The two of you breathe in tandem, silenced and walking a tightrope until you cough. “I should uh… I should go, get those rolls packaged?” He nods, and you manage a very small smile before dipping your gaze to the ground and running off to the front.

“When did you know?” He rolls the cigar smoke around in his mouth and John cocks his head.

“When did I know what?”

“That you were ready,” he gestures to the house, where John’s wife Grace sleeps soundly, “for this? For her?” There’s a glint in his Captain’s blue eyes, a knowing smirk on his face.

“I just did. At some point, life becomes more than the job, but the mission stays the same. Lead, decide, control. Keep them safe, complete your objective, give what’s needed, get it for yourself. It’s no different.” The idea is tar, sticking to every surface in his mind, gumming up his synapses and creating hallucinations so intoxicating they’re hard to believe.

You, curled up in bed asleep with nothing but a pair of panties, or cradled between his knees in the bath as he works a chunk of batter free from your hair. You with your legs spread, knees pushed towards your ears, pussy ripe and waiting for him, only him, for the rest of his life. Hands and ankles tied together like a pretty little present. You, sitting on the couch with your thighs slung over his lap, nose creased with a little wrinkle as you thumb through a book.

John chuckles. “Found one then?”

Simon only nods.

He slips through the door just before closing, little bell at the top announcing his arrival to an almost empty space. There’s someone at the register, counting cash, and she smiles at him with all her teeth.

“We’re about to close but there are a few things left, or I could make you a tea?” The case is pretty barren, a few bear claws and croissants, a muffin or two. Stragglers.

Next to it, a bouquet sits in a vase. They’re fresh, healthy, and the hair on the back of his neck stands.

If someone is buying you flowers, he’ll kill them. Dump their corpse in a pit and piss on it.

The girl clears her throat, and he shakes his head. “No, but thanks. ‘M here to see…” you push through the kitchen doors with two metal sheet trays in your hands, and freeze.

He knew you’d be surprised, caught off guard. It’s like catching a feral cat. Trying to earn a street dog’s trust. Like he’s crouched on the sidewalk, hand extended, food waiting in his fingertips.

A fisherman, with bait on the line, patiently waiting to hook his prize.

The incident last week has thoroughly spooked you, pushed you back inside your shell, eroded a lot of the groundwork he painstakingly laid, the foundation he’s been building, and the only time he’s been in since then, you ran into the kitchen as soon as he crossed the threshold.

The clock has turned back to the time when you were so gun shy, you’d turn to stone at the first sight of him, hands clasped together so tight he knew they hurt.

It’s no matter. He’s a patient man now, a far cry from who he used to be, and he’s willing to wait for the things worth it, willing to put in the work to fix it.

His body disagrees. A river of need runs consistently runs through him, wild and turbulent current thrashing in his blood, white water rapids trying to flood his lungs. His cock is heavy at night as he imagines you bent over the butcher’s block, leggings ripped open, gooseflesh cascading from the small of your back down, empty little hole clenching on nothing, begging for a fullness only he can give. He dreams about your tears, salty sweet drops soaking your cheeks as the crown of his cock bulges in your throat, as he takes your air and gives it back, over and over again.

Ruin you, rearrange you, remold you until you only ever fit him.

He’ll give you what you need, he’ll take away what you don’t.

He’ll decide.

The girl at the counter looks at you, then him, small smile pulling on her lips. “I’m going to get this deposit ready,” she announces to no one since you’re not paying her any attention, barely registering she’s disappeared as you stare at him.

“Hi… u-um hi, Captain Riley.” You put the pans down onto the counter but miscalculate the distance, and they clatter with a resounding smack, one that makes you wince. Your chest expands with a long, deep breath, and you look away from him to the floor. “Can I get you something?”

“No, I’m jus’ here to see you.” You jerk, gaze snapping from the floor to his face.

“Is th-this about your uniform? Did you get it dry-cleaned? I can pay you back for-” You rush out, half panicked and cut off when his hand fits to the space between your shoulder blades with just enough pressure to move you forward. He leads, steering you to one of the little tables by the window, urging you down into the chair before taking his place on the other side.

“You’re not paying my bloody dry cleaning bill. I’m here to see you, sweetheart.” You’re vibrating, practically rattling in your skin and he wants so badly to soothe you, tuck you into his chest and push the outside world away, but it would be too much, too soon. You’re not ready.

“See me?” He nods.

“Why did you run from me the other day?”

“I didn’t I was just… I was busy.” He didn't expect the truth, not right away. You're always trying to hide your vulnerable spots.

“Try again. No lying this time.” There’s about one eighth of his usual authority in his voice, the captain’s edge he’s honed over the years, and your lips part with a sharp, small intake of breath.

“I thought maybe… I thought you might be upset or something and I didn’t want…” you trail off with a shrug, and he’s not surprised. He knows his reassurances from last week weren’t enough. His sweet girl is afraid of her own shadow, you need more than just a few words and your tears wiped.

“I’m not upset.” He leans back against the rickety wood. There are a million things he could say, do. A million different pieces he could pick apart right here, right now, peel your layers back and put you on your knees with your cheek on his thigh, his hand patting the top of your head.

“Daddy’s not mad, sweetheart.”

You’re watching him, waiting, looking for him to give more, heal this wound, but he’s cautious. A gas pedal to the floor will only get him the kind of chase he doesn’t want. Not yet. “You understand me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. You’re hesitating on something, holding back, but he doesn’t try to drag it out, choosing to wait, to give you the time you need, the space he knows the rest of the world doesn’t allow. “Did um… did they like them?” He cocks his head.

“The team?”

“Mhm,” your leg bounces under the table. You’re so fucking cute he could smother you.

“Yeah baby, they loved them.” You beam, blooming into a pretty, perfect flower, vibrant and colorful, rare as they come.

“That’s good, I’m so happy.” You wiggle a little bit in the chair, and he bites the inside of his cheek. Fucking hell. He wants you on his lap instead, wiggling around as he slowly sinks you down onto his cock, fingernails biting into his chest as he stretches your pussy, toes curling as you struggle to take him. “D-do you want to take some home?”

“You have some left over?” You shrug sheepishly.

“I’ve uh, been making them every day. I thought if you were mad at me, maybe they would… make it better.” Oh baby.

“No. You never have to appease me like that. You never have to appease anyone like that, sweetheart.”

“Right. Okay.” You look relieved, a little bit of heaviness lifted from your shoulders, and then you give him a small smile. “But do you want to maybe have one… now? W-with me?” His sweet little fawn, navigating the world on new trembling legs, taking chances when she feels brave.

He pulls your hand into his and strokes his thumb back and forth across your knuckles, setting up a slow, soothing rhythm. “Of course.”

#peaches writes #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader

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nepenthendline · 10 months ago

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you've corrupted the chief justice - neuvillette x reader (ft wriothesley)

summary: you and wriothesley have a full conversation about your sex life with neuvillette without saying a single word

a/n: this is neuvillette x reader but its mainly focused on wriothesley, wriothesley being a menance, neuvillette has no idea what the fuck is going on, complete choas, mentions of sex but sfw otherwise, no mention of gender, poor writing but oh well

Once every few weeks, the 4 of you, which includes Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Furina, and yourself, finally get a chance where your schedules aline to relax together. These times are always held in Neuvillette's office with a table full of cakes, desserts, and teas to snack on as you catch up. Since your relationship with the Iudex began, you've grown close to those Neuvillette sees as family and look forward to these peaceful reunions.

You were all sat around the table, with Neuvillette on your left, Wriothesley in front of you and Furina on your right. Neuvillette and Furina had been discussing some recent trials for a while now - you nor Wriosthesley had much to add, neither of you had much involvement when it came to the trials, but you listened in whilst enjoying your desserts.

After a few minutes, you felt something nudge your leg under the table from in front of you. With furrowed brows, you looked up towards Wriothesley to see him looking back at you with a mischievous smirk. Oh, archons... you've seen this look a few times - when he's bored and thought of something to entertain himself

His eyes darted between you and Neuvillette, his finger subtly following, pointing at the both of you. Then, his index finger and thumb joined together to create a circle, whilst his other index finger poked in and out of said circle. With his brow raised, you could tell he was asking you.

You stifled a chuckle as his immaturity before nodding smugly to answer his question - yes, the two of you have had sex.

He nodded along, his smirk growing larger as if to say he knew, then pondered for a moment, looking at the Iudex next to him. Seconds later, he looked back to you, raising 1 finger, then all 10 whilst mouthing '1 to 10' and flashing his eyes at your partner.

You covered your mouth with your hand as if to be in thought, but truly, you were trying to stop yourself from laughing at his antics - discussing such activities in front of the Chief Justice and Archon. Despite having no experience or even desire before you, Neuvillette was quick to learn when it came to pleasuring you, and he was certainly enthusiastic. You held up all 10 fingers, close to the table, to not draw too much attention.

Wriothesley's mouth formed an 'o' shaped, slightly taken back by your rating of his boss, but seemed to get past it quickly. He leaned forward in his seat, pointed between 2 of the cakes on the decorated table, and then looked at you. Your head tilted, glancing between the cakes and the man in front of you, trying to figure out what he meant. Then, you realised the difference between the two desserts - one was vanilla and one was chocolate. You could only assume he was trying to decipher whether Neuvillette was a simple vanilla lover or someone more adventurous.

You blew air into your cheeks, slouching back into your chair whilst in thought. Neuvillette certainly wasn't what you would describe as 'kinky', in fact, even associating that word with him makes you shiver a little, but he was open to trying whatever you desired. There were more daring things that he liked, such as having his hair pulled, messing around in places where he may get caught, or having you take control. He was learning, after all, about himself, about you, and about sex in general, so who knew what undiscovered things he was into.

You held out your finger and wiggled it between the 2 cakes and shrugged - you couldn't really give a clear answer to that one at the moment.

The Duke slumped back into his chair, staring at you with a devilish look for what felt like minutes. You squinted your eyes at him playfully - what was he thinking?

A few moments later, his hands were held in front of him, parallel to each other as if... to measure something. You shook your head at him in disbelief, sucking on your cheeks to hold back a grin. His hands were probably about 5 inches apart - certainly not big enough for the dragon.

'Bigger,' you mouthed at him and watched as his eyes grew wide. His hands moved apart slightly, perhaps 2 or so inches further apart.

'Bigger,' you mouthed again, the smirk on your face breaking through your facade. His jaw dropped.

'Are you two quite alright?' A deep voice startled you both away from your intense discussion. You hadn't realised that the other two had stopped talking a while ago.

'Never been better actually,' Wriothesley piped up, finally taking his eyes of you to face Neuvillette.

'Were you... having a discussion?' Neuvillette tentatively asked - he's been trying to learn about humans for 500 years, but he had no idea what he just witnessed. 'You two look like crabs trying to communicate,' he added. It almost sounded like an insult in his blunt voice, but you knew he meant that as a fact.

'Oh yes, a very productive, important discussion,' Wriothesley trails off, looking back at you with his brow raised. You gasped quietly at his response,

'Don't you dare-' you threated before he cuts you off, speaking up again, but this time with a face of pure horror,

'Wait! Have you...in here?' His eyes darted around the room as his interrogation continued. You couldn't help but giggle as you nodded, not missing the pure confusion on Neuvillette and Furina's faces.

He let out a dramatic gasp, gripping the armrests on his chair, then pointed at you.

'Jail time,' he jokingly declared. You threw your head back in laughter at his statement, clutching your sides.

'Wriosthesley, are you insinuating my beloved has committed a crime?' The Iudex questioned, his face as serious as if he were in the Opera House. However, you could see the cracks of bewilderment come through.

'Yes - put them on trial for corrupting the Chief Justice,' Wriothesley demanded, standing from his chair and pointing at you. Your laughter grew harder at his performance.

'I have done no such thing!' You declared, almost yelled, back at him. You could see his chest shake from the giggles he was trying to hold back.

'You disgust me. He was innocent before he met you,' he spat out. His words were so forced and dramatised, yet he was smiling? This was making Neuvillette's brain hurt.

'Wriosthesley,' he warned, narrowing his eyes at him - no one spoke to his partner like that, not even his family. Between your laughter, you placed your hand on your partners thigh to comfort him,

'He's just joking, it's ok,' you could see Neuvillette's body soften at your words, although it didn't clear up anything that was going on. Wriothesley sat back down in his chair, shaking his head at you whilst grinning.

'You little minx,' he muttered, picking up his tea cup and taking a sip. The room died down for a few moments, but the atmosphere was thick. You looked towards Furina, who hadn't said a word yet, and saw her cheeks were bright red.

'Monsieur Neuvillette, I-I think they may have been discussing your...private activites with dear (y/n),' she stuttered, picking up her plate of cake and stuffing it into her mouth.

'Oh,' normally you could read your partner easily, but right now you had no idea if he was confused, calm, angry?

'I'm sorr-'

'You could have just asked, Wriothesley.'

#wriothesley is manic its canon #poor neuvi #genshin impact #genshin #neuvillette #genshin headcanons #wriothesley #genshin imagines #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette imagine #neuvillette smut

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beastyeastfreak · 1 month ago

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So.... we have yandere Beast, but what about yandere virtues!

We were just a cookie. Not really famous or anything. We were kind to the strangers no matter how they acted or who they were. One day, we meet 5 cookies . We instantly knew they were newly baked, so we helped them adapt to life here on earthbread. They later became known as virtues. We didn't really cared about that . After all, they were just our friends!

But surely they acted quite weird around you. But you guessed it's because you were their first friend! Huh, why did they look so weird when you told them that you're going on the date?

LET ANON COOK CHAT

Cw and tags: angst(some worse than others), yandere, posessive and jealous behavior, kinda implied one sided love, reader becomes immortal/virtues extend their life, reader is in love with another cookie / has been before.

Written before the silent salt update. Also i decided that the emoji for the reader with be 🐚, theres a whole thought process i wont bore you with but it probably wont be used very often lol

You were a mortal cookie, baked like any other. You were simple, you lead a life of work in a small town. One unpromising evening, you venture into the woods and find five cookies who clearly were fresh out of the oven

🌷 - “My what a beautiful place! I can’t wait to see all the cookies we get to watch over!” A pink cookie says, spreading her wings and opening her arms wide towards the sky.

🃏 - “I’m quite excited to learn and teach mortals, who knows what knowledge they already have waiting for me!” A blue one speaks while examining a plant, crouched down.

🌾 - “I have a feeling there’s many cookies in need of our help, we should make haste.” One white as flour emerges from the bushes with the help of a red cookie.

🏜️ - “Well said! I am eager to nurture cookie kind and cultivate many kingdoms!” He says with a puffed out chest, following him is a knight who immediately spots you.

🗡️ - “There,” they speak and they all snap towards you.

🐚 - “Hello!” You speak walking out of the bushes, “welcome to earthbread!” You laugh and a few of them laugh with you.

🃏 - “Greetings, could you perhaps enlighten us on the way to… to um…” the blue cookie trails off then looks at the rest. “Where exactly are we going?” The others don’t have an answer.

🐚 - You look at them as they exchange looks. You figure despite their clearly prestigious appearance, they weren’t sure what to do. “Say, its getting late. How about you stay with me for the night and in the morning we can get you on your feet?” You offer, you travelled quite a bit due to work so you could actually be of great use to them. They seem hesitant.

🌾 - “We could not ask that of you-“

🐚 - “Please, i insist,” you continue and they finally cave, looking amongst each other before at you, then nod.

🐚 - You brought the virtues to your home, giving them food and setting out places for them to sleep (though they did not actually sleep). While they ate, you learned more about them and helped them decide where to begin their journey from your travelling experience. You unknowingly were one of the biggest influences on them. The blueberry academy, the ivory pagoda and the garden of delights among many other influential places would have been vastly different if not for you.

🐚 - You received many gifts from the virtues, your name had been set in stone as the first cookie graced with their presence and their aid when they were fresh. For that, not only did they find a way to lengthen your preservatives to make you live longer, but they also helped turn your small town into a successful kingdom. Hell, you had your own statue of you standing beside the virtues! They were your greatest friends, as many of your friends came and went, they remained. Your statue and name in history books would be the extent of your fame, but it would grant you many other friends. One of which seemed too close for their liking.

🐚 - You were getting ready for another night out with that friend of yours, they seemed to really like you and you were maybe starting to like them back. You looked nice in your opinion, definitely very formal…

🌾 - You were startled away from gazing at yourself in the mirror as Mystic Flour walked in. You lighten up, “I didn’t realize you were in town!” You walk up to hug her, she returns the embrace with less enthusiasm. You notice the look on her face, “is something bothering you?” You ask and she remains quiet for a moment. “I have granted so many of your wishes,” she tucks a baby hair icing from your face. “And yet you’re choosing another. Strange,” she says and you resist the urge to tilt your head.

🌾 - Your frowned deepens, “what do you mean? You’re my best friend,” you speak but it’s not what she wants to hear. “More and more cookies become overcome with greed, they cannot accept what they are given.” She begins, her eyes darken in a way you had not seen before, disappointment was one emotion you could make out. “It seems that it is simply in cookies nature.” She says which only makes you quieter. Only now that she was beginning to scare you did you notice stress lacing her face.

🌾 - “Mystic Flour, please-“ You begin. “Dont,” she places one hand up. “As master of the ivory pagoda and light of Volition, ive decided you will not attend this… date. You will not attend any from now on, i will cure this ailment within you as i will with cookiekind as a whole.” She speaks sharply. You swear as you look into her eyes, they look slitted.

🏜️ - You hear a knock on the door, “come in!” You yell out and see your close friend Burning Spice enter. Theres a look on his face you cant quite discern. “Y/N,” he greets then looks at you as if something had confirmed in his mind. “You look… nice, who is this for?” He narrows his eyes, you look back in the mirror. “Im going out with someone tonight, figured id dress my best,” you reply.

🏜️ - “With another cookie..?” He says slowly, “with another cookie,” you parrot with a nod, fixing your outfit a bit. “Why do you insist on bonding with cookies that will crumble in mere years,” he says which makes you stop. “W..what?” You look at him in the reflection of the mirror. “You have lived a long time just as i have, surely you have realized this heartbreak of losing those close to you hurts worse than momentary entertainment?” He says and steps towards you, you whip around and look up at him.

🏜️ - “What are you talking about? They’re my friends, i cant just not be with them,” you replied. “They will die, so will the next. Then the next, and again, and again, and again. Why not just…” he takes your chin in his hand, his two lower hands rest on your hips, “stay with me?” Something was wrong with him, he had never acted like this. “I will be your constant in a sea of change, your protector, your entertainment…” You arent given much of a choice, he seems adamant. Maybe if you just give in for a bit he’ll go back to normal. “Yeah… ok ill cancel my plans.”

🌷 - You were broken from your thought as Eternal Sugar gently creaked the door open. You turn and smile widely. “Eternal Sugar! How nice of you to fly in!” You say and walk up to her, she wraps her arms and wings around you tightly. “You look so joyful in that icing, dear! Whats the occasion?” She hugs you looser, hand running on the back of your head. “Well, theres this cookie ive been talking to and we’re going out tonight,” you replied. Her expression shifts a bit, at first the smile fades then she completely frowns. “Oh dear, you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak~” she coos which makes your slightly lovestruck expression turn confused.

🌷 - “Sweetness… theres so many cookies out there who’d want to hurt you or take advantage of you! And remember how much it hurt last time?” She runs a hand over the side of your face and lets it rest there. Her reminder of your loss was harsh, and visibly made you hesitate. “But.. they’re nice, i dont think they’d do that?”

🌷 - “But you don’t know that, Y/N… you’re too naive,” she kisses your forehead. “With me you’d never have to wonder if they wish to hurt you… i only want all the happiness in the world for you, to shield you from pain.” She wraps her wings around you tighter. You want to disagree but remembering when you were hurt and she was there for you made you stop. “Then what do i do?” You say and she smiles, “how about you come to the garden, we can have a night out. And if you wish you may stay there, forever, with me…”

🃏 - Blueberry Milk knocks on your door, recognizable by the pattern of each gentle strike. “Come in!” You exclaim, still looking into the mirror. The fount of knowledge enters, looking at your outfit then smiling softly. He adjusts his monocle and speaks, “Good evening, Y/N, you look positively stunning! Would you enlighten me on why you’re dressed up so nicely?” He asks, you strike a little pose in the mirror. “Im going out with someone tonight,” you respond then turn your head to him. His face deviates, though not upset to your eyes. “With… who?” He asks.

🃏 - “With (cookie name), they’re a real catch…” you say and put on your coat. He’s silent for a moment, you spoke again. “I actually have to leave now if you dont mi-“ “I do!-“ he says abruptly. You turn to him, he continues. “They’re seeing someone else, thats what i came to tell you.” He says, you tilt your head. “They said they were single..?” You say with disappointment. You believed him no matter what, he was the fount of knowledge his sole purpose was to deliver facts and only that. “I wouldn’t lie to you,” he steps forward and takes your hand in a gesture of comfort. You look down, “i got my hopes up for nothing,” you sigh.

🃏 - He kisses your hand, “well… it would be a shame to have you dressed up so nicely for nothing, how about we go out?” He offers, your lips turn up slightly. “Id like that,” you replied softly.

#i was going for a reader who both helped the virtues and was also their first step into becoming a beast sort of deal #smc is the only one who has a name change because i felt it was befitting of a liar #crk #crk x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #x reader #crk x you #mystic flour cookie x reader #eternal sugar cookie x reader #burning spice cookie x reader #beast cookies

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julietcpulet · 3 months ago

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Jinmao: Not a shojo romance

I feel people who come to Apothecary Diaries have a shojo expectation of the romance. Given that’s what the anime is labeled as, makes sense. Guy and girl are gonna meet, maybe misunderstandings and some bullying and awkwardness, a kiss and then bam, romance. Nope that’s not how this one works. If you read the light novels, you know. It’s twisty and complicated and not at all quick to work out. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth sticking around for. The anime has actually done incredibly well fleshing out that dynamic within a shojo / seinen context and even adding other aspects to it that I really appreciate (the moment in the gif is one of them, her checking for fever isn’t in the LN). That being said, there is more to it and in a time where we’re used to instant reward Jinamo isn’t a payoff you’re going to get right away, or close to soon at all but if you’re someone who can appreciate growth and crumbs then maybe their journey might be for you.

