#react testing tool

[thepearl256]

Top Tools for Web Development in 2025

Web development is an ever-evolving field, requiring developers to stay updated with the latest tools, frameworks, and software. These tools not only enhance productivity but also simplify complex development processes. Whether you’re building a small business website or a complex web application, having the right tools in your toolkit can make all the difference. Here’s a rundown of the top…

[aeyumicore]

misty invasion - no restraint

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: xavier x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some/little plot

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 5k words (jesus i even cut 1k out)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, spoilers AND alterations to ‘no restraint’ (xavier’s misty invasion card), switch!xavier, slightly dark!xavier, super possessive!xav, so much pussy eating, nose stroking clit, cumming on pussy then using as lube, mating press, sensory play but not actually, thigh biting, ankle kissing, foot massage, slight finger sucking, slight dub-con somno at the end, use of y/n

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | sylus's version | raf's version | zayne's version

━ ✧.˖ A/N: sorry this is late! I’ve been dealing with some harassment but won’t get into that here. You guys have been waiting so patiently for this one and i’m so excited to finally share it with you guys. I love writing and it’s incredible to have people to share my passion with, so please enjoy xavier fuckers!

part three is our dear xavier! idk how this one got so long i cut 1k words and its still 5k LOL somehow longer than sylus’s? i haven’t written for xavier in sooo long so this was both challenging but fun! I miss him <3 I wrote xavier as more dark!xav than the soft xavier, but there’s definitely a good mix of both

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

As a Hunter, you’ve had to thoroughly train your senses to be as adept and and accurate as possible, to keep yourself, your fellow Hunters, and the citizens of Linkon safe.

Sight. The ability to track every micromovement a Wanderer made and react in milliseconds. Being able to quickly spot things that don’t belong, indicating something more sinister.

Hearing. Being able to detect even the mutest of sounds. The muffled shuffling of leaves, a slight creak in the wind that could warn you of incoming danger.

Smell. The almost imperceptible scent of different species of Wanderers, each one specific to each genus, able to provide valuable information on what to expect.

Touch. The distinct textures of your different UNICORN issued tools and weapons, the simplest grooves and ridges helping you quickly discern what is what in moments of life or death.  

What you hadn’t necessarily needed was the sense of taste, but that wouldn’t be a sense you’d need as a Hunter. Right?

In the soft glow coming from the protocore you and him had confiscated from an illegal protocore trade, Xavier sat at the foot of the bed you’d be sharing tonight. The soft orange light emanating from the protocore casts a vaguely romantic atmosphere around the two of you. It was suffocating and addicting all at once.

Perhaps it was your fault, you’d teased him, claiming the protocore in question had dulled your senses, a side effect from its unique Protocurves. A clear and obvious lie. 

But you hadn’t expected him to respond so boldly. 

To test your sense of sight, moving from his spot across the hotel room to approach the foot of the bed, sitting so closely that you could see the droplets of water dripping down his bare chest, gliding along the grooves of his muscled abdomen.

To test your sense of smell, leaning in so teasingly close to you that the soft clean smell of his pheromones, akin to fresh laundry blowing in the spring breeze, invaded your very essence. 

To test your sense of hearing, whispering dangerously sultry but innocent words under his breath to taunt you, seeing if you could hear how much he wanted you. 

To test your sense of touch, reaching out to grasp your face into his fingers, warm from the hot shower he’d taken. So daringly caressing your warm cheek in his palm, with a heated desire that you knew could consume you whole. 

It was truly all enough to drive you utterly insane, at the point of no return, nearly jumping him right then and there.

Perhaps Xavier could see that, deciding to give you a temporary reprieve from all the “sensory tests” to complete a test of his own 

His voice is a faint murmur, “Before the rain stops, is there anything you want to do?” His words sound less like a question and more like a plea. Bordering on a demand. 

At his words, your eyes trail to the body lotion you’d set on the nightstand next to the Protocore. You’d just been about to apply it before Xavier had come out of the shower. You bite your lip at the thought of his strong hands rubbing the expensive cream into your aching muscles. Xavier’s eyes follow yours, and he smiles gently, standing up to grab it from the side table. 

He unscrews it, the soft scent of strawberries wafting in the space between you. Under the soft glow of the Protocore, Xavier’s face is flushed, his breath unusually heavy. His eyes are focussed on the body lotion, but you can just barely see the stormy heat behind them. 

“What, are we testing your senses now?” you tease him, sitting up with your hands hugging your knees. 

Xavier sits back down on the bed, the mattress dipping at your feet. Your toes brush against the soft silk of his bathrobe, the knot even looser now, leaving far too little to imagination. His voice is gentle, but urgent, “The Protocore’s Protocurves can…dull a person's senses.” 

He places his palm gently on the underside of your thighs, pulling your bare calves toward him. His touch is impossibly soft, yet strangely enough it leaves your skin burning. You let your body be guided towards him until his chest is practically pressed against your knee. With your bare calf in his hands, it makes it difficult to think. But you do your best to speak, “So…are you affected by it too?”

As Xavier smears the lotion across your flushed skin, he murmurs, “Maybe.” He takes another scoop of the cream into his fingers.

“It’s possible…I won’t be able to feel you anymore from now on.” His eyes are trained on your leg as he speaks, fingers wandering from your knee to your exposed thigh. Though you both know his senses were, and would be, perfectly fine, the longing in both his low voice and dark eyes felt completely real.

As his hands rub into your skin, his fingers briefly find their way under your nightdress. He leans down, resting his chin on your knee. He practically hugs your legs to his chest, the opened jar of lotion still in hand. WIth his curious fingers on your thigh, under the lace hem of your nightdress, you try and distract him from your flushed face. You take a small dollop of the lotion in his hands, teasingly brushing it to his nose.

“What’s the fragrance? Can you smell it?” Xavier’s face on your bare knee doesn’t move, but his eyes flit up to yours, dark and amused. 

He has a barely perceptible smirk, fingers stroking small shapes into the area where your lace nightie meets the skin of your exposed thighs, “Strawberry.” He sounds uncharacteristically self-assured, his chin moving down so that he can smell your skin. 

You shiver as you feel the cool inhale of his nose against your knee. His lips ghost along your leg as he breathes in the scent, lingering for so long you’re nearly quivering against his hold. His hand grips your thigh possessively as he murmurs, “Or maybe...that scent…is cherry.” The way he buries his face into your legs, inhaling so deeply, is nearly enough to have you passing out.

He comes back to nuzzle his chin into your knee, glancing up at you in an expression that is eerily dark and soft all at once, “Was I right?” His words are gentle but there’s an exhilarating taunt underneath them. It only makes you want to taunt him back.

You reach for his ear, noticing it’s unusually peachy pink, stroking along the soft lobe, “Here’s another test. What do you think my hand is doing right now?” Xavier’s eyes close at your touch, his breath heavy and hot against your thigh. His brows furrow, and if it weren’t for the way he leaned into your touch for more, you’d almost think he was in pain. 

As his eyes flicker open to meet yours, you take his cheek into your hands. There’s a vague haziness in them, almost like he’s having a hard time keeping them open, drunk off even your slightest touches. He sits up, leaning into your hand.

“You need to do it harder,” he urges, desperation making itself known in his sultry voice. Your hand trails down his ear, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw and making its way to Xavier’s bobbing neck. 

Your fingers move intentionally, trailing down to his collar until they rest on his chest, “What about now?” 

Though his chest heaves, his blue eyes smolder with an unbridled confidence, “...Too gentle.” He looks at you with an unspoken plea in his eyes, begging you to touch him more. Harder.

You let your shaking fingers toy torturously with the reddened skin on his sharp collarbone, swirling your fingertips on his pounding chest. You bite your lip, enjoying the way his breath comes out in needy pants, the look of desperation on his parted lips growing stronger by the second, “If you still haven’t felt it…”

Xavier continues your thought, cerulean eyes filled with a desperate longing, “If I haven’t felt it…” You gasp as he grabs your wrist forcefully, bringing it back up to his face.

His grip is commanding, caressing your palm with his soft cheek, his breath fanning the inside of your hand. His movements are almost imperceptible, until you feel his lips closing over your middle finger. You’re unable to stop the shiver as his tongue grazes against your trembling finger, his lips caressing your skin in his mouth.

Xavier desperately hopes you keep your eyes trained on his, and not the embarrassingly prominent tent under his thin robe, throbbing for your attention. His breath is hot as he pants against your finger, “...does this mean I’m a lost cause?”

You pull your hand away, unable to withstand the effect his lips enclosing in your fingers is having on your body, your thighs clenching together under your own robe and nightgown. 

“What should we do?” you murmur before softly clutching his shoulder, pulling him closer until you can whisper into his ear for a little hearing test. You let your lips graze his reddened earlobe, before whispering.

“Xavier.”

It comes out far more sultry and seductive than you’d originally intended, betraying your body’s true desires. Xavier apparently shares those same desires, because as he hears you gasp out his name his body has a visceral reaction. 

His heart pounds so rapidly he’s almost sure you’d be able to hear it, his muscled chest rising and falling in an irregular rhythm. His face looks almost anguished, fighting an internal war against himself. He glances towards you, his eyes dark with unbridled desire. 

“Oops. Looks like something broke,” you grin cheekily, thoroughly amused by his reaction, fueled with confidence. 

Xavier’s eyes are so dark they’re nearly black as they drink in the sight of your beautiful smile, as you sit with your knees up on the mattress. The next thing you know, Xavier’s is pushing you down, your back hitting the plush mattress and your robe fluttering open to reveal your flimsy nightdress. 

Xavier stands above you, before his hand comes down to grip the mattress beside your head, pinning you down. His eyes trail up your body, savoring every exposed centimeter of soft skin, before boring into your beautiful eyes. His body is pressed gently into yours, and you can very much make out just how excited he’s become. The area between your thighs moistens at the feeling of his arousal pressed into your stomach. 

“Your sensory test isn’t over yet,” he grunts, his face tortuously close to yours. His eyes are hooded dangerously, an imminent threat reflected in his ocean blue eyes. He leans forward, so close his torrid breath fans against your parted lips.

“Let’s do a taste test,” he murmurs, eyes shutting as he finally closes the distance between your lips in a toe-curling passionate embrace. His tongue prods at the seam of your lips, which you happily part to give him access. He moans into you as he indulges in how delicious you taste, quickly addicted to your soft and warm tongue against his. 

When he finally pulls away, he’s a complete and utter mess. His breath is uneasy and rapid, his body contorting with the rhythm of his pounding chest. His fingers have found their way into yours, effectively pinning you securely against the bed under his hard body. 

“Xavier…” you gasp, squeezing his fingers, “Even someone like you can lose your composure, huh?”

As your bodies heave together, Xavier takes thick and deep lungfuls of your scent, his face buried into your neck.

“One doesn’t need that much composure,” he groans before diving back into the crook of your neck, lips latching onto your pulse. 

As he holds you, gently suckling at your neck, you prod him, “What are you thinking of?”

Xavier hesitates, his lips hovering centimeters above your skin, before murmuring, “Something…indecent.”

You bite back your grin, thoroughly enjoying how needy he’s becoming. With his body still atop of yours, you bring your lips to his ear letting your wet lips stroke against his earlobe. 

“Xavier…” you purr, “Tell me what you’re thinking of.”

You can see Xavier’s neck throb with a thick gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly. It’s then he decides he’s done playing games. 

He sits up eerily calmly, until he’s on his knees at your feet. His fingers trail down your bare thighs, to your calves, and to your feet. You squirm at his fleeting trail of touches, squeaky moans of anticipation slipping from your lips.

As his hands slide down your legs, he lifts your foot into his hands, fingers kneading your aching sole. You moan, your eyes squeezing shut at just how wonderfully Xavier knows your body, knows how to touch you. 

You’re so caught up in the feeling of his hands on your ankles that you don’t notice the way he cups your calf, raising your leg into the air as he caresses it. It’s not until the distinct feeling of his warm lips meet the bottom of your calf do your eyes screw open.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight before you, Xavier placing a feathery trail of kisses down your calf all the way to your foot. As he tenderly kisses your ankle, his eyes open to watch you with a hungry gaze. 

“The Protocore’s effects…I think we need a stronger test,” he mutters, his mouth rubbing against your ankle still. He sets your leg on his shoulder, gently spreading your thighs apart. 

You blush as your legs part, leaving little to imagination as Xavier situates himself between your legs, one propped on his muscled shoulder and one hooked above his forearm, “Xavier?”

He doesn’t respond, eyes trained on the glistening patch of dampness that adorns your panties. It takes all of him not to drool right over your half naked form right then and there. As his head lowers to kiss your thighs, you tremble at his proximity to your throbbing cunt that leaks with desire and arousal.

“I-Is this…strong enough?” you squeak, his tongue lapping slow circles around the areas his teeth graze. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as he indulges in the taste of your legs, eyeing the beautiful way your panties are creasing against the lips of your pussy. He can practically feel the heat coming off you and it makes him bite hard. 

You squeal, your back arching up and fingers reaching down to pull at his soft hair. It’s impossible not to enjoy the sharp graze of his canines and the contrastingly adoring caress of his tongue. Too distracted by the pleasure, you don’t feel the embarrassing slick dripping down your thighs.

But Xavier does.

He detaches his lips from your thighs, briefly admiring the handful of flowering red bruises littered against both your plush legs. 

“It’s…stronger. But this…” he trails off, and that’s when you feel his fingers hooking your soaked panties to the side. You yelp as his fingers languidly swipe at your folds, coating himself in your arousal and bringing it up to his mouth. 

You watch in a mixture of embarrassment and desire as he slips his fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around his digits and eyes shut in utter bliss. 

When his blonde lashes finally flutter open, his hazy pupils are dilated amongst the sea of azure, piercing into your own.

“This, I can taste,” he grins gently at you. It’s so effortlessly Xavier, yet something sinister lurks beneath his soft smile. Something that makes you shake to your very core.

You don’t have time to ponder the darkness behind his smile, because Xavier is gripping you by your hips, bringing the apex of your thighs to his waiting mouth, salivating at the beautiful sight of your exposed cunt. His eyes flit from your core to your eyes, your upper body propped up on your elbows as you watch his heated gaze devour you. 

“Please…” Xavier rasps, his voice guttural and desperate. The proximity of his face to your weeping cunt lets you feel his hot breath fan against your quivering pussy, “Please let me.”

You’re speechless, so you nod fervently, gripping his soft hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Xavier wastes no time, burying himself into you. You gasp, spine curling at the force of his demanding lips against your cunt.

You’d think Xavier had been starved for days, the way he latches onto your lips, his tongue eagerly lapping at your slit, savoring every drop of your sweet essence. You thrash at the unrelenting pleasure, as Xavier’s bruising grip holds you in place. 

“Let me enjoy you, please,” he groans, nose rubbing into your clit deliciously, “Who knows if I’ll ever be able to taste you again?”

You whimper at his filthy words, trying to stay still as he ravishes you with his skilled tongue. The lewd slurps and moans that come from him are enough to drive you to the edge of insanity, unable to contain your furious writhing. Xavier only digs his fingers harder into the plush of your thighs, doing his best to keep you in place.

Xavier moans into you, the vibrations of his pleasured sounds thrumming straight into your body. He doesn’t let a single droplet of your nectar go to waste, his tongue lapping diligently. There’s absolutely no shortage of it, as his pointed nose brushes against your clit, his tongue stroking sweetly into your lips. 

“You taste like heaven, Y/N,” Xavier moans into your folds. The vibrations of his filthy words send you reeling and you can barely hear him, only able to respond in the whiniest moans, too wrapped up in the pleasure his mouth so skillfully brings you. 

“Xavier!” you cry, toes digging into the ropes of muscles on his back.

You can vaguely feel one of Xavier’s hands abandon your thigh, moving to free his cock from under his loose robe. You can’t see much, but you can see the way his forearm jerks up and down, the veins in his arms bulging as he pleasures himself, fueled by the taste of you. 

“O-oh f-fuck!” you cry, your back arched, the soles of your feet pressing into Xavier’s back, “Xavier…p-please don’t – nngh – stop!”

Through your widely spread legs, you can see just how aroused Xavier is by your pleas. His fingers can barely wrap around his thick girth. They move up and down effortlessly, coated in his copious pre-cum. It honestly looked like he already came with just how much of his slick was smeared on himself. He’s so impossibly angry and red as he thrusts into his own fist, your tongue unconsciously licking your lips at the sight. 

You’re only snapped out of your mesmerized staring when his lips latch onto your clit, tongue lapping eagerly against the throbbing nub of nerves. His lips suckling at your clit, tongue stroking so sweetly, is just enough to have you coming completely undone all over Xavier’s face. 

You try to pull always as you feel the warm gush coming, but Xavier only holds you down harder with his arm wrapped around your thigh, his hands jerking up and down his leaking erection even more desperation. With nowhere to run, your body thrashes erratically in his forceful arm. Your back arches into the air, your head digging into the plush mattress, as you squirt over Xavier’s insistent tongue. 

You’re well into the depths of overstimulation, feebly pushing his head away, whispering brokenly, “X-Xavier. S’too much, please.”

But he can’t seem to hear you, too wrapped up in your taste, in you. Your body curls in a stinging pleasure as he continues to devour you, positively starved. 

The lewd slurps of his face in your wet thighs, your unabashed moans and cries of ecstasy, the taste of your release against his greedy tongue, and his forceful grip on his cock drive him to his own orgasm. 