So let’s lay out some perspective (spoilers below):

Jinshi went into the rear palace at around age 14, had to suppress his manhood with drugs and has been leered at by older creepy women and men his whole life while having to deal with the sex lives of others, including his own father. Maomao was mutilated by her mother, abandoned by her father and even when he came back it had less to do with her and more to do with his obsession over her mom. Her sisters pushed sexual acts on her to make her understand being a courtesan, they left her alone until she learned to be emotionless (she wasn’t born autistic, it’s learned behavior and coping mechanisms from no one caring how she felt) and her adopted father took her in but even he can look at her in a disturbed way due to her intellectual curiosity. Her intensity with medicine and bent towards self-harm are due to a lack of self-protective mechanisms because no one was there to protect her in childhood. There’s evidence even to suggest that she only experiments with poison in an effort to feel something and as she beings to feel more emotions in a normal way, she experiments on herself less and leans more towards medicine in its simple form for healing and not in poison. Luomen may have taken her in, her “sisters” kept her around, fed and did what was necessary for her but no one gave her the love and care she needed. It’s why she views love in a cynical, dismissive way and very much thinks she cannot or almost should not experience it.

With Jinshi, he has had no healthy relationship with a woman since he was young. Older women are predatory towards him due to his looks, he’s watched both his “mothers” be consorts their entire lives and waste away due to jealousy, political issues and lack of affection and Suiren, while affectionate can treat him too much like the palace prince, alternately spoiling and disciplining in a way that’s dehumanizing. He didn’t have a father figure, we can argue about Gaoshun but he frequently mentions wanting to return to his own family and end his assignment with Jinshi, not to mention his exasperation, so to me the implication is while there’s a mild affection for having seen the young boy grow up, he doesn’t consider him family. So overall Jinshi has spent his whole life being watched over by strangers who feel no particular attachment to him while simultaneously getting leered at by inappropriate court women and men.

With all of these factors between the two combined, expecting these two to have a fluffy relationship is unrealistic. They were stunted emotionally, forced to grow up too soon, abused verbally and physically in different forms and traumatized. Left without real parental or friendly support, given no emotional tools to navigate the world and told to figure it out themselves. It’s a miracle they’re not weirder than they are or more horrible to each other. They’re two people who’ve spent their whole lives having no one give two cares about them as people suddenly have one person who’s very intent on knowing them for them and that is not something either is used to. Maomao’s seeming disinterest in Jinshi isn’t about him, it’s about his position. Everything else that has to do with him personally she takes note of, his habits, his moods, how he responds to her, even the smell of his incense, those minute observations tell us she cares enough to consider him. With Jinshi, he is like the young boy who teases the girl at first because he likes her. He wants to get a rise out of her because she’s so disinterested. But that doesn’t stay forever. He’s a boy who’s had to act like a twisted version of a man his whole life but finally been presented with the opportunity to actually be a man for once in pursuing a woman he likes. When Jinshi decides to actually go after Maomao in earnest, his maturity grows too.

Maomao’s telling herself that things don’t affect her isn’t “truth”, it’s her way of deflecting, if she says it then that makes something true that likely isn’t. Examples being, acting as if she didn’t know Jinshi’s identity for the longest time, same with Loulan and how at one point she says she barely feels pain then almost cuts off her own finger before Jinshi stops her in the epilogue of LN 4. The whole moment is brought up to correlate her crying over the loss of her friends, being out of the palace and away from Jinshi but acting like she doesn’t care to her then over-experimenting and almost harming herself. This mimics her mother and Lakan’s twisted beginning but the sense is the same, Maomao doesn’t know how to deal with emotion so she pushes it away and excuses it as something else. The point being that she’s a hurt young woman dealing with a lot in not the best way and Jinshi has his own way of dealing with things too, usually by being a bit childish. When they manage to make breakthroughs they’re small but meaningful.

Their interactions can be uncomfortable at times because these are two characters who aren’t comfortable in their own skin. One had to fake being 5 years older than he was and the other had to be a parent to the only ones she’s had and those around her so acts like she’s 10 years older than her own age. Ironically as they’re interacting with each other they’re finally getting to be the young adults they never had the room to be. So yes that petulant, sometimes aggressive and childish back and forth they get into can be uncomfortable because it’s just two young adults trying to figure out what love, friendship and partnership actually might look like as they never saw it modeled properly or have experienced it. It’s awkward, slow going and imperfect but interesting if you’re willing to stick around for it.

Like Maomao running her hand through Jinshi’s hair or him kissing her on the forehead while she’s sleeping and having Suiren prepare her a bath after exhausting herself. It’s moments that show a mature, measured kind of affection they’re growing into together. It also exemplifies the different kinds of affection they show. Jinshi is more the outwardly affectionate type, expressing a want to marry her, giving her the hair stick, even the brand to prove he’ll allay her fears, while Maomao’s affection is expressed in how she cares for Jinshi, worries about his health and is thinking about him when she doesn’t need to. Different but equally complementary and necessary.

Remember too this is set during an imperial dynasty, there are going to be weird complicated roles and things we don’t see play out in the modern world now. And yes while the author could just have said throw that out and had them have an unrealistic romance across societal lines, I’m glad she’s made it realistic in how they’re struggling to make it happen across the boundary of the imperial society they live in.

Lastly, it’s fantasy. If some of the things these characters did happened in real life would they be “toxic”, maybe, although we could argue about that too but it’s not real. This is a fictional couple so sometimes I think people just want to stamp their modern view on it and say it’s a certain way when they can’t or don’t want to see the larger narrative at play. Believe me, if he really did assault her, or was a pedo or doing something completely gross I wouldn’t be writing these long monologues about them being even an interesting fictional couple. Because I do think there’s a line to be drawn in books, I don’t even like most romantasy today because the MCs are too disgusting and the FMCs unrealistic for me if that says anything. But this isn’t real life where a lot of us wouldn’t even talk to someone like Maomao who’s burning her arm on a regular basis for experiments, we’d be telling her to get help. It’s a fictional couple in a fictional world where there can be more twisty plots and that’s ok because we don’t need to take it so seriously. Watch the anime, read the light novels and enjoy it for the mental break it’s all supposed to be. Let those who enjoy the romance enjoy it and if that’s not for you then hit fast forward and there’s plenty of mystery to be had. That’s the good thing about Apothecary Diaries is it kind of has a sprinkling of genres for everyone. As for me, I’ll be excited for every Jinmao crumb along the way and writing these I’m sure annoyingly long rants I’m glad if anyone reads 😂

#the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #jinmao #jinshi x maomao #maomao #jinshi #I think these are fun to write 😅#at this point my brain just keeps coming up with ideas and I go with it #whether that’s a good idea or bad one idk #jinmao rambles

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itoshiexx · 11 months ago

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blossoming love

synopsis: sae is not good with words, so he communicates with flowers instead. / or, every time itoshi sae gave you a bouquet in significant moments.

pairing: itoshi sae x gn!reader | words: 2.9k | warnings: fluffy fluff, tiny bit of angst if u squint, rin and sae’s relationship isn’t fucked up, kinda proofread, ooc sae maybe? i love him tho, its really just three thousand words of him talking about love

notes: this idea has been on my mind for a while since i adore the language of flowers, and even tho sae is probably ooc, i really liked the final result ♥ also i'm trying a new layout so lmk if y'all like it~ and finally thank u so much for 2.5k followers, i love you all sm!!

masterlist

i. sunflowers for a confession

never has itoshi sae been so painfully aware of his flaws and limitations quite like the day he realized he liked you as more than a friend. because, even though he wasn’t the type of guy to wait for the universe to give him everything he wished for, anyone within three miles could see how absolutely awful he was at communicating.

so that was the dilemma: how could he express his feelings to you if the words just didn’t come out?

“flowers.”

“huh?”

rin was sitting at the couch in their parent’s home, a paused horror movie on the tv. sae didn’t even notice he started mumbling and spilling his secret crush to the younger itoshi, and the tips of his ears went red at that. he was supposed to be the smooth, suave, aloof kind of guy that gave his little brother some love advice, and not the other way around.

(not as if any of them had some kind of experience. emotional intelligence didn’t really run in the bloodline.)

“just give them flowers, nii-chan. did you know each of them has meanings? it could help you express yourself.”

“you mean like… the language of flowers or some shit?”

rin rolled his eyes, but nodded.

“just try not to use ‘some shit’. i don’t think they’re into that,” he joked, and sae could only grimace and send him the middle finger.

but as much as he didn’t want to admit, his brother was right. you were special, and you deserved the best he could give — even if it wasn’t much. he was going to learn how to be better for you, but meanwhile, the language of flowers should suffice.

the first time you receive a bouquet from itoshi sae, they are beautiful blooms of sunflowers, expressing his adoration towards you. the small card that comes with it has a simple question:

go out with me?

ii. white gardenias and the start of something new

your first date with the pro-footballer is something simple yet sophisticated, a dinner at a famous restaurant he rented just for you two. the dim lights make everything more romantic, and your heart is beating so loud you’re afraid sae might hear it from the other side of the table. despite the euphoria that leaves you nearly breathless, you manage to talk during the night while he mostly just listens.

itoshi sae is not familiar with dates — not actual ones, at least —, so to say he was nervous was an understatement. however, he hid it well behind his nonchalant persona, even if meant avoid talking just so he didn’t fuck things up.

sae was never a talker, anyway. and it was long ago he figured he’d rather listen to the sound of your voice and drown in the image of your sparkly eyes every time you were excited about something.

when dinner is over and sae drives to drop you home, you’re a little shocked to see him take another flower arrangement from the floor of the backseat, just hidden enough so you didn’t notice during your ride. the petals are a pure white color with beautiful twirls, and you can’t help but gape.

“is that… is that for me?”

sae wants to scream, because of course they are for you — who else could they be for? as if he’d ever look at anyone when you’re the brightest light shining on his life.

inevitably, you’re all itoshi sae can see.

“they are gardenias,” he simply says, fighting the heat that climbs through his neck. he pushes the bouquet a little more towards you. “they made me think of you.”

your chest swells with affection, and the sweet aroma of the blooms mixed with sae’s perfume makes you a little dizzy. you only realize how close he is when his nose touches yours, hands grazing your left cheek as if you’re something fragile that he’s scared to break.

but he kisses you anyway. his mouth is delicate against yours, trying to convey his longing as a complement to the flowers on your hold.

when your lips part and you finally say goodbye, you’re certain that sae has blossomed an entire garden in your heart. starting with the white gardenias that mean new beginnings, affection and a revelation of a secret love.

iii. blue hyacinths for an apology

sae knows how much of an asshole he can be. contrary to popular belief, he knows how sharp his words can feel and how mean his voice can sound. even if he wasn’t exactly self aware, his brother rin would sure be able to spit it to his face every time they argued.

it wasn’t like he always meant it. sure, he didn’t care about his behavior towards the media or people he found particularly annoying (pretty much everyone), but there were people in his life that he cherished; people he didn’t want to hurt. the thing is, itoshi sae was just really, really awkward when it came to his own emotions, and he was the worst at saying how he felt.

it’s a few months into your relationship that sae learns he would rather never play football again than make you cry. it’s a silly argument, really — he doesn’t even remember what he gets so worked up for. maybe it’s jet lag that makes him lash out on you, but it doesn’t really matter when he sees your eyes glisten and a little sniffle comes out of your lips.

“i’m s-sorry,” you say, uneasy in a way that makes his stomach churn. he wants to wipe that expression off your face, and beat himself up for being the one who put it there.

him and his stupid ass mouth, as rin would say.

“what? why are you saying that?” his tone is more exasperated than he intends to, and god, why can’t he just shut the fuck up?

“i didn’t mean to annoy you or make things harder… i know you’re tired from your game and i… i’m sorry, sae.”

he should be the one apologizing for being an idiot, he knows; but the words are so foreign to his system that sae doesn’t even know how to put the letters together. it’s only when you pick up your stuff and leave his apartment without another word that the pro-player is shaken out of his stupor.

“fuck,” he curses under his breath. “fucking hell, sae.”

he hates that he hurt you, hates that he doesn’t know how to fix it and hates it even more that his little brother lectures him on the phone later that day, when he calls to vent.

“you already were a shitty brother, so don’t be a shitty boyfriend too,” are rin’s exact words.

okay, ouch. kinda stings, but he figures he deserves it.

it’s almost 9pm when sae goes to your house, two bags of your favorite treats resting on his forearm while he holds the carefully chosen bouquet. the surprise on your face when you open the door makes his heart reel, though the glimmer of happiness is what makes it all worth it.

“i messed up”, is what he says as soon as he can before you decide to kick him out. “i didn’t mean to snap at you like that and… i’m sorry. i never want to hurt you.”

you take the blue hyacinths from his grasp and look at them fondly before smiling, and sae thinks the sun is shining again. he’s eternally grateful you understand the sincerity and the regret that comes from those tiny petals.

iv. red roses and the epiphanic awareness of love

journalists from all around the world are well aware of how much itoshi sae hates interviews. it is always pretty clear with the bored — if not extremely annoyed — expression on his face and the rude answers that make anyone break a cold sweat. he doesn’t like stupid questions (all of them) and much less when the press tries to meddle in his personal business.

it wasn’t new to be asked about his romantic relationships, and this particular topic was something that made sae scowl and diss whatever nosy, lukewarm journalist decided to pry to earn a penny. by now, everyone knows that inquiring if the midfielder is dating anyone is forbidden territory.

still, the media keeps trying to find small loopholes in what they really want to know, questions safe enough to not enrage the itoshi. it’s one of those that makes sae’s world come to a halt in the middle of a press conference in italy.

“itoshi, can you tell us about the things you love most in life?”

his brain instantly shuts down, and suddenly, sae is no longer in a room with hundreds of microphones and cameras shoved on his face, but instead in a cozy little picnic at the beach with you by his side.

if he was being honest, sae never really thought about things like love for most of his life; and not just the romantic one, but love as a whole. sure, he knew he loved his parents and his little brother, but they were parts of his life he didn’t choose, almost as if those feelings were meant to be there ever since he was born.

thinking about his life growing up, he could never really tell if what he felt was ‘love’ or just ‘like’. did he love soccer? did he love salted kombucha tea? did he love the beach? or were all these things temporary fulfillments that could end at any minute? this feeling was such a difficult concept for sae that he never bothered to actually search for answers.

but you’ve been dating for seven months now — and sae simply knows, as a universal truth written down his bones, that the feelings he has for you are too otherworldly to fit inside the mere perception of ‘like’. liking you doesn’t do justice to the way his heart leaps and his chest is filled with happiness and peace and anxiousness and euphoria all at once whenever he thinks of you.

it’s the strangest epiphany of the century, he thinks, but that is the exact moment itoshi sae is sure you are the sole definition of love.

he loves you. he loves you the most in life.

and even if life is hard, because the world always is, loving you amongst this chaos is the easiest thing sae has ever done.

so when he comes back from his trip and you stay over at his penthouse, he tries to demonstrate this overflowing feeling when he touches you and kisses you and makes you fall apart just to put you back together. and when the morning comes and you paddle to the kitchen for breakfast, he is there holding the prettiest bunch of classical red roses with the faintest blush on his face.

you’re beautiful even with your unruly hair and bleary eyes, and sae is certain he will never get tired of seeing you smile for him.

with his throat clogged with emotion, the words don’t come out. but you take the flowers in your gentle embrace and kiss him with such fondness and infatuation that he can’t help but wish you understand the deep, unconditional love he feels for you.

“i love you too, baby.”

and thankfully, you always do.

v. pink camellias for longing

longing wasn’t a feeling sae was particularly used to.

when he left japan at the ripe age of 14, the first few months were especially harsh, since he was in a foreign country with a totally different language and culture. sae found himself missing the place he grew up, not so much for the place itself, but for the comfort its familiarity could bring. he missed rin, too.

but as time passed and itoshi sae transformed, he stopped viewing japan and everything it had as his home, solely becoming a wandering soul in the big, cruel world. the athlete, then, longed for nothing but to be the best.

however, he realized that life as he knew would never be the same after falling in love with you, for those feelings were strong as tidal waves, all-consuming and capable of changing everything in its course.

everytime he was away, sae really fucking missed you.

“how long will you be gone for?”

even before he left.

“…a month.”

his voice is low and slightly hesitant. you’re together on the living room couch, watching a shitty rom-com movie that sae hates but always watches because it’s your favorite. his arms are around you while your back rests against his chest, and he feels a little dizzy — whether it’s from your sweet perfume or the fear inside of him, he doesn’t quite know.

though he will never admit it, the midfielder is always scared whenever he has to leave for longer periods of time. because what if you get tired of him? what if you start feeling so alone and neglected you end up hating him? the thought alone is enough to make him want to throw up.

you turn around to face him, and the little pout of your lips suddenly has him feeling sick.

“so long? you really have to?”

he sighs, because yeah, unfortunately, he does have to stay that long to follow the team along the season. even if he’d rather stay with you and just fly near game days.

“yeah. i’m sorry, mi amor.”

sae lets you turn around fully and adjust yourself on his lap, each leg sitting comfortably around his hips. both of his hands are immediately holding on your waist, as if afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

“don’t apologize, handsome. i know it’s your job. i’m just gonna miss you a lot.”

he has the urge to kiss your sullen look away, and it’s exactly what he does. his lips touch yours with the same tenderness they always do, but there’s a certain urgency in the way his mouth moves and his tongue carefully glides with yours, as if he’s trying to convey just how much more he will miss you.

because although no one would ever believe him, he always misses you more.

“i wish i could stay here with you,” he says when you part, and the little bashful smile you give him makes his heart soar.

“but you love what you do, though.”

yeah, but i love you more. the thought is something that has been plaguing his mind during the nearly two years you’ve been together, because sae never expected to have something — or rather someone — who would become his entire world quite like how you do. it’s frightening and dreadful and not what he wished for himself, but sae can’t say that he hates it. there’s nothing about you or the gentleness of your love that he can hate.

that’s why when the time of his trip comes, a beautiful bouquet of pink camellias is placed on your kitchen island, and you know it’s his way of showing his longing for you.

vi. amaranthus and the promise of forever

even if many people disagree, sae knows he is always right. it’s how he knew you were the one even before he had you, and more so even before he realized he wanted you. somehow, it’s always been a truth his mind couldn’t ignore.

it’s on a lazy sunday morning at your shared apartment that itoshi sae is taken by a sudden urge of asking you to marry him.

there’s nothing extraordinary about the scenery; just you making him a snack after waking up from your — now shared — 3pm nap, hair tied in a bun, swaying your hips while stirring the food on the frying pan. he hugs you from behind and rests his head on your shoulder, nosing at the crook of your neck in an attempt to absorb all that you are. you giggle with the ticklish feeling, and the warmth that spreads through his chest somehow doesn’t feel weird anymore.

somehow, it’s now something he deeply cherishes. sae can only describe being with you as pure bliss.

and he’s always been selfish, a true egoist to its core. it’s why he’s faced with his deepest desire to have the honor of spending a lifetime by your side, if only you’ll have him.

he’s had the ring for a while now, hidden behind several socks in his drawer. it might as well be the time, he thinks; a lazy sunday afternoon that has nothing grandiose. sae was never one for big gestures anyway.

so when you both finish eating, sae tells you he’ll be out for a jog, and you just hum with your pretty smile. his heart is beating abnormally fast when he goes to the flower shop, and by the time he’s back home, he thinks it might just explode.

but this… you are it for him, he’s certain. the same way he was certain four years ago, when your love started to blossom until it became the prettiest garden.

and when sae is down on one knee asking the most important question of his life, ring box in one hand and the bouquet of amaranthus on the other, the teary smile and whispered “yes” you give makes him certain that, no matter what, your love will be eternal.

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celestiaras · 5 months ago

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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ a shot of lust ]❜

ft. claude clawmark x f! reader — ttt, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ while testing out potions, you take an experimental sip gone wrong & your friend isn’t half as innocent as he seems┊2.2k words

contains: smut!! dom reader & sub claude┊slight dubcon, reader is mean but claude is into that, unintentional (high-key nonconsensual) drugging with an aphrodisiac, kinda unrequited feelings but requited lust, making out, marking & biting, slight masochist claude, spit as lube, degradation, unprotected piv on a chair (because you guys are nasty like that), implied multiple rounds

➤ author's note: oh my god, i’ve been starving you guys again, i’m so sorry, i’ve been hit full force with squid game brainrot. this isn’t my best work, but i’m slowly getting back into niji because it’s my first vtuber family and i miss them :(

potion-making is a refined art that is desirable to all with its effectiveness in battle or healing properties yet mastered by few with how dangerous or explosive results could be with something simple as an extra drop of dragon’s blood becoming fatal. personally, you’re willing to take the risk of the deadly consequences when it comes to elixirs of speed to slay your opponents before they could even blink.

for these very reasons, you study the craft under your fellow adventurer and close confidant claude clawmark. admittedly, he wasn’t your first choice regarding mentors with his messy workspace and questionable habits, but he was willing to teach you for free so you agreed. even victoria and kunai were unsure of your decision but figured that if anyone could handle the eccentric cleric, it would be you. even though this was something you took upon yourself to learn, you really didn’t like being cooped up in his shop all day while taking orders from customers and spending all day mixing strange components. you miss going out and looting dungeons with your guildmates, but learning through experience would certainly be worth it in the amount of gold you could save by making your own potions (people really pay for the expertise of a professional rather than the collected common loot dropped to make them).

the wooden table in the center of the room had a batch of roughly fifteen glass vials filled with strength potions for a customer, a finished half of the order while working on producing the other half of invisibility. you placed a sealed jar of fermented spider eyes on the table for your partner to brew and went to go grab some night vision potions for the base, but you noticed an odd bottle filled with a shimmering pink liquid that stood out among the batch of dully-colored royal blue potions on the self. it clearly wasn’t organized on the right shelf, but it didn’t have a label nor did its appearance match any of the others. “hey claude, do you remember what this is supposed to be?”

he turned his head to examine it for a second before continuing his work, “eh, i’m not actually sure. maybe you should test it out.”

oh yeah, another thing about potions is that if you aren’t sure what it is, you have to try it out yourself. there are tons of healing medicines all over the place in case someone got poisoned, so you drank it without hesitation like you’ve done plenty of times before. it tasted artificially of strawberries and cream, not an uncommon flavor to mask the usual strange medley of ingredients, but it left a weird aftertaste of bittersweetness on your tongue. you didn’t feel any different nor see any change looking in the mirror so perhaps it was simply a base potion that didn’t have any magic added yet, leaving you to go on with your day after placing the empty glass into the sink.

it didn’t hit you full-force as soon as you swallowed it, but the effects were slowly but surely taking hold of you. it started with you feeling warm, taking off your jacket and touching your face, wondering if there was a sudden change in room temperature for some reason. your breathing steadily became more labored even though you weren’t moving around much, trying to take deep breaths through your mouth in a futile attempt to clear your fogged mind and soaking a towel in water to pat away the perspiration beginning to form on your forehead.

were you ill and coming down with a fever? it didn’t feel like any virus you’ve ever had, felt more like… it was definitely from that unlabeled potion you drank earlier, but why would he leave such a thing lying around if it was really what you thought? this was really why you were warned to get a proper tutor instead of a cleric known for fumbling his belongings. the sun had begun to set and the shop would close in about fifteen minutes anyway, so you decided to wait it out even though it felt borderline unbearable. leaning back on the table, you think there must be an antidote or something somewhere to counter it, but you were interrupted before you could get up and look for it.