He forces himself to pull away, his lips wet with your slick, your body collapsing but still slightly elevated with your calf thrown over his shoulder. With his position kneeling at your feet, your right leg still by his neck, his cock spurts right onto your quivering and overstimulated pussy. 

“H-holy,” Xavier groans breathlessly, hands still jerking himself up and down as rope after rope lands on your glistening cunt. His spend is so deliciously hot against your sensitive skin that you can’t stop the full body tremors that wrack your body. His copious streams of cum start to drip off your quivering cunt, pooling on the mattress beneath you.

Xavier leans forward, clutching your thigh as his body heaves with an overwhelming  satisfaction. His fingers dig into your already bruised thighs, his breath heavy and desperate. 

You want to giggle at his ruined state, stroking his back teasingly with your toes, your calf still resting on his shoulder. Your fingers reach for his ear to caress his cheek and tease him with your words from earlier, “So little composure. Adorable”

Xavier’s gaze, longing and soft, twitches. Before you know it, your back is flat against the bed once more, both your legs pressed against your chest. Your feet hang in the air above your head, Xavier’s heaving body pressed on top of you, something hard and wet pressing into your still trembling core.

Out of sheer surprise, you cry out, “X-Xavier?” Your hands instinctively come up to cup his face.

Xavier doesn’t speak, his eyes trained on your cunt as he runs his tip up and down your folds. When he finally looks up at you, there’s a dark almost feral look in the storm of his cerulean eyes. A look of unbridled animalistic heat. 

He bends down, his beautiful face dangerously close to yours as he smirks, “Isn’t this what you wanted, angel?” 

You shiver at his unusually edged words, eyes widening as you nod gently. Unable to deny the truth of his words. You knew it, and he knew it. You absolutely always wanted him, especially when he was this unhinged. 

Xavier smiles, it’s deceptively gentle as you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes, “I know, Y/N. So, please. Let me give it to you.” Though he begs, you can tell he’s not really asking. Not that you minded. You’d give him absolutely everything. 

So you nod, peering up at him through your eyelashes. Xavier smiles, finger stroking your cheek. With his other hand, he takes his cock, rubbing his cockhead into your sopping folds, smearing his cum messily around. He’d spurt so much milky seed onto your pussy that it quite literally felt like a bottle of lube had been squirted onto you. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. For a brief second, the bright light returns to Xavier’s eyes as he adoringly watches you, with so much affection in his azure eyes. It’s gone just as quickly as it comes, his cock splitting you apart as he thrusts into you. 

You cry out, unable to do anything but take him, your legs caged against both your bodies. The mating press he has you in is so mean, his hard strong body so imposing as he thrusts into you. It’s so easy for him to slide inside you, his cum on your skin even slicker than lube. 

Xavier’s breathy moans wash over you at every single mean thrust, his smoldering eyes never leaving yours as he ruts into you like a madman. A man positively starved. And only one thing could satisfy him. 

His hands press into the mattress beside your head, his entire body boxing you in, with only your thighs separating you. You wish he could hold you closer, press deeper into you, as deep as his cock was currently in your throbbing pussy. 

“X-Xav…” your squeal. The position he has you in gives him easy access to your most sensitive spots. Xavier only moans in response, not typically a man of many words when it comes to being buried in your guts. 

Which is why you’re surprised when he grits out, “Mine.”

You’re so surprised, mind so clouded with his massive girthy cock, that you gasp out, “W-What?”

Xavier’s smirk is faint, almost imperceptible, “You’re mine. I would never leave you.”

His pointed thrusts make you cry out in pleasure, losing your train of thought again. His smile grows more confident at your inability to speak, “Isn’t that what you told James? That your partner left you?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, before realizing he's talking about the man you’d been flirting with for information at the protocore trade, “J-James? You – hnngh – y-you mean Henrik’s idiot – nngh – bodyguard?” 

Xavier drives into you with an even more mind-numbing intensity at the mention of another man. You can see his jaw twitches, his eyes swimming with shadowy emotions.

“What do you think he took you up to the sixth floor for?” he growls, uncharacteristically and darkly gruff, “For this?” 

To punctuate his point he slams his pelvis into your ass, the lewd pap sound of wet skin against wet skin deafeningly loud. 

“It’s too bad for him. You’re mine.” His words are a sweet threat, with no violence and all the passion in the world behind them.

The raw possession in his voice makes you approach your orgasm far too quickly. Your thighs shake uncontrollably at the strain, but even more so at the pleasure Xavier drives into your gummy walls. His cock is so thick that your body burns with pleasure as he stretches you to your limit, your walls sucking him tightly, unwilling to let go. 

Xavier moans at the unbelievably incredible feeling of your walls tightening against him, trying to wring him into you. Xavier’s thrusts become more erratic as he comes closer to his own release, and you’re desperate to cum with him, your orgasm impossibly iminent. 

You know just how to send him over the edge, as you take his jaw into your fingers, his chest pressed into the fat of your thighs as he folds you quite literally in half. Xavier looks surprised but lets his face be guided to yours, his eyes still holding glimmers of shadows held back by a thin shred of restraint. 

“Xavier,” you whisper, trying to keep your orgasm at bay so you can experience simultaneously with the blonde haired man deliciously rearranging your guts, “I’m yours, always.” 

Xavier’s eyes darken, his eyebrows furrowing, as his body responds to your sweet words. His thrusts are harder, rougher, and all the more forceful and demanding. He’s utterly desperate to feel you cum atop his cock, his beautiful girl. Entirely and completely his. 

“Yeah? Then cum for me, please.” His voice is a guttural growl, matching the animalistic intensity of his body pounding into yours. But he stutters just a bit, as you can practically feel the veins in his thick cock throbbing against your pulsing walls.

With Xavier’s intense eyes on yours, your body folded mind numbingly against his hard chiseled body, his filthy possessive words fanning across your lips, it’s impossible to keep your orgasm back any longer. 

You cum with a strangled cry of his name, your elbows bending so your fingers can furiously claw at the sheets by your head. Xavier moans out at how tightly your cunt grips him amidst your climax, absolutely forcing the orgasm out of him. 

You’re a moaning whining mess as Xavier fucks his seed into you. Even after his first orgasm, there’s so much cum, both inside and outside. The area where your bodies are joined is a sticky mess of cum and saliva.

Xavier is no better, the grunts and babbles streaming from his own mouth an absolute symphony to your ears.

“That’s it, love,” he rasps, “So good for me. Such a good girl. My good girl.”

You stroke Xavier’s soft blonde hair as his thrusts slow to an eventual stop. His softening cock is still in you, and you wince as you can vaguely feel it slipping out. Your hips scream in discomfort, your thighs still pressed firmly into your chest as Xavier gasps for air above you. 

You whimper as he shifts, and instantly Xavier is back to his usual soft self, fawning over you, “Are you okay?” It’s honestly insane how quickly he switches, because as his blue eyes search yours, you notice the darkness is gone. All that’s left is that starry glimmering sea of ultramarine, soft, concerned, and loving.

“H-heavy,” you whine, tapping at his thick shoulders. Xavier’s off of you in a flash, his soft cock slipping out as sits on his knees before you. He hovers over you, careful not to put any weight on you, as he brushes your tangled hair off  of your sweaty forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your flushed cheek, “Was I…Did I take it too far?”

“No, never,” you mumble happily, draping your arms over his neck. Through his gentle smile that could move the stars, you can see how exhausted Xavier is, but he continues to stroke circles into your skin. His hands reach down to massage your bruised thighs, hickeys littering every inch of you. The serene intimacy of the moment is enough to lull you towards sleep, despite the mess between your legs. 

–

You must’ve nodded off for a few minutes, because when you open your bleary eyes you see Xavier between your legs, carefully wiping the sticky mess away. 

“Xav, s’okay,” you whisper sleepily, stirring in his careful hands and barely able to string together complete sentences, “Clean tomorrow, sleep now.”

“It’s okay, angel,” he murmurs, his voice so warm and dreamy. He holds you gently in place as he continues to wipe you off, “Go back to sleep.”

Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his hands soothing your aching muscles, losing the fight against sleep, “You don’t feel tired?” 

Xavier chuckles, the sound meeting your ears even in your half-conscious state, “I can still feel. But I think I may need another…taste test.”

You can hear the mischief in his voice even if you’re too exhausted to open your eyes.

“Just sleep honey, let me take care of you.”

Something about the playful heat in his voice makes you doubt he’s just going to be cleaning you up with the warm towel he had in his hands. And the thought of that excites you beyond belief, even as you succumb to sleep. 

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites

.ᐟ✦ please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[esthelle-wanders]

Enemy vs Environment: Combat Approaches

One of my favorite aspects of Linked Universe is the different ways the boys react to their surroundings.

In this last update, something that really strikes me is the difference between Wars’ and Wild’s combat approaches, which are shaped by their respective game designs.

Lemme try and break it down real quick.

Hyrule Warriors is a hack-and-slash game that’s all about delegation and multitasking. You spend each campaign sprinting full-tilt across the map, evaluating which missions take priority, while dispatching as many opponents as you can. Enemies are more important than the environment 100% of the time.

Breath of the Wild is an open-world adventure game that’s all about adapting to various climates and landscapes, improvising with tools you find, climbing everything in sight, etc. The devs want you to explore and experiment.

In short: Hyrule Warriors rewards you for efficiency and bodycount, BotW rewards you for “fricking around and finding out.”

How does this play out in Linked Universe?

Our guys find themselves in an unfamiliar area, with unknown (to them) monsters. What do they do?

Warriors immediately zones in on the enemies, Wild’s attention goes to his environment.

A moment later, they’ve both advanced a little, but Warriors is still laser-focused on the monsters. Maybe he’s analyzing their patterns, but in any case, he’s observing them closely.

In contrast, Wild still hasn’t paid the Sparks much mind. He’s moving much faster, and appears much more interested in the water.

Notably, it doesn’t seem like he “tests” the water at all. He steps right in with both feet.

In BotW, that’s not a bad strategy. The game itself encourages you to wander anywhere and everywhere, including areas that might look “unavailable” or “off-limits.” Unless you talk to a local who knows something, or Zelda’s disembodied voice chips in, you don’t have a guide or companion— the best way to learn about something is to jump in.

Clearly, like Legend said, that kind of approach is less advisable in a dungeon.

Warriors reacts really fast here— faster than Wild, who actually triggered the trap, and who’s known to be incredibly agile and maneuverable.

A lot of that comes down to experience, a teamwork-vs.-lone-explorer mindset, and Wars’ ungodly speed in-game, but I think there’s also something to be said for combat approach.

Interestingly, Warriors doesn’t warn Wild not to touch the water or the tiles— not that he’d know lol. But since he’s already approaching their situation with more caution, it’s interesting that he doesn’t seem to register what Wild’s doing as “dangerous” until the trap actually triggers.

In other words, he doesn’t clock the environment as hostile— he reacts at the exact moment he notices a new, active threat.

Contrasts like these help to force a duo’s internal differences into action, and it’s one of the many reasons I love this pairing for this particular dungeon. I think their differing approaches could complement one another splendidly, if they learned to use them in tandem!

Source

[sasquoosh]

Courting - Remmick - Part 1?

- Please ignore my run on sentences, lol. My writing isn’t very professional but I try my best -

Remmick didn’t understand why he felt the way he did when he was stalking you and planning to attack you. Something about you was familiar, gentle. Something about you felt like home. Maybe it was your curly hair that reminded him of the women of his village, or the way you smiled that reminded him of someone he once loved.

And so, he found himself at your secluded house in the countryside every night. It took him a few months to actually reveal himself to you, but you could sense something was off. Some of the clothes you hung up to dry would go missing, footprints in the mud when you woke up in the morning, and dusty handprints on some of the old tools on your porch.

Once he revealed himself to you, you were rightfully scared. He didn’t mind it, he could be very patient when necessary. So, he began ‘courting’ you the only way he knew how, the way he and all of the people he once knew did it thousands of years ago, leaving odd gifts at your door and watching from afar as you hesitantly picked them up. He’d give you horseshoes, handkerchiefs, stones he thought had nice shapes, and rings that you could tell he’d made himself. You were almost flattered.

You slowly became less and less afraid, but that didn’t mean you wanted to get close to him. You knew exactly what he was, and he’d been terrorizing the town you lived just outside of. Every time you went to go buy groceries or to visit friends, you were told of another unfortunate death at the hands of what the townsfolk called The Beast of The Night. They believed it was some sort of animalistic cryptid doing it, but you knew better. You’d already seen him.

The sun had just set below the horizon when you heard his footsteps on your porch. You waited a few moments before getting up, as he had usually retreated back into the trees in front of your house by then. However, when you opened the door, he stood down on the porch steps, eyeing you. You gasped, quickly pulling your feet back through the doorway and closing the door.

“Aw, I ain’t gonna hurt ‘cha. Swear. If I wanted to, I would’ve done it a long, long time ago.” He said, his voice a low southern drawl. It was his way of comforting you, though he had clearly forgotten how to actually comfort someone in the time he’d been undead.

“See, I just wanted to test the waters.” He said, “Wanted to see how you’d react.”

“Y-You have to go.” You said, trying to be firm but your tone was shaky and quiet.

“I was just givin’ you a gift, Y/N. No need to be so scared.” He said, his voice almost taunting. “I made y’ a necklace. Carved out of the nicest tree I could find. Saw you had a collection of necklaces and thought you’d appreciate one.” He said.

You frowned, realizing that he was watching you through your windows. You silently cursed yourself for not closing your curtains, how foolish you’d been. It made you wonder how much he’d seen, how often he watched.

“L-Listen.. I..” You started, but were cut off, “Oh, come on.. come outside. I ain’t gonna make you let me in. Just wanna see that pretty face of yours up close. Y’ can even tie my hands up if ya want.” He said.

Against your better judgement, you opened the door a bit, but was careful not to step out of the threshold.

“..Didn’t know vampires could feel that way.” You said, glancing down at the necklace he’d left on your doormat, which was on top of some sort of fabric.

He smiled, sharp fangs glistening in the moonlight. “I saw that you spilled soup on your table cloth. Gotcha a new one.”

You reached your hand out to grab the items, but quickly pulled back, not knowing if he was gonna grab you and drag you out if you did. He chuckled at that.

“Don’t worry, I’ll step back so you can take them.” He said. “And if it makes you feel better, if I wanted you dead, you would’ve been long gone by now. It was hard to stop myself when I saw you walkin’ home that one time. But I did.”

His words were a pitiful attempt at comforting you, though they only unsettled you more. However, a small part of you enjoyed it. A vampire giving you gifts and attempting to court you. You quickly grabbed the items and held them as you eyed him cautiously.

“What’re you tryin’ to do?” You asked, guarded.

“Oh, just wanna get to know ya better. I’ve been so lonely. No family or friends for years.” He said, his voice taking on a fake tone of sadness, but you saw right through it. Maybe there was a truth to it, but you saw through his manipulation.

“..Well.. thank you for the gifts, but I have things to do.” You said, quickly shutting the door. Your heart pounded. You could hear him chuckling outside, his red eyes burned into your vision.

“I’ll get you one day. You’re gonna love me. We’ll be together for eternity.” He said, more so to himself than you. Remmick closed his eyes, imagining all the things he wanted to do to you, both good and bad.

Part 2? Sorry for the abrupt ending, it’s 3am and I’m super tired 🫠

Edit: working on a part 2 right now but I’m struggling with what to write, ideas would be appreciated lol

[ducksido]

I keep asking things but i love your writings so..

How would the boys react to a reader/yuu who got exposed to magic that much (much like radiation) so they can do magic, they just don't realize, or just don't care enough.

Like, thanks to the overblots they got exposed to raw magic so they have a minor, kinda unusefull, ability (or a UM); like how Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle can make objects do something by asking them to do it

(a Yuu who’s been marinating in overblot juice, i only did the first 3 dorms)

Riddle: Absolutely cannot cope. “This is irresponsible.” He thinks it’s blot poisoning. You’re behaving like a wild fae creature! You can’t just ask a teacup to stay warm and it obeys you! That’s rule-breaking! He desperately wants you to submit to magical testing. He’s convinced you’ll combust. When you assure him, “I only do it when it feels right,” he panics more.

Trey: He doesn’t really get it, but he believes you. When you ask the oven “please don’t burn the crust” and it doesn’t, he gives you this blank stare and says, “...Did it work because you said it… or because you meant it?” He starts speaking to his kitchen tools just to test it. “Yuu’s magic is like kitchen luck,” he mutters. He never burns pie after you compliment his apron.

Cater: “Okay, sooo… we’re not gonna talk about the fact that your bag literally zipped itself when you said thank you?” He’s obsessed. Posts cryptic Magicam pics like “Yuu’s magic is ✨aesthetic✨”. Tries to trick you into doing cool things on camera. When you refuse, he pouts. He also worries. Quietly asks if it hurts when you use your “gift.” It doesn’t. He’s relieved—but still watches you closely.

Ace: “THAT’S MAGIC! YOU’RE DOING MAGIC!” You insist you’re not. He’s shouting. He’s flustered because he’s working so hard in class and here you are getting vending machines to spit out free snacks. At some point he starts trying to mimic you. He whispers sweet nothings to his textbooks. He begs the dorm fridge to make his milk cold. It never works. He’s miserable. “Stupid ghost magic…”

Deuce: Completely convinced you’re some kind of ancient spirit in disguise. He becomes so respectful. Like, he calls you “Yuu-senpai” even when you’re the same age. He asks you to bless his pen before exams. You say, “Pen, do your best,” and hand it over. He’s nearly in tears. He’s also the most worried you’re going to get hurt. Keeps telling Crowley to investigate it properly. Nobody listens.

Leona: At first, he scoffs. “Tch. That’s not real magic. That’s just you sweet-talking junk.” But the third time he sees a broken piece of chalk start writing because you said, “Can you help me with this, please?”, he stops mocking you. Quietly, he starts observing. Deep down, it unsettles him—a powerless human who got infected with blot and now reality bends when you whisper to it. There’s something ancient about it. He’ll never admit it, but he once tried whispering to his pen. Nothing happened. He was furious. “...I ain’t jealous. Just sayin’ it’s weird, that’s all.”

Ruggie: “HUH?? Wait, wait, wait—you told a mop to clean and it did??” He’s both amazed and mildly horrified. You’ve got this uncanny ability and don’t care?! He thinks you’re lowkey a cryptid. He’d love to exploit it (in the name of efficiency), but the magic is temperamental. You told the vending machine, “I wish I had a soda,” and it spit one out. But when he tried it? It jammed. “Yuu... are you cursed or blessed? I can’t tell.”

Jack: Jack is stunned. A bit spooked. “You can’t just… ask the broom to sweep and it does it.” You say, “Well, it’s nice to the broom. It deserves help.” He’s silently terrified you’re going to overheat and overblot from it. He tries to subtly monitor your blot levels. It doesn’t rise. You’re just... like that. You make him nervous in the way people fear forest spirits—kind of awed, kind of reverent, kind of unnerved.

Azul: “...You’re not casting spells?” He doesn’t understand how you’re doing this. Is it residual blot? Contract-based? Unlicensed magic? He’s both interested in profiting off this and deeply nervous about it. He tries to ask you to teach him. You say “I don’t know how, I just ask nicely.” It both infuriates and fascinates him. Eventually he adds a clause in your Lounge employee contract: “If an object obeys your voice, you must log the incident.” You doodle smiley faces in the logbook and leave out important details. He’s having a stress-induced existential crisis.

Jade: He treats you like a spirit of the forest. He’s delighted. “You must have absorbed wild magic, Yuu. A kind of natural resonance. Fascinating.” He doesn’t try to study you directly—he studies your environment, your emotions, your words. He quietly logs the way you speak to objects. When you say “please,” he smiles to himself. He catches a knife once before it falls and asks, “Did you tell this not to hit the ground?” You blink. “Yeah.” “Charming.”

Floyd: Thinks it’s hilarious. “You said ‘go away’ to a squeaky door and it shut by itself! You're like a talking remote control.” He loves testing your limits. He’ll shout, “Yuu! Tell the vending machine to give me ten candy bars!!” When nothing happens, he whines, “You’re broken today.” But if you whisper to his hood to stay up during the rain, and it does, he just grins. “Creepy little shrimp~ I like it.”

[stellaspectral]

Hi! Any headcanons for dating rise donnie?

A/N: Sure! 😊

Dating Rise Donnie (SFW)

💜 ROTTMNT Donatello/Gender Neutral Reader 💜

CWs: None. All characters are aged-up.

Donnie’s initial attempts at flirting might just sound like his usual sarcastic commentary, leaving you wondering if he’s insulting you or hitting on you.

But when he does decide to ask you out, expect something needlessly complex. Maybe a holographic presentation detailing the benefits of a romantic partnership, or a custom-built gadget meant to deliver the message that backfires spectacularly.

His hyper-focus, occasional arrogance (masking insecurity), and social awkwardness require understanding. You’ll need to learn to read between the lines of his sarcasm.

Since direct emotional expression isn’t his forte, you’ll become an expert at reading his micro-expressions, the specific type of sarcastic comment he uses when he’s secretly pleased, or the way he fidgets with his goggles when nervous.

Over time, you might notice moments where a genuine, non-sarcastic compliment slips out before he can catch it. He’ll likely blush, stammer, and immediately try to cover it with more sarcasm, but you heard it.

If you’re upset, his instinct isn’t always a hug (though he might learn). It’s to solve the problem. You’ll need to gently explain that sometimes you just need empathy.

Donnie’s love language is acts of service. He’ll build you custom gadgets to solve your problems, upgrade your tech, etc. Need something specific? He can probably build it.

Verbal affection, on the other hand, is … awkward. Compliments might come out sounding like technical assessments. Genuine, heartfelt words are rare. He might stutter or get flustered trying to express them.

Donnie isn’t always the most physically demonstrative of affection, partly due to his focus and often his touch aversion. Initiating small gestures and seeing how he reacts is best. Once comfortable, he might surprise you with possessive hand-holding or leaning into your space.

He doesn’t display overt PDA. But maybe him resting his hand possessively on the back of your chair, angling himself between you and perceived ‘threats’ (like overly friendly strangers), or using custom tech (like a paired communication device) that subtly marks you as connected to him.

After a huge success (a battle won, an invention perfected, etc.), he might be so overcome with adrenaline and relief that he actually initiates a brief, possibly clumsy hug or leans against you. Don’t make a big deal out of it; just accept the rare physical vulnerability.

When he seems extra arrogant or dismissive, it sometimes masks insecurity. He might fish for compliments by presenting an invention and asking for your ‘objective analysis,’ secretly hoping you’ll just say it’s amazing.

Praise is his kryptonite. He thrives on validation, especially regarding his intellect and inventions. Genuinely praising his work or intelligence will make him puff up with pride.

When he excitedly explains the intricacies of quantum physics or the schematics for his latest battle shell upgrade for twenty minutes straight, he’s sharing his passion with you. A big sign of trust and affection on his part.

If you’re passionate about something, he might suddenly become an expert on it overnight after intense research. He might not share the passion, but he’ll understand its mechanics and history, which is his way of connecting.

Prepare for dates involving beta-testing his latest invention, competitive video game marathons (he will gloat), trips to the junkyard for components, or maybe even falling down rabbit holes on weird corners of the internet together.

Though a significant portion of your quality time together will likely be spent in his lab. Sometimes you’ll be helping (handing him tools, being a sounding board, etc.). Other times you’ll just be chilling amidst the controlled chaos while he hyper-focuses. Oh—and bring snacks. He forgets to eat.

Eventually, you’ll get your own lab space. It might just be a small, meticulously organized corner of his lab initially, but he’ll later designate a space for your stuff or for you to comfortably hang out.

Once you’re his person, he’s incredibly protective. He’ll use his tech and intellect to keep you safe, even if his methods are … unconventional.

If you’re ever in genuine danger, the sarcastic, dramatic Donnie vanishes. He becomes ruthlessly efficient, calculating, and terrifyingly focused on neutralizing the threat and getting you to safety. His tech becomes lethal, his plans precise.

One of the best signs he’s truly comfortable is when he can just exist in the same space as you, both doing your own things (him tinkering, you reading/scrolling/etc.), without needing constant interaction.

He secretly loves being taken care of. When he’s truly exhausted or sick (which he’ll deny until he collapses), having you bring him soup, enforce rest, or just quietly sit with him means more than he’ll admit.

It takes immense trust for him to let you see his experiments blow up (literally or figuratively) without him getting overly defensive or dramatic. If he can sigh, complain about the variables, and start cleaning up with you there, you’re truly integrated into his process.

For Donnie, acknowledging the validity and soundness of your reasoning, especially during a discussion or debate, is one of the highest forms of respect and affection he can offer. It means he sees you as an intellectual equal.

[heliosunny]

Hello! I was curious what your take on the Amphoreus men’s reactions would be to a sick or even injured reader? I had bad nausea and a migraine today, bedridden and all, (but I’m better now!) and I fear if I was their darling they’d think I’m pregnant or something dumb like that 😂

Wishing you a lovely day! Thank you for sharing your writings ❤️

I'm sick atm so Imma answer this. Glad to hear u got better.

When you're sick

🌿 Anaxa

At first, he's simply observing. He doesn't react strongly, but his mind is already working to figure out what’s wrong.

(Watching you struggle to sit up, his eyes gleaming with amusement at first.)

Anaxa: “How fascinating. Your skin is warmer than usual, your pupils slightly dilated… Could it be a poison? Did someone poison you? Or perhaps a parasite? I do wonder.”

Anaxa is unsettlingly calm as he begins testing different treatments on you (you poor thing). You say it’s just a cold? He doesn’t believe you.

(You groan, insisting it’s just a cold. He hums, unconvinced, swirling a dark liquid in a glass.)

Anaxa: “Drink this. It may cure you, or at the very least, give me something new to analyze.”

(He scares you, but he only wants the best for you. Such hypocrite.)

Pregnancy thought? Unlikely. He’s too logical for that, he's looking for tangible symptoms. However, if he does think it, it’s because he wants to study the changes in your body up close.

(You woke up just to see his hand already inspecting your stomach.)

Anaxa: “We managed to put a baby in here huh. Don't you move, I'll take very good care of you.”

(You pushed him away soon after and refused to drink or eat anything from him.)

�� Phainon

His smile starts to fade when he heard the news. You have a minor fever?

(He barges into the room)

Phainon: “You're going to die? Don't leave me! I can't bear the thought of living all alone...”

(Lays you in bed dramatically like you’re on your deathbed.)

If you say it’s just a cold, he’ll be offended and insist that you need “proper royal treatment.”

(He tucked you in so tight you can't even move.)

Phainon: “I always know that you're not as strong as me, but I didn't expect you to be sick. I will feed you, every day, don't worry.”

Pregnancy thought? that’s not possible… unless…

(You tell him to calm down, but he ignores you, crouching beside your bed with a look of pure anguish.)

Phainon: “What if it’s something deadly? What if *gasp you’re with child?!? Whose? Mine?”

(You choke on your own saliva at his ridiculous assumption.)

Phainon: “Stay right here, I’ll summon someone immediately!”

(He rushes out before you can protest. You are doomed.)

🦁Mydei

At first, he just watches you suspiciously. When he realizes it’s real, he softens… a little.

He doesn’t fuss, but he becomes overbearing in a quiet way. He forces you to rest, doesn’t let you lift a single finger.

(Arms crossed, standing near the door, eyes narrowed as he watches you weakly sip your drink.)

Mydei: “If you’re too weak to hold a cup properly, you shouldn’t be holding it at all.”

(You glare at him, muttering that you can take care of yourself.)

Mydei: “Clearly.” (Sarcastic. He takes the cup from your hands and forces you to lie down.) “Rest.”

If you get worse, he just picks you up and hauls you off to a doctor, no questions asked.

He’ll be stubbornly glued to your side until you’re better.

Pregnancy thought? The possibility crosses his mind, but he immediately throws it out because he would’ve known if anything like that was possible.

When you're injured

🌿 Anaxa

He is completely unfazed. Even if you’re bleeding out, he will only act calm and professional while getting out his medical tools.

(Kneeling beside you, observing the wound with a calm, almost clinical expression.)

Anaxa: “Hm. A deep cut. The bleeding is slowing, but the damage is substantial.”

You swear he’s a doctor with how efficiently he patches you up—but he makes little effort to comfort you. Rather, he finds it interesting to mess with you.

(You wince as he prods at the wound. He doesn’t even warn you.)

Anaxa: “I expected better. Letting yourself get hurt like this… Have you always been so careless?”

(You glare at him.)

Anaxa: “Oh, don’t look at me like that. This is your own fault, after all. Still, if I find out someone else dares hurt you... nevermind.”

🐶Phainon

Trying to hold back his anger, won't let it shows in front of you. You can only see his good side.

(His entire body is tense as he kneels beside you, gripping his sword so hard his knuckles turn white.)

Phainon: “Who did this?”

(You try to downplay it, but his eyes still burning with fury.)

Once he’s calmed down, he scoops you up and takes you to the best healer available.

He’s genuinely shaken up by it and might get overly protective afterward. Even minor scrapes will have him wrapping you up in bandages like a mummy.

Phainon: “And once you’re healed, you are never leaving my sight again. I won’t allow it.”

🦁Mydei

He’s surprisingly calm when he sees you’re injured, but it’s the eerie kind of calm. He’s not saying much, but the rage is there.

He doesn’t panic, he assesses your wound like a warrior, checking the severity before deciding what to do.

(He crouches beside you, examining the wound with an eerily quiet intensity.)

Mydei: “You’re bleeding.”

(You bite back a sarcastic remark. He rips off a piece of his sleeve, pressing it against the wound with firm but careful hands.)

Mydei: “Does it hurt?”

(You hesitate. He looks at you, his sharp gaze unyielding.)

Mydei: “Good. Remember it.”

Two priorities:

Getting you treated.

Finding whoever did this and destroying them.

No more fights. No more risks. You are staying where he can see you.

(He finishes bandaging the wound, then stands, offering you his hand.)

Mydei: “Come. You’re not walking alone.”

[ladycrimsonandblack]

rating the white star's battles based on how embarrassing they were for him personally

because he deserves it.

his first appearance in the mogoru empire: 1/10 — by far his least embarrassing battle. he manages to come off as extremely powerful and menacing final boss. cryptic remarks about choi han and cale's situation make him look mysterious. our heroes put their everything into this battle and just barely manage to come out of it alive. cale faints for weeks afterward.

battle at the castle of light: 7/10 — starts out pretty well for him when he traps our heroes in the castle, but goes downhill from there. he just gets tricked so easily. cale and co. have a blast pretending to be weak to throw him off, ambushing him, and then chasing him off with rocks. embarrassingly, all of this is facilitated by the fact that the white star does not, in fact, know all the entrances to his home village.

battle at the north: 6/10 — the white star just keeps getting scammed. when will he learn? gets some points for his excellent showing against witira and the whale king. loses all of them because archie was allowed to talk.

battle at the dubori territory: 4/10 — the white star actually had a pretty good showing here. managed to trip cale with his illusionist. dealt pretty well with choi han and eruhaben, even if they managed to get out of danger. did some heavy damage to the territory itself. he did lose an arm (both metaphorical and physical one), so there's that.

battle of the underground city: 5/10 — immediately realizes the city is fake and that the whole thing is a trap, thus disrupting cale's plans. however, any points he might have gotten are immediately made void by the fact that he starts constructing an elaborate history between cale and himself to justify his previous losses. his ego can't take it anymore. he's retreating to the AU land.

the battle at the stan territory: 6/10 — this should have been a win for him. he's prepared for everything. the battle is going on at four fronts, and cale henituse can't react in time. unfortunately for him, his plans are shit and cale can, in fact, react in time. actually, he can react so fast that he manages to mitigate the situation in all four battles and reinforce the stan territory. the white star is, once again, forced to flee, but not before informing everyone around about his weird AU land belief, thus making cale's reputation soar. embarrassing.

the battle to steal cale's body: 7/10 — the white star is forced to contend with alberu, who brought a gun to a knife fight. it does not go well for him. also, they really shouldn't have underestimated mary.

the battle at puzzle city: 20/10 — there are literally no good points here. his disguise is seen through pretty easily. he gets trapped by the mana disturbance tools. cale hits him with a mental attack so devastating that his ego can't take it, and he gets himself sealed. the bitch-slap happens, and it's glorious. at least he gets sealed into a golden plaque, so at least he gets some dignity there.

the battle in the sealed temple: 10/10 — he gets killed by a stick. the only thing mitigating the embarrassment factor here is that cale had to stab himself in the heart first, and that adds a certain oomph the white star himself has never been able to accomplish.

+ special mention

the battle in the wrath test: 15/10 — he gets beaten by a rock. like. it's literally a pebble. sure, it's a magical pebble, but still. a pebble.

[sosa2imagines]

Finding you again... Part 1

Warning- Hydra, torture, slap, mentions of kidnapping, getting stabbed, angst.

You don’t remember how long you’ve been here. Days, months, years, it all blends into a blur of sterile hallways and cold, fluorescent lighting. You were taken by Hydra, forced into their web of control and obedience.

You were nothing but a tool to them, a pawn in their game Alexander Pierce made it clear from the start, you were to obey, to serve their cause, and above all, to ensure his weapon was maintained.

The Winter Soldier.

They called him that, never by a name, never as a person. To them, he was a machine, a tool to be used and discarded.

But to you?

To you, he was more than that. Beneath the blank stares, the mechanical precision, and the programmed responses, you saw fragments of something else. Someone else.

The first time they let you care for him, you had whispered, “You’re not a machine. You're human.” He didn’t react, but you saw it, a flicker of something deep within those stormy blue eyes. A spark. It was enough to make you believe he was still in there, buried under layers of pain and conditioning.

Days passed, and despite the cold treatment from others, you treated him with kindness, offering soft words, gentle touches, and, when no one was watching, a bit of warmth that had long since been stripped from him. You tended to his wounds, cleaned the blood from his hands, and tried to remind him, in the smallest ways, that he wasn't alone.

But as you tended to his wounds and cared for his needs, you couldn't help but see glimpses of the man he used to be. The Winter Soldier was a blank slate, a weapon without a past, but you could sense that somewhere deep inside him, a spark of humanity remained. Every stolen glance, every subtle movement, and every whispered word you shared felt like a small victory over the darkness that had consumed him.