“are you okay? you look sick,” claude mentioned, taking off his tool belt equipped with various gadgets and moving away from his station to check in on you. “do you… need help with anything?” he took off his glove to gently press his hand against your forehead followed by your cheek to test your temperature, suddenly feeling conscious of his presence with the proximity and feeling his breath on your skin as he stared intently at your face.

you never paid too much attention to his looks, but you suddenly found yourself studying his appearance now that he was so much closer to you: his long opalescent locks that were neatly tied in a ponytail tossed over his shoulder, his sleepy eyes that shifted from magenta to aquamarine, how built he actually was with his broad shoulders that well defined his frame— was he always so handsome?

“hey… claude…” you felt like a living furnace with lit coals that were bursting at the seams, fire burning into desire at your core and could only be quenched by the man standing in front of you. vivi and kunai aren’t the best at keeping secrets (especially when it’s past midnight at a sleepover), you knew he had a crush on you or at the very least found you attractive. either way, he wouldn’t reject you at the moment unless he considers the friendship on the line, and you were willing to bet everything on that.

his eyes met yours, staring deeply into them while waiting for you to finish your sentence. the tension was so palpable that it could be cut with a knife and you sighed, closing your eyes and leaning forward to break it with a kiss. you couldn’t see his reaction, but he didn’t flinch nor did he pull back, instead reciprocating it once he seemed to process it.

it took some of the edge off, but you still felt insatiable and starved for more of him. slipping your hand to the back of his head and intertwining it with his hair, you deepened the kiss and began to dart your tongue out to ask him to part his lips. you had no way to know what he was really thinking, but he seemed to be understandably confused about the whole thing and yet he didn’t deny you or offer an ounce of resistance. he obediently followed your motions and let you take the lead, just how you liked it, even whimpering slightly when your tongue gently brushed against his and felt the cool titanium pierced through it.

oh, when you heard that sound escape his lips, something feral awakened within you. “fuck…” you placed your hands on her shoulder and swung him around, roughly shoving him down onto a nearby chair and splitting his legs apart with a knee in the middle while continuing to kiss him roughly. fiddling with the hem of his clothing, “is this okay?”

he blushed a deep red as if the gravity of the situation was only hitting him now that you were requesting for content, “y-yes! of course! totally!” he mentally cringed, his ass did not just say ‘totally’ when his crush of over a year was asking if it was okay to fuck him.

thankfully for him, you didn’t seem to mind in the least bit and fervently began to strip him of his clothing, pulling his black top over his arms and tossing it haphazardly on the floor. his strapping frame was even more evident with his bare chest exposed to you, pretty unblemished ivory skin that was just begging to get marked up and bruised. you were quick to leave one last kiss on his lips before lowering your head to suck on his neck, watching a dark purple-red hickey bloom on the spot. you repeated this process a few times before outright sinking your teeth into his tender flesh, finding yourself unable to refrain from behaving like a wild animal even though you were trying your hardest to hold yourself back.

meanwhile, claude felt like he was dreaming and was almost light-headed by your touch. he allowed you to use his body as you pleased, like a doll for you to play with and abuse. the pain didn’t even register as such to him, feeling more like ecstasy shooting through his veins wherever your mouth found itself as his eyes rolled back like the pathetic fool he was.

“fuck, i feel like i’m going crazy,” you groaned, adjusting your position to sit on his lap and pulling back his pristine white pants to reveal his leaking cock before holding out your palm. “spit.” he complied, taking a moment to gather saliva in his mouth before spitting a clear glob into your open hand which you smeared all over his dick to act as makeshift lube.

the heat was really beginning to get to you like the wrath of a thousand suns, prickling at your skin and causing you to pause your actions to remove your own clothing. you didn’t notice until you were fully nude the way he was staring at you like he had just witnessed the unfiltered beauty of a goddess for the first time. maybe if it was another day under different circumstances, you would have felt soft at his obvious affection and admiration towards you, but unfortunately, you were feeling nothing but irritation due to the effects of the drug.

you extended an arm to push him back so he was sitting properly against the chair instead of slouching, moving to straddle him and finally, finally, lined up his angry red tip with your entrance before sinking into it. claude gasped as he buried his face into your chest, unable to rut into you as he so desired with your purposefully straining your weight on him.

despite not being able to think straight, your dominance over him was made clear as you set your own pace, ignoring the strain beginning to form in your thighs as you worked your way up and down his length. his size was perfect, not too difficult to take, and also able to hit all of the right spots.

despite not being allowed to put in any work, claude’s heart was hammering in his chest like he was running a marathon with strands of hair sticking to his face thanks to the beads of sweat that formed on his forehead. he struggled to find a place to put his hands with your hips moving too fast for him to grip and the little groan you would let out in the precipice of pleasure and disdain each time he tried to touch you elsewhere led to him simply gripping the sides of the wooden chair he was seated on, basically hold on for dear life while chasing an orgasm to snap you out it.

“you did this on purpose, didn’t you, you little freak?”

“h-huh?”

“you wanted me to drink that potion, didn’t you? so that you would get fucked like a whore, just how desperate are you?”

he opened his mouth to deny the accusation but found himself unable to and let out a pathetic whimper instead. how could he deny it when it was completely true? he didn’t think you would actually drink it, only planted it on the table and allowed for chance to take the reins, but he didn’t think anything was actually going to happen.

still, there wasn’t a single ounce of regret in his body, even if you were being a little mean to him. he didn’t mind how your sharp words cut into him, it made him dizzy if anything.

you began to slow down as the ache of constant bouncing was catching up to you, moving your hand to circle your clit and crying out when you felt yourself unravel at the contact. feeling your velvety walls pulse around him had him following shortly after when you lifted yourself off of him, causing him to finish on your lower stomach in pretty white splatters.

both of you were exhausted at the exhibition of energy on top of the long day before this situation occurred, breathing heavily as you got off the chair in favor of leaning against the table with your shaky legs.

he couldn’t read your reaction, if the gravity of what just happened had sunk in yet or if you were still basking in the satisfaction of your climax. it made you glow in a way, making him dumbfounded and unable to meet your eyes. “i-i should go…” in a matter of minutes thanks to his stupidity, he just went from a good friend to a lowly slut in your eyes all because you were able to see right through him like glass.

however, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him back towards you, nude bodies pressed flushed against each other, kissing him fervently again with a slightly crazy edge to your actions. “yeah, no, you aren’t going anywhere. you started this mess, you’re going to help me out until the potion wears off or until we both pass out.”

#📜. her works #claude clawmark #claude clawmark x reader #claude clawmark smut #nijisanji #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji smut #nijisanji en #nijisanji en x reader #nijisanji en smut #ttt #ttt x reader #ttt smut

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chxrryhansen · 1 year ago

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౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s SStan Series Rec List

here are my sebastian stan series fic recs! they are mostly bucky barnes series but mainly Au’s! i will be creating separate lists for cevans one shots and sstan one shots😚

Clockwork - @sgt-seabass

When life seems to be finally back on track, a visit by a mob boss to your dainty town changes everything. (Dark!Alpha Nick Fowler)

The Soldat And The Sparrow - @navybrat817

Your fire burns for the Winter Soldier. And one day, you'll be free. Both of you.

For The Love Of The Game - @pellucid-constellations

Bucky Barnes was a menace. NYU’s top baseball player, he was used to girls falling at his feet and could smooth talk his way out of just about anything. You hated him. He couldn’t figure out why. So when the novelty of weekend parties and quick hookups finally wore off—and his feelings for you began to grow—he made it his mission to fix it.

The Heart Is A Deep Ocean - @dreamlessinparis

Titanic was known as the ship of dreams. For you, it was the dream of getting home, or so you thought. From the moment you locked eyes with James Buchanan Barnes, all those dreams changed and your life was never the same.

Everything’s Better In WestView - @espinosaurusrexex

Bucky and Y/N sneak into Westview to have the perfect life. Away from late Steve and Tony, Vision and Natasha, they let themselves be consumed by suburban magic. To their surprise, however, some of these people aren’t so dead in the town. And there are some other weird things happening that make them question their sanity. But that’s okay, right? ‘Cause everything’s better in Westview.

The Bride Of Soldat - @vampy-doll

In the summer of 1986, a young woman goes missing whenever HYDRA kidnaps her to be their next experiment for the reward of their Soldat. Now, post blip, Bucky starts to remember defining details of his love, his match made in hell, and is determined to find her. But after years of isolation and torture after his escape, she isn’t who he remembers. Now they’re trying to piece together who she was pre-HYDRA to teach her how to live, without his undying love and obsession of her getting in the way. But when one head is cut off, two more shall grow in its place, leaving them to discover those behind her abduction.

Awake My Soul - @foreverindreamlandd

It's been five years since zombies first started walking the Earth, destroying anything and everything in their wake. Now, in this apocalyptic world, fighting for survival comes as naturally as breathing. The one thing you've learned ever since they arrived, though, is that the living can be so much more dangerous than the undead. When you stumble across two young, scared boys lost in the woods and being chased by walkers, you go against your better judgment and help them to safety. Little did you know that helping them would lead you to Bucky - an angry, grumpy, distrusting member of the camp Shield. Bucky has zero interest in having you enter his life. He's been hurt before and lost too many people to risk experiencing that kind of pain again, and he knows that there are secrets you aren't telling the group. Yet, when push comes to shove, and you're put at risk, he'll stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Guiding Light - @wkemeup

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra. While you struggle to stay alive and hold your sanity, Bucky begins to lose himself to a darkness and gives into the soldier because he doesn’t know how to breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can.

The Witness - @wkemeup

Owner of a bar full of criminals, maybe you shouldn’t be surprised when you’re the sole witness to a hydra hit. In comes Detective Barnes, the quick-witted, flirtatious cop who somehow became a regular at your misfit bar. When he takes it upon himself to ensure your safety off the books, you learn to rely on someone else for a change and find you don’t mind it at all. Not when it’s him.

Under Oath - @ugh-supersoldiers

The people called for justice, the state answered. The trial of State v. Barnes is set to begin, and the odds are most certainly not in favor of the not so beloved ex Winter Soldier. That’s where you come in, the quick, smart, and all too brave lawyer set on defending and saving one Bucky Barnes from legal prosecution. The only problem? He’s not so sure he’s worth saving at all.

Just One Kiss - @sarahwroteathing

Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss?

He’s Hazardous To My Health - @writing-for-marvel

Bucky Barnes is a beefy paramedic with a traumatic past, who has left a trail of broken hearts behind him. You are a resident doctor new to town, who barely has time to date between long shifts. When your paths cross in your ER during a disaster, is it the start of something magical, or are you destined to be just another of Bucky’s former flames?

Just Try - @waiting4inspiration

Perfectly happy with your life at the Avengers’ compound, an alpha walks into your life, flipping it completely over and revealing secrets you hoped you had buried a long time ago.

Дорогая - @waiting4inspiration

Bucky's Winter Soldier programming has been triggered. Turns out the Winter Soldier has a thing for you.

Red Ties - @sebstan2020

Mary, a sweet Christian girl living in the city of Brooklyn as a nurse had a simple life. She loved her work, her friends and attending church every Sunday and helping Reverend Owens. Her life was nothing out of the ordinary. However, it all changed one day when she bumps into the intriguing and intimidating James Barnes, Brooklyn’s notorious mafia boss and is introduced to a world of guns, lust and dominance.

Delicate Edges - @wkemeup

Your family’s beloved flower shop was not the only thing you inherited when your parents passed. Trapped under a mountain of debt to the Hydra club, you bear the cost of your father’s desperate bargain. It’s only in moments when the charming Bucky Barnes walks into your shop that you can forget the cruelty of the biker clubs of this town. But a war is brewing. The border is crumbling. You're trapped in the middle. And Bucky will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Pride And Privacy - @adrinktostopyourthirst

Bucky works on himself as he gets used to a roommate. Turns out, she has a much better room than him and he crossed the line.

Feelings Are Fatal - @sunmoonandeddie

After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

Appointments - @noctumbra

bucky barnes, finally being able to live freely in 21st century, accidentally gets a fuck buddy and starts to rediscover himself. the only weird thing about this situation is that you have to make an appointment to get railed by him.

Lazarus - @sagechanoafterdark

Things are complicated between you and James Barnes. For you, life doesn’t mean much when you never stay dead for very long. But it might just be an ex-soviet assassin that convinces you to start living again.

Its A Deal - @justreadingfics

You’re out of a relationship of 10 years and you’re just in desperate need to get laid, no strings attached, no romance, no complications. You dear friend Natasha feels like she’s going to regret this later, but she might have the perfect guy to fulfill your needs.

The Two Of Us - @bucky-bucket-barnes

You and Bucky go to investigate the phenomenon happening in Westview, New Jersey. While attempting to understand the issue, you yourselves are sucked into Wanda's world of pretend. Now, you believe yourselves to be the happily married Mr. and Mrs. Barnes; in real life, you are most definitely not a happy pair. It is up to you and Bucky to piece together what's happening while dealing with one another inside the hex.

Snow - @delaber

Tired of your constant bickering, Sam sends you and Bucky on a mission alone. When the worst possible outcome happens and you’re forced to spend several days together in a small cabin, you finally get to see a different, more pleasurable side to the man whose flesh you’ve always had a thorn in.

All Good Things - @sagechanoafterdark

After only three days of dealing with the annoying specter haunting you, you break the rules and accidently give a ghost a body. So what do you do when you find out the man you’re now sharing your your apartment with isn’t really a ghost and that haunted touch is a little warmer than you realized?

Welcome Home… Soldat? - @winterarmyy

Y/N had make a habit of greeting Bucky a warm 'welcome home' everytime he came back from his missions, but there was one particular day when she unknowingly greeted someone else.

Heavy Metal Lover - @mypoisonedvine

every client is different, with different needs; but this client is, in every way, exceptional. (Sub!Bucky Barnes + Dominatrix!Reader)

Parent-Teacher Conference - @coffeecatsandcandles

James Barnes, a widowed single dad, had forgotten what love felt like and let it crush him, taking his daughter, Rebecca, with him. He was cold, rude, and arrogant, being one of the few teachers at Westview High School the students seemed to absolutely despise. But when you show up, a hopeful math teacher who’d previously taught Rebecca’s kindergarten class, and are adored by your students and colleagues- James’s attitude starts to change.

Duck & Cover - @whirlybirbs

you’re the howling commandos’ new medic (Sniper!Bucky Barnes)

Winter’s Mate - @maggyme13

The Winter Soldier threatens to get out of control with his instincts taking over more and more. After years of supressed ruts his body built up a resistance and Hydra need to find another solution. Deciding it would be the easiest to just give in. Hydra kidnapped the reader to turn her into a Omega in Heat using injections whenever needed.

Key’s In Your Ignition - @georgiapeach30513

Caught up in a sexual relationship with your father’s Vice President, and trying to not get caught. Blind to everything else that’s going on in the club, and even your old crush, Bucky Barnes. Not even noticing your brother and best friend flirting, until your father suddenly passes, and things in the club drastically change. (Ari Levinson + Bucky Barnes + Harvard Hottie- Hayden)

#chxrrys fic recs #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic recs #fic recs #sebastian stan x reader #nick fowler #nick fowler x reader

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frankthesnek · 4 months ago

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A sad, sad part of me is convinced that Homelander's first sexual experience was part of the psychological manipulation that Vought used to control Homelander growing up. This is a long ramble, so I'm hiding it under the cut. If that sounds interesting, click and dive in!

We know he discovers masturbation like most kids. What is strange is that he hides it. Embarrassment and shame are learned behaviors, and he grew up in a cage with zero privacy and probably little to no understanding of what privacy was. So why hide it? How does he himself describe it: the only time he got to feel anything good. He hid it not because of modesty but because it was something good he could control and was afraid of losing. What would Vought do when they found out about this? Simple, find a way to turn it into a tool for their benefit. For example, like I don't know... bringing in specialized hired help, specifically to make his first sexual experience with another person somewhat maternal and further ingrain his need for love—specifically the need to have a maternal figure and the ability to be manipulated by female figures.

I hate this idea. I really really do, but it just feels soooooo much like something they would do.

Madylen, being his handler, is no accident. When we meet them in the show, he is completely obsessed with her. That is not something that happens overnight. Grace says it to Butcher when she's deacribing Homelander and Madylen's relationship: she is closer to him than anyone, not a mother or lover but something different. Grace knows all kinds on inside things about Vought, so what she says here is good insight. They put Madylen there over Homelander as a security measure because they intentionally instilled kinks in him for control.

Look at the scene where Homelander and Madylen have sex... and even calling it that doesn't feel right. The whole sequence is so awkward, so staged and clinical. It feels like watching a procedure more than anything. And yes, part of that is obviously because Madylen isn't actually into it and is using sex as manipulation, but how Homelander responds?

His face from the moment she says "take off your pants" is weirdly blank. Not excited, not thrilled, not happy—he's just there, letting it happen (yes, you can argue he is dumbstruck with lust. I give you that). Why does he react this way? Theory, because that is exactly how Vought wants him to respond. He's like a dog just sitting waiting for a cookie or a sleeper agent hearing their trigger word.

Madelyn knows how to manipulate him and all his quarks. We also see this with the scene where she puts her fingers in his mouth to simulate breastfeeding him. Think of that old saying "in case of emergency break glass". This is basically what Madelyn is doing by sleeping with him.

What happens right before the sex scene? She finds out Homelander is responsible for V being distributed. She is NOT happy about this. But she knows yelling at him will accomplish nothing. He doesnt need a firm hand, he needs a manipulative one. So she has sex with him. Her goal is getting him back under control and reinforcing her power over him.

Lets break that scene down:

He tells her what he did, and asks her to say something. She is shocked/pissed and says nothing, but kisses him.

Next scene they are in her office, a place she has control not him.

He tries to touch her, she tells him no. He immediately listens without a word.

She teels him to take off his pants, he does as told and waits for her to proceed.

He tries to take control, he clearly he wants to. She again says no, and he again listens even though it's not what he wants to do.

She feeds him words of affirmation that are undeniably maternal.

Homelander makes a fool of him self and finishes immediately. Madylen looks obviously pleased by this reaction.

Its only AFTER he embarrasses himself and apologizes does she say she is proud and he did good.

She withholds what he actually asked for and wanted to hear until after she has exerted power and made him look weak. This is clearly preplaned. A fall back to try and regain power over him and reset his need to listen to her. Ultimately, in the end, it obviously fails. But from the moment she kissed him, she was following a plan to reset his needy, maternal, love driven behavior. Behavior that was programed by Vought and ingrained by manimulating his sexual foundation with his very first sexual experience.

#but hey thats just a theory #a film theory #lol i had to use that tag here sorry #headcanon #homelander #the boys #amazon the boys #the homelander #mommy issues

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hanalyrata · 3 months ago

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Untitled - Alpha solo fic

Summary: I just wanted to write Alpha piercing himself and cumming about it. Sorry.

Rating: NSFW / MDNI

Word Count: 841

A pain kink, that's all it was.

That's all Alpha had figured it was anyway. He'd learned to pierce not long after being summoned. It was a partial curiosity that he thought would be fleeting, just another way to customize his human vessel that he now occupied; he hadn't anticipated it to be something he hadn't yet put a name to. The first few were simple, harmless, as it were. A lobe here, his lip was next, and then it worked its way deeper. Pushing the needles through his skin just to feel the sharp sting. Without the intention of adding a hoop or barbell, though that often ended up being the case.

And so, that's how he ended up here, knees spread on the mattress, breath coming in short bursts as he threaded the second barbell through the underside of his cock. It twitched, pulsing, making him shiver.

The first had been an experiment, a slow descent into the craving he barely understood. The second, a confirmation. The third he had in mind was where it started to teeter on indulgence. Alpha's hands were steady, precise; they always were with this, though the rest of him was a mess, his thighs twitching and his cock leaking a steady stream of pre onto the rumpled sheets beneath him. His body was so wound up that he was certain he wasn't far from spilling. He bit down on his lip, the ring through it clicking against the enamel of his teeth, just enough to stifle the low groan curling in his throat as he pushed the needle through again, just under the second barbell. Fuck. The pain burned, sharp at first, then dulled into a throbbing, intoxicating heat that settled deep in his stomach. His free hand twisted in the sheets, breath coming ragged as he reached for the jewelry. The cool metal rolling in his fingers was grounding, his mind momentarily focused on twisting the barbell into place. As soon as it was secured, the full weight of sensation crashed down on him. His whole body was alight, nerves on fire, pleasure twisting with pain so sweet it was almost unbearable. His fingers curled around the base of his cock, more reflex than intent, trying to push the feeling down, and he knew if he so much as breathed the wrong way, he’d be gone. He let out a slow, shuddering breath, trying to calm himself. Trying and failing. His hips twitched, sensitivity spiking as his own touch sent a shock through his system. It would take barely anything to tip him over the edge now, the piercing still throbbing, still fresh. Alpha's fingers brushed over the fresh piercing, testing the soreness, a ragged moan tearing from his throat at the sensation. He was so fucking close. The sheets beneath him were already ruined, his body tense, and his mind foggy with a mix of pain and pleasure that had him shaking.

The fourth was the one that did it. Alpha had barely steadied his breathing from the third; the dull throb lingered, a quiet pulse under his skin, and he lined the needle up for the next. Now his fingers started to tremble ever so slightly; whether it was from adrenaline or anticipation, he wasn't sure. The sharp tip hovered, just grazing the skin under the last barbell, and he swallowed hard, sucking in a slow breath before pressing forward. The pain was sharper than the last one, instantly white-hot and searing, slicing through his nerves like a live wire. His body jolted hard, muscles clenching as his thighs trembled. The needle was only halfway through when the coil in his gut snapped and his breath left him in a sharp, broken gasp as the pleasure crashed over him, sudden and overwhelming. He shuddered violently, hips jerking up as his cock pulsed against his hand, orgasm ripping through him with brutal intensity. His vision blurred at the edges, a heady mix of pleasure and pain intertwining so tightly he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. The needle was still threaded through his cock, his grip on the metal faltering as he rode out every last wave. Holy fuck. It took Alpha a long moment to come back to himself, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. He felt wrecked, overstimulated, his skin dampened with a thin layer of sweat, and the room was silent save for his ragged breathing, the sharp scent of metal bringing him back to his senses fully. And he still had to finish threading the barbell through. His cock twitched at the thought, even though every nerve in him was now screaming with oversensitivity. A shaky, breathless laugh left him. Finally, with a shaky exhale, he forced himself to move, to finish threading the barbell into place with trembling fingers, a brief thought of just how fucked up this situation was playing through his mind. And yet, he was already thinking about the next one.

#alpha ghoul #alpha ghost #cici writes #It's been like forever since I wrote fucken anything #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #ghost fanfiction #cw piercing #There's probably errors #I've run it through a grammar checker it'll have to do

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ladykailitha · 8 months ago

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The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 14

Hey guys! Welcome back! So this chapter is getting a little heavy on the angsty side, so just a heads up.

Things have been going great for all the stories especially the Christmas one.

This will be the story that keeps its usual schedule next week. Every other posting day will be finishing up the Olympic Swimmer one. So be on the look out for that.

Also super long chapter!

Steve tries out some hobbies, Joyce pushes, and Steve gets depressed.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Steve would like to say he got right on the job search the next day, but he really didn’t. He woke up refreshed and feeling good about himself. After a run on the treadmill and big breakfast he had already talked himself out needing to.

But instead he decided that he wanted to learn new hobbies. He had the money and pretty much unlimited time so why not?

The first thing he tried felting. Yeah, he had a lot of money, but he wanted to start with something cheap in case he got bored with it.

Taking the kit out of the box, he already ran into a problem. The leather finger gloves were much too small. Like he didn’t have fat fingers or anything but they were much too tight to fit on even his pinkie fingers he turned them inside out to see if he could make them bigger somehow.

He only succeeded in ruining the finger gloves. He tried rubber thimbles as replacements but still the sharp tool would pierce even the tough rubber.

The kit sat abandoned in a corner of his hotel room until one of the porters saw it and asked if he could have it. His sister did the felting all the time and she was having trouble finding colors she liked.

So Steve let him have it. Three days later the porter came back with a bright yellow canary and a female robin. He proudly displayed them on his nightstand next to the phone and alarm clock.

Robin loved them, but refused to take the robin. She said they shouldn’t be separated at any price.

Steve loved her a little bit more when she said that.

The next thing he tried was painting.

That lasted all of six hours before they got handed off to Will. It was a beautiful oil, acrylic, and water color set, with all the paint brushes and pallet and metal wood-handled pallet knives.

It lasted that long was because that was the time it took for Steve to set everything up, including an old sheet Rosa let him have, start painting and promptly knock everything over. The water, the paints, the easel. Everything. He broke the easel, knocked a hole in the canvas, and smeared paint all over the apron he had bought just for the occasion.

Will was happy to receive the paints, but in turn he gave Steve a simple notepad and pencil and taught him how to draw.

Steve liked that.

It was just for doodling and making silly pictures so it didn’t make him feel like a failure. He went to the bookstore and bought a bunch of books on how to draw certain things. Animals, the human figure. He even found this great reference book on clothes sorted based on the English monarch who was in power at the time the were wore.

Which was all well and good, but it wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

One day while he was over at Will’s talking art and whether or not kneaded erasers were worth the pain they caused if you dropped, Ellie introduced him to a new hobby. Will was against the things, Steve was for.

Jonathan huffed, “That’s probably a class issue as Steve here can afford to replace them and Will can’t.”

Steve and Will stared at each other in complete shock, but had to admit that Jonathan was probably right.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve huffed, “that’s fair. I guess I really didn’t think about it because it’s not my money I’m spending.”

“Have you tried looking for a job?” Joyce asked. She didn’t like that someone was paying to keep Steve safe. As nice as it was, in her experience the well tended to dry up when you least expected it to.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Byers.” Which he had. Yes, he had been focused on trying to learn things that would keep his mind from atrophying, he had also been looking. “If they seen me coming they take down the sign or if they don’t get to it in time, they say it’s an old sign and that they forgot to take it down.”

Joyce’s shoulders slumped in sympathy. The rumor around town is that because Mr. Harrington was the landlord for a lot of the properties that the businesses were on, he had threatened to raise their rent if they gave Steve a job.

Something that all the adults promised not to tell Steve so that he wouldn’t get so discouraged as to not try at all.

But surely Clint Harrington didn’t own every business in Hawkins and she told Steve so.

“No,” Steve huffed. “But he’s friends with ones that he doesn’t. I’m going to try the mall next. Most of the them are franchises and have their main bosses outside of Hawkins.”

She let out a little sigh of relief. It showed that Steve was trying and actively thinking of these types of pitfalls.

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “What have you got there, Ellie?” he asked trying to shift the focus off of him for a moment.

Joyce was watching Ellie while Hopper was at work.

The young girl held up long satin strings of embroidery thread. She had three shades of pink, a white, and a red. She tied the ends to a safety pin that was pinned her leg.

“I’m making friendship bracelets for me and Max,” Ellie said proudly. “The pink is for me, and then I have these colors for her!” She held up blues and purples.

“That’s way cool!” Steve said scooting over to sit next to her.

Jonathan and Will shared a smile. Steve was lost to the shiny allure of friendship bracelets.

“I could teach you if you like,” she said with a smile. “I also have boondoggle!” She held up shiny plastic strips. “I make key chains and other things that need to last a lot longer than the thread.”

Steve really lit up, but then frowned when he saw out intricate it all was. “I’ll never be do anything that fancy.”

Ellie sat closer and pulled out a little paper that she had in her caboodle. “I couldn’t at first either, so I went to the library and took out a book on all the different ways you could plait and how to do boondoggle. Then I copied a couple of the pages I wanted to try.”

She handed it to him and pointed to the easiest. “That’s the one I started with and it will probably take a little bit to get the spacing right.”

Steve tilted his head. “Is this like braiding hair?”

“Yes!” Ellie said excitedly. “That’s right. I forgot you braid Max’s hair all the time. So then it will be easy for you.”

Soon they were off in their own little world.

Joyce watched with her arms crossed and a concerned expression. Jonathan spotted her and shook his head. He stood up and went to stand next to her.

“You’ve got to let it go, Mom,” he said gently. “You aren’t his mom and even if you were, he’s still an adult. As near as anyone of can tell, whoever is footing this bill isn’t in it to exploit Steve, just making sure he’s taken care of.”

Joyce breathed out through her nose as she tried not to snap at her son. She didn’t know that as a fact and Hopper’s reassurances weren’t enough. She hated having to take his word that whoever this was wouldn’t harm Steve. And that galled.

“It’s all the expensive gifts,” she tried to explain. “The car, the unlimited credit card, cash drops weekly, the gold necklace, the hotel. It’s just not right, it’s not decent.”

Jonathan shook his head. “What about all the non-expensive gifts? Things this benefactor thought Steve would like or get a kick out of? Like that little canary with top hat that he keeps on his dashboard? Or all the music tapes they send, thinking Steve might want to try something different. Hell, according to Steve until they left the country, they talked once or twice a day. That doesn’t sound like someone out to hurt him.”

She let out a shuddering sigh. Because Jonathan was right, that didn’t sound like someone trying to use Steve. “I know.”

Jonathan patted on her shoulder and then went into his room, probably to call Nancy. Another person like his mom who worried Steve was being taken advantage of. But even if he was, that was a lesson he was going to have to learn the hard way.

On his own.

Will had long since left to go hang out with Mike while Ellie and Steve made friendship bracelets. He made four. A black, red, and dark grey one for Eddie, a red, a brown, and a light grey one for Robin and two yellow, white, and black ones. So he could one each to Eddie and Robin.

“Those are really pretty, Steve,” Ellie congratulated him. “Those are some interesting color choices.” Spoken as though she was silently judging, but too polite to say so.

He blushed and held up the first one. “This is for my special friend, they are his favorite colors.” Then he held up the second. “And this is for Robin. The colors remind me of a female robin and the last two represent who I am now.”

Ellie blinked for a moment as she took in the information. “I can see that now. Thank you for explaining it to me.”

“I get my thread at Melvand’s,” she said serenely, “if you wanted to continue to make more, that’s where you would go to get your own.”

Steve kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Ellie.”

He didn’t stay much longer than that, now that both of the other boys were gone, Joyce was keeping too close an eye on him with Ellie. He knew it wasn’t the gay thing as she didn’t mind Will being around her. And it wasn’t being a barely legal adult considering she would gladly leave Jonathan to look over her.

Nope.

It was entirely because she didn’t know who Steve’s mysterious benefactor was. And the thought of this unknown, probably male, person might hear about Ellie later? Yeah, that’s where she drew her invisible line.

Which was bullshit, like with Robin’s mom, Eddie wasn’t going to prey on little girls. He was freaking out about Steve might be underage when they met in the club. But it wasn’t like he could tell Joyce that. She might revoke his time with Will and Ellie if she learned he had been underaged drinking that night. The night Eddie saved him.

Steve went up to his hotel room and flopped face first into his bed. He was tired. Tired of all the questions about finding a job and getting out from under Eddie’s thumb. Like Eddie was financially abusing him or whatever.

He just wanted to bring people to his hotel room and show them all the little things Eddie sent him just because he walked into a gas station and saw something cute he thought he would like. The keychain from Kansas City with his name on it. The bright yellow shirt that said “I don’t take no shit” and had the Iowan state bird of the American goldfinch. That one came with a little note explaining that it was a canary, but the black on the wings reminded Eddie of the deliciously tight black leather pants.

Steve blushed for hours after that one.

He wiggled onto the bed and crawled under the covers without having taken off any of his clothes. Maybe he could hibernate until Eddie got back in America.

Steve managed to bury himself under the covers before the porter with the felting sister ripped the blanket off from over his head.

He stared blearily up at the porter. “Martin?” He struggled to sit up, but flopped back down on the pillow in distress. “Just leave me alone.”

“It’s Marty actually,” the porter huffed. “The only people that call me Martin are my boss and my mom. You’re not either.”

“Marty, I just want to go back to sleep.”

Marty pulled the rest of the blankets and yanked Steve off the bed. He went with a startled yelp. He leapt to his feet to fight him, but he saw that Bob and Rosa were standing by his bed with looks of concern on their faces.

“I have the shower running,” Bob said, “you will get in there and at least clean off the sweat you reek of. Then Rosa will change the sheets. Marty will bring up some food while you are showering, then the three of us are staging an intervention, because this isn’t like you!”

Steve opened his mouth to refute that statement, probably something about how no one called the whole time he as sulking.

Bob pulled out a stack of messages. “I have thirteen messages, and that’s only because the answering machine is full.”

Steve looked behind him and sure enough the machine was blinking complete with a full tape.

“Oh.”

He meekly went and did as he was told. He was only going to do a perfunctory wipe down because they were waiting for him, but once he got under the water it felt so good that he began to thoroughly scrub himself down. Normally going without a shower for a couple of days really didn’t do much, but because he had barely moved to pee, he was covered in thin layer of sweat.

He washed his hair and got out of the shower. He dried himself off and put on the long robe Eddie had gotten him. He opened the door and was instantly hit with enticing aroma of chicken noodle soup. He moved out of the bathroom to the main room, lured by the scent of real food.

The sofa was full of the hotel employees so he grabbed his bowl of soup and spoon and sat down on the armchair curled up as small as he could make himself.

“You frightened us, mi corazón,” Rosa huffed. “You weren’t answering your phone, you weren’t ordering food. The only way we could tell you moved at all is that occasionally the cup in the bathroom would be wet or you would be on the other side of the bed.”

Bob nodded. “We were told to look after you, money was no object. That’s what we were told, but you turned out to be kind and generous and frankly better than ninety percent of the patrons here. You treat us like we’re human, so it became our pleasure to serve you. So when you weren’t opening your door to anyone or answering your calls, we knew something was wrong.”

“Sorry,” Steve muttered into his bowl. “I just got so tired of everyone trying to find out who is bankrolling my life style and telling me to get a job that I just didn’t want to deal with it anymore.”

“It’s none of their business,” Rosa huffed. “They’re just jealous that they don’t have this life. I know your papa wants to hurt and all this for you protection, but it seems to me your friends just see the money you...” she snapped her fingers. “What’s the word?”

“I’d use ‘splash around’,” Steve said with a shrug.

“Ehhh,” she knew it wasn’t the word she was looking for but it would have to do. “They see the good. Not the bad. They see new car, but they weren’t there to see you give up your old car. They see the fancy hobbies, but they don’t see your big room and no one to fill it with.”

“She’s right,” Marty said. “I don’t think even the girl that comes with your gifts from Eddie Munson quite understands the crippling loneliness and isolation you have to be feeling right now.”

Steve sniffled into his soup. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know how to impress upon them how dangerous this all is for me. Like the only ones that remotely understand are the Hendersons and that’s because my dad showed up on their doorstep. But even then I don’t think Dustin quite grasps the enormity of it all, but then he’s thirteen so...”

“The only reason your father hasn’t penetrated hotel security,” Bob said with a grimace, “is that the owner, Dr. Sam Owens hates business men like your father. Otherwise, his hold over this town would have extended to here, no doubt about that.”

“So this is what’s going to happen,” Marty said, “if you need to sneak out and just go for a drive to get out of your head, call Bob and he’ll arrange it. If you need someone to talk to ring up Rose or myself. We’re here for you. We understand that Mr. Munson is out of the country right now and it makes it harder, but we’ve got you, okay?”

Steve nodded and said weakly, “Okay!”

Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

Tag List: CLOSED

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2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

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10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailitha writes #age difference #ten years between steve and eddie

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elegantballetalk · 2 months ago

Text

Today's watch:

Maria Khoreva overview of Vaganova Academy focusing on years 1-5

My very not perfect translation:

Perhaps in this video, I’ll be able to debunk some of the untrue myths—and bring the true ones to life, one way or another.

Today, I want to share my learning experience with you. I studied at the Vaganova Academy from first through eighth grade, completing the full course of secondary vocational education. After that, I enrolled in the correspondence bachelor's program at the Faculty of Performing Arts, where I studied for three years. And now, this year, I’m finishing my master’s degree in the Faculty of Pedagogy.

I’m incredibly grateful—to the city, my family, my country, the circumstances, and all the people who supported me—for giving me the opportunity to gain such unique knowledge at the Vaganova Academy. To be able to touch this place steeped in history has truly been a gift.

Now, I’m excited to talk about how certain events influenced my life—and how different moments during one’s training can shape a student’s future in general. In our pedagogical master’s program, we study how to properly design a ballet training curriculum, how to combine physical and psychological aspects, and how to approach administration. Looking back now, especially at my time in the performing faculty, I see myself in a very different light—hopefully, a more accurate and kind one.

So today, I’d like to revisit those memories with you. I think it will be very interesting. Let’s get started!

(By the way—speaking of which—it might be a good idea to make a separate video someday about the whole admission process to the Vaganova Academy. It’s a big topic on its own. But for now, I’ll skip that part.)

I want to start my story with the school’s opening ceremony—our “line,” as we call it. If I remember correctly, it took place on September 7, not the 1st, because the Academy doesn’t always follow the standard rules of regular schools. Of course, Vaganova combines both general academic subjects and specialized ballet training, but I’ll talk more about that later.

So, our ceremony was on a rainy, cold day. There's a tradition at the Academy: a strong, stately boy graduate carries a tiny first-grader on his shoulder, and she rings a bell. This ritual is known as the “First Bell.” Every little girl in our class probably dreamed of being the one to ring it—including me. About 30 ambitious girls were admitted to our class, and from day one, everyone wanted to be first. I wasn’t chosen for that honor, unfortunately—but that’s okay. More was to come.

At first, I thought the hard part was over once I got in—but that wasn’t quite true. The first lessons were... strange, and to be honest, a little boring. I remember my very first classical dance class. We started doing slow movements, facing the barre. The teacher talked about “supporting legs”—the ones we stand on—and “working legs,” the ones that move. She said they “work,” like workers in a factory.

I was placed at the side barre, on the first line—not a prestigious spot. The central barre positions were the most desirable. We were placed randomly at first, and I remember standing there, staring out the window, far more interested in what was outside than in the slow, repetitive movements we were doing again and again.

In fact, during our very first classical dance class, I don’t think we did anything besides those tendus. It amazed me.

Before joining the Academy, I was involved in rhythmic gymnastics—I had already done some fouettés, a few jumps, and choreography classes were part of our training. So, when I started at Vaganova, I couldn’t understand why we were going back to such basic, seemingly simple movements. It all felt too easy to me.

But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

My first classical dance teacher—who, in ballet, is considered one of the most important figures in a dancer’s life—was Elena Georgievna Alkanova. A truly wonderful, soulful woman, who still teaches at the Academy. She brought a remarkable balance of discipline and love for the art into our classroom. She was meticulous with us, especially when it came to the most foundational elements of classical dance.

To me, being the head teacher of an elementary-level class is the hardest job in ballet. Children arrive either knowing nothing or, worse, having learned things incorrectly. Some come in with fixed ideas of what ballet should be, while others are simply bored. The teacher’s role isn’t just to teach proper technique from the very beginning—it’s also to light a fire in their hearts, to instill genuine love and motivation for the art. And doing that with young children is no small feat.

The method of Agrippina Vaganova—after whom the Academy is named—emphasizes a gradual progression: from the simplest ballet movements to the most complex variations. This means that in the first few years, there's no place for imitation of adult performance. Vaganova herself was a unique figure—a brilliant dancer who became a visionary theorist. She laid the foundation of the Russian ballet tradition that has amazed the world for generations.

In her writings, she stresses that the most important thing is to master the very basics—battement tendu, for instance, which is simply extending the leg along the floor to the side, or demi-plié, which is just a bend in the knees, but in a turned-out position. These movements may seem minimal, but they’re absolutely essential. From these foundations, all future grace, strength, and precision are built.

She even warned against assigning overly complex combinations too early in training. Why? Because when you skip the basics, students lose the ability to control their technique during more advanced movements. Ballet is built on perfect geometry—every line, every position must be precise from the very beginning. Without this, true mastery is impossible.

And yes, for all the beauty in Vaganova’s meticulous method… it could feel mind-numbingly boring. The exercises were slow, corrections were constant, and as young students, we didn’t yet understand why we had to "suffer" through such repetition. That was probably the biggest challenge of the first year.

Eventually, the movements became more difficult and more interesting. But to execute them correctly, we needed to rely on a growing internal mechanism—like mental gears slowly turning. I could feel new neural connections forming as we learned to process and apply the technique.

One correction from first year I’ll never forget: I was asked to lift my leg to the back, but keep my hip bones completely straight and motionless. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. How could that be anatomically possible? I was supposed to maintain a perfectly square alignment of my shoulders and hips while raising the leg behind me. But that’s exactly what classical ballet demands. We had to memorize this “geometry” so deeply that it would become second nature—even in the most advanced movements later on.

Looking back, classical dance lessons were without a doubt the most vivid, unforgettable part of my time at the Vaganova Academy. They were also the longest. Every day, we had what we called simply classics, and each session lasted around an hour and a half—though in reality, it was often longer. That's because we always ended up eating into our breaks for the sake of classical class. Typically, we had two double lessons: like real university-style sessions, with a break in the middle, and then another break before the next subject in the schedule. So, when you factored everything in, our “hour and a half” of classical dance often stretched quite a bit longer.

Now, I’d like to share how training is generally structured at the Vaganova Academy, especially the combination of academic and ballet subjects. Children enter the Academy after completing the fourth grade in general education. From there, they continue their academic studies alongside intensive dance training. Subjects include math, history, physics, chemistry, social studies, geography, and others I may not even remember now. We had etiquette lessons. We had English and French. French, in particular, was crucial because ballet terminology is still entirely in French. We had to learn not only the names of movements but also basic grammar and sentence construction to understand the meaning behind those terms—what exactly we were being asked to do in each movement.

There’s a common belief that in specialized institutions like music or ballet academies, general education is weak. But honestly, that wasn’t the case at all in my experience. Our academic standards were very high. In our cohort, there were two classes—A and B—and ours was an all-girls class for the first few years. Oh, how we all tried to be straight-A students! The competition was fierce—not just in the ballet studio, but also in our academic classes. We even competed in math! I’ll never forget mental arithmetic. It was terrifying. Our class teacher, Aleksandrovna Putina, and our math teacher—who was firm but progressive—used a very particular method. She would hand out a sheet of paper, quite small in size, and dictate math problems out loud, one after another. If you didn’t finish solving one before she moved to the next, your whole plan could fall apart. These were complex tasks too—definitely not easy. We trained our brains as much as we trained our bodies. Especially in those first few years, the workload was intense. The combination of general education and ballet was a huge challenge.

Our daily schedule typically started at 9:20 or 9:30 in the morning and ended around 6 p.m. Most days included a classical dance lesson in the middle. Lessons at the Academy usually began either at 9:00 or 11:00, depending on the class and level.

But one thing was certain: classical class always had to come early in the day. That’s because classical dance serves as the foundation and warm-up for the rest of a dancer’s training. It prepares the body, sets the tone, and tunes the mind and muscles for everything that follows—whether it’s rehearsal, another discipline, or a performance. That daily ballet class is essential—not just physically, but mentally. It’s the core of academic classical dance, and everything else builds from it. To properly integrate into the rhythm of academic classical dance, it made no sense to schedule ballet lessons later than early afternoon. That’s why classical classes were always set for either 9:00, 11:00, or at the latest, 1:00 p.m.—to accommodate all the various student groups, levels, and teachers across the Academy’s many halls.

Naturally, not everyone could take class at the same time. So, we were split across those three time slots, and our class almost always got the 1:00 p.m. slot. Only in the first year did we study at 9:00 a.m.—and I remember clearly how much I disliked it.

Imagine this: it's 9:00 in the morning, you’ve just rolled out of bed, and you’re already heading through the cold, damp streets of St. Petersburg—which somehow feel chilly even in summer, and downright miserable in winter. You arrive half-awake and have to immediately start moving your legs, performing precise ballet movements.

And what were we wearing? Well, in first grade, the uniform was just a simple leotard and socks. No warm-up gear, no tights covering the legs—completely bare. It was always cold and terribly uncomfortable to begin the day like that.

Later on, starting at 11:00 or 1:00 felt far better. We never had lessons at 11:00 during our entire time at the Academy—and I always thought that would have been the perfect time. I was so happy when I finally joined the theater and had the luxury of taking class at 11:00 every day.

As for the ballet studios themselves, the Academy had a quirky naming system. At first, I remember the “first top” and “second top” halls. Then after a few months, we started using names like “first bottom,” “second bottom,” “third A,” and so on. Only two studios had special names. One was “the hall,” where all senior exams were held. The other was “the large hall,” where major rehearsals for our graduation performances took place—the same performances that traditionally took place on the prestigious stage of the Mariinsky Theatre.

So, classical dance classes were slotted into that central daily space, and everything else—academic subjects—was arranged around them. We studied Russian, Piano, music, math, chemistry, physics, social studies, and so on. We started physics and chemistry a little later in our studies, like regular students in a typical school.