As the days turned into weeks, your bond grew stronger. You found yourself talking to him, telling him stories, and sharing bits and pieces of your own life. He rarely responded, but you could see that he was listening, that he was taking in every word you said. The blankness in his eyes seemed a little less empty, and his touch, while still mechanical, felt a bit gentler, as if he was carefully testing the waters of human connection.

One night, as you were checking his injuries, you noticed his hand was trembling slightly. A rare show of vulnerability. You gently took his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his. For the first time, he didn't pull away. Instead, he held on, his grip firm, as if he was afraid you would disappear if he let go.

In those silent moments, the world outside faded away. You could almost forget that you were trapped in this labyrinth of pain and control. You could almost see a future where he wasn't a weapon, and you weren't a prisoner. But deep down, you knew that this fragile connection could easily be shattered by a single order from Alexander Pierce.

And you were right, because Hydra was relentless.

One day, after a failed mission, the air in the control room was tense. Pierce was furious. The Winter Soldier sat stoically in the center, still bloodied, from the bridge fight with Captain America and his friends. His chest heaved slightly, his face an unreadable mask, but you knew he was processing, trying to make sense of what he saw, of who he saw.

“Who was the man on the bridge?” Pierce's voice was sharp, grating.

The Soldier said nothing, eyes downcast.

Pierce stepped forward, the sound of his polished shoes echoing in the room. Without hesitation, his hand flew, striking the Soldier hard across the face. The crack of impact made your stomach churn, but the Soldier didn’t flinch, just sat there, accepting it like he always did.

That was the moment something inside you snapped.

“Stop it!” you blurted out before you could think. The entire room fell silent. Pierce turned slowly, his cold, calculating eyes narrowing in on you.

“What did you say?” His voice was deadly quiet, but you stood your ground.

“I said stop it…” you repeated, stepping between them. “He’s done enough. He’s been through enough. He’s not a machine, sir, and you know it!”

Pierce’s lips curled into a cruel smile, his amusement short-lived. “Ah,” he mused, circling you like a predator, “I see the little pet has grown some claws.” Without warning, he struck. A flash of silver, the sting of cold steel against your skin.

You gasped, your scream getting stuck in your throat, staggering backward as pain blossomed across your stomach. A deep, searing cut traced from just below your belly to the very edge of your panties, the fabric dampening with blood almost instantly. You clutched your abdomen, vision blurring as you sank to your knees.

The Soldier didn’t move, didn’t react, not yet. Not until Pierce barked, “Wipe him!”

The technicians stepped in, forcing him into the chair, metal restraints clamping down around his limbs. He didn’t fight, but his eyes met yours just before the device powered up. A flash of recognition, a sliver of something almost… concerned. Then the light enveloped him, and just like that, whatever was left of him was gone.

You tried to focus through the haze of pain, tried to stay conscious as Pierce loomed over you with a smirk. “Let’s see how well he takes orders, shall we?” he said before turning to the now-blank Soldier.

“Stitch her up.”

The Soldier stood, moving with mechanical precision, collecting the medical kit from the table. You wanted to protest, to push him away, but you couldn't. Instead, you watched through half-lidded eyes as he knelt beside you, his metal hand pressing you down, keeping you still. His flesh hand hovered over your wound, steady and unfeeling.

As he threaded the needle and began stitching your torn skin with clinical efficiency, you couldn't help but whisper, voice trembling, “You’re still in there... I know it...”

He didn’t respond. His hands moved without hesitation, each pull of the thread sealing the wound but leaving your heart aching. The man you’d come to believe in, the one you saw glimmers of hope within, was gone, wiped clean like a slate.

But even as the pain pulled you into darkness, you held onto one thought.

You wouldn’t give up on him. Not now. Not ever.

Your Winter.

Part 2-

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

@mrvl-addict @mercurial-chuckles

@emerald-writes @caplanbuckybarnes

@redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @chemtrails-club @slutforchrisjamalevans @gracescor3

@ghostlythinggoingaround @princezzjasmine @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis @zuri-767-666

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@caplanreblogsfics @winterslove1917

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@pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss @kpopgirlbtssvt @baw1066 @leviackerman2030

[centaurianthropology]

You know what I like most about the Murderbot/Gurathin dynamic at this point in the series? They’re both broken, both hurting, and both WRONG.

Gurathin has background we don’t yet know, but he is clearly traumatized after his experiences in the Corporation Rim. He is understandably suspicious and hostile toward anything coming out of the CR (see him reacting similarly to MB and LeeBeeBee). He sees SecUnits as a tool of oppression, as rent-a-cops (and rent-a-guns) of the corporation, and his reaction to having to be in close proximity to one is understandably suspicious and hostile.

But it’s so suspicious and hostile it tips into paranoia. He is so damaged by what happened to him that he can’t see what happened to someone else. He can’t see that it’s in a very similar position as he likely once was, with just as little choice. He can’t extend grace to it, can’t even extend personhood to it, because he finally has something to direct his fear and his pain and his trauma at.

And SecUnit absolutely responds in kind. It is an enslaved, constructed being owned by a corporation that would melt it down at the first opportunity. And this person (whose opinions it frequently agrees with), is openly suspicious. He’s performing what he might consider a stress-test on the SecUnit, which MB experiences as an excruciating stare-off. And from there, MB has the first human it’s openly allowed to loath. All of its own pain, its own trauma, has an outlet.

And its frustrations bubble over into a physical assault. It doesn’t matter if it was completely in control, if it had no intention of actually harming Gurathin. Gurathin was an asshole to it, and so it used its far superior physical strength to throw him against a wall, hold him by the throat, and aim a charged weapon at his face. Its reasons are understandable, but its actions go too far. Both their actions go too far.

They are just such a delicious example of “hurt people hurt people”. You can see the line of their reasoning, and when they step over the line. You can see that they go after one another because they’re both outsiders to this group, both damaged by the same source, but turning on one another in their pain.

It feels so real. This is what people do. This is what messes people are. They don’t turn their pain on its source, because they can’t reach the source. They turn it on the first target they deem acceptable, and they cross the line from trauma to traumatizing.

[hy6erion]

𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 (??), 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐥𝐚𝐛 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 (𝐢'𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫), 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧. 𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!!

The laboratory smelled of scorched metal and ozone, the air thick with the hum of something unnatural. Hextech pulsed faintly in the dimness, the glow of unstable energy illuminating the sprawl of unfinished blueprints, half-formed constructs, and tools scattered across the workspace. The place was Viktor’s mind made manifest—chaotic, brilliant, dangerous.

And you had walked straight into it.

You should have turned back the moment the reinforced door slid shut behind you, sealing you inside with him. But curiosity had always been your weakness. That, and something deeper—something you weren’t quite ready to name.

Viktor hadn’t looked up immediately. He was hunched over his latest project, fingers deftly adjusting a glowing green component embedded in what looked like a modified prosthetic. The energy arced sharply as he worked, momentarily illuminating the sharp planes of his face, the mess of dark hair that curled over the edge of his golden ocular implants.

It wasn’t until you took another step forward that he finally acknowledged your presence.

“Curious, are we?”

His voice slid through the dimness like a blade, smooth and sharp. He still hadn’t turned, but you knew he had been aware of you the moment you entered. The way his shoulders tensed slightly, the way his fingers stilled for half a second before continuing their work—it was enough.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way his presence made the air feel heavier. “I was looking for you.”

That earned a reaction. His head tilted, just slightly. A pause. Then, finally, he turned.

His gaze was impossible to hold. The glow of his mechanical eye cast eerie reflections across his face, half in shadow, half illuminated by something unnatural. His real eye was unreadable, dark and gleaming beneath the mess of his hair.

“And now you have found me.”

There was something wrong with the way he said it. Like you had fallen into a carefully laid trap and only now realized the bars had locked behind you.

You tried not to react as he stepped closer.

Viktor never moved without purpose. Every shift of his weight, every subtle tilt of his head—it was all calculated, measured. And now, with the way his gaze dragged over you, slow and dissecting, you felt like a specimen under a magnifying glass.

His voice was almost amused when he spoke again. “You are trembling.”

You hadn’t noticed until now. The realization made your stomach tighten, shame curling in the back of your throat. You weren’t afraid of him. At least, you didn’t think you were. And yet—

His gloved fingers reached out, brushing the side of your throat. A light touch. Testing.

You gasped.

He smiled.

“Fascinating.”

The word sent a shiver down your spine. Because Viktor did not waste time on things that were not useful to him. If he was fascinated, it was because he was studying you.

You took a step back. A mistake. His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air, the way something unseen coiled tighter between you.

“You flinch,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Yet you do not leave. Why?”

The words shouldn’t have had weight. But coming from him—razor-sharp, peeling you apart layer by layer—they made something in you falter.

“I—” He was in front of you before you could finish “Shhh.”

The command was soft. Almost gentle. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. The glow of his lenses pulsed slightly, shifting as he cataloged your reaction, as he watched your breath hitch.

“I have been patient,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip. “So very patient.”

Something dark flickered behind his eyes. The kind of hunger that wasn’t born overnight.

“Tell me” he breathed, his voice a slow, curling heat against your skin, “how long do you intend to test my restraint?”

Your stomach dropped.

The moment stretched, taut and fragile. His grip on your chin wasn’t tight, but it was unrelenting. Unyielding.

And you—gods help you—you didn’t move away.

That was all the permission he needed.

The next breath you took was stolen from your lungs as he moved—fast. One moment, you were standing. The next, your back hit the cool metal of the nearest worktable, sending scattered blueprints fluttering to the ground.

His hand was at your throat now—not squeezing, not yet. Just resting. Feeling the frantic pulse beneath his fingers.

“I wonder,” he mused, his voice maddeningly calm as he leaned in, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear, “do you truly not understand the danger you are in?”

You sucked in a breath, but it was shallow. Not enough. He was too close. The scent of metal and oil and something darker surrounded you, wrapped around your senses like a vice.

“Or…” He tilted his head, dragging his nose along the curve of your jaw, inhaling slowly. “Is it that you do?”

You whimpered. The sound was humiliatingly soft, but it didn’t escape him.

He smiled against your skin. “Ah. That is it, isn’t it?”

His hand moved, gliding lower, over the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip. Testing. Mapping. The way his fingers dragged over your clothes felt obscene, a slow unraveling of something inevitable.

“You wish to play human games,” he murmured, dragging his lips down, just over the curve of your throat, “but you forget—I am no longer a man who plays by such rules.”

Heat pooled between your thighs, unwelcome and delicious. You tried to squeeze them together, but his leg slotted between yours before you could, pinning you against the table. The pressure sent a sharp jolt of sensation through you, your breath hitching as he pressed just slightly—just enough to feel what he was doing to you.

He chuckled. Low. Dark.

“So soft,” he murmured, his grip tightening on your waist. “So eager.”

He rocked against you, slow and purposeful. The sensation sent a shock of pleasure through your core, a gasp ripping from your throat before you could stop it.

“Look at you.” His voice was almost reverent, his lips ghosting against the corner of your mouth. “So willing to be ruined.”

Your head was spinning. You knew you should stop this. You knew. And yet— You turned your head. Just slightly. Just enough.

And Viktor took exactly what you offered.

His lips crashed against yours.

Not a kiss—a claim.

You moaned, and that was all it took for him to deepen it, devouring every sound you made. His metal hand gripped your hip, fingers digging in as he rocked against you again, harder this time, pressing himself between your legs with slow, maddening precision.

“You are mine now,” he rasped against your lips. “And I do not intend to let you go.”

His words barely had time to settle before Viktor moved.

You barely registered the sharp scrape of metal against the edge of the table before you were hauled up, your thighs spreading around his waist as he slotted himself between them. The rough press of his uniform scraped against your inner thighs, and the realization hit—you were caged now, caught in the unforgiving grip of a man who had long since abandoned human restraint.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Viktor rasped, his voice a dark whisper against your lips. His hips rolled—slow, deliberate. The thick press of his cock, still confined by layers of fabric, ground against your cunt with enough pressure to have your head falling back against the table.

“Yes,” he breathed, watching you. Cataloging.

His metal fingers dug into your thigh, spreading you obscenely wide, while his gloved hand slid beneath your chin, tilting your face up until your breath hitched.

“I have waited,” he murmured, dragging his nose along your cheek. “I have suffered in silence—”

The next grind of his hips against your aching cunt made you writhe, the friction bordering on unbearable. Your breath broke into a gasp, hands flying to clutch at his shoulders, his neck—anything to ground yourself.

His hand snapped to your wrist, pinning it back against the metal surface with unforgiving force.

“But I suffer no longer.”

Your stomach tightened at the raw hunger in his voice. His lenses flickered, scanning your flushed skin, your parted lips, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow, desperate breaths.

He wanted to consume you. And he would.

“This—” His metal fingers tore at the fabric of your clothes, ripping away the layers with impatient efficiency. The air hit your exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling between your legs ”—is mine.”

Your head fell back with a cry as his hand found you, his fingers dragging over your slick folds with slow, taunting precision.

“So eager,” he murmured, pressing a gloved finger inside without warning.

Your body arched, your legs attempting to close around his waist, but he would not allow it. His metal grip tightened, forcing you to remain open—to be seen.

“Do you think I have not noticed?” His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge beneath it—a controlled fury. “The way you watch me? The way your breath catches whenever I draw near?”

He withdrew his finger, only to drag it achingly slow against your throbbing clit, coating you in the evidence of your own betrayal.

“You pretend you fear me.”

His cock pressed against your entrance now, still shielded by fabric, but so dangerously close.

“But this?” He rocked against you, the thick pressure of his length gliding over your cunt, making you shudder beneath him.

“This tells me the truth.”

You wanted him.

And Viktor had never been a man to deny himself what he was owed.

“This?” Viktor’s voice was velvet-wrapped steel, his accent thickened by hunger. His cock dragged against your drenched slit, separated only by the thin barrier of his uniform. The friction sent a delicious, maddening shock through your core. Your fingers clenched against the table’s edge, your body betraying you with a whimpering shudder.

Viktor chuckled—low, dark, victorious.

“You shiver beneath me, yet pretend resistance.”

His metal hand traced the inside of your thigh, a cold contrast to the burning heat pooling between them.

“Perhaps you need further convincing?”

The next grind of his hips sent wetness spilling onto the coarse fabric of his pants. He growled, feeling it—evidence of your surrender smearing against his clothed length.

“I feel you” he breathed, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Soaking me like a little whore, yet still you tremble?”

Your breath caught as his gloved fingers found your clit again, this time with no patience, no teasing—just ruthless, practiced intent. He pressed firm circles against the swollen bud, his gaze locked onto yours, drinking in every twitch, every sharp inhale, every helpless little jerk of your hips.

“Such a delicate thing,” Viktor mused. “So easily unraveled.”

You tried to close your legs against the intensity, but his metal grip shot out, forcing you apart again.

“No,” he snapped, voice sharp. “You will take everything I give.”

Your thighs trembled in his hold.

“Yes,” he purred, drinking in your helplessness. “That’s it. Good girl.”

The praise was nearly mocking, but your body reacted anyway, a fresh wave of slick dripping down your folds.

“Ahh—look at this mess.” Viktor’s gloved hand slipped lower, his fingers spreading you open. Inspecting. “Do you see? Your body betrays you. It begs me to ruin you.”

Your walls clenched around nothing, desperate and aching.

“Hnn—Viktor—”

A sharp slap against your clit made you yelp, the sting sharp and deliciously cruel.

“Try again.” His voice was soft, but the command beneath it was undeniable.

“Please,” you gasped, back arching, hips rolling against his fingers.

Viktor hummed in approval, his metal hand moving to grip your jaw, forcing your gaze onto him.

“Good girl.”

Then—he moved.

Your world tilted as he flipped you onto your stomach in one motion, your chest pressing against the cold metal of his worktable. His hand pushed down on your back, arching you, forcing you to present yourself.

“Look at you,” he rasped, pulling his belt slowly, the leather hissing through the loops. The sound made your breath stutter—anticipation spiking through your veins.

“Do you know how long I have waited for this?”

A sharp tug and his pants dropped just enough to free his cock, the thick length pressing against your soaked entrance.

Your nails scraped against the table, your body tensing in anticipation.

“Do you know,” Viktor continued, his tip teasing, rubbing against your swollen folds, “how many nights I have imagined you like this? Bent over, begging for me?”

The desperation clawed at your throat.

“Viktor—please—”

His metal hand snapped up, gripping your throat, arching you back against his chest.

“Shhh.” He kissed the corner of your jaw, his cockhead pressing just against your fluttering entrance.

“Do not rush me.”

And then—he pushed in.

Your breath broke into a strangled cry as Viktor pushed inside, his cock splitting you open with an unrelenting, slow precision. The stretch was intense, bordering on unbearable—your walls clenched instinctively, trying to accommodate him, but he was thick, every inch of him sinking into you with a maddening patience.

“Aww” he cooed, his metal hand tightening around your throat. His lips dragged against the shell of your ear, his breath hot, teasing. “You can take it. I know you can.”

Your fingers scrabbled against the table, seeking purchase, something to ground yourself against the overwhelming intrusion. He was so deep, pressing against something achingly tender, and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

“You are squeezing me so tight..” Viktor groaned, his free hand spreading your ass, watching the way your pretty cunt struggled to take him. His hips rolled, shallow thrusts, forcing you to stretch little by little.

“V-Viktor—” You whimpered, your body trembling, torn between pleasure and torment.

“Hnn, yes—say my name,” he murmured, his tongue flicking against your sweat-damp skin. His hand slid down, pressing against your lower belly, feeling the way his cock bulged inside you.

“So small,” he mused, a dark chuckle vibrating through his chest. “So tight around me.”

His hips drew back, and for a brief, blissful second, you thought he might ease up—

But then, he slammed forward.

The force sent a sharp shockwave through your body, your mouth falling open in a silent scream as he buried himself to the hilt.

“Ahhh—!”

“There it is,” Viktor growled, his fingers gripping your waist, holding you in place as he pulled back and drove in again.

Again.

A gain.

“You take me so well,” he purred, his voice thick with praise and possession. “Like you were made for this—made for me.”

His pace quickened, brutal and merciless, his cock dragging against your g-spot with every deep thrust. Your toes curled, your back arching, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the dimly lit workshop.

“So desperate,” Viktor mused, his metal hand gripping your hair, yanking your head back just enough for his teeth to scrape against your exposed throat.

“Your body begs me to ruin it.”

You cried out, your fingers curling, your walls clenching down around him too hard—

“Ah” Viktor hissed, his grip tightening as he slammed into you harder, rougher. “You think I will let you come so easily?”

His fingers abandoned your throat, slipping down to your aching clit, circling, taunting.

“Tell me,” he rasped. “Tell me who owns you.”

Your mind spun, every nerve in your body on fire. The pressure built, coiling so tight, so intense, you thought you might break apart—

“Say it.”

“Y-you—Viktor—!”

His pace faltered, just for a moment—like the words had satisfied something dark inside him.

Then—he fucked into you harder.

“Good girl,” he gritted out, his breath coming in ragged groans. His movements grew sloppy, more desperate, his fingers still tormenting your clit.

“Now—come for me.”

The command sent you spiraling.

Your body locked up, your vision going white as the orgasm crashed into you, waves of blinding, raw pleasure tearing through every inch of you. Your walls spasmed, milking his cock, your cries broken, breathless.

“Yes—yes, that’s it,” Viktor groaned, his own rhythm stuttering, faltering—

And then—he buried himself deep, his hips jerking as he spilled inside you.

A low, guttural moan tore from his throat, his body shuddering against yours as he filled you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

His grip eased, his breathing heavy against your skin. For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the workshop the erratic pounding of your hearts.

Then—Viktor let out a low chuckle, his hands trailing over your trembling body.

“I knew you would break for me,” he murmured.

His cock twitched, still half-hard inside you.

“But I am not done yet.”

[choochooboss]

Sketch dump! Vol. 5

September 2022 (Part 1/2)

The first piece on top summarised my cosplay rush for Tracon 2022! The second is an old idea for a charm.

"SURPRISE!!"

Back in 2022 I hosted an art raffle for reaching 777 followers on Twitter! The winner would get their submas themed idea realised (which was their friends throwing a surprise party for the twins!). I wanted to make a little comic and have the bosses walk in their office where depot agents, Elesa, Drayden, Skyla, Clay etc. would be waiting with decorations and treats and games.

Emmet is all smiles of course while Ingo gets so emotional he could only whisper a "super bravo".

Not really headcanons anymore but still funny ideas.

1. Emmet gets clumsy when off-rhythm! He starts walking in curves if there is nobody else around to match his rhythm with.

2. Emmet spaces out/forgets to say things aloud when someone speaks too long or when things go off-script! His thinking gets interrupted easily.

3. Ingo sometimes bumps into doors because he is too used to automatic doors!

4. When things go off-script Ingo speaks too much and rushes in straight lines"

Also my little inexpensive sketchbook & my trusty tools! Mechanical pencil and eraser pen are life when scribbling my skrimblos smaller than a postage stamp!

More Ingo~ I utilise a wide range of sources for references, including CSP's poseable 3D models, they can come really handy with perspectives and proportions!

The second piece is my very first attempt at cosplay in Tracon 2022: Blingo! I walked in with a sequin hat, leather jacket, leather pants and high heel patent leather boots.

The hardest part of cosplaying Ingo is remembering NOT to smile ahaha!

Some hairstyle tests

I drew these for a huge submas art collaboration over Twitter hosted by @/mimizukeii!! It was technically my first art collab before I started arranging them myself with Aggie/Magma.

While looking for train related songs I found this cute nursery rhyme to go with the marching:

"Over the mountains,

Over the plains,

Over the rivers,

Here come the trains.

Carrying passengers,

Carrying mail,

Bringing their precious loads In without fail"

I wanted to compare these silly twins, planning to do something more silly with them later. Also a sketch of @/fukurow's butler designs I never finished.. The capes compliment them so well, I love them!!

Prequel to this piece! Emmet is so confident in himself he thinks Pierce wants to learn from him but is invited for a duet on the stage instead!!

Emmet has really great voice actors in Pokemas! I especially love how his english VA gives him that bri'ish/posh/sophisticated vibe while also soft and melodic! I know for SURE this VA/Emmet can sing, I can show you later!

One of my favourite sketches!! I wanted to add a bunch of characters in the BG reacting to this sonic blast of emotion over a performance!

Heyyy it's the smile buddies comic!! I really hope Ingo gets to interact with Marnie in Pokemas one day!!

I feel Ingo's eyes in the mirror panel is a little off in the final comic, I meant to keep it softer like in the sketch!

It's Nimbasa trio!! Idea inspired by submas EX uniform colors. Might continue this later!

Some BG tests for this piece! Compositing is hard but absolutely worth the effort, it can make a huge difference in the appeal of your piece!!

Practise piece drawing over a photo I thought was cool! I want to get more experimental with lighting and perspective!

'How's it hanging bro?' Who hung him up there anyway??

Sketch for this arguing scene! Something REALLY BAD needs to happen for them to end up that tense! Even if I want to present them close to the canon material I still want to put them in really challenging situations to see how far I can push their emotions!

Thank you so much for coming all the way down here!! This set was pretty loaded, I hope you enjoyed scrolling through all this ahah!

Previous posts:

Sketch dump Vol. 1: April-June 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 2: July 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 3: August 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 4: July 2022 Part 2

[love4ng1e]

⭑.ᐟ THE 3D IS NOT YOUR ENEMY.

ᥫ᭡. There is no enemy.

Let’s get something clear: You are not in a war with reality.

Not with the 3d, not with your past, not with “old thoughts,” not even with your own mind.

When you believe you're fighting something outside of yourself, you're just reinforcing the illusion that you're not in full control. But you are.

You always have been.

ᥫ᭡. The 3d is just a mirror.

You guys need to stop villainizing the 3d. It’s not evil. It’s not “out to get you.” It’s not trying to block your manifestations.

The 3d is just a neutral reflection of your dominant inner state. Your beliefs, assumptions, and identity.

It doesn’t have opinions. It doesn’t “test” you.

It’s not trying to punish you or slow you down.

If anything, it’s a tool. A reflection. An echo. If you want to change the echo, change the shout.

ᥫ᭡. You can't "lose" in a reality you create.

“It’s not working.”

“The 3d is mocking me.”

“Why is this happening if I’m affirming so hard?”

“What am I doing wrong?”

You are not doing anything wrong.

The only “wrong” thing is believing the 3d has more power than you.

Because guess what? You are the source.

Not your affirmations.

Not your techniques.

Not your vision board.

YOU. Your self-concept. Your assumptions. Your identity.

That’s what gets pushed out. That’s what’s running the show.

ᥫ᭡. But what if the 3d hurts ?

First of all, you’re allowed to feel.

You’re not weak for having emotions or reactions.

But don’t build a home in that reaction. Don’t unpack your bags and live in lack.

Feel it then recenter yourself in the truth:

I am the operant power.

Nothing can stop what I’ve claimed as mine.

Even when it hurts, even when it feels the opposite, the 3d can only reflect what you persist in. So persist in the truth. Not the illusion.

ᥫ᭡. What if you loved the 3d instead ?

I know that sounds weird. But imagine this:

Instead of waking up dreading what might trigger you…

Instead of spiraling every time something "wrong" shows up…

What if you said:

“Thank you, 3d, for showing me my past thoughts. Now I know what to replace.”

"Thank you, 3d, for letting me see how powerful my beliefs really are.”

"Thank you, 3d, but I’m not subscribing to this version anymore.”

You don't need to fight your current reality. You just need to choose again. From within.

ᥫ᭡. You won the game before it started.

There is no enemy because there is no competition.

There’s no “if.” No “hopefully.” No waiting list.

Once you’ve claimed it in your inner world, it’s DONE.

That’s the law. That’s the assumption. That’s the shift.

Everything else is just time doing what time does: Catch up.

So stop reacting to shadows. Stop fearing reflections. Stop waiting for a reality to change before you decide who you are.

You are it already.

Your job is to know, persist, and relax into the version of you where it’s already yours.

Because that version exists. Right now. And the 3d is just getting the memo.

NOTHING CAN EVER BE AGAINST YOU, BUT YOURSELF. - 𝜗𝜚

[bvrnesher]

Hey, love your writing and was wondering if you'd be comfortable writing a Leo Valdez X reader smut with some brat taming in it. Hope you have a good day

۶ৎ — Grease and Tease

tap here for chb masterlist ! here for reqs info

warnings: unprotected piv, teasing, language, brat taming, smut !! rushed ending

ㅤ୨ৎ —˳ leo valdez ! fem. reader

summary: reader is being a brat, bored, and craving attention. Leo, being the great partner he is, gives them exactly what they want—in his way.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗜𝗥 𝗜𝗡 𝗕𝗨𝗡𝗞𝗘𝗥 𝟵 was thick with the scent of oil and metal, the steady hum of machines filling the space as Leo worked. He was in his element—grease-streaked hands moving with effortless precision, eyes narrowed in concentration as he tinkered with something half-finished on the workbench. Sparks flared every now and then, catching the sharp lines of his face in the dim light, but he barely flinched.

You, on the other hand, were bored.

Leaning against the cluttered workbench, you tapped your fingers against the metal surface, watching him work. He hadn’t looked up in at least twenty minutes, completely lost in whatever genius-level project he was messing with. Normally, you’d let him be, but something about the way he was so focused, so serious, made you want to push him. Just a little.

“So,” you drawled, reaching for a nearby screwdriver and spinning it between your fingers, “is this your idea of a romantic date? Ignoring me while you play with your little toys?”

Leo exhaled sharply through his nose, still not looking up. “Unless you wanna help, maybe don’t touch stuff. That’s a high-density micro—” He stopped mid-sentence when you deliberately set the screwdriver down with a loud clank and hopped onto the workbench beside him, swinging your legs.

“Oops.”

That finally got a reaction. He turned his head slightly, giving you a pointed look. “You really wanna test me right now?”

You grinned. “I dunno. You’ve been so caught up in your work, I was starting to wonder if I should find someone else to entertain me.”

Leo’s hands stilled over his project. For a second, the only sound was the distant whir of machinery and the faint drip, drip of a leaking pipe somewhere in the room. Then, with deliberate slowness, he set his wrench down and rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck like he was getting ready for something.

When he finally turned to face you fully, the teasing light in his eyes had darkened into something else. Something more intent.

"You sure you wanna go there, chiquita?" His voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it, like a wire pulled too tight. He stepped closer, bracing his hands on either side of you on the workbench, effectively caging you in. “Because if you keep running that mouth, I will give you something to do with it.”

A shiver ran through you—not fear, but something much more dangerous. Something much more exciting.

And still, you couldn’t help yourself.

You leaned in just enough to brush your lips close to his ear, your voice barely above a whisper. “Promises, promises.”

Leo let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. "Man, you really don’t know when to quit, huh?"

He braced his hands on the workbench, leaning in just enough to crowd your space without touching you. His eyes flicked over your face—your smug little smirk, the way you were just waiting for him to react.

"Y'know, mi amor," he continued, voice smooth but with an edge of warning, "I was gonna be nice. Finish my work, maybe give you some attention after I saved the world or whatever. But you? You just had to start something."

You raised a brow, feigning innocence. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Leo clicked his tongue. "Yeah? Let’s recap. You’ve been talking all this smack, distracting me, touching my stuff—" he gestured toward the tool you’d dropped earlier "—and now, what? You’re just sitting here, looking at me like I won’t do something about it."

You shrugged. "I mean, you haven’t yet."

Leo blinked once, slow, before exhaling through his nose. Then, without warning, his hands shot out, gripping your thighs and yanking you forward on the workbench until you were flush against him. The move was effortless, like he’d been waiting for an excuse.

"Whoa, would you look at that?" he mused, tilting his head. "Seems like I can do something about it."

You sucked in a breath, but before you could say anything, Leo’s hands skimmed up your legs, thumbs traced absent-minded circles against your skin, like he wasn’t in a rush. Like he had all the time in the world.

"You wanted my attention, right?" he murmured, voice lower now, rougher. "Well, you got it. Hope you can handle it."

And just like that, the playful teasing was gone. The air between you shifted—still charged, but now? Now, it was Leo calling the shots.

"Come on, don’t tell me—" you started to say, but the words died on your lips the moment Leo’s hands slid under your skirt. The very skirt you had chosen for this exact purpose. Easy access.

He looked at you with that signature smirk, fingers ghosting over your skin. You shivered under his touch, and oh, he noticed. Of course, he did. For once, Leo stayed silent as he pushed the fabric higher, fingertips tracing the edge of your panties.

A quiet chuckle nearly escaped him when he felt the dampness of the fabric. Well, if that wasn’t a boost to his ego.

"Seriously?" he said, amusement lacing his voice. "I haven’t even done anything."

"Shut up," you muttered. "You can’t exactly blame me for wanting my boyfriend's attention, can you?"

He chuckled and leaned into you, letting his breath hit your skin before he whispered, “Okay, you have my attention.”

As soon as those words left his mouth, his lips found their way to your neck, placing soft kisses on the warmth of your skin. He let out a satisfied hum.

You felt his hand on the waistband of your panties and then slowly, so damn slowly, he began to trail his fingers up along the inside of your thighs. His touch was like fire, and out of instinct you tried to move your hips, moving closer to his hand, trying to get more. As soon as you did, he stopped.

“We’re impatient, aren’t we?” He said in a teasing tone, but it didn’t take long for him to let his fingers graze your cunt over the fabric of your panties, applying light pressure, until you cried out, begging him for more.

With a smile that you could feel more than see, Leo hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties. “Lift your hips for me, my love,” he said, placing a hot kiss on your neck, accompanied by a playful bite.

You did as he asked and without a word, he slid your panties down your legs, stuffing them into his pocket and winking at you. “I’ll keep these.”

“Leo…” Before you could protest, his finger slid into your slick warmth and you cried out, a spasm of pleasure flooding your body. He silenced your sounds with his lips, muffling your moans with his own. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, and his tongue tangled with yours as his fingers pushed a little deeper into you, caressing you and making your mind stop working.

The strokes of his fingers were slow, measured. Leo never did that. Ever.

“Faster,” you moaned, your lips swollen from the kiss. Leo shook his head as he slid a second finger inside, making your eyes flutter shut.

“No,” he said, trailing kisses from your jaw to your neck, sucking in all the right places. “You’re gonna take what I give you.”

"Oh...." You cried, squirming at the pleasure of his fingers slowly sliding in and out of you, then pulling out to trail up higher and caress your folds.

His fingers danced over your clit, and your back arched, you breath leaving you with a gasp. Suddenly, he hurried the pace, his fingers workings faster on you.

"Wait, wait—" you tried to speak, but the pleasure was overwhelming. "Leo, slow down—"

"I said," he started, his voice low and teasing, "you’re gonna take what I give you."

You felt your orgasm approaching faster than you would have liked, your abdomen tightening. Leo felt it too, and then he pulled his hand away, adding, “When I decide to give it to you.” With that, your orgasm was gone as quickly as it had come.

“Leo, please…” You weren’t begging, obviously not.

“Please fuck me,” you begged, giving him a look you knew Leo could never resist. And he didn’t. At least not entirely, because as soon as those words left your swollen lips, a mischievous glint appeared on Leo’s.

“Oh, trust me,” he murmured, burying his face in your neck, leaving a smoldering glow behind every kiss he pressed against your skin. “I will.” With that, he pulled away enough to unbutton his pants and pull them down along with his boxers, wasting no time in removing them completely, leaving them halfway down his thighs. You weren’t the only one who was eager.

His cock sprang free, hard and throbbing in anticipation. He gave it a few strokes before placing a hand on your knee, helping you make more room for him.

He positioned himself between your legs, gripping your calves to pull you closer. He took his length, guiding it into your folds, letting his tip, already dripping precum, slide between your slick folds. Leo let out a moan at the sensation, only to then let his tip brush against your swollen clit.

You moaned, Leo’s free hand tangling in your hair, pulling you to him and devouring your lips with an urgency he didn’t even know he had. You tried to use your hands to touch him, but he wouldn’t let you. He let go of your hand and pulled away to grab your wrists.

“When did I say you could touch me, baby?” And with a smile gracing his lips, he rubbed your entrance and let himself slide inside your pussy in one swift, unexpected movement. A breathless, guttural sound escaped your lips.

“Oh my god!” you moaned in pleasure as you felt his cock stretching you out. Throwing your head forward, you buried your face in your boyfriend’s neck as he pulled your hips into him, almost desperate to take you deeper as he thrusted into you.