We even took the Unified State Exam like everyone else in Russia. We struggled through practice tests, official exams, and written assignments across all our subjects. We really did try to keep up with academic life and took it seriously.

At the same time, we had ballet-specific subjects—both practical and theoretical. As I mentioned earlier, we had etiquette and French from the first grade. I think French ended around the fourth grade, though to be honest, I don't remember exactly. We also had a course called “musical game,” which later evolved into music history and cultural education.

These cultural classes gave us inspiration, helping us become more educated and artistically aware—especially within the context of ballet and the broader cultural world.

All of this—the combination of general subjects and specialized classes—helped us grow into educated specialists in the field of ballet, culture, and dance. One of the first special disciplines we were introduced to in the first grade was historical dance. It’s actually a very interesting subject. We were taught ballroom dances, courtly steps from different eras—it was a completely different rhythm compared to the slow, mechanical exercises of classical dance. Historical dance gave us a chance to actually dance a little, to start feeling our own movement coordination, to get a sense of our organic relationship with dance. That’s so important at the beginning, because classical lessons at that stage were filled with endless repetitions of the most basic mechanics. So this subject gave us a breath of fresh air—something playful and expressive to balance things out. It was also one of the rare classes where we got to stand in pairs with boys, laugh, feel awkward, and slowly learn to overcome that awkwardness. Of course, that discomfort would eventually disappear in our later years at the Academy, and especially once we entered the world of theater—but in the beginning, it was a whole experience in itself.

Our teacher was Nina Viktorovna Ivanovna(?)—a very beautiful woman, always graceful in how she demonstrated movements during historical dance classes. Sometimes she’d raise her voice, but always with warmth, never in anger. We only had historical dance for 45 minutes, twice a week, but even so, those lessons had something truly magical and engaging about them.

I wonder what image you have in your mind right now. What do you imagine when you think of the Vaganova Academy? What do you see when you picture the primary school students? Little girls with neat ballet buns and perfect posture, already imagining themselves as future ballerinas?

Well, let me tell you—we didn’t have a strict school uniform, but we definitely had a set uniform for ballet class.

While we were in our general education classes, there was a sort of unofficial dress code—something black and white, ideally a white top and black bottom. But in reality, it was hard to stick to these rules because we constantly had to change clothes—before and after classical dance lessons. And we always ate into our breaks, so we had very little time to switch outfits. Before class, we also had to warm up properly, so our clothing needed to be functional and warm. In the corridors and classrooms, it could be quite drafty—which, honestly, seems inevitable in any school in our cold northern city. So of course, we all tried to adapt as best we could. Our moms tried to dress us as cozily and warmly as possible.

At one point—I can’t quite remember which grade it was—we were even allowed to wear special tracksuits, custom-made by the Grishko company. These were lilac-colored and specifically designed for students at the Academy. We wore them over our ballet uniforms, with our leotards underneath.

In first grade, the uniform for classical ballet class was all white: white leotard, white skirt, white socks, and white soft ballet slippers. Actually, in the very beginning, we weren’t even allowed to wear skirts—we had to be in just the white leotard. At the time, we didn’t really notice how uncomfortable that was… but looking back, it definitely was.

Now, as an adult, I’d never go into a ballet class wearing just a leotard from the start. I need warm-up clothes at the beginning of a lesson to properly heat up my muscles. Then I can gradually peel off layers—take off my woolen warm-up gear—and be left in just the essentials, which allows for better visibility of muscle work during the lesson.

Over time, the Academy’s ballet uniform evolved a bit. For the younger classes, the leotards were turquoise. Then, starting in 4th and 5th grade, they became lilac. From 6th to 8th year—what we called the “courses”—we wore coffee-colored leotards, like a latte shade.

And speaking of classes, there’s an interesting detail about the naming of grades at the Academy. You enter the Vaganova Academy after finishing 4th grade in a regular school. So, in terms of general education, you're starting 5th grade. But at the Academy, that same year is considered first grade. So the sequence goes like this:

1st year at the Academy = 5th grade general school

2nd year = 6th grade

3rd year = 7th grade

4th year = 8th grade

5th year = 9th grade

6th year = 10th grade

7th year = 11th grade

8th year= 12th grade

So, while we were studying general school subjects like 10th and 11th grade students elsewhere, we were also receiving a professional secondary education in ballet.

Girls were allowed to start wearing special ballet leotards from the second year. So we got used to all of this from a young age.

Now, about this eternal debate: “a leotard—necessary or not?” Ballet uniforms are an essential part of a dancer’s wardrobe—not just in class, but also on stage.

I remember going through a bit of a rebellious phase when I first started working at the theater. I stopped wearing leotards and tights to ballet class. It felt like now that I was a real artist, I should be as free as possible. I thought, “I’m not a student anymore; I don’t need to follow these rules.” So for a while, I didn’t wear a leotard in class. And yes, in some ways it really was more convenient—you didn’t risk ruining a leotard or tights that you might need for a performance.

But after a few years in the theater, I came to realize that ballet leotards and tights are, in fact, one of the defining symbols of an artist’s discipline. And now? I wear pink tights every day for class—because I want to see my legs exactly as they’ll look on stage, in front of an audience.

I also remember that for quite a long time, I was totally lost trying to navigate the Academy’s corridors—I was constantly confused about where everything was. Although to be honest, compared to the Mariinsky Theater, the structure of the Academy building is actually quite simple.

The building itself is beautiful. It was designed by the Italian architect Carlo Rossi, and it stands on a stunning street—one of those perfect architectural imperial ensembles. The street ends at the Alexandrinsky Theater, and the entire row of buildings is painted a soft, pale yellow that gives the whole area an imperial, majestic feel.

I remember being told in class that the street’s length is 220 meters, its width is 22 meters, and the height of the buildings lining it is also 22 meters. Even the numbers speak to a kind of beauty. And the love for beauty wasn’t taught only in ballet lessons, but also in our general education subjects. It was in everything around us—even just walking down the corridors.

Portraits and epigraphs hung on the walls—images of legendary ballet dancers, iconic figures of our art. And of course, all of that couldn’t help but inspire you.

Even now, when I return for exams during my master’s program, I look at those portraits with deep respect and admiration. Now, of course, I understand so much more. I can truly appreciate who these people were—and that’s exactly why they leave such a strong impression on me.

But even back then, something was being built inside of me—a foundation for a lifelong love of this art. A love that’s stayed with me for my entire career... and for life, really.

But after such an enthusiastic monologue about how wonderful, beautiful, and inspiring it all was, it’s only fair to move on to a harder topic—an alarming one, and for us students, the scariest of them all.

Even now, I still remember, with a flutter in my chest and a kind of inner shiver, the classical dance exams. It seems strange to talk now about how anxious we were, but honestly—there are no words to convey the fear. It was pure horror.

And you had to fight that horror—right up until graduation. For some reason, this exam remained the single most terrifying part of our lives as students at the Academy.

The thing is, each year the Academy holds exams in all of the core dance disciplines. But the classical dance exam? That’s the most important one. Sixty students were admitted to our class. By graduation… maybe only half remained. Every year, students are weeded out—those who didn’t manage to master the program. Because the Academy simply can’t produce that many ballet specialists. The training process is grueling and intense.

And here, of course, we have to talk about something heartbreaking—not just the academic challenge, but the physical toll. The tragedies that come from the body not cooperating.

Sadly, and to my deep regret, it happens: some students enter the Academy, study for years—even just one year is a lot, especially for a fragile child’s mind—and they can’t imagine any other path than becoming a dancer. They’ve become totally immersed in this life, in these ideas, in this system—a beautiful system, yes, but also a strict one. And suddenly… the body fails.

Maybe like a weightlifter, your body becomes too muscular. Maybe you begin to grow too fast, or you lose strength. And it’s a tragedy, because that child has no control over it. It’s just genetics. It’s some cruel mix of factors that can’t be influenced or predicted.

Ballet is an aesthetic art. And unfortunately, the jury sitting at those classical exams must assess not only performance, but whether a student matches the visual and physical ideals of the art form. Those who don’t fit that standard... are expelled.

I hate that word—expelled. Expulsion. “You’ll be expelled.” We heard it constantly—from teachers, from classmates. That word burrows into your subconscious. It has a kind of dark, heavy power.

And yes, precisely because of that word—and not only because of it—but because of everything around it, those classical exams were so frightening. It felt like everything—absolutely everything—depended on that one day. How you looked that day. Whether you could nail certain pirouettes or other elements. Whether your turnout was enough on that day. Whether your skirt was correctly aligned with your leotard on that day. It seemed like your entire future would depend on the commission’s evaluation of that day.

But in truth, that’s not how it works at all.

What really matters is how well you know the material. How attentively you’ve listened to your teachers. How engaged and present you’ve been throughout your training. And strangely enough, how much you can remain yourself—not following anyone else’s instructions except your teachers', not trying to mold yourself into what you think the system wants, but working diligently, persistently, with your hands, your feet, your whole being—on yourself.

That’s what truly determines your path.

But at the time, we were convinced the whole world hinged solely on those exams: on that one moment—on that exam.

The anxiety would start building at least a week in advance. A whole week where I could barely breathe. I couldn’t even take a full sigh. And oddly enough, it felt like you had to keep yourself wound up before the exam, just to stay sharp—to make sure you didn’t forget anything, to boost your concentration.

Even now, before performances, I don’t get as nervous as I used to before those exams. And our teachers? They were just as nervous as we were.

After I passed the classical exam, all the others—even those in other special disciplines—never seemed quite as terrifying.

For example, in the fourth year at the Academy, in addition to historical dance, we had a subject called character dance. On stage in classical ballets, this includes dances like the Hungarian, Polish Mazurka, Russian, Spanish, Gypsy dances—all the national folk styles. In ballet, these are called character dances.

The exam in character dance was also challenging and unpredictable. We were definitely afraid of it—but not as much as classical.

I remember starting this whole story with how bored I used to be—just standing there, watching people move their strange little feet, doing strange movements with no meaning. But that boredom faded very quickly. The teachers’ demands grew, and we slowly began to understand what was expected of us. We started to realize how important it all was.

And then came this enormous sense of responsibility. Responsibility to ourselves. To our families. To our parents who supported us through all those years at the Academy. Their support—honestly—it was immeasurable. I don’t know… it seems to me they were far more nervous than we were.

And you’d think, “How is it even possible to be more nervous than we are?” But I’m sure of it—our parents were.

That responsibility—to all those who believe in you—starts to sink in. You must get a good grade. You must make your teacher proud. You must prove to everyone that you can.

That understanding hits quickly. It hits when you see how your classmates are managing certain movements—when you notice that you can’t do something someone else can. Or vice versa—when you suddenly can do something others can’t. And then your name is used as an example, and you feel like, “Okay, I have to do even better. Even better.”

And of course—it was unbelievably interesting. That’s when our journey as ballerinas truly began. Every one of us thought so.

I won’t say it was easy. But I can’t help but admit—it was genuinely fascinating.

Speaking of fascinating moments: one of the most fun parts of our training was stage practice. Especially in the first few years, stage practice was pure joy. Because it happened on the stage of the Mariinsky Theater.

The thing is, in many classical ballets, there are roles for very small children—little ones, who look almost like babies on stage. And that’s where first- and second-year students came in. We were those “babies.”

I don’t even know why it worked that way—but somehow, we really did look much younger than we actually were. Maybe it’s the costumes, maybe it’s the magic of ballet.

And you know what? That illusion of youth continues all through Academy training. Ballet girls and boys… somehow always end up looking older later, and younger earlier.

They seem to mature later. Maybe because of the immense workload. Maybe it’s the refined atmosphere inside the Academy. Who knows?

So, on the stage of the Mariinsky Theatre, we probably didn’t go out right away—but the Academy’s students did, in various performances. There was the Waltz in Sleeping Beauty, the children’s dance in Shurale, the elves in A Midsummer Night’s Dream—and that one was one of my absolute favorites. I got to perform in it as a child, on the stage of the Mariinsky Theatre.

I even took part in the premiere of that ballet. The directors came from the Balanchine Foundation to stage it. It was a completely new experience for us—we weren’t dancing classical choreography, but something fresh, modern, and unfamiliar. George Balanchine’s choreography was introduced to us for the first time as students, and it had us doing these unusual, fascinating movements on stage.

We got to try on new costumes—sewn just for us. Brand new elven headdresses. This whole elven fairytale world of A Midsummer Night’s Dream was magical.

By the way, this ballet—Midsummer Night’s Dream—if it ever comes back to Russian stages, I highly recommend seeing it. It’s like a gentle fairytale, but also a breathtakingly beautiful visual story set to Mendelssohn’s music. It makes you think about things. It makes you marvel at the beauty of Shakespeare, the brilliance of Mendelssohn, and the elegance of Balanchine’s choreography. If you ever get the chance, do watch it.

There were some standard roles for the youngest children in stage practice—like the children kidnapped in the Waltz from Sleeping Beauty, or the children's dance in Shurale. But I didn’t get cast in those parts—I was a little taller than what was needed for those roles.

So instead, in my first year, I danced… a dwarf.

Yes, a dwarf! It was actually a really funny part because kids were supposed to look cute and endearing—and we wore these enormous masks. Honestly, I don’t even know what they were made of. Maybe papier-mâché? The dwarf masks looked amazing from the audience—adorable and just fun. But inside the mask? Honestly… you could barely see anything. At least in mine. I danced that dwarf part several times in a row, in different casts—but I still don’t understand how I managed to dance properly in that mask. It was like moving through a fog. At the Academy, we’d rehearse everything in the studio without the masks, super carefully—but as soon as we put them on, and went out on stage, it was chaos. And then, right as we entered as dwarfs, the lightning and thunder effects would start. In the darkness, with those masks on, we couldn’t see a thing. We bumped into each other, missed our marks—it was kind of a disaster, but also kind of hilarious.

That ballet is still performed now, by the way, at the Minsk Theatre. It’s a beautiful production, a fairytale again—this time about a bird-girl and the arrival of evil spirits. It gets very dark on stage during those scenes—so, naturally, we couldn’t see anything then either. And, as little kids, no one really tells you how to handle that kind of thing. Still, it was a fascinating experience. I think it was actually more exciting than some of the standard children’s dances.

I danced dwarfs in Shurale. I danced elves in Midsummer Night’s Dream. And I also participated in the annual Nutcracker production.

The Nutcracker was performed entirely by the Academy. The graduating students danced the lead roles—Masha and the Prince. Students a bit younger danced the snowflakes, the waltz of the flowers, the parents at the Christmas party—and the youngest children performed as kids at the tree. Every age had their part. In third grade, I danced the pas de trois. And I also danced the doll. It was always an immersion into another, completely magical world. My warmest first memories of the Mariinsky Theatre come precisely from those days of stage practice.

I recently wrote about how even the apples and cutlets in the Mariinsky Theatre buffet left the brightest and most delightful impressions. Just getting to rehearse and perform there was special—but those little details made it unforgettable. Sure, we could dance these same parts in the Academy’s rehearsal halls, and we did, for a long time, over and over. But to actually get to the Mariinsky Theatre… to feel it not just with your hands and feet, but with all your senses—that was a different kind of magic. The cutlets, the cottage cheese casseroles—I adored them. They even gave us those big liter juice boxes for a while, and it all felt so amazing. It seemed to us that someone cared so much about us there. At the Academy, of course, people cared too. But it didn’t feel the same. At the theatre, we felt like royalty—just because we were given such delicious food. Afterwards, we would dance, rehearse, and walk around with joy—completely absorbed in the enchantment of ballet.

That’s probably all I can share with you today, if I try to keep this in the format of a regular conversational video—10 to 20 minutes. Otherwise, I could go on for tens of hours. I could honestly talk about this endlessly.

I am infinitely grateful to all the teachers who guided us through that journey, to everyone who surrounded us at the Academy. I’m grateful to my classmates. To the older students who helped us. To the younger students who stressed because of us.

It was such a beautiful, magical process—and I can’t wait to tell you about my time in the senior classes. There’s so much to say about that. We started having special disciplines, the stakes got higher, the emotions deeper, and everything became much more difficult—and sometimes even painful.

#ballet #elegantballetalk #elegantballettalk #russian ballet #vaganova method #vaganova academy #vaganova ballet academy #mariinsky theatre #vaganova #agrippina vaganova #maria khoreva #vaganova exam #vaganova class #mariinsky #mariinsky ballet

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tofupixel · 1 year ago

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Thank you for getting me to finally try pixel art! I‘ve always wanted to get into pixel art but I never knew what to start with and always ended up procrastinating. Your blog and the post you made on learning pixel art were what finally pushed me to give it a go. It was really helpful and I managed this little animation in Libresprite.

I definitely want to improve and your art is like the ultimate goal lol. Do you have any tips or instructions for how to get better or on what to focus on in the future? I‘d appreciate any kind of criticism/input you are willing to give! How do you manage to make such gigantic and beautiful landscapes?

thank you!! and i'm so happy you decided to give it a real go, you're doing great already!! the rendering on the body and the pink shading is really nice.

i can help a little with animation stuff but i'm not an expert, ill write something out about backgrounds at the end

i hope you don't mind but i edited the sprite a little, just to illustrate some stuff

🤺Animation stuff

i added an extra frame near the top of the arc so it slows down. this is called ease or slow in/out and usually happens at the beginning and end of movements. u can do even more slow but this is just a quick version

i also removed the middle frame (where the tail is straight down) to make the swing appear a bit more powerful. this could be the principle of timing in the same video. you can exaggerate smears if you do this, its up to you!! lately i tend to exaggerate stuff a lot, things arent super noticable in motion

i also got a good bit of advice from nickwoz that helped me, basically when you begin to animate, it really puts the rest of the sprite being still into focus. try to think of how you could animate other parts of the body, even subtly. and sometimes if individual pixels stay still they can catch the eye in an unintended way as well, just keep it in mind!!

if you want to learn animation more, you could take a look at duelyst sprites, they have incredible idle and ability animations, i study them a lot

heres one i downloaded a long time ago. i recommend just downloading stuff you like and looking at it!! i have a huge collection of pixel inspo. slowing animations down can really help you understand whats going on. its just a bunch of simple elements put together that makes it look so good.

IF U WANT MORE RESOURCES/ARTISTS I REOCMMEND TO GO AND STUDY LMK!!! IM LIKE A WIKIPEDIA, I AM A BIG FAN of pixel art and love to share

🌿 OK lets talk about landscape stuff

it looks like you have art experience already, but im gonna talk as if youre a complete noob cos it might help some other people who read this!! ur doing great 👍

❓ how to learn: study (and practise a lot)

what i mean by study: draw it, copy it, try to understand it. you can try to change characteristics about it. changing the angle or lighting can help u understand how something works in 3 dimensions.

sometimes it takes time, dont worry, you will figure out your own style through doing studies, its all a process

❓ how to draw landscape details?

study pixel artists and how they do it recommendations: fool, slym, jubilee, deceiver

also please look at real world references!! you got to build that visual library

❓ how to learn composition?

study traditional artists or animation. i did a ton of studies of ghibli backgrounds which i think helped my growth a lot recommendations: arcane, studio ghibli, traditional painters

im gonna break down a piece as well and maybe that will help. this is one from 2022 but its still one of my most popular and its pretty simple too!!

if we remove all the fancy stuff what we have is actually really simple. just a few large, overlapping shapes that all point towards our focal point. it's the brightest area with the most contrast and many edges point into it.

go to pinterest or google and just search "pretty landscape" or "mountains" or something and you can see what i'm doing is nothing special or unique!! break it down into bigger shapes to begin with, its just different areas of material mostly.

and heres how you can make any landscape from any colours. purple sky or mountain? orange grass? ok !! it all works, it doesnt matter. i just blend the colours.

when parts of the landscape are in the distance they become closer to the sky colour as there is more "sky" in between you and it. its called atmospheric perspective. so if the sky was red, the clouds would fade towards red.

OKKK i dont know what else to say so i hope that helps!! honestly 90% of what i do is intuitive and hard for me to really explain, so you dont have to know The Rules, you just kind of pick up stuff as you go.

GL and thanks so much for showing me your art!! please keep going!! 💕💕💕💕

#qna #tutorial #pixel art tutorial #colour theory #animation

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vykodlak · 25 days ago

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how did you learn to render realistic light/volumes so well? your work looks real to my eyes in a way i cannot wrap my head around

I mention having studied as a sculptor for 4 yrs a lot when I get asked about my process but I really do think it was extremely helpful to my 2D art progression (more than anything else, really - I kinda sucked at sculpting).

It hardwired my brain to think of everything I make in 3D terms. Even when we were doing figure studies on paper, it was emphasised that we imagine the figure in three dimensional volumes, and pay attention to how the light and shadows wrapped 'round each individual form. Now, when I paint, I think of "sculpting" the painting out with my brush - when I add shadow to a cheekbone, I imagine I am smoothing the form away with my thumb in order to make the plane of the cheek curve more towards the darkness, and I imagine the different values within that shadow area as well. When I carve out a piece of the nose to form its shape, I think of how this new shape affects the shadows it is casting on the cheeks or mouth. Knowing exactly where your light source is from the start is very important for this.

And I know "think of everything in 3D and imagine the light/shadows wrapping around an object" is super common advice, but I don't think a lot of people mention that it's not just a mindset you can slip into immediately, it's something you have to train up just like any of your other art skills. You kinda have to brute force yourself to ignore that you're working on a flat canvas, and let go of all shorthands (instead of only visualising the nose as a flat image, as it exists in profile in the image you're referencing, imagine how it might look if suddenly the model turned their head towards you. Think of how the planes of the nose are curving away from you to create that rounded shape of the tip, think of what you can't see but you know exists on the other side, etc.)

But of course, it's hard to do this if you've never studied what a nose looks like at different angles. You need to build your mental library so you can enter that space easier. So 3D reference in general is still very important to me; I work better when I can spin something around and see how the light changes or curves because it helps me understand it, rather than just copying what I see in flat 2D ref. I rarely guess at anything I'm not sure of - whenever I need them, I either take references of myself or someone I know, and sometimes I use a simple head sculpt I made in blender ages ago when I'm lazy/need to figure out a more complicated lighting situation. I treat every drawing as a learning experience and try to solidify more of my existing knowledge through it. I even had a small head I'd sculpted in real clay for a while. When I'm in the mood for doing studies I'll sometimes set up a bunch of different lighting scenarios with the 3D head or a 3D-printed skull I have and do quick micropaintings, to refresh my memory. One of the other things I do, for example, is take a flat reference imagine whose lighting I like, re-create that lighting in 3D, then turn the 3D head around to see how it would look under that light source at different angles.