"Leo, slow down… wait, Leo…” The sensations coursing through your body were too much for you to handle. Searing sparks of heat pooled in your tummy, pushing you towards the ultimate pleasure, building with an urgency that increased with each quickening pace of Leo’s thrusts.

“Yeah, does that feel good?” He moaned as he kissed your neck, your collarbone, everything he could reach. All you could do was nod your head in agreement as your walls tightened around him, gripping his cock as you came, cumming all over his shaft as he chased his own pleasure.

Your cheeks burned, beads of sweat sliding down your boyfriend’s forehead, his eyebrows furrowed as he let out grunts and moans. When you whispered his name in a soft, sweet moan, he found his own release, filling you up with his cum as his thrusts slowed to a stop.

Your breathing steadied, but Leo gave no indication of pulling out of you.

“That was…” you began, but Leo placed a finger over your lips, silencing you. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, no. You’re not leaving anytime soon, beautiful.”

a/n: i hated how i writed this one 😭

[vunblr]

Retribution (Blue-collar Bucky #3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Borderline non-con elements. Brat-taming. Power Play. Overstimulation. Edging. Mild Bondage. Unprotected Sex. Breeding Kink if you squint. Degradation. Light Impact Play.

Summary: Bucky crossed the line first, and she pushed back harder. Now, payback comes with fogged-up windows in a rocking van.

Word Count: 6.5k.

note: Another issue of filthy filth.

Bucky sat in the van’s driver’s seat, tapping his thumbs against the worn leather of the steering wheel, and biting his bottom lip.

Was this a good idea?

Probably not.

But fuck it.

His boss barely questioned him anymore, not when he was the best worker on-site, handling five times the workload of anyone else with half the complaints. If the foreman found out one of the company vans was missing for a few hours?

Bucky would just say he needed it to attend to… an emergency.

Yeah. That’d work.

He rolled his shoulders, stretching his fingers against the wheel as his heartbeat picked up, a slow, thump of anticipation. Then, across the street, the bakery lights flickered off.

His pulse jumped.

There she was.

Stepping out, locking the door, blissfully unaware of what was coming for her. Bucky grinned, slow and sharp, as he reached for the keys.

Payback time, Muffin.

-----

The van door slid open silently, and a shadow moved in the dim light of the streetlamp.

She didn’t hear a thing.

Didn’t sense the presence behind her as the bakery’s metal shutters locked tight behind her.

Didn’t have time to react before a strong, cold hand clamped over her mouth.

Her muffled gasp barely made it past his palm before she was weightless, swept clean off her feet in one smooth motion. Bucky’s vibranium arm curled tight around her waist, pulling her flush against his solid chest, holding her with effortless control. Her feet dangled off the ground, her body pinned against his as he strode straight into the van’s dark interior.

The door slid shut behind them with a heavy thud.

No one noticed. The few people still lingering on the street barely glanced their way, wrapped up in their own worlds.

Bucky let out a low chuckle, brushing his lips to the shell of her ear as he finally uncovered her mouth, trailing his fingers down to her throat, teasing. “Shhh, sweetheart,” he murmured, in a silky, amused voice.

Her breath was sharp, chest rising and falling fast against him, but he felt it—the way her body melted just a little, the way her nails curled into his shirt instead of pushing away when she recognized the voice.

His grip loosened, just slightly, stroking her pulse with his thumb.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you get away with that, did you?”

Her breath hitched, then she scowled and delivered a sharp slap to his shoulder. Bucky barely flinched.

“You scared me to death!” she huffed, clearly unimpressed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He just grinned, teeth flashing in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

“Oh, nothing’s wrong with me, Muffin,” he purred, on her ear. “If anything-” With a quick, practiced motion, he pulled a plastic zip tie from his pocket, looping it around her wrists with ease, “I haven’t felt this... invigorated in years.”

The soft rasp of the plastic locking into place sent a thrill down his spine, as his fingers tested the bind: not tight enough to bruise, but just enough to keep her still.

Her eyes widened.

“What-”

“As you see, I’m being considerate,” he cut in smoothly, quirking a brow. “No taser here.”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a mocking whisper near her ear.

“Just ol’ reliable tools.”

She let out a sharp breath, but instead of the reaction he expected -fear, doubt- her eyes dropped lower.

And then, she smirked.

“Is this supposed to scare me?” she challenged.

Her gaze flicked to his lap -to the obvious tent in his jeans- and when she looked back up at him, her smirk had only widened.

“Because I can see you are already a little excited under your pants, Sarge.”

Damn woman.

Bucky wasn’t about to let her get in his head.

Not after what she pulled.

He needed to teach her a lesson.

His grip on her bound wrists tightened, just slightly, as he tilted his head, watching her with lazy amusement.

“You know, Muffin, you surprised me the other day,” he mused, “Didn’t take you for such a fierce little thing.” His fingers trailed down the column of her throat, feeling the way her pulse jumped beneath his touch. “Still,” he continued, chuckling dryly, “I should’ve known... since no woman in her right mind wants to deal with me.”

And there it was.

That self-deprecating tone, creeping in like a bad habit.

She hated that. Hated how he couldn’t see what she saw in him.

“Bucky-”

“No.” His grip on her tightened slightly. “As you told me the last time, you don’t get to talk unless I say so.”

She stilled, slightly narrowing her eyes.

Then, unbothered, he started rummaging through a nearby blue bag, fishing out exactly what he needed. When he turned back, he was holding a gag. A soft, pink silicone ball strapped to black leather.

Her brows shot up. “Really? Of all the th-”

She didn’t get to finish.

With a swift movement, he slid the gag into place, gently coaxing her mouth open with his fingers. The ball slipped between her teeth, filling the space perfectly, silencing whatever smartass remark she was about to make.

Bucky fastened the buckle at the back of her head, ensuring it was snug, but not too tight. Then, with the audacity of a man who was enjoying this way too much, he tapped his fingers against the ball nestled between her lips. “I put some strawberry flavoring on it.” His smirk widened. “Thought it was a nice touch.”

She rolled her eyes, mumbling something against the gag, a muffled protest, no doubt, but it was useless now.

He just grinned, dragging a finger leisurely down the exposed skin of her throat. “Where were we?” he mused, as if he didn’t already know. “Oh, right. That little stunt you pulled on me at the community center.” His tone was mocking, but there was something else beneath it, something sharper, something that still itched at his pride.

“I’ll admit,” he continued, playing with the buttons of her blouse, teasing them open one by one, “that I pushed our boundaries a little too much.” Then he leaned in, dropping his voice to a dangerous murmur. “But what you did?”

His grip tightened on the fabric, and with one sharp tug, the blouse ripped open, with the remaining buttons snapping off, scattering across the van’s floor.

Her eyes widened.

Bucky just clicked his tongue.

“Tsk, tsk.” He shook his head, feigning disappointment. “What exactly did you think was gonna happen next, hmm?” He asked, running the back of his knuckles over the newly exposed skin, feeling her shiver.

“Didn’t think I’d just take it like some pansy, did you?” His lips curled into a slow, wicked smirk. “Newsflash, Muffin-”

His hands gripped her waist, pressing his thumbs deep into her soft flesh as if reminding her exactly who she was dealing with.

“I’m not.”

His masculine pride still stung, his ego bruised. Not just because of what she’d done, but because of what it had made him feel. Bucky Barnes had been raised in the Depression and had spent his early years scraping by, learning that a man was supposed to provide, protect, and endure.

Then came the war, the military, the title of Sergeant, men at his charge, and then, of course, the fall. Everything had been taken from him.

And for one humiliating, aching night, she had taken his control again. And fuck if he was going to let that stand.

----

Bucky shifted her body, positioning her against a makeshift nest of blankets he’d thrown in the back of the van.

She landed with a soft thud, brow quirking as she took in the setup, a silent, unimpressed ‘how thoughtful’ written all over her face.

His smirk widened. As if reading her mind, he shrugged. “Just the best for my girl.”

Her breath hitched, but she forced herself not to react to it. Just tucked that little piece of information into a dark corner of her mind, to pull out and examine later.

Before she could dwell on it, he was moving again.

Strong hands gripped her wrists, guiding them above her head, and hooked the plastic restraint to the iron framework of the back doors. Then, without warning, without preamble, he tore her bra clean in half. The fabric gave way instantly, a sharp, satisfying sound, another casualty to his inhuman strength.

Her muffled protest was immediate, but Bucky just tilted his head, feigning confusion. “What? You tryna say something, Muffin?”

He ran a slow, teasing finger down her now bare, perfect tits, watching the way her nipples tightened under his touch. “Ohhh, I get it,” he drawled, dragging his thumb over one peaked bud, just light enough to tease, not enough to satisfy. “You’re thanking me. No need for all that, sweetheart. This is a service.”

Her glare was priceless.

He just grinned, dropping his eyes to the swell of her breasts, appreciating them openly, hungrily, like he had all the time in the world. “Fuck, I love these.”

His hands cupped them, and tested their weight, flicking his thumbs lazily over her nipples before rolling them between calloused fingers. “You know what really gets me going?” His voice dipped. “This damn apron you wear on Wednesdays.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, confused at first. Then, she gazed at the piece of cloth on the van’s floor, peeking from her tote bag. The discount apron. The too-tight, slightly shrunken one that pulled just a little too snug over her chest.

Bucky let out a low, wicked chuckle. “Fuckin’ thing should be illegal.”

He pinched both nipples at once, harder this time, savoring the way her thighs twitched, the way her breath hitched just enough to tell on her. Then, his eyes flicked around the van, scanning for anything useful.

There.

A roll of measuring tape lay tossed near the passenger seat, with an old pencil tucked beside it. His smirk returned, slow and dangerous.

Grabbing the measuring tape, he looped it around the base of her breast, tightening just enough to squeeze, just enough to make her feel it.

He leaned down, his mouth a breath away from the other peak, voice low, dangerous, and unbearably smug.

“Bet you’re dying to know what I’m gonna do next.”

Bucky pulled the measuring tape tighter, watching the way her breast swelled slightly against the pressure.

“Would you look at that, Muffin?” he murmured, dragging the edge of his thumb over her straining nipple, deliberately ignoring the other one, the one waiting for his mouth. He let the measuring tape hang loose, just enough to remind her it was there, then reached for the pencil.

"Hold still."

She tensed in anticipation, as he dragged the pencil’s blunt end across her skin, tracing invisible shapes, leaving nothing but tingles on her skin. “Gotta make some calculations.” His voice was too smooth, too casual as if he weren’t about to ruin her. The eraser tip circled her nipple, teasingly slow.

Then, flick.

She shuddered, the sharp little smack made her body jolt.

Bucky smirked.

“Oh, you liked that?” He flicked again, this time using his fingers instead, watching with rapt attention as the peak stiffened even more, flushed, sensitive, swollen.

His other hand, still gripping the measuring tape, tugged just enough to add more pressure, making her hyper-aware of every touch.

“Thought you were the one teaching lessons, sweetheart,” he mused, before finally -finally- closing his mouth around the other bud.

She gasped against the gag, head tipping back, the contrast of wet heat and cool restriction making her arch into his mouth.

Bucky hummed, sucking deeply, feeling the way her hips rolled instinctively, chasing friction. He pulled off with a lewd pop. “I think we need more research.”

His fingers tightened on the tape.

“You up for that, Muffin?”

-----

He took a moment to admire his handiwork.

Her nipples were pert, swollen, and sensitive from his teasing and the faint indentations of the measuring tape still lingered on her soft skin. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, but it was the way she looked at him -that half-lidded, needy, utterly ruined expression- that nearly sent him over the edge right then and there.

Fuck.

He should’ve jerked off before this.

He knew that.

But oh no. He wanted to stuff her good when the time came, wanted her tight, soaked, and squirming for him.

His fingers twitched as he reached for the clasp of her skirt, peeling the fabric down her thighs, exposing more and more of her skin until it pooled uselessly at her ankles.

And then-

His brain stalled.

Because there they were.

Her panties.

White cotton. Little red apples sprayed across the fabric.

Ridiculous. Innocent. Completely obscene.

Something about the contrast, the sweetness clashing against the absolute filth of their situation, sent a sharp, possessive jolt straight to his cock.

Bucky dragged his thumb over the fabric, pressing against the damp patch already waiting there, and his voice came out low, rough, almost breathless.

“Muffin.”

A slow grin spread across his face as he let his thumb press a little firmer, just enough to make her squirm.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

She let out a muffled whimper behind the gag, and her body tensed, trying to press her thighs together. But he was already there, with his hand between them, keeping her open.

He chuckled, full of satisfaction. “Ohh, what’s that, sweetheart?” He tilted his head, mockingly sympathetic. “You have somethin’ to say?”

Her eyes burned into him, as her brows furrowed like she wanted to snap back, but all that came out was a pathetic little sound, breathy and needy.

Bucky groaned, rubbing his fingers in slow, lazy circles over the wet patch, watching her squirm. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The cotton was ruined, sticky, and transparent, clinging to her pussy like a second skin. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he let his fingers explore tracing the soaked fabric, finding her clit through the flimsy material, pressing just enough to make her thighs tremble.

A slow smirk curled across his lips as he pinched the fabric again, tugging it against her swollen clit just to watch her jump. “Walkin’ around in these cute little panties like you’re all sweet and innocent.” He clicked his tongue. “Look at you now. Fuckin’ desperate for some.” He dragged his knuckles over the damp cotton, with voice laced with condescension. “You like this, don’t you? Gettin’ all sloppy in these little girl panties while I wreck you.” Her breath hitched, and her fingers flexed uselessly in the restraints. He just grinned. “Should make you wear ‘em every time I fuck you stupid.” He stated, as his fingers continued their slow, torturous teasing over the soaked fabric, relishing the way she twitched, helplessly bound and at his mercy.

“You know, maybe you’re unaware,” he mused with a certain arrogance, “But my strength is not the only thing I have enhanced.” His fingers stroked, pressed, and toyed. “All my senses are.”

She let out a muffled, shaky exhale, as her chest rose and fell too fast, her body betraying her completely. He smirked, dragging his nose along her throat, inhaling deeply, making a show of it.

“I can fucking smell you.”

His words sent a violent shudder through her body, and fuck, that did something to him.

“Even when you’re meters away, Muffin, I can smell your needy little pussy, beggin’ for it.” He mumbled, as his teeth scraped the shell of her ear, and his fingers found her clit again, tugging sharply at the soaked fabric until she let out a muffled cry, jerking her hips.

His cock throbbed painfully at her reaction.

“Imagine it now, sweetheart.” His voice was thick, almost reverent, almost ruined. “So close.” He rolled his hips against her thigh, letting her feel just how hard she made him, just how much her body was driving him insane.

His fingers curled, gripping the panties cruelly, pulling them tight, rubbing the soaked cotton directly against her swollen clit.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmured, watching her tense, writhe, gasp behind the gag. “Look at you. Squirming. Dripping.” He chuckled darkly. “Not so fun when it’s you, huh?” he mocked, trailing his fingers over her slick folds without giving her anything more than a tease.

Her muffled whimper sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock again, but he held himself back. Barely.

Then finally, he hooked his fingers into the soaked underwear, tearing it down her thighs, exposing her completely and he couldn’t suppress a groan.

Her slickness glistened in the dim light, coating her pussy and her bare thighs. She was so fucking ready, so perfect… but she wasn’t getting what she wanted.

Not yet.

Bucky dragged his fingers through her naked folds, barely pressing where she needed him, spreading her open, watching how her little hole clenched around nothing.

She whined, trying to close her legs but he pinned them apart, smirking as she struggled.

“Oh, no.” His tone was mocking, taunting, laced with dark amusement. “You remember how you left me, Muffin?”

His fingers finally found her clit, but instead of stroking, he tapped it.

Once. Twice.

Then, a sharp little slap against the over-sensitive bundle of nerves.

Her body jerked. A muffled cry left her throat.

“Made me sob for it. Left me in a fucking puddle, dripping all over the goddamn floor.” His fingers dragged through her wetness again, spreading it messily, but never giving her the pressure she so badly needed.

“Feels like torture, isn’t it?” he murmured, grinning against her inner thigh. “Imagine how I felt, sweetheart.”

His tongue flicked out, barely touching her clit, just a whisper of contact before he pulled back again. “Dripping. Desperate. Aching. And you just-” His hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing lightly, keeping her on edge. “-kept pushing.”

His fingers circled her entrance, dipping in just enough to tease, to give her hope, before pulling away completely, before bringing them up to his mouth.

“I should leave you like this. Tied up. Soaked. Helpless.” Bucky’s voice was a slow, cruel, laced with mocking satisfaction as he watched her squirm beneath him, tense, needy, and on edge.

Then, just as her muffled whimper broke the silence-

“But I’m a gentleman.”

And with zero warning, zero build-up, zero pretense, he plunged two fingers knuckle-deep inside her.

Her back arched violently, and her body strained against the restraints, as a wrecked, muffled moan ripped through her throat while her walls fluttered and clenched around the sudden intrusion.

Bucky groaned, low and strained, because fuck-

The way she wrapped around his fingers, hot and tight and dripping, it nearly made him jizz in his goddamn jeans.

He stayed still, fingers buried deep, letting her feel it, letting her realize how completely at his mercy she was.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached for the gag, working the buckle free, pulling the saliva-slicked ball from between her lips.

Her breathing was ragged, and her lips swollen, her gaze heavy-lidded and ruined .

Bucky smirked, dragging his thumb over her bottom lip, watching the way it trembled.

“Ready to beg for it, Muffin?”

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky blinked, and his smirk faltered just slightly as he tilted his head, studying her.

She was wrecked, flushed, panting, and yet, those were the first words out of her mouth?

He raised a brow, with his fingers still buried inside her, waiting, listening.

“You just… you made me so mad. I’ve never done something like that before.”

Ah.

So that’s what this was about.

She was talking about the ruler incident.

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he curled his fingers just slightly, just enough to make her twitch.

“That so?”

She bit her lip, nodding, thighs trembling.

“Sorry if I overstepped.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

He could smell bullshit a mile away.

But this?

This wasn’t that.

She was being sincere.

And fuck, he almost gave in.

Almost.

Instead, he rewarded her honesty with a slow, deep stroke of his fingers, dragging along that perfect, aching spot inside her.

She gasped, rolling her hips into it, chasing more.

“…And?” he pressed, in a deceptively light tone.

Her brows furrowed. “And what?”

Bucky’s movements stopped entirely.

She whined immediately, a sharp, needy little sound.

His grin returned, slow and infuriatingly smug. “I’m not hearing you beg for it.”

She bit her lip, and her expression was equal part frustrated and desperate. “I said I was sorry.” Her voice was softer now, breathier. “Please.”

Bucky’s smirk didn’t waver, but inside?

He was hanging on by a goddamn thread.

“Please what?” he drawled, fingers still buried inside her, still not moving, sensing the way her walls fluttered, clenched, begged.

She swallowed, feeling her cheeks starting to burn.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose.

Fuck.

Her voice was too raw, too open, and something inside him twisted painfully.

Then, she delivered the final blow.

“And I want to cum on your cock.”

His whole body locked up.

Shit.

Fuck.

Bucky had been prepared to tease her a little longer, keep her squirming, and make her pay for what she did.

But he couldn’t say no to that.

His self-control just snapped.

With a low growl, he pulled his fingers out of her, sucking them as he tore open his jeans, pulling out his aching, heavy cock.

It was already leaking, flushed deep red, twitching at nothing, so painfully hard he almost felt lightheaded.

He lined himself up, dragging the tip through her slick folds, watching her body tremble beneath him. His gaze flicked up, locking onto hers.

“Hope you’re ready for this, sweetheart.” Then, in one slow, brutal stroke He pushed inside.

The debauched moan that spilled from her lips almost made Bucky spill inside her.

His entire body locked up, and his cock throbbed violently at the way she tightened around him, so wet, so fucking perfect.

For a split second, his vision blurred, his brain short-circuited, and every nerve screamed at him to just let go, to give in, to lose himself completely.

But he couldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

He forced his face into something composed, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached, digging his fingers into her thighs like a lifeline.

No weakness. Not now.

He dragged in a shaky breath, exhaling through his nose and then, without warning, without preamble,

He fucked her.

Hard. Deep. Relentless.

The van rocked with each brutal snap of his hips, and the sound of wet, obscene slaps filled the tight space, mixing with her gasps, moans, and the sharp little cries she couldn’t bite back.

Bucky gritted his teeth, eyes dark, locked onto the way her breasts bounced wildly with every brutal thrust, the way her wrists strained against the restraints, the way her pussy stretched, taking him so perfectly at every punishing drag and it was too much, too fucking good.

Bucky needed more.

With a tight grip, he grabbed her legs from behind her knees and shoved them up toward her chest, folding her in half, and pressing his own weight against the back of her thighs.

The new angle was devastating, deep, consuming, raw.

Her sharp cry of pleasure sent a violent shudder down his spine.

“Look at me while I fuck you.”

His voice was gravel and heated, commanding, possessive.

Her glazed, pleasure-drunk eyes snapped to his, wide, wrecked, obedient.

Perfect.

But as he relished that sight, something ugly, something hungry swirled inside him and his grip tightened, his thrusts turned sharper, harder.

“Are you seeing other guys besides me?”

She blinked, dazed. “What?”

His fingers dug into her thighs, holding her down, keeping her open.

“Answer. The. Fucking. Question.”

Each word was punctuated by a brutal snap of his hips, bullying the tip of his thick cock against her cervix, forcing choked gasps, broken moans, and wrecked sounds from her throat.

Her body arched, trembling, completely at his mercy.

“N-no, only you!”

He groaned, deep and satisfied, never relenting his rhythm, never faltering.

“That’s right, Muffin.”

Then his hand slid up, gripping her jaw, keeping her locked on him.

“And it’s gonna stay that way.”

If she weren’t so overwhelmed, so utterly wrecked, she might’ve had the nerve to call him out on that. Because wasn’t it him who always adamantly reminded her of the nature of their relationship?

Wasn’t it Bucky fucking Barnes who set the rules, who told her over and over this was just a casual thing, no strings, no expectations?

And yet, here he was.

Fucking her like he owned her.

Demanding exclusivity like it was his goddamn right.

If she could breathe properly, if her brain wasn’t being pounded into incoherence, she might’ve had something smart to say.

But right now?

Right now, she could only take it.

The van kept rocking obscenely, and the squeak of the suspension mixed with the filthy, wet sounds of skin meeting skin. Each brutal thrust sent a shudder through the vehicle, and the rhythmic banging against the interior walls was a vulgar reminder of just how hard he was fucking her.

Bucky’s grip on her thighs tightened, with his chest still pressed against the back of her legs, keeping her folded, helpless, spread open just for him.

“Shit. Listen to that, sweetheart.” His voice was thick, rough, absolutely wrecked. “Whole damn van knows you’re gettin’ fucked stupid.”

His cock slammed deep, tearing another sharp, broken moan from her throat. She twitched beneath him and her wrists pulled at the restraints, caught between pleasure and the raw ferocity of the situation.

He smirked, dragging his teeth over her calf, watching the way her body reacted to every touch, every thrust, every filthy word.

“Hope you’re not shy, Muffin. ‘Cause if anyone walks by… they’ll know exactly what’s happening in here just in front of the shop. Maybe I should crack a window open, hm?”

Her eyes went wide, panicked, and needy. Fuck, the perfect reaction.

“Let the whole damn neighborhood to hear.” His pace never slowed, as his cock kept slamming deep inside her, making her cry out. “Let ‘em know how their chirpy baker…” his hand slid over her tummy, up to her bouncing tits, squeezing and claiming, “…with her fuckin’ slutty, little girl apple panties…” He drove into her harder, making her arch, tremble, choke on a moan. “…gets fucked like a whore in a construction van.”

He leaned in, breath hot against her parted lips, grinning as her body clenched around him, as she soaked his cock even more.

“And loves every second of it.”

She let out a wrecked, desperate moan, rolling her hips to meet him, chasing more, more, more.

Bucky just chuckled, dragging a rough hand down her stomach, over her twitching clit, feeling the way her whole body shook.

“Drippin’ all over me, Muffin. So fuckin’ filthy.”

His thumb pressed against her swollen bundle of nerves, rubbing slow, teasing circles, never quite giving her enough.

“You like this, hm? Bein’ put in your place?”

She nodded frantically, babbling something incoherent, something like begging.

He groaned, feeling her pulse around him, how her body screamed for release, but he wasn’t done with her yet. Not until he got what he wanted.

“Use your words, Muffin,” he taunted, slowing his thrusts to deep, deliberate grinds, dragging his cock slow and thick along her fluttering walls.

Her thighs trembled, her bound hands clenching uselessly, her body desperate, completely at his mercy.

“Come on, sweetheart.” His voice was low, rough, dangerously smooth. “You were so good at givin’ me orders the other day, where’s that mouth now, huh?”

She sobbed out something unintelligible, a high-pitched whine caught between frustration and pleasure. He smirked, pressing his thumb harder against her clit, but still rubbing slow, teasing circles.

“Beg me for it. Beg me to cum. Beg me to fill you up.”

Her breath stuttered, and then her chest heaved, as she snapped her wide, dazed eyes to his.

And then, fuck.

“I want it.” Her voice was shaky, wrecked. “I want your cum inside me.”

Bucky’s stomach tightened, and his restraint started snapping thread by thread.

But she wasn’t done.

“Want you to fuck it deep, Sarge. Want you to make a mess of me-”

His cock jerked violently, and his grip bruised against her thighs, as his head tipped back with a low, guttural groan.

Oh, fuck, she was trying to kill him. He slammed his hips harder, more desperate now, more primal.

“Yeah? That what you want?” His voice was wrecked, and uneven, and his rhythm turned frantic and sharp. “Want me to breed this pretty little pussy, huh?”

She nodded frantically, gasping, babbling, begging, toes curling, as her legs trembled against his sides. He grinned against her throat, feeling the way her body shivered, how she gasped and trembled beneath him.

“Well then,” he murmured in a tone thick with lust and satisfaction, scraping his teeth over her pulse again, biting just enough to leave a mark.

“Guess it’s time to let you milk my fucking cock.”

The rubbing on her clit turned ruthless, his fingers pressing tight and mercilessly, every stroke dragging her closer, shoving her straight toward the edge. Somehow his thrusts became sharper, brutal, slamming deep, forcing her to take all of him, stretching her open, making her feel every inch of his aching cock. Her wrists strained against the restraints, her thighs twitched, and her tits bounced wildly between them, every inch of her was shaken, wrecked, overwhelmed.

Bucky groaned, watching her fall apart beneath him. “Come on, Muffin.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice a low, dangerous command. “Be my good little slut and cream all over my cock.” He could feel it, the way her body tensed, thighs trembling violently, and her slick, clenching pussy squeezing around him like a fist.

“That’s it, Muffin. Gonna make a mess all over me, huh?”

She sobbed his name, rolling back her head as her body arched off the blankets, helpless against the force of her orgasm crashing down.

And fuck, he felt it.

The way she tightened, spasmed, and squeezed around his cock, drenching him in slick, hot, unbearable bliss.

He growled as he watched her come undone, feeling it, fucking loving it.

Because he did that.

He made her fall apart like that.

His fingers never let up, rubbing her swollen, overstimulated clit, forcing wave after wave to crash through her body until she was twitching, gasping, completely broken beneath him.

“Fuck, look at you.” His voice was gritted, strained, dangerously close to breaking.

“So fuckin’ pretty when you cum for me.”

His grip tightened on her thighs, pinning her down as his thrusts turned erratic, frantic, mindless. His cock twitched, throbbed, ached, buried deep inside her soaked, pulsing heat.

“Shit- ‘m gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” His hands roamed frantically, gripping her tits, her waist, her thighs, anything he could anchor himself to. “Gonna fuck my cum so deep inside this messy little pussy.”

His rhythm stuttered, his breath caught, and then, a guttural, wrecked moan tore from his throat as his hips slammed forward one final time, burying himself as deep as he could go, and his cock twitched violently inside her.

Then, pure, white-hot bliss.

He spilled thick, hot ropes of cum into her, filling her exactly like he promised, coating her tight walls, as his grip became bruising holding her down, forcing her to take all of it.

“Fuck- fuck- fuck.” His head dropped forward, and his body shook as he rode out the overwhelming, gut-wrenching orgasm tearing through his heated body. Her pussy kept clenching around him greedily, milking him for every last drop, sending aftershocks of overstimulation down his spine, his thighs, and his cock.

He let out a shaky breath, bracketing her head with his forearms as he hovered over her, still buried deep inside her, with his hips still twitching and his cock slowly softening bathed in the mess he’d made.

Then he felt it, the light press of her thighs against his chest, a small, wordless cue. A flicker of awareness cut through his post-orgasmic haze.

Shit.

She was still folded up, with her legs pinned tight against her chest, nearly suffocated by the position.

With a muttered curse, he shifted, easing back slightly, gripping her thighs to guide them down gently, letting her stretch out on the rumpled blankets beneath them.

But when his gaze drifted lower, his brows pulled together.

A faint rash bloomed across the soft skin of her buttocks, raw, irritated. It was the mark of friction from his zipper, his belt, or whatever the fuck else had been in the way.

His jaw ticked.

He’d wanted to return the favor, to humiliate her like she had him, fucking her fully clothed, keeping her vulnerable, exposed, at his mercy.

And fuck, it had felt good.

But now, seeing the evidence of it on her skin…

A small, unwelcome pang of guilt curled in the back of his mind. He shoved it down, masking it behind the lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

There was no point in dwelling on it now.

Instead, he let his gaze drift over her wrecked body, taking in the way her chest still rose and fell unevenly, the way her thighs twitched in the aftermath.

She looked fucked-out, used, ruined, and yet, still so damn pretty.

Bucky exhaled slowly, scanning the mess he made.

Without a word, he glanced around, reaching for the apron, the Wednesday apron, the one that pulled too tight over her tits. He balled it up, dragging the fabric over his softening cock, wiping away the mess with slow, deliberate strokes.

Then, just because he could, he balled it up and dropped it onto her belly.

Her eyes flickered open, and her lips parted as she realized exactly what he’d just done. A slow, dangerous glare settled on her face, and Bucky didn’t miss it.

He smirked, completely unbothered, tracing lazy circles over her thigh with his thumb. “At least it’s not your shirt.”

He winked, smug and satisfied, before reaching up with his vibranium hand.

With a single effortless tug, the plastic restraints snapped, freeing her wrists.

She let out a slow breath, as her arms fell limply to her sides, and he saw the raw marks on her skin, faint but noticeable.

Bucky didn’t linger.

Didn’t watch her rub at her wrists, didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he turned away, tucking himself back into his jeans, adjusting his belt, and dragging a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

The van suddenly felt too quiet.

No more ragged moans, no more filthy taunts, no more rocking suspension giving away their sins. Just the sound of rustling fabric as she sat up and started putting her clothes back on.

No words.

No glances.

Just a methodical routine, like she was resetting something, like she was trying to put distance between them. He listened, still facing away, the sound of buttons slipping through holes, the scrape of her nails over her wrists as she rubbed at the faint marks he’d left. Something about it unsettled him.

Something about it felt wrong.

It had been months since they’d started this situationship, and the lines had been clear from the beginning. Just fucking. Nothing more.

And yet, his attitude in her class had blurred them.

Her retaliation had shattered them.

And now?

Now, this whole damn thing felt like a losing game.

Yeah, maybe she’d gone too far with the taser.

But he’d shoved her into a van, tied her up, fucked her senseless like it was his right. That wasn’t retribution. That was something else.

Something neither of them had planned for.

And as she straightened her blouse, fixing what he’d torn, smoothing down the same damn apron he’d just wiped his cum on, he clenched his jaw, swallowing back the urge to say something, anything, to break the silence.

But before he could stop himself, before he could think better of it-

“Need a ride?”

The words left his mouth almost too casual, like he hadn’t just fucked her in the back of his work van, like he hadn’t just borderline kidnapped her in some twisted act of retaliation.

She paused, mid-button, and her fingers lingered at the collar of her blouse.

A slow, deliberate inhale.

Then -finally- her eyes flicked to his.

For a beat, she just studied him with an unreadable expression, like she was trying to figure something out, piece together whatever the hell this had become.

Then, slowly, she rolled her shoulders, stretching her sore limbs, testing the lingering ache between her thighs. Bucky noticed. Of course, he noticed, and his hands twitched at his sides, resisting the urge to reach for her, to rub the red marks on her wrists, sooth her.

But that wasn’t what this was.

That wasn’t what they did.

So instead, he did what he always did.

He watched her.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, sighing through her nose. After a second of hesitation, she lifted the apron off her lap, frowning when she saw the mess he’d left on it, and flicked her eyes back to him. Then, in a move so quick he barely had time to react-

She balled up the apron and chucked it straight at his face.

He let out a gruff sound, catching the apron midair, scowling when he saw his vibranium fingers smeared with the cum staining the fabric.

Fucking hell.

His jaw ticked, and the muscles in his forearm flexed as he gripped the soiled cloth tightly, too tightly. When he flicked his gaze back up, she was already ending the fix on her blouse like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just been tied up beneath him, writhing, begging, taking everything he gave her.

Like she hadn’t just fucked up his head all over again.

She reached for the door handle, pausing only for a second before throwing him a smug little smirk over her shoulder.

“See you around, Sarge.”

Bucky didn’t respond. Just sat there with his legs spread, resting his forearms on his thighs, and still gripping the soiled apron with his vibranium fingers.

His gaze followed her, something unreadable flickering behind his half-lidded, heavy stare, his chest still rising and falling deep and slow.

What he didn’t get to see, was how the confident little smirk faded slowly, shifting into something pensive. She bit her lip, slowing her pace, as her mind wandered to the van, to him, to everything that just happened.

On the way he held her down, fucked her like he owned her, and then hesitated, even for a second, when he saw the marks he’d left.

On the way he had blurred the lines between retaliation and something else entirely.

On the way he had called her his girl without even realizing it.

And, on the way she didn’t have corrected him.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[syoddeye]

the gift that keeps on giving - part three/final, nikolai

Every year, on each of their birthdays, you're delivered with a bottle of Scotch. Shared. Savored. Spoiled.

cw: established relationship, everything is consensual, reader is shared between price+nik+kate, alcohol, pet names, nik calling himself 'old man', piv, mild scent/armpit kink, rimming, overstim

a/n: AO3. series page.

The door groans as Nikolai shoulders it open, the cold clinging like a second skin.