I'm also constantly observing things in the real world. Whenever I'm watching movies my eyes and brain are immediately drawn to the lighting and colors, how the shadows change whenever someone retreats from dark into light etc. I make notes of these or screenshot to do studies later. Whenever I'm hanging out with people and I notice an interesting lighting situation happening I ask them to let me take a picture so I can study it later, or add it to the reference vault. I love to people watch, I look at nature, I'm probably the spaciest person to hang out with but it's helped with the art lmao. Again, this is also something that you can consciously train yourself to do, it didn't come innately to me.

And uhh, honestly sometimes I think it helps that I use a lot of dramatic lighting in most of my portraits. It's easier to sort of "cheese" three dimensionality when you have such a defined separation between dark and light. The first thing I do is paint in the darkest shadow on any painting, then work outward from that. You can use things like the shadow's penumbra, the terminator shadow and ambient occlusion to push the three dimensionality further.

Anyway in relation to this I think of painting more in terms of value rather than color. I don't paint in b&w but over time I've come to learn the values of colors instinctively, though I sometimes apply a black and white filter on top and toggle it on whenever I wanna check if I'm on the right track. Then on top of that, apply colour theory such as different coloured bounce light and sub surface scattering, the colors in different zones of the face, etc.

To summarise, it mostly comes down to studying a lot, training yourself to visualise everything in a 3D space, being observant, making every drawing a learning experience, and training yourself to discard what you 'think' an eye or mouth looks like so you don't fall back on those shorthands whenever you're drawing something more realistic. Grab some clay and make a ball, do some studies of it.

Hopefully this helped shed light on my thinking process in some way; explaining things is usually when I remember english is my second language, I never know if I'm making any sense haha.

#text #as much as training myself to think like this has been helpful I also feel like it's been a bit detrimental #because I have a harder time making cartoonier more stylised art even when i want to.#also of course I am hugely inspired by artists who do a lot of realistic portraiture and I stare at their paintings a lot & save them #pinterest hates 2 see me coming

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goodgirlofglory · 2 years ago

Text

A successful trial run/ One-shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 9,2k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, explicit language, smut, making out, nipple-play, dry-humping, coming in pants hehe, me making up a lot of unconvincing sciency talk about tech and engineering and whatnot.

Summary: As a newly recruited scientist in the royal technical institute of Wakanda, your first task involves a certain Winter Soldier fresh out of cryostasis and in need of a new arm. Intrigued by his mysterious figure since forever, you’re brimming with fascination over the subject. Little did you anticipate capturing his eye in return.

Note: This takes place somewhere between Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Avengers Infinity War. Kinda wanted to write something from the time Bucky spent in Wakanda. I enjoyed writing this one, hope you enjoy reading it😘 Likes, replies and reblogs are amazing. Luv you guys, you are the best, i am always so grateful and excited to receive all your feedback💕💕🦋

The first time the Winter Soldier entered the lab, he was flanked by the entire Dora Milaje and led by the king himself. Apart from the usual ceremony of greeting the king and his guest of honor, no one seemed jittered nor particularly preoccupied with the new project - or its primary subject. The engineers, scientists and technicians of the royal technical institute and Wakandan Design group were used to making much more extravagant and complicated designs than a prosthetic arm.

It was a regular Tuesday for everyone - except you, that was. Extraordinarily gifted from a young age, you had quickly advanced and surpassed your peers and even superiors in your studies at the university of the capitol. Subsequently, you were the youngest person in the lab - apart from princess Shuri herself.

And you were almost jumping out of your skin with excitement at having the Winter Soldier as your very first test subject. Or rather, you were on the team that was to build his next vibranium arm. You’d read all about him and watched all the news over the years, but you had started working in the lab after he’d been brought to Wakanda and put in cryostasis, so you’d never actually seen him in the flesh. Now he was out of cryo for rehabilitation and with that came the need for a new arm. Shuri had picked the team herself, and to your utter surprise, chosen you as a part of it.

Your task was fairly simple: organize and execute the fitting of the prosthetic prototypes with the subject himself, take notes and report to the team whatever adjustments the soldier would prefer. The others would do most of the engineering, creative modeling and building - the more prestigious work. You didn’t really care that your tasks were relatively simple and low level though - it was an amazing learning experience for a newbie like you. Plus, it meant you were the primary contact person for the soldier himself, which had you flushing hot for both professional and decidedly less professional reasons.

The soldier was an enigma; lethal chaos and extreme discipline spliced inside the body of what was once a regular American. His mythos was both intriguingly detailed and all at once a mystery - a sort of dangerous puzzle you couldn’t help but be drawn to like a moth to a flame. Everything he had lived and experienced and represented was so very very far from your own safe and mundane world. It wasn’t that growing up in Wakanda had been boring per se, but everything was just so… perfect, and despite yourself, you were drawn to the Winter Soldier and the extraordinary case of his unusual life. And from the moment you’d laid eyes on him, you knew you were out of your depth.

He was beautiful - in a rugged, unpolished sort of way; raw and hauntingly real, he only seemed to move when it served the explicit purpose of his visit. Otherwise, he stood still as a statue. He had an air of mystery to him, but despite his huge, menacing and burly form, he wasn’t scary. His eyes were soft, the babiest of blue, his stubble revealed tiny streaks of silver, and his hair, though washed and groomed, had a consistently shaggy look to it that made him seem…human. Just another regular white guy to everyone else in the lab - the most intriguing person in Wakanda to you.

Along with the king, the soldier had silently shaken the hand of everyone on the team, looking them in the eyes with a polite, though quite stoic expression that betrayed nothing of what was happening on the inside. You’d stared at him as he'd made his way down the line, scrutinized every inch of his face, trying to gauge the tiniest twitch of muscle, any indication or hint of emotion - to your utter astonishment, you could see nothing. Then he'd reached where you stood at the end of the line of team members, and your heart'd kicked into a sprint at the way he suddenly loomed before you in all his muscled, mystical and deadly glory. Holy shit, he was huge, surely a foot taller than you, with the most obscenely broad shoulders and thighs that bulged in a way that had your mouth going dry.

Get yourself together! Stop ogling the subject!, you had admonished yourself harshly.

By the time you got back in contact with your body and reached a hand out to him, your palms were sweaty and your face hot. And then, as he engulfed your hand in his pale, calloused one, hot like a multilayered sonic solar panel during july, you thought you saw a muscle near his eye twitch, catching your gaze the same way his eyes did a moment later when they glinted with something suspiciously alike curiosity, a flashing moment of undivided interest that had you flushing even hotter.

Oh yeah, you were in big, big trouble.

Three months later you no longer broke out in panicked sweating whenever Barnes came in for a fitting (most of the time). You’d had a total of four meetings so far, all of which had been professional, short and silent. Barnes hadn’t spoken more than a few words to you in all your time together in the lab, and none of them of much importance.

("Here?" he'd asked that first fitting when you’d asked him to take a seat on the surgical bench.

"No" he'd said when you asked if the new fastenings at his shoulder were uncomfortable.

"Yes", he'd said when you’d asked if the first prototype arm was lighter than what he was used to.

Other than that, the winter soldier mostly communicated in grunts, nods and shakes of his head.)

The hiss of the sliding door alerted you to his arrival as you were readying the newest prototype for the fitting, and just like always, the door was the only sound even hinting at his presence. He was impossibly silent for a guy his size.

“Sit down, please, I’ll be ready in a moment,” you threw over your shoulder, keeping your eyes on the clasps you would try on the shoulder today.

When he didn’t answer and you could hear no sound of the shifting padding on the surgical bench, you threw a look over your shoulder and froze.

Barnes stood by the bench, his one flesh arm raised high, fingers adjusting something on the…bun on the back of his head. His…bun of…gorgeous, thick locks of shaggy brown hair. You gulped, a tingling sensation of adrenaline starting to well up in your chest. He hadn’t worn his hair like that before, at least not around you, and man were you a sucker for a nice hair do on a man. Combined with this man it seemed to be suddenly and quite effectively lethal. His locks were collected and pulled away from his face, revealing high, chiseled cheekbones and a jawline that could cut diamonds and -

A screw fell out of your hand as your mind worked overtime to process the image before you, and then, so quickly you didn’t even see him move, the soldier was there, crouching at your feet, catching the screw before it could clink onto the floor.

It felt like an eternity went by as you stared at his bent form slowly straighten up up up to his full height, the screw looking more like a grain of sand in his big, calloused and rough hand, his body so close you swore you could feel the warmth radiating off him. The lulling scent of fresh earth and spices filled your nose, taking you to luscious lands far away.

You heard the hitch in your tiny, involuntary intake of air like a siren in a dead silent night, and your face blazed to a million fucking degrees, your heart galloping in your chest. Swallowing thickly, you looked up into his pale eyes - eyes that betrayed nothing in an equally neutral face.

Fuckfuckfuck, he’s so close. Fuck, his eyes are so blue, shit, he smells good, is that freckles on his cheek bones -

He held the screw out expectantly, and you mentally shook yourself for being so fucking slow. Stop ogling him! Take the screw! With fingers you were relieved to see didn’t tremble, you reached out and plucked it from his light grasp, furiously not hyperfocusing on where your skin grazed his.

“Um,” you started, and painfully cleared your throat before trying again, cheeks burning, “t-thanks. Please, sit.”

He stayed unmoving for half a second longer than was strictly necessary, and then he turned and moved to sit on the surgical bench.

Turning back to your table of tools, you took a few calming breaths, breathing as softly as you could in case the soldier could hear you (which he probably could quite well considering what you’d read about his enhanced body and senses.)

You turned back to find him watching you from a seated position on the bench, eyes following your movement as you walked up towards him, pulling your table behind you. You plastered on your best carefree smile and picked up the prototype vibranium arm, sleek black with silver accents, and like you always did, held it up so he could inspect it if he chose to. Like always, he didn’t seem remotely interested in the design. Only, he didn’t stare ahead out into the room like he usually did during these parts of the fittings. Instead his eyes remained on you, his form so fucking unmoving he could be a statue. You swallowed thickly, absurdly nervous. His scent still lingered in your mind.

He’d removed his shirt, revealing the new shoulder prosthesis in the same black as the arm, fitted to mold over his scarred tissue and make a clean transition from steel to skin. Your eyes caught on the tiny sliver of golden, muscled skin peeking out from where his white t-shirt had been cut above the shoulder, and you quickly averted your gaze even as your mind started conjuring images of wide expanses of soft, golden skin under the tips of your fingers as you explored under rays of soft, morning sunlight.

Why did he have to look so god damned good, with his stupid hair up in a stupid bun and stupid t-shirt that dared show even a square centimeter of his stupid skin, you thought perturbed as you started fitting the arm to the shoulder, hands working on autopilot while your mind frayed at the edges.

All through the fitting, you felt his eyes linger on you, not staring per se, just…observing. Three times you peeked up from your work to catch his eyes on yours, and three times you hastily averted your gaze back, your cheeks heating anew, your heart picking up speed. He’d never done that before. He’d always just stared at the floor or the wall during his fittings, eyes vacant, seemingly far far away. He’d never been fully present, never watched you, very rarely met your eyes. It was what had kept your own visceral reactions to such a minimum you could easily manage them. But now, under his weighty gaze, your body started tingling all over, sweat gathering on your brow, your breathing going just slightly too fast. You didn’t know if it was excitement or some instinctive fight or flight-reflex kicking into gear. Why was he looking at you like that?

“There,” you said just a little too hastily when at last the final screw was in place. You retreated to the other side of the room under the guise of organizing your tools back into their rightful place on the wall. “Please test it out, feel how it fits, tell me how it feels,” you said with your back to him, reciting the instructions you always gave him during this part of the fitting. Usually, you observed him closely as he walked around the room, lifting the arm, flexing the fingers and grabbing at random objects to test grip and reactivity. Now it was all you could do to not flee the room all together due to how embarrassingly flustered you were. The fittings in themselves weren’t really necessary from an engineering perspective - the royal technical institute all but guaranteed the highest mark of quality and a near zero percent chance of faults. The fittings were more beneficial from a psychological point of view - to give the subject a smooth transitional introduction to their new limb.

You heard him shuffling about for some time while you randomly moved tools and screws around your table while trying to collect and promptly ban all the inappropriate thoughts running wild in your head. It was so unprofessional to be affected like this! Sure, he was handsome (wildly so) but you couldn’t call yourself a proper scientist if you acted like this! It was disgraceful! Even as you scolded yourself for being this way around the poor, innocent hunk - SUBJECT - your mind flooded with the thoughts you tried so hard to keep at bay. What did his hair feel like sliding through your fingers? Did he always gaze so intently? What would those eyes look like in dark rooms surrounded by soft sheets? What would that new metal hand look like wrapped around your -

The sound of a throat clearing had you yelping - for fuck’s sake, girl - and whipping around to find him right behind you, looking down at you with that expression that betrayed nothing.

You stared up at him for a moment, heart thumping in your chest, stunned to silence by his clear initiation of contact, and then abruptly found your sense.

“Does it feel right? Is anything uncomfortable or -”

Your words died out as he extended the vibranium hand between you. He let it hover there, hand straight, expectant. You stared for a moment, and then praised yourself for daring to reach your own hand out to clasp his, a bit unused to the flip to using your left hand to shake his, hoping to God this was what he was getting at and that you didn’t just make a fool of yourself.

Your interpretation was correct, and the smooth, slightly cold metal closed around you, dwarfing your hand. The soldier squeezed your fingers and then shook your hand a bit stiffly a couple of times before stilling. You gulped, acutely aware of your heartbeat running a gallop in your chest, the silence around you so severe you could hear your own breathing like a wind tunnel. The feel of the vibranium, so alive in this form and shape, squeezing your fingers in a firm, unyielding grip had new, strange sensations slowly trickling south, and you fought the instinct to clench your thighs as unwelcome heat pooled in your lower stomach. Mortified by your own, inappropriate and decidedly unprofessional reaction, you hoped to all the dead kings and Bast herself that the soldier didn’t notice. Disturbingly, there came no sound from the soldier, not even from his breathing.

After a moment of nothing happening, the both of you just standing there, clasping hands, you dared a peek up at his face. He was watching you again, but instead of pale, dead eyes, the blue of his irises simmered with something…something hot and wicked and -

You abruptly pulled your hand out of his grasp, and gave him a far too fake gleeful smile. “Good grip,” you jipped, voice coming out far too strained and shrill to be casual. Barnes looked at you with those captivating eyes for a moment longer before looking down at his vibranium hand, flexing the fingers a little.

“It’s perfect,” he said.

It took you a moment to register the words, and then elation swept through you. You smiled and clapped your hands together and spun to go note his comment down. “How wonderful, I’m so glad,” you said, not able to keep the excitement out of your voice. A happy subject meant you’d fulfilled your task! The project could move onto its final stages of rendering and documentation. Happy progress! You scribbled down some fast notes on the screws and fastenings, how he’d tested grip by shaking your hands and his own feedback, putting his exact words down as a quote.

“The team will be so happy to learn you’re satisfied, they talked so much about the latest updates on the interface between sensory input and mechanical automobility - they wouldn’t shut up about it for days, I swear to Bast,” you said, the words falling out of your mouth in your excitement, and then you turned back towards him and again fell silent.

He was staring at you, and for the first time, you could actually detect emotions on his face. He looked…dumbfounded, or something akin to that, watching you with avid eyes, mouth slightly open and brows for once out of their trademark downturned frown. You were stunned yourself for a moment seeing him so out of character, and then you promptly lowered your gaze.

Oh great, first you’re fumbling and awkward and then you start rambling like a lunatic. What is wrong with you?, you asked yourself silently. You cleared your throat and motioned for him to sit back on the bench. He obliged, and you found yourself slightly disappointed to see him schooling away his emotion behind the stoic mask.

“So, I’ll have to take the arm off so it can be finalized, and then you’ll just have to have it fastened a final time, and then you’ll have your arm, Mr. Barnes,” you said as you got to work unscrewing and removing the prosthetic limb. He nodded, eyes glued to you like before. He didn’t seem happy, or if he was, he didn’t show it. You hoped he’d feel elated like you did, but considered how the whole metal arm thing might still be a little complicated for him. You wondered if he was going to a therapist, or a support group or anything. You didn’t dare ask, though. “I imagine the finalizing process won’t take much more than two weeks. I’ll send you a suggestion for the next appointment once it’s clear, and you can confirm using your compad like before. Sound good?” you asked, thankful you could keep a clear head through this part at least.

“Yes,” he said, still watching your eyes as you removed the arm and returned it to the table. You nodded to him, and managed to stay upright until the door hissed shut behind him as he left. Then you curled into a mortified little ball and hid your flaming face in your hands.

Fucking. Great.

Your heart had been hammering harder for every mile that passed as your cruiser made its way into the heart of the Wakandan landscape. The prosthetic arm had been finalized within a couple of days and your superiors thought the best course of action was sending you out to fasten it instead of demanding Barnes make his way into the capitol on such short notice. Which meant you were on your way to his home, to be completely alone with him…in his home.

Part of you was insatiably curious to see how he lived, to peer into such a private, revealing place. Everyone knew seeing how a person lived was like seeing a reflection of their soul. Your apartment for instance, was a hot fucking mess, but one you could navigate perfectly. You hadn’t allowed yourself to picture Barnes’s home, though, or make any assumptions. How he lived was of no scientific interest, and therefore no interest to you! Or so you told yourself, at least…

It’s fine. Everything is fine, you chanted in your head as the cruiser arrived at its destination, the small hut Barnes had been gifted as his indefinite residence. It was a beautiful place to keep a residence, right by the river, the surrounding trees providing plenty of shade from the hot sun and a gorgeous view over the plains. It only made you more curious about Barnes, and subsequently, more furious with yourself.

Everything is fine.

As you shut the motor down and climbed out of the vehicle, his large, burly figure emerged from the hut, and a spike of energy went off inside you as you locked eyes with Barnes. He was as stoic as ever, but he walked up to meet you right away and surprised you when he reached to grab the case with the arm in it to carry it for you.

“Hi,” you said, and quickly added, “um, thanks for being available at such a short notice.”

You’d felt kinda foolish for giving such a roomy deadline prognosis at his last fitting only for it to take a few days, and were sweating with the hope it hadn’t inconvenienced him in any way. There was a whole delicate, psychological process involved in getting a new limb - a process one shouldn’t meddle too much in - especially when there was significant trauma involved in losing the original limb. Fuck, you were so nervous.

He looked a bit puzzled for a moment, brows drawn down in consideration.

“No. Thank you for coming all this way,” he said a bit haltingly, and to your astonishment, he sounded almost as unsure of himself as you felt. Uncomfortable warmth spread in your chest. That must have been the longest sentence he’d ever spoken to you. His voice was low and gruff, a smooth rumble that seemed to vibrate through the ground, across to you and straight into your chest. Fuuck, how were you supposed to survive that voice, and with him being uncharacteristically timid and polite?

Suddenly you felt like laughing. Here you were, both of you so awkward and unsure, and what for? This was a joyous occasion, for Bast's sake, and you were being silly! Forcing your nerves down, you leveled him with a smile.

“Not at all. Let’s get that arm on, shall we?” you said, letting your actual excitement for the happening fill you instead. You were after all, genuinely excited to finally give Barnes his new prosthetic limb, and see him back to full mobility.

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes fluttering around your face, and then abruptly stepped aside and gestured for you to proceed him into the hut. You obliged, holding your spirits high as you dared venture past the curtain and inside the hut.

Barnes’s home was sparsely furnished but…surprisingly cozy. Brightly coloured pillows, blankets and tapestries lay everywhere, a window to the right letting in the bright, midday sun, casting a glowing light on everything. You recognised the patterns and color scheme from your own parents and grandparents houses, it was a traditional home in all senses of the words. You’d think Barnes would stick out like a sore thumb here, but really, he seemed to fit in well. There was a low table to the left with stacks of books and a mug on it, surrounded by more pillows and blankets. Your eyes caught on and swiftly ignored the cot at the back of the hut, made perfectly with a mountain of pillows.

That’s where he sleeps. That’s where he rests. That’s where he’s most vulnerable. That’s where you would lay if he - NO!

Barnes squeezed around you where you stood just inside the entrance studying the space, and you quite viscerally realized how small the hut was for the two of you, how small it was for him alone really. This was gonna be way more tight and intimate than the lab, you thought with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

Barnes put the case down by the low table and proceeded to start clearing the table of books and pens and the mug. He looked down into the mug and then over at you.

“Coffee?” he asked, and taken aback by the unexpected question, you shook your head quickly before immediately regretting it. It would’ve been more polite to accept, and you did feel a bit strung out by your morning so far.

Barnes nodded in response, and then seemed at a loss, turning the mug in his hand. Was he…fidgeting?

“Where do you -?” he started, and you cut him off.

“Right there is fine. We can sit on the floor, no problem,” you said reassuringly, giving him another smile, suddenly filled with sweetness for this big hulk of a man and his nervous fidgeting. He nodded and proceeded to plump down where you assumed he normally sat. You quelled a smile at how normalcy seemed to bleed through even this exceedingly awkward situation, and was kind of enamored by the way Barnes seemed to relax once he was seated in his usual spot. It gave you the impression that this space was a comfort to him, which you were glad to see.

You neared and sat down on your knees at his side, opening the case and swiftly taking out everything you needed as he took off his shirt to reveal the same t-shirt he used to wear underneath, sleeveless on the left side. Without further ado, you started the process of permanently fastening the arm. You slipped into a calm concentration as you worked, the familiarity and comfort of your skills calming you, a comfortable silence descending upon you both, only interrupted by the sounds of your electric screwdriver. The whole thing took no longer than ten minutes, and then you sat back and looked upon Barnes in silence as he took in his new arm, knowing it was finally, and wholly, his.

He stared down at it for a long while, and then the hut was filled with sounds of gentle, almost silent whirring as he started flexing mechanical muscles, then fingers, then the whole arm, lifting it to examine and compare to his other arm, running them both through his loose hair and picking up different items on his table and tossing them lightly from hand to hand. He seemed completely engrossed, and for long minutes it seemed almost like he’d forgotten you were even there as he explored his new arm.

It was awe-inspiring to see, to be allowed to observe such a vulnerable moment, to witness him seemingly letting himself really connect to this new possibility of having two arms and two hands again, in a way he hadn’t even seemed to entertain while in the fittings. It touched something deep inside you, witnessing with honor what you hoped might be a moment of healing, and tears pricked the back of your eyes. It felt so incredibly moving to be part of a team that could give something like this to a person who’d been through so much hardship, and the feeling filled you, making you feel all warm. This was why you’d gotten into this field, this was why you wanted to be a scientist. To be able to help people recover precious things lost.

Your heart swelled with emotion, and then Barnes looked at you, his own astonished joy blasted clear across his face, completely unencumbered, letting you see it without any pretense or facades. Your breath caught in your throat at the sheer volume of his joy, and how intimate him sharing it so openly with you was. You were stunned.

And then you kissed him.

One moment you were looking at his broad smile full of slightly crooked, white teeth, and then you’d leaned across your own knees and half across his and unceremoniously pressed your lips to his. It was closed-mouthed and a bit off-center, your bottom lip caught awkwardly on his top one. But sparks crackled through your body all the same as you felt how soft his lips were, how warm his skin was, the slightly surprised gust of warm, gentle air from his nostrils.

And then your senses kicked in, mortification hot on their heels, and you broke the kiss abruptly, all but ready to flee the hut. You didn’t get the chance to move away though, before cool metal fingers slid up the sensitive skin of your throat and back to cup your neck, gently, but firmly pulling you right back into the kiss.

A fire caught in your loins, sizzling hot sparks shooting up your body and you drew in a shaky breath through your nose only for the air to be caught in your throat, making a small, needy, desperately embarrassing sound. The metal fingers on your neck tightened at the sound.

You felt completely blown off your center. Nothing had felt this good before, nothing in your whole, perfect life full of joys and pleasures and fulfillment had felt so sensationally good as James Buchanan Barnes's lips on yours while his brand new prosthetic hand cradled your neck.

The surge of desire that welled from that feeling propelled you to buck forward and crawl into his laps, straddling him with even more clumsy frenzy as you kissed him again. He answered in kind, his flesh hand landing tentatively on your hip before moving up your back to pull you tighter against him once he seemingly caught on to the fact that you were there in his lap of your own fruition.

You kissed again and again, hungry, exploring, closed-mouthed but growing more desperate, more daring. You opened your mouth to catch your breath and was met by the shy swipe of his tongue just inside your mouth, and your whole body shuddered at the sensation before you wrapped your arms around his neck and swiped your own tongue to meet his.

A growl came out of nowhere and exploded in Barnes’s chest as you tongue-kissed him with everything you had, and then the world was spinning, and your back hit the brightly earth-coloured rug. Barnes followed you closely, and laid down on top of you, pinning you down with his huge, burly body, claiming your mouth in an honest-to-Bast breath-taking kiss.

It was explosively good, this gorgeous, muscled beast of a man pinning you to the ground, broad shoulders shielding you from everything above, leaning on his elbows while his hands cradled your face, holding you perfectly still as his mouth descended upon yours again and again, growing hungrier with every kiss. Your mind whirled with images of his metal arm wrapping around your throat, pinning you down, tearing your clothes to shreds and holding you put exactly where he wanted while the soldier ravished you, and it became even harder to pull air into your flaming lungs. You heard yourself whimpering into the kisses, your own desperation growing like a galloping crescendo inside you. You were suddenly, unexpectedly, and totally irrationally ready for him to tear your clothes off and take you right there on the floor of his hut, heat flaming in your lower stomach, a molten ache starting to let itself be known between your legs, everything else in the world be damned and forgotten if you could just feel him ins -

A small beeping sound cut through the fog of desire overtaking you, and it took you a moment for your melting brain to recognise it as your pager. You wrenched out of the kiss and put your hands on Barnes’s broad, warm chest, feeling his strong heartbeat jackhammer beneath the layers of clothes and flesh. His lips followed you for a split second, his eyes opening to slits in order to find you again. Then, as he realized you’d intentionally ended the kiss, he immediately let you push him half-way off you to fish the pager out of your pocket. It was your boss, they needed you back by lunch.

Fuck

Fuck, what the fuck were you doing? It dawned on you the incredibly inappropriate situation you were in, had put yourself and Barnes in. This was reckless and rash and completely not who you were or had ever been. With anyone! No, no, no, this was bad, you were so fucking stupid. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes as you pushed him gently all the way off you to sit back on his haunches and swiftly extracted yourself from under him and got to your feet.

You were mortified, absolutely mortified, shame and embarrassment and guilt washing over you in tidal waves, slamming into your chest.

“I’m so sorry, that was so…um…I have to go, but er, enjoy your hand - ARM and hand,” you sputtered out as you began fleeing the hut all together. Then you remembered what you were supposed to say upon leaving, and turned while halfway out the door, “If you have any trouble or complications, don’t hesitate to contact the institute. On behalf of the technical institute and design group, we hope you will be pleased with the product. Um, bye!”

Barnes remained in the same seated position on the floor while you made your stumbling exit, and you missed the look of longing in his eyes as you left.

A week passed while you marinated in your own embarrassment and guilt, trying and failing to get the whole incident in the hut out of your mind. Partly because it was the most unprofessional and out-of-control thing you’d ever done, and partly because you just couldn’t get the memory of Barnes’s lips out of your head. The warmth emanating from him like a furnace, the way his hands gripped you gently, but possessively, the thrill that had gone through you when he flipped you and pinned you to the floor like you were nothing more than a rag doll. Had he been as turned on as you? Had he enjoyed himself? Surely he’d enjoyed it a little bit with the way he’d reciprocated, but had he really wanted it?

You shook yourself out of your daydream for probably the dozenth time that day, not a single word written on the personal essay you were to turn in with your other documentation in a couple of days. Fuuuck, this was so bad, you had to be able to focus and put this from your mind! If you were lucky and if everything went as it should with the prosthetic, Barnes would have no reason to contact the institute and seek you out ever again, and you would never have to see him again after your blunder.

The project would be over soon, you would move on to new ones and the one tether you had to Barnes would be severed. It was best for everyone if you just forgot the whole thing.

Except, in your panicked flight from his home, you’d completely forgotten the case that had contained the prosthetic arm, along with some screws and your most beloved screwdriver. You hadn’t even noticed it was left behind until you were halfway back to the lab, and had been completely at a loss on what to do. You couldn’t go back after the way you’d left, but you couldn’t just leave it either. The equipment wasn’t of that much value and the lab had plenty more, so that wasn’t the greatest issue. But you loved that screwdriver, and felt it as an obligation to retrieve it. Plus, it wasn’t fair to just leave it there, in Barnes’s home, what use did he have of it? Still, you couldn’t bear the thought of going back after the way you’d left….

Your head thumped down onto the workbench at the back of your lab. You were spiraling down the rabbit hole of warring thoughts for the upteenth time that day and was about to hurl something at the wall when the clearing of a throat came out of nowhere.

Whipping your head up, you practically leapt from your chair when you saw Barnes standing in the middle of your lab, clad in light pants and a loose-fitting half-sleeved shirt, completely unexpected, looking exceedingly unsure of himself (...and obscenely gorgeous)

Your immediate thought went to his arm, but as far as you could see, it was still intact and working perfectly from the way he clenched and unclenched the vibranium hand at his side. Then your eyes slipped to his other hand, and saw the case he held in it.

“I, um, hello, I thought you might like this back,” he said, looking down and holding out the hand with the case. You immediately walked up to him and took it.

“Thank you! So much, you didn’t have to come all this way just for that,” you rushed to say, feeling sheepish and grateful at the same time.

“Oh no, I, uh…I…I have some errands in the… uh, the city and whatnot,” he said, and you almost smiled a little at the way he suddenly fumbled for words. Was this even the same guy that had pinned you to the floor and ravished your mouth a week ago? The same guy that had walked into the lab that first day, all menacing silence and calculated movement.

“Oh, okay, well, this was really nice of you, thank you again. Um, what did you say to the guards to get in here?” you asked, suddenly remembering the levels of clearing he had to go through to get here. Did he tell the truth? Would your superiors know you forgot the case? That you’d made a fool of yourself and made the whole institute look chaotic and unprofessional?

“I told them I had some more questions about the arm, and that I wanted to speak with you since you’re so knowledgeable and good at your job,” Barnes said, waving his metal hand in the air a little as if to show you it was indeed made of vibranium.

He’d protected you? Kept your secret? A warm sense of giddyness spread through you, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling to broadly.

“God, you didn’t have to tell them all that,” you said, feeling warmth bloom on your cheeks from his compliments.

“I meant it, though,” he said seriously, and then he took a step towards you, “And I wanted to, needed to apologize…for what happened at my house…last week.”

Your heart surged in your chest and you couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. Apologize? What could he have to apologize for? You were the one who’d acted out of line. Did he regret what’d happened? What if you’d overstepped his boundaries and added more to his trauma?

“No, no, please, I’m the one who should apologize here. It was completely unprofessional to do that when I was working on a project with you, and so inappropriate to force myself upon you like that, all in this emotional moment and without knowing if you’d enjoy it or -”

“I enjoyed it,” he interrupted, voice clear and strong.

You looked up to find him another step closer. So big, and strong, and handsome, your insatiable desire whispered to you as he gazed down into your eyes, only inches between you. You wanted to kiss him again suddenly, your lips tingled with it.

“You did?” you asked, only half paying attention as you lost yourself in his heavenly baby blue eyes, framed by thick lashes paled by the sun. Your eyes flicked down to his full lips, and when they went back to his eyes, they glinted with a spark of that same ferociousness that’d awakened in him on that floor in his hut. A glint that had your lower stomach going all molten.

He nodded, breathing a little laugh that surprised you. Your heart started soaring in your chest despite your best efforts to keep from getting ahead of yourself.

“Yeah,” he breathed, swallowing and licking his lips, “a lot. I, uh, I was really sorry to see you leave so abruptly too - before I could speak with you,” he said.

Arousal welled up in your body, and you felt a little dizzy all of a sudden. He’d enjoyed it…

“Me too,” you whispered, not trusting your voice not to crack.

He took a final, tiny step closer, too close for any kind of professionalism or even decency, really, so close you could almost sense the atoms sparking to life in the tiny space between your bodies. Just like that, you were back in his hut, the moment swelling to level with the heavy, sizzling churn of when he'd flipped you to the carpet and caged you in underneath him. He had such a presence, his body thrumming with life and power and fuck, you wanted it on top of you. Again.

“I’m relieved to hear that. And,” he said, slowly reaching his flesh hand to tentatively cup your neck, hot and possessive in one, tender gesture, his calloused thumb coming up to stroke over your jaw, the intimate touch sending fireworks through your nervous system, ”though I don’t want to disrespect your work ethic, I’d like to point out that we’re not working on the same project anymore, so if you’d like to -”

The case hit the floor with a loud bang the moment you wrapped your arms around Barnes’s neck and threw yourself into his arms, your lips meeting in a sizzling kiss. Barnes caught you around the waist and hauled you up into his arms, your feet dangling off the ground as he crushed you to his chest, returning the kiss tenfold.

His tongue was immediately in your mouth this time, licking hot and wet and dominatingly over your own, and you whimpered at the sheer intensity, the way it blazed to a fire in your loins.

You clung to him like your life depended on it, and moaned into his mouth as you felt him turn and lower you to the bench in the lab, not letting much space get in between you before he draped himself over you and continued putting his mouth to yours. Your hands found their agency and started moving, mapping out his shoulders, feeling the muscle ripple under your fingertips as you caressed down his chest and around his sides to stroke his long, chiseled back.

His loose cotton shirt rode up as he moved to step further in between your opening legs, pressing himself closer, and your hands were unable to resist the pull as your fingers met the hot flesh of his lower back, stroking over silky smooth skin up again under his shirt.

His whole body shuddered against you, a small gasp emanating from him as he broke the kiss, and your excitement went through the roof. You opened your eyes and stared at his expression going lax, eyes closing and mouth hanging slightly open as you continued your caress up his back. You hooked your hands over his shoulder and pulled him down to you again, nibbling on his lip before kissing his open mouth, your fingertips dancing in swirling patterns down his back.

His body shuddered again.

“Oh my god,” he whispered a little breathlessly against your mouth, mostly to himself it seemed, and your discovery made you almost feverish with desire.

He was sensitive, and probably more than a little touch-starved.

You brought your hands forward and found the top button on his shirt, staring to undo it as you breathed into each other's mouths. You’d gotten to the third one when Barnes gave a (admittedly adorable) little huff of impatience and pulled free to wrench his shirt over his head, revealing a sculpted torso right out of your wettest dream. You had to take a moment just to stare at him, hard abs, flat stomach, pecs that stretched into rounded, muscled, obscenely broad shoulders. Tight, sculpted muscles that shone in the dimmed, bluish fluorescents of the ceiling lights, one muscled arm with prominent veins running down to a calloused hand, one arm reflecting the lights in shiny, sculpted, black vibranium.

His chest rose and fell with his labored breath, his abs flexing, the muscles of his torso and arms tensing and shifting as he stood before you and it was just so different from the statuesque, almost frugal way he’d moved before, when he only exerted energy at the utmost importance. This man was alive in a completely different way. And he was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

You’d barely raked your eyes up to his and caught the feral glint in his eyes before he was on you again, ripping your lab coat open and sliding his hands up and down your sides. His touch sent shivers of warmth through you and you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you. That only seemed to spur him on. When his hands slid under the cotton sweater you wore, exploring the folds and dips of your abdomen, you shuddered. He was touching you like he hadn’t touched anyone before, all curious and explorative with just the hint of inexperienced clumsiness, fingers curious for such a mundane thing as the fold of skin over your ribcage as you lay there crouched beneath him.

Bast, you needed more, his touch sending you into a frenzy. You wanted him, all of him.

You started awkwardly extracting your arms from your lab coat, and when Barnes caught on, he was more than willing to help you shed it before his fingers went to the hem of your sweater. He paused then, and looked into your eyes for permission. You nodded, a bit eagerly perhaps, but whatever.

He slowly slid the fabric of your sweater up your torso, and in a move more gentle than you’d anticipated from the way he removed his own clothes, he bent down and tentatively kissed your stomach - right on your tummy, soft kisses following the fabric up. It stole your breath away as you watched the movement avidly.

He pushed the fabric all the way up over your bra, and reached with a curious hand to tug the cup down, revealing a hardened nipple. You were nearly shaking with want at this point, and shuddered embarrassingly hard when he took the nipple in his mouth and swiped his hot, wet tongue on it, nibbling gently and curiously with his teeth until you shuddered again.

You let your hands wander and found his hair, finally, finally getting to feel the soft, straight locks of hair sift through them, basking in the opportunity after having snuck peaks at it for months. It was even silkier than you’d imagined, despite its shaggy appearance. You combed your hands through his hair as he moved to suck on your other nipple, pulling the cup of your bra down to free your breast to the open air of the room.

Scraping your nails over his scalp, you felt the way his form trembled atop you, and he almost purred, a deep, rumbling groan vibrating through you and into the very bench beneath you. You scraped over his scalp again and bit your lip as it elicited another rumble.

He let your nipple go, puffy and a shade darker than usual from his bullying, and you watched the string of saliva connect it to his lips with a blush burgeoning on your face. Oh, this might get filthy, you thought to yourself, almost embarrassed by how much you liked it when he closed the distance between you and licked into your mouth again, seemingly not caring about his spit getting everywhere, the kiss messy and wet.

There was a tell-tale hard bulge pressing against the heated spot between your legs, and you rolled your hips down on it. Barnes gasped out of the kiss, looking almost shocked as he quickly looked down between your bodies to where he was pressed against you, and you wondered if he might’ve forgotten where all of these horny urges came from. You rolled your hips into him again, experimentally, and watched as realization hit him, as his eyelids drooped and a tiny groan escaped him. Then he rolled his hips to meet yours and it was your time to groan.

“Just like that,” you whispered encouragingly, and met his gaze as he returned his eyes to yours, watching you intently as he rolled his hips again and again, grinding himself between your legs.

He felt…big, to say the least, and he was grinding against your clothed clit in a way that you knew had you gushing into your panties. You could already feel the fabric getting soggy, sliding along your flesh as Barnes widened his step and grinded against you with more grounded precision.

Fuck, it felt so good it was getting hard to think, and when his - oh god - vibranium hand slid down your side to grab your hip, effortlessly pinning you down into the bench so he could grind even harder against your core, the breath in your lungs fucking punched out of you. You knew just how much strength was packed into that metal arm. Knew there was a fine line between using too much strength and keeping you pinned firmly enough so you couldn’t move your hips an inch. Barnes traversed that line perfectly.

Your pussy was on fire, the grinds of Bucky’s big, hard bulge against your clit too much while - simultaneously - the layers of clothes between you made it somehow not enough. It had been so long since you’d just frotted, clothed, like this, and you now wondered how you could’ve forgotten how fucking good it felt - or if it’d ever felt this good at all before. You seriously doubted it, for you couldn’t really believe it, but the rhythm and weight of Bucky's hips while his mouth lowered to mouth at your neck was somehow actually propelling you towards the edge.

You tried to move your hips to grind back, to make him go faster, harder, but found yourself utterly - and deliciously - fully at his mercy as he nuzzled the crook of your neck and laved his tongue on your skin, tasting it in that fascinating curiosity of his.

Fuck, it was right there, you could feel it, he was gonna make you come, you just needed a little more.

Through the haze of your impending, building release, you could hear yourself start to whimper. Needy and a little embarrassing, the sounds escaping you despite you biting your lip and clutching at Barnes’s shoulders, barely holding on as he hurled you towards that precipice.

His face suddenly appeared from the crook of your neck, and it took you a second to realize he had a look of confused concern on his face as he looked down on you.

To your utter distress, his hips slowed their steady, hard thrust against yours, and he gave you a once over you had a hard time understanding. Then it hit you that he must be concerned he’d done something wrong; that he’d mistaken your sounds of need for ones of pain or that you didn’t want it or something utterly ridiculous like that. Sweet, respectful, slightly confused and apparently wildly inexperienced man, you thought with an almost woeful endearment. You could feel yourself slipping further under the power of his spell as his eyes returned to your face, flitting about to try and decipher your expression.

That elusive orgasm you were dancing up to started to slip away as his hips grinded to a halt, and you reached out to cradle his face in near panic.

“No, please, please, please don’t stop. It’s so good, please,” you practically whined, trying to move your own hips to get more of that sweet, intoxicating friction. You barely managed a little squiggle under the pinning strength of his hand on your hip and his body on top of yours.

A great gust of breath whooshed out of him, and he started up his rhythm again almost immediately, meeting your tiny writhing with thrusts of his own like he just couldn’t help it, and you threw your head back, biting your lip and nodding frantically as the pleasure built inside you again, picking up just behind where you’d left off.

His hand, the one of flesh, slid up your torso to caress the exposed column of your neck, almost curiously, exploring, holding it in an almost tender grip as you moaned in delirium. His thrust grew harder, your moans louder and his hand gripped harder like he enjoyed the feeling of your moans being forced from you by his moving hips.

You could tell the moment he started climbing his own precipice, how his movement grew more focused, more intent, leaving all exploration behind to chase a goal with an almost singular, feral possession. His breaths turned to gasps, which turned to grunts and then low growls. His movement turned frantic, almost feral in their one mindedness. He was losing himself to the pleasure and you whined, mind turning to slush under the onslaught of his ferocity. You were going dumb on his cock and he hadn’t even taken it out of his pants. Didn’t matter, you were done for.

The wild, animalistic abandon with which he chased his own high was so blastingly hot it sent you tumbling over the edge almost entirely on its own. You gasped, your body tensing and then exploding under his as his grinding thrusts sent wave upon wave of searing, orgasmic bliss crashing into you, riding you so hard you nearly passed out.

Your sight went blurry, blood roaring in your ears, but you heard the moment his breath caught in his throat, such a vulnerable sound, and then the bulge pressed to the sticky, clothed cunt between your legs started throbbing in an uneven, staccato rhythm, which you could feel against you even through the layers of clothing separating you. His grip turned to bruising steel and you gasped anew as the intensity of the pain mixed with your abating orgasm, making a shocking, intoxicating cocktail of sensation blast through you.

He threw his head back, the thick column of his neck stretching taut, and growled like he was in pain, and it sent vibration straight through you down to the table beneath you. Fuck, he was like nothing you’d ever experienced - pure, raw power, lust, shocking honesty and a sense of almost ardent fascination - mixed together in this anomaly and mystery of a man.

It felt like several minutes passed as you tried to catch your breath and gather your mind from where it’d melted out of your ears to puddle on the bench around you. Bucky’s face had made its way into the crook of your neck, where he seemed just as slow and sluggish to come back down to earth. He was like a furnace on top of you, even hotter from his exertion, forehead damp and hot where it pressed to the sensitive skin of your neck.

His weight on you was a comforting one though, making you feel safe and protected, covered and nestled into a cocoon of muscles and warmth and soft, puffing breaths. Taking a cheeky chance, you carded a hand through his hair, the brown strands soft, glinting in the fluorescents above as they shifted through your fingers. Bucky’s whole form shivered as you raked your fingernails along his scalp, and the bulge nestled tight between your thighs and his body throbbed once as he grunted softly, neck twisting to push his head into your hand, almost like a cat rubbing against your palm to get more scritches.

A chuckle left your mouth as you kept carding your hand through Bucky’s hair. He looked up at you then, and the moment caught up with you. A blush had the audacity of spreading on your cheeks even after everything you’d just done. He looked into your eyes, silent but for your deep, still slightly labored breaths. You couldn’t help smiling.

He looked a little dazzled for a moment, then a slow, beautiful smile spread on his own lips to answer yours.

"Um, it's been a long time, and I d-don't remember much, but I'm pretty sure this is not how you court a lady properly," he said a bit self-deprecatingly. You chuckled again, and he joined, his form vibrating with myrth. He made no move to get off you though. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I don't know, this doesn't feel too bad," you said, and you could practically feel the relief in Bucky as he let you keep him laying draped across you.

"Still. I'd like to take you out sometime. It was the real reason I came here, after all," he said.

You felt your smile turn wry.

"I thought you said you had errands...and whatnots," you said.

His gaze wavered for only a moment as he realized he'd revealed his own bluff. Then his smile grew sheepish, and so warm it sizzled.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x wakandan!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader

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3ardnpc · 1 year ago

Text

The Object of My Desire

SUMMARY: You're a hardworking scholar and the spoiled daughter of a corrupt nobleman.

The mercenary hired for your protection is more than willing to take your father's money, just not your bratty attitude. Luckily, he's got a few ways to deal with spoiled little girls like you.

PAIRING: fighter!price x wizard!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

TAGS: DND!au, porn with some plot, f masturbation, dirty talk, cunnilingus, he bends you over a desk, PIV, rough sex, unprotected sex, slight breath play, creampie, slight jealously, reader gets called a bitch (not by Price but he does call you a brat whoops)

A/N: this is just a silly little idea that popped into my head while I tried learning more about DND! I actually rolled some dice to make some decisions/outcomes and it made the writing experience way more fun 10/10 recommend

Winter’s gray sky cast a torrent of rain against the cobblestone roads and blew frigid winds through the streets of Moongarde. Despite the relentless weather, citizens continued to migrate towards the town's center in attendance for the annual Heroes Feast.

You clutched your cloak tighter against your chest as you weaved through the crowds of people heading in the opposite direction. There were more important things to deal with than a stupid celebration—like the supposed danger you were in.

Having a father who enjoyed making enemies in high places certainly made your life interesting. Though, the threats on your life were, frankly, a nuisance. You had much better things to do than worry about silly threats from cowardly, old men. But, your father worried; he worried enough to hire a mercenary to guard you.

You hoped he wasn't old and boring like the last one you chased away. Any guard who succumbed to simple illustory spells like fear weren't worth the gold your father spent.

Ahead, a hanging sign swung forward in the wind. Carved into the wood was a crow perched on a branch, staring off beyond the borders of its design. The Ivory Crow—a dingy, little establishment you loathed to enter.

With a grimace, you made your way up the creaking wooden stairs. Already, you could hear rowdy, clamorous songs and bellowing voices seeping through the cracks of its shabby, wooden walls.

Before you could reach out to push open the swinging doors, they burst open and a man stumbled out, his weight nearly toppling onto you.

“S’rry ‘bout tha’, m’ss,” he slurred, hiccuping as he ended his sentence. He grabbed onto one of the doors to steady himself, though he still swayed.

“Move,” you demanded. His body blocked half the entrance and you weren’t interested in squeezing past him. He was covered in stains, presumably sweat and booze from the acrid smell of him.

He lifted his head towards you, eyes half-lidded. “Hey, don’ tell me wha’ ta do,” he hissed.

You rolled your eyes and raised a finger towards the man. The familiar warmth of magic pooled at your fingertip and was dispelled when you tapped his forehead.

He crumpled to the ground, eyes closed with his chest still rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

You wiped your finger against your velvet cloak and stepped over the unconscious body into the tavern.

The inside was warmly lit by a large candle chandelier hanging from the tall rafters and more candles decorating tables. No one in the tavern seemed to have noticed your exchange. They were all absorbed in their own ideas of fun.

A dwarven bard strummed her lute on top of a table, singing an unfamiliar tune and absorbing the adoring applause of drunken patrons who chimed in off-key. Couples, locked in heated embraces, cozied themselves to dimly lit corners of the tavern.

If it wasn’t singing or lovers, there was plenty of conversation floating through the air to distract from anything outside.

Your eyes scanned the tavern’s edge, looking for a lone figure at one of the tables.

The mercenary gave your father instructions for you to find him at the Ivory Crow. Look for a bear on the pommel of his sword, your father had said.

In the far corner of the room, you finally spoted a vaguely familiar figure matching your idea of him, sitting on a stool with his back facing the wall and nursing a pint of ale between his hands. His eyes were downcast as he stared at the overflowing foam sliding down the metal pint.

He seemed to be the only lone figure in the tavern, everyone else was joined by at least one other companion.

His attire was shades of muted green and brown, darkened by grime and dirt. A sword tucked in its scabard leaned against the table. The pommel bore the crest of a roaring bear head.

You approached swiftly, maneuvering your way past the overflowing tables filled with patrons and stumbling drunks trying to get to the bar.

When you reached the mercenary, you stood at the edge of his table. His gaze lifted from his drink to you. Blue eyes met yours.

He wasn't as old as your last guard, and he certainly wasn't as boring to look at.

There was no surprise on his face as he looked at you, no glimmer of recognition; his stern countenance gave away nothing of his thoughts. His gaze was almost intense, discerning, and calculating.

You broke eye contact first to look down at the round stool opposite him. It had a spot of liquid on the edge that made you grimace.

All the other surrounding chairs looked occupied. So, you dug through your leather bag and pulled a purple cloth from it.

You wordlessly conjured up a spectral blue hand and offered up the cloth for it to wipe away the liquid. The hand dried up the liquid and deposited the cloth on the table before vanishing.

The mercenary had crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall to watch you, legs spread wide. Inquisitive eyes followed as you took a seat, back stiff with hands tucked into your cloak, clutching it tighter to your body as if it were shielding you.

“Ser Jonathan Price, correct?”

He nodded once and said nothing.

You fished a hefty pouch from your leather bag and tossed it towards him. The platinum pieces inside rattled as they hit the table.

His eyes fell to the bag for a moment, then slid back up to you, not attempting to reach for the pouch.

Maybe he was unimpressed.

“There's your payment for today—one hundred platinum pieces,” you stated and cleared your throat. “Now, the rules for this arrangement are simple: protect me and stay out of my way.”

You think he understood. He didn't say anything otherwise. There was a slight twitch in your eye when he tilted his head like he was looking at an amusing, little oddity.

After another moment his arms unfurled and a hand reached out for the pouch. He cradled it in his palm, hefting it for its weight. The coins rattled. When he pushed two fingers into the closed seam and spread it open, you scoffed.

“If you think I'm lying, don't. Your coin is there.” You crossed your arms, in an attempt to be as nonplussed as he was—it was a poor attempt. You couldn't help the frown that stuck to your lips.

He removed his fingers from the pouch and rapped his knuckles down hard against the wooden table twice, making you flinch and catching the attention of a passing barmaid.

Their exchange was quick. She turned her head toward him with a bright smile, flirty even as her eyes roamed down his figure. He pointed a finger down at his pint and flicked his wrist up to call for one more. She nodded and flitted back to the bar.

“Easy enough,” he said when he turned back to you. His voice was smoky, low. Probably caused by too many cigarettes and shouting. He rested his forearms on the table, one hand still gripped around the pouch. “But drop the ser, m’ not a knight.”

Your brows furrowed. You recalled the description your father gave you of him. A knight who served under the King’s banner for twenty years. “But you’re-”

“I was,” he interrupted firmly, leaving you with no room to argue.

Your mouth remained open, wanting to bite back, but when his brow raised slightly at the hint of a challenge, you clenched your jaw. Any attempt to delve further into the topic would only prove futile and a waste of time.

You took in a deep breath through your nose and exhaled through your mouth. “Fine,” you acquiesced. “How do I address you then?”

“John’s good enough for me."

“Okay, John,” you ground out and stood from your seat. “I want to leave before nightfall.”

He held his hand up, stopping you in your place. “We're not going anywhere yet, love.”

You bristled at both the nickname and his order. The arrangement was supposed to be the other way around. You give him orders and he follows.

“Sit, drink—I already bought you a mug.”

On cue, the barmaid returned to the table with another overflowing pint in her hand and set it down on your side. She wiped her hand down on her apron and looked at John, her charming smile returning. “Anythin’ else I can getcha?”

“No, thank you.” He returned her smile with a grin of his own. He dug into the pouch and pulled out a platinum piece, setting it in her outstretched hand.

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. “This is too much! The drinks are only ten silver!”

You crossed your arms and interjected, “I agree. That's far too much.”

“Keep it,” he assured, waving her off.

The barmaid scurried away with an even wider smile than you thought possible. Her hair and skirt bounced as she went.

With her gone, he turned his attention back to you and gestured back to your stool. “Drink with me.”

The foam dribbling down the sides of the metal pint made you grimace. You didn't drink ale; it wasn't to your taste. You preferred the rich, sweet taste of Evermead.

But, another part of you was tempted, not by cheap ale. It was the mercenary, the ex-knight, Jonathan Price. Stern to you, yet kind to the barmaid. Silent but still expressive. You felt the tug of curiosity, the desire to learn everything about this stranger and unfold his secrets.

You sat, watching as he took his ale and the bob of his throat as he drank.

He set down his drink, now half full, and nodded his head toward your mug. “Don't be shy, love. Go on.”

Your hand snuck out from your cloak and grasped the handle, cold and slightly sticky. Slowly, to not spill, you lifted the mug and took a sip. Cold liquid slid down your throat. The ale was bitter, watered down, and made your mouth twist with disgust.

“That bad, eh?” He chuckled. You were alarmed to find his low, raspy chuckle disarming. Surely, the ale hadn't got to your head already.

You set the mug down, pushing it further away with your fingers, and wiped your lips clean of any foam left behind with the back of your hand. “I can't believe you like this.”

“Oh, I don't like this garbage.” He laughed, grabbing his mug once more. His thumb idly ran down the handle, throwing a glance out to the crowded tavern. “Just drinking to pass the time.”

“Surely there are better taverns to drink in.” You glanced around at the rowdy patrons once more. Two men were standing toe to toe at the table across from you, exchanging heated words.

When he failed to respond, you tried following his eye. It led you to the opposite side of the room toward the barmaid who served you earlier tending to a group of adventurers. She pressed her hip against the table and chatted with them, laughing.

“So, it’s not the drinks that bring you back,” you muttered to yourself, moving your gaze back to him.

The small smile that tugged the corner of his lips as he watched her caused a strange feeling to stir in your chest. You clenched your hands together, forcing away the uncomfortable squeeze.

You stood abruptly from your seat, ignoring your chair tipping backwards and hitting the floor. His attention was on you again. The smile was gone.

“We’re going.”

“Haven't finished your drink,” he called as you stormed off.

You ignored him, pushing straight between the two quarreling men. Your hands pressed hard against both their chests to pry them out of your way.

The two men stumbled back, caught off guard.

“Hey!”

“Don't touch me, you little bitch,” the other snarled. His hand shot out to grab your wrist, narrowly latching on.

His movements were sloppy, most likely from all the ale he'd been drinking. You were quick enough to snatch your hand away before he could restrain you.

You were beginning to really hate this tavern.

More patrons were beginning to watch the exchange, sitting back like it was some spectacle.

But, you saw John rise from his stool. His hand grasping his sword as he approached the men from behind.

“Let's settle down, gentleman,” he said with a tired sigh.

The man who tried grabbing you turned his attention to John. “Stay outta this,” he hissed, clenching his fists and setting his shoulders back. He was much larger than John, towering at least a head taller.

You didn't want to find out how well a brawl between the two would end.

“Obtempero."

The spell sliped from your lips and the man stiffend. In that instance, your mind was linked with his as you forcibly erased any free will he had.

Shut up and sit down, you commanded.

The room went silent as the man lowered onto his seat. You clenched your jaw when your head began to throb, a sign of him fighting against your control.

“Quickly,” you beckoned to the mercenary. Your control over the man’s mind wouldn't last long and you didn't want to stick around to face his wrath.

You turned and dashed out the tavern doors, followed closely by John who was laughing to himself.

“Clearly you can handle yourself. Don't know what you need me for,” he said.

A light rainfall had started, coating you and the streets in water. You raised your hood over your head to shield yourself.

The street was still bustling with citizens with their umbrellas. A good cover in case the man tried following the two of you.

“I only agreed to a guard to appease father’s worries,” you muttered, sidestepping a pair of children running past you, chasing each other with wooden swords. “But, dealing with pea-brained oafs is easy compared to defending myself from someone with a dagger.”

He only hummed in reply, walking in stride with you up the cobblestone street. The rain was beginning to dampen his hair and clothes, but he didn't seem to mind.

You could feel your concentration on the spell waning the further you got until it snapped. You tensed and reached to grab John’s hand. His fingers wrapped around yours without question.

“We have to-”

“You bitch! I'm gonna tear you apart!”

Your head snapped around to find the man burst from the tavern door with a roar. Your heart jumped. The man almost seemed to burn with fury as he barreled up the street in search of you.

“This way.”

John tugged your hand and you allowed him to pull you through the street, weaving your way through throngs of people. He pulled you through unfamiliar streets that passed by in a blur before taking a sharp right into an alleyway, tugging you into the shadows.

Your back was against the stone walls and you heaved a sigh. Your heart raced with adrenaline. This certainly wasn't anything you'd experienced while nose-deep in a book. “Gods, I-”

“Shh,” he hushed, placing a hand over your mouth.

Your eyes widened. He was looking out towards the street and you realized how close he was standing, nearly pressed against your front. Your hand gripped his wrist; to pry it off or hold him close, you didn't know.

When he deemed the coast clear, his hand fell away.

“Don't do that again,” you said weakly.

He looked down at you, an amused smile forming. “Understood. Mind giving me my hand back then?”

You didn't realize your grip on his wrist remained. You released him and slipped away.

“I'll lead us home.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun was just setting by the time you returned to the manor. John had followed you silently the whole way.

“Welcome back, ma'am,” Ann greeted once you entered the foyer. She was a maid you'd known since you were a child. Her warm smile was akin to that of a mother’s, though you'd never call her such.

“Ann will run you a bath and get you some new clothes.”

She was already moving up the left side of the split staircase to fulfill your request.

“What's wrong with my clothes?” John glanced down at his attire, smoothing his hand down the front of his doublet, now soaked with rain.

“They're filthy and soaked. Now go.” You used your hand to shoo him off and he followed Ann with a sigh, ascending the stairs.

You went off to another area of the manor where you could take your own bath and wash away the grime of that tavern.

When the bath was filled and ready, you shed your robes and stepped into the warmth, sighing as the warm water enveloped your body. You ran your hand up your arm, over your neck, and down your collarbone.

While you washed, your thoughts wandered back to John. A hand slipped down the valley of your breasts and between your thighs.

There was no question that he was attractive. The mercenary was new and surprisingly exciting—an experiment to toy with. You wanted to win him, have him in the palm of your hand and study what made him tick.

Your index finger brushed against your clit. The first hum of pleasure bolted through your body. Slow teasing circles were drawn over your clit until you ached for more. Two fingers parted your folds to allow your middle finger to dip in.

You sunk lower into the water, chin rippling the surface, and let your eyes fall shut to embrace your own touch while imagining it was someone else's.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you slipped out of the bath, satisfied, you redressed into a new robe. The loose low neck reached your abdomen, teasing the inner valley of your breasts.

As you made your way to your room, you noticed the door was left slightly ajar. When you pushed open the door, you found John standing at your bookshelf, his fingers running down the spine of a tome.

He was in a fresh set of clothes, loaned from a butler by the looks of it. The untucked, white dress shirt clung to the curves of his muscles, growing taut when he folded his arms. The black pants fit his form enough to show off the thickness of his thighs.

You shut the door and leaned against it, eyeing his form. The ache between your legs was growing again, wanting more than just your fingers this time.

John turned around at the noise and you could see the buttons of his shirt were halfway done, revealing his toned chest with a smattering of hair.

“Impressive collection,” he remarked. “I’d expect no less from a wizard.”

“I spent my entire life building this collection,” you replied absently. Your mind was wandering to other things—the veins on his arms, the bulge of his pectorals in the shirt. You were unashamedly staring through lowered eyelids, greedily taking in the sight.

He was just as interested in your low cut robes. It was obvious in the way his eyes roamed your chest.

You chose to close the gap until you were beside the bookcase, just a foot away from his side.

He leaned his shoulder against the shelves and looked at you with a sly smirk. “Trying to charm me?”

Magic would make your game too easy.

Your hand moved to caress his jaw, smoothing over the soft hairs of his beard. He didn't move away, choosing to lean further into your touch.

“I don't need to,” you hummed. Your fingers clawed up the slope of his neck and into the short strands of damp hair, drawing his face closer. “You're already mine.”

“That so?” His words fluttered along your lips in warm breaths. Strong hands fell to the curves of your waist, smoothing down to your ass and pulling you against his front.

You felt the growing stiffness of his cock, trapped in his pants, press against your abdomen which only made the throbbing of your cunt worse. Instead of responding, you leaned forward and sealed your lips tightly against his, tasting smoke and bitter ale on his tongue.

John was quick to respond, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip to get you to open up for him. His grip slid down your ass, roughly squeezing the soft flesh in his large palms.

You rubbed yourself against his bulge, trying to satisfy the need growing inside of you. There was a needy, animalistic frenzy in his low groan, vibrating in his chest.

He backed you up towards your desk. It was cluttered with more tomes you amassed over the years, threatening to spill at the slightest touch. Your prized spell book, a gift from your father, was also sitting open, flipped to the enchantment spell you used earlier at the tavern.

John didn't seem to care much for your precious collection as he swiped the books off your desk to make room to set you down. They scattered to the floor.

You pulled away, intent on telling him off. That spell book was one of a kind—

He didn't give you room to argue, much less breathe. His lips were already diving forward to capture yours again, dizzying you, driving any thought out of your head. Your legs spread around his to accommodate his body as he forced your attention back on him.

John’s hands pushed aside the fabric of your robe which easily fell around your waist, exposing your bare breasts to the cool room air. Your hardening nipples rubbed against the coarse fabric of his shirt.

Your hands roamed his chest in turn, running over the coarse hairs and clawing down his exposed sternum. You worked quickly to unbutton the rest of his shirt and pushed it off his broad shoulders.

Once revealed, you trailed your eyes over his chest and down to a nasty scar sliced from his upper torso across his stomach. It was old by the scaring. You briefly wondered if it was the reason he was no longer a knight as your hand reached out to brush over it.

John caught your wrist in an iron grip. When you looked back at his face, his stern expression told you enough to stay silent about it. With your short nod, the tension in the air lifted and he was back to work on you.

Another night then, you thought. You'd unravel his secrets eventually.

When he released your wrist and pulled away, he moved down to his knees, untying the knot at your waist and pushing aside the rest of the fabric to reveal the rest of your body. With your thighs spread, he could fit his hand between your thighs, feeling the arousal leaking from your cunt.

“So wet already?”

His middle finger parted your folds, dipping in ever so slightly, causing your hips to shift forward, but he pulled away before you could feel him any deeper. He got to his knees, grunting as his settled.

Your legs hooked over his shoulders, leaving him face to face with your cunt. His heavy breath fanned over your exposed cunt.

“What a sight,” he muttered to himself before leaning in to flick his tongue over your clit again and again.

Your body trembled with static after every stroke of his tongue. Your fingers locked through his brown hair, tugging sharply at the roots. He hissed through his teeth at the sting, but even that didn't stop him.

His hands gripped your thighs around his shoulders, digging into the soft flesh and then smoothing up until his hands cupped your ass to push you further into his mouth.

One of your hands rested on the table to give yourself leverage as you rode his face. The hair of his beard burned against your inner thigh.

The pleasure thruming through your veins forced your legs to lock around his head as your orgasm came to its peak.

“That's it,” he coaxed. “Come in my fuckin’ mouth, love.”

John kept his mouth on your fluttering cunt, refusing to pull away until he had taken every last drop of your cum. Your hands weakly pulled on his hair, but his fingers dug deeper into your thighs as he forced his head back in.

“Gods,” you panted, looking down at him between your thighs, devouring you like a starved man. “Fuck me already.”

“Patience,” he huffed, flicking his tongue languidly over your clit once again. Your body stiffened again. “You think you can take me after one little orgasm?”

As you clenched around nothing and his tongue continued to take long strokes over your cunt, you rolled your eyes and snapped back, “Don’t be so cocky.”

He rose quickly after your remark, yanking your body off the desk as he went and forcing you around. One of his palms met the back of your neck and pushed you flat against the desk. His cock pressed against your ass. The fabric of his pants were rough against your bare skin.

“Let-"

His other hand clamped over your mouth and he growled into your ear, “No—no more orders. I'll give you what you want, but don't start cryin’ when it doesn't fit.”

You ached, wanting to rub your thighs together but his legs were in the way. His hand moved from your mouth to the button of his pants to pull himself free.

You could feel his thick cock press against your ass. Even without looking, you could tell he was nothing like the other wizards you'd have meaningless flings with in school.

His cock notched at your entrance and he asked lowly, “Ready, love?”

The hand over your mouth moved to caress the valley of your knuckles as your hand clasped the edge of the desk. Such an intimate gesture you almost wanted to embrace by turning over your hand and intertwining fingers.

But, you didn't have time for much thought before he buried himself into you as deep as he could go without resistance. Which was only the tip of his cock.

Your walls clamped around him, refusing to let him bully his way deeper. You whimpered, white-knuckling the desk, and shut your eyes. Gods, he was too thick.

“Shh,” he cooed in your ear. His fingers slid across your temple and into your hair, keeping your head against the desk. “You wanted this, right? You can take more.”

And he did give you more—and more, and more. Your clawed at the desk, welled up tears spilling down the side of your face, as he stretched you around his cock. You didn't breathe, not until his hips met your ass and you were completely filled to the brim.

You gasped, filling your lungs with air. The edge of the desk pressing against your abdomen allowed you to feel him deeper.

He grunted as you clenched around his length. “So fuckin’ tight,” he muttered to himself as he slowly rocked into your fluttering heat.

The friction wasn't enough for you. As always, you wanted more. You wanted to be fucked, ravished, devoured completely and thrown into a sickening rapture.

“More,” you moaned as his cocked dragged against your walls. You were needy and hungry for him to take you harder.

“Does a brat like you even know how to say please?” He slipped out of you completely instead.

You whined in protest, moving your hips back to fill the empty ache he left behind. His hands moved to grip your waist, holding you in place. “No, don't.”

“Too good to beg for it?” His fingers prodded at your entrance before he slipped two inside. They weren't comparable to his cock though—not as thick, not as full. “Come on my fingers then.”

His fingers curled against the sensitive spongey spot inside of you.

“F-Fuck you,” you ground out between your teeth, biting back a moan.

“That’s not what I asked for.” His voice was stern; there was no room for arguments, no room for demands other than his own.

You bit your lip. You weren't the one who was supposed to be begging—he was. Having John wrapped around your finger, desperate to please you like everyone else, was the end goal. But this?

Strong, commanding, taking what he wants—that was who John was. And even you couldn't help but relent to that dominance.

“Please.”

“Speak up, love.” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

Bastard.

“Please,” you repeated with a little more desperation than intended.

“Good girl,” he praised. His fingers slipped from you, pulling a string of your arousal with them, and he licked them clean. With his hands back on your hips, he lined up his cock and thrust back into you.

Your mouth hung open as your back arched into the desk. The pace he set was relentless. It rocked your desk, sending any books and papers left on it to the floor. But you didn't care anymore, not when he found that perfect spot inside you again and again. Your toes curled as warmth pooled in your stomach and your core tightened.

A hand wrapped around your neck once again, wrenching your back against his chest and forcing your head to the side. The sweat of your bodies melded you together. John’s fingers pressed on your throat with enough pressure to make you see stars. His gruff pants burst along the shell of your ear. His lips grazed the back of your neck as another hand moved to toy with your clit.

You cursed as your body seized up and you came around him. You held onto the arm pressed against your chest as you rode out your orgasm.

With a few more sharp thrusts, he spilled inside of you, flooding you with warmth. As you caught your breaths, he cupped your jaw and turned your head towards his to pull you into a searing kiss, still full of passion just like the first.

You were almost boneless, sinking into the kiss and his arms. “Bed,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder when he released your jaw. “Now.”

John clicked his tongue as he slid out of you. A mix of your arousal begin to leak down your leg. You flinched when his hand cupped your sex to stop anymore from escaping.

The action felt more possessive than anything else—something you weren't used to. Interest stirred in you once again.

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