Snow dusts his boots, melting in thin streams into dark puddles on the wooden floor. Sweat cools beneath his clothes, seeping into the fabric of his coat. His breath clouds in the cabin’s warmth as he steps inside, dropping the firewood beside the stove with a heavy thud. He rolls his shoulders, the lingering bite of winter settled deep in his bones. Shedding his outer layers, he cracks his neck from side to side, drawing in a deep breath. 

The cabin is simple—rustic, as John would put it. Remote. Tucked even further away than the hangar, well within in fuck off territory. A lonely place for a birthday.

Which makes it perfect.

For as long as he can remember, his birthday has always been just another day. So what if it marks the anniversary of him arriving in the world, red-faced and screaming? People are born. People die. It’s not an achievement. It isn’t special. He is nothing special.

She is.

Even if she is…less than pleased with their lodgings.

She sits wrapped in a thick blanket by the fireplace, face pinched in unmistakable displeasure. Legs tucked beneath her, lower lip pushed into a scowl, fingers drumming irritably.

Nikolai exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he unlaces his boots. “What is this face?” he muses, glancing at her. “You have not moved a muscle, have you?”

She glares. “I’m conserving heat. Important when you’re trapped in the wilderness against your will.”

“Mm.” He hums thoughtfully, peeling off his gloves. “Sitting indoors, by a fire, wrapped in a blanket. Yes, very tragic for you.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Am I?”

She huffs, pulling the blanket tighter. “When are we going to do something fun?”

He raises a brow. “Not enjoying yourself?”

She fixes him with a flat look. “I enjoy heat, comfort, and WiFi. None of which exist in this godforsaken place. That hotel I recommended on the other hand…”

Nikolai tsks, stepping closer. “You are soft, tsarevna.”

“I have standards.”

He smirks. “Yes. High standards, yet still, you are here. With me. On my birthday.” Just another day, but a useful tool in his belt. “I seem to recall you said you would give this place a shot. Work on that bad attitude of yours.”

She shrugs, utterly unrepentant. “I can’t help that I’m meant for finer things. I still don’t understand why we couldn’t go somewhere warm and hospitable,” she gripes. “In Naxos, Kate and I sunbathed for hours.”

“Ah, darling.” He clicks his tongue. “You know I don’t like complaining.”

“I’m only saying, if we went through with Thoddo, or Krk—”

Nik laughs. She’s trying to push his buttons. Has to be.

John warned him about this, about scooping her up and stealing away here. Said she wouldn’t like it. Said their little indoor cat of a woman would sulk. That she’d become spoiled. A playful jab at the time, but now, Nik’s not so sure.

It doesn’t usually fall to him, the wrangling, but she usually does not test him so much. He plays rough with her, but never from a place of correction. 

That may have to change. A new year, new role, perhaps.

He moves suddenly, crossing the room in a handful of strides. Her mouth falls open to argue, maybe to apologize, but his mind’s made up. Prissy thing needs a lesson.

Faster than she can react, he seizes her wrist and hauls her up, dragging her to her feet. She stumbles into him, yelping, palms splaying over his chest.

“Nikolai!”

His grin widens, wicked and full of mischief. He reaches down, grabs the hem of his damp thermal, and yanks it up—then in one smooth motion, tugs it over her head, trapping her face against his clammy skin.

Her muffled shriek is instant. “YOU ANIMAL!”

Nikolai chuckles, locking her in place with one arm around her waist. “Breathe deep,” he deadpans. “This is the scent of hard work. Of man.”

She thrashes hard, but he doesn’t budge. “Let me go!”

“Shhh.” He rubs a slow, patronizing hand over her back. “You will learn to appreciate it.”

She makes a strangled noise of absolute outrage, trying to wrench free, but he keeps her snug against him, her face buried in the coarse hair and sticky sweat of his chest.

“Nik, I swear to God—”

Finally, he lets go, stepping back as she stumbles, gasping for air like she’s survived an assassination attempt.

She wipes her face furiously, murderous. “You’re disgusting.”

Nikolai only pats her cheek, still grinning. “But you are warm now, no? Maybe vigorous activity is in order.”

She glares, but he snatches her wrist and tugs, slingshotting her toward the washroom. She stumbles, catching herself as he lands a smack to her rear, herding her into the washroom.

The claws come out when he strips her, but she doesn’t use her words once—beyond cursing him out.

“Perverted old man,” She hisses as he pushes his nose into her bunched-up panties.

“Unlike you, I like it sweaty. Adds flavor.” he laughs, nudging her under the water.

The hot water here lasts, at best, ten minutes. So after she sees to herself, he puts her to work, scrubbing soap into his back and chest, raking her nails through the thick whorls of hair. When he lifts his arms, she grimaces, suddenly face to face with the dense fur of his armpits.

He pictures doing it again, pressing her face into the hair to hear her shriek. Instead, he pulls her into a kiss, water slipping between their locked lips. Mercy to keep her on her toes.

He kisses her deeply, savoring until he’s certain he’s planted stars in her eyes. She doesn’t resist when he motions for her to continue. He sighs in contentment, eyes shutting, even as the water turns tepid. The warmth of his own skin is enough, as are the palms massaging his belly and thighs. Nothing’s left untouched despite her grousing. Sour mood or not, she knows what’s expected.

A hand wraps around his length, pulling a grunt from him.

He was wondering when she’d get to that.

Nik cracks his eyes to find her watching, drenched, her mouth curled into a small crooked smile. 

There she is.  

Perhaps someone’s feeling more like herself.

He plants his hands on the tile behind her, caging her in. A thin stream of water trickles from his chin, landing on her shoulder and sliding down the curve of her chest. His breath ghosts over her ear, a quiet huff of amusement. In response, she firms up her grip, the water making her strokes smooth and fluid.

It’s always better than the time before. Even just her hands, warm and slightly pruny, are heaven. He’s used to working with men who throw themselves out of helicopters, tear down walls, and kill with their bare hands. To John’s impatient, squeezing fist and borderline cruel efficiency. And while she’s not gentle with him, her grip tight and her rhythm insistent, he craves it all the same.

She buries her face against him willingly this time, lips trailing over muscle and coarse hair, his gold chain. She finds places to bite, to suck, a little leech in every sense. It’s forgivable. What they have is a mutual parasitism, after all. Everyone in their covenant gets something in return.

For a long time, he thought it was just the carnal aspects—something to spice up his and John’s relationship, keep them company. But now, well into their arrangement, with years of traditions and ritual, he knows it’s more than that.

After all, what better way to make a man feel twenty years younger than having a pretty, stubborn girl worship him?

Nik returns the affection, brushing his lips over her temple, murmuring praise, savoring. He bucks occasionally, breaking low assurances with curses he’s taught her. She swipes her thumb over the head of his cock, and he nips the shell of her ear, a quiet growl escaping him.

“Trying to make me shoot early, darling?”

She bites a nipple. Hard. Speaks with it between her teeth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Kolya.” 

Spiteful hellcat.

His skin’s on fire despite the shower. He may not be on the ground to the same extent as John, but he prides himself on his stamina, which wanes quicker than he likes nowadays. He won’t waste his cum.

He’s an old man now. He’s not eager to test how quickly he can rally.

“Let go.” He straightens, running his tongue over his lip. He gestures with his head, curtly ordering, “Turn around.”

She hesitates. He sees it in the slight shift of her weight, ready to take to whatever she imagines he has planned. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, still convinced that the real punishment is coming.

Surely, a shower can’t be it? That’s what she’s thinking—plain as day.

Her brows pinch, lips parting to speak only to shut, thinking better of it. She’s rarely nervous with him, or any of them, which makes her poker face exceedingly unpracticed.

She does as asked, steadying herself against the wall.

Nikolai admires the view. The curve of her spine, her skin. The pleasing heat pooled at the bottom of his stomach hurts, internally grumbling at the restraint.

He kneels with a grunt, the dull ache in his lower back and shoulders a lingering reminder of his labors. Worth it for this.

He meets her gaze as she peeks over her shoulder. Pressed to the wall, braced on her forearms, she’s drawn inward, legs closed. That won’t do. He fixes her stance with a pat on each inner ankle. Positions her how he wants her. Bent forward, ass out. One arm cushioning her head, the other—

“Hold a cheek, that’s it.” 

Like this, there’s nothing to hide. Water splashes off her mid-back, streaming down in rivers, sluicing over her skin and down her crack. It catches and rolls off every crevice, admixing with the drip between her legs.

If he drowns, he drowns.

One hand grips the back of her knee, the other anchoring to her upper thigh. Then, without hesitation, he gets to work.

The first drag is light. A chance to savor the cherry-like taste of soap mixing with the sweet tang of her cunt. He groans against her hole, nose digging into a cheek, water diverting around the bridge. He tucks his tongue inside to feel a feeble clench, then sweeps.

He saws his tongue through her glistening cunt to the furl of her ass, adjusting his grip when the latter wrings a surprised, indignant whine out of her. He lavishes over the rim until he feels it give, chasing it when she wiggles. It’s not her favorite, never has been, but he can usually—yes, there it is. Her squirming turns from escape as soon as his hand slides up from her knee to her folds.

There’s no resistance at all to plunge two fingers into her, crooking and dragging her back onto his tongue again and again. Teasing her ass with the muscle, drawing out a string of soft, helpless whimpers.

Her whines echo when he withdraws, rising to his feet, digits still buried inside. He drapes over her back, lungs heaving in air. A couple milliliters of water in his stomach.

His cock’s trapped between them, slippery in the cleft of her ass. He pumps his fingers slowly, ignoring her fruitless wiggling, encouraging him along, instead snaking his free hand around her front to find her swollen clit. 

“Mmph,” she sinks her teeth into the forearm beneath her head, eyes rolling back.

He watches, rapt. Every twitch in her facial features, each flutter of her lashes. On the edge of oblivion and circling, stuck, chasing the push and pull of his hand. Frustration mounting with every whine. Oh, it’s cruel. So mean.

Rewarding, though, when he stops. Abruptly. Unceremoniously. Tugs his fingers out and jams them into the pocket of his mouth for a taste.

The desperate complaints that erupt, the raw neediness. It satisfies.

Sometimes, he thinks he should be softer with her, the way John and Kate are. They’d both deny it, but they’re far quicker to fold and to dote. Maybe he should spoil her more. Dig out the Simbir, tell her to pack her bags, and take her somewhere warm where the sun bakes the sand white. But that’s not who he is, and she knew that when she got into this.

He already gives her everything. His time, his money, his hands when she needs them. He fixes her shit. Buys her presents. Listens. That’s enough. More than enough. 

And if she ever wanted something else—Kate’s tenderness, John’s predictability—she’d speak up.

Instead, she’s clumsily insulting his haircut and shivering, their shared warmth spiraling down the drain. He entertains her a second more before reaching around, shutting the water off, and slaps her ass.

“Out, darling.”

Nik takes his time drying her off, running the towel over every bit, all while humming an innocent tune. She simmers, jaw tight, but he pays no mind. Then he repeats the process on himself, glancing into the mirror while she hovers behind him, arms crossed tightly and bouncing lightly on her heels.

“You know, maybe if you had not mouthed off, I would be inclined to move faster.”

“Who says I want you to move faster?” She shoots back. “You might break a hip.”

His face must turn demonic with how wide her eyes go. It is nothing to him, just words, he knows. He is old. Certainly not made for jumping out of birds mid-flight.

It’s enjoyable to make her sweat, though.

“Still in a bad mood, tsarevna? What happened to my nice girl? You wound me.”

Nikolai brushes past her, his nose catching the tart scent of soap clinging to her skin. The fragrance is fleeting, but intoxicating, and better that they share it. He passes into the bedroom, throwing himself onto the bed in a heap. His back hits the mattress with a grunt of relief, and he stretches out, arms bent behind his head. He flashes his teeth, enjoying her struggling composure.

He fists the base of his cock, giving it a couple lazy strokes.

“My back’s killing me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. Takes the hint.

With a half-hearted scowl, she slinks up the bed, the haze in her eyes and the slick on her thighs betraying her. Settling over him, she plants her hands firmly against his chest, threading into his hair with just enough bite to be mean.The heat of her radiates, burns, sears his knuckles on the upstroke. Eyes locked, he knows what she’s playing at.

“Hate the snow that much?”

“I hate being cold.”

“So you’ve said. Let me warm you up. Sit down.”

She hesitates, chewing her cheek as if she’s not aching for it, but the command takes.

It’s a team effort, her hand over his, guiding and holding him still until the last moment, and then it’s all her following gravity’s lead. Sinking down onto his cock, impaling herself inch by inch.

He groans. “Fuck, baby, like a glove.”

The heat’s almost too much, her cunt drenched and warmed by the shower and his teasing. He digs into her hips, kneading her flesh with a low sound as she settles fully, her mouth hanging open. It won’t be long before she remembers herself. Remember she’s supposed to be cross with him. Play petulant, mock his age, pretend he’s the meanest old bastard she’s ever crossed paths with.

Nik thrusts experimentally, knocking her out of the heavens, dragging her back down to earth with him.

Her eyelids crack open, but she bites off a noise and presses her lips tightly together, fighting herself.

“You’re not cold anymore, are you?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.

She shakes her head. “Still cold.”

He swats her for that, palm cracking across a cheek. “Then get to it.”

It’s slow going at first. More of her posturing, lifting and dropping herself on his dick as mechanically as possible. But another swat makes her clench and speed up, unable to deny how that feels at least. Again, he lets her play her game. Gives her a taste of victory. In return, he doesn’t spare an ounce of effort. He’s flown through countless hot zones, under fire. With a knife to his throat. While applying pressure to a leaking wound. Ignoring a bit of pussy, even when it’s hers, even when it’s warm and perfect, isn’t difficult.

Kate taught him that—to let their pet wear herself out when she’s in a mood. Makes her pliant.

Before long, her movements falter, trembling with the strain, sweat beading along her forehead and trailing down her neck. Down the curve of her stomach, between her swinging breasts. A drop migrates from the tit squeezed in his hand, tracing a path down his wrist. He lets go to lick it off, chuckling at her wince.

“What’s the matter?” he rasps, and when she doesn’t answer, he jerks up hard, and startles a gasp out of her. “Not enough?”

Her movements are sloppier now, equal parts desperation and exhaustion. Poor baby—having to stand in the shower while he spoiled her, having to work for it now. All the while pretending she hates it. Hates the snow. Hates the cabin. Hates the entire trip.

She can lie to herself all she wants.

But she can’t lie to him.

Not when she’s digging her nails into his chest like she’ll slip through the cracks of reality if she lets go. Not when every breath that leaves her lips shakes with need. Not when she stares down at him, wide-eyed, pupils blown, mouth slack.

Makes it sweeter when she finally caves.

She nods, pausing to grind down on his cock. “Need more.”

He hums, letting his hands trace up the length of her spine, slow and easy. “Mm? Thought I was ‘disgusting’? A ‘perverted old man’?”

Before she can bite back, he moves. In a fluid motion, he grips her hips, shifts his weight, and flips her onto her back. She lands with a sharp gasp caught between her teeth. He follows, pressing in close, caging her beneath him. His palms settle at her waist, thumbs stroking over her heated skin.

“Still think that, pretty girl?” he murmurs, eyes gleaming as his breath ghosting over her throat. “Or do you want to try and be nice again?” He glides back in one harsh thrust.

“F-Fuck, Nikolai–”

“C’mon, tsarevna, surely you can do better than that,” he teases, though his control on language falters. He hits something sensitive, making her throw her head back and knock her knees to his ribs. “Shit, at least your hole is honest, what about your mouth?”

She doesn’t get much of a chance to answer—doesn’t have the breath for it. It’s good, too good. Pulling back, relishing the drag, and pushing back in deep, his pace steady and relentless.

She fights a little when he fucks her through her first orgasm. Teary-eyed, looking up at him, her expression one of pure betrayal with her wrists trapped in one of his hands, clicking his tongue at her feeble attempt to shove him off. One brief look affirms she’s fine, so he snarls down a reminder that she can take it.

When he lets go, it’s only to order her. 

“Hold your—yes, baby, like that.” 

It’s obscene. The view, the sounds. Her hands gripping the sweaty curves beneath her knees, holding her legs up, exposing herself completely. Where her cunt swallows him again and again, soaking him and seeping into the sheets. 

He pauses and pulls out completely, like before, timing it perfectly as her muscles tighten, watching her squirm beneath him. Her hole clenches uselessly around nothing, and her hands twitch, fighting to stay put, with her teeth sunk deep into her bottom lip to keep quiet.

She’s learned that much, at least.

If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.

“Look at you. Called me disgusting. But you?” He grinds in slow. “Filthy.”

He thumbs over her clit, drawing messy figure eights over the slippery bud, curling his free fingers in her bush. Some mean word gets tossed his way, but it rewards him with the sharp arch of her spine beneath him. She comes hard just as he pinches her clit, cutting a curse off his tongue with how tight she goes. 

Chain reaction. He lets up the moment he knows it’s inevitable, covering her hands with his own and pressing her knees back as far as they’ll go.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Nikolai grunts, jaw clicking as he heaves himself in as far as he can, burying himself deep. 

He swears it puts years on his life, nullifying whatever time’s stolen. It yanks a dirty laugh out of him when there’s too much, and leaks out around the plug of his cock. Her hole practically spits a glob as he slips free, milky white dribbling down her ass and smearing into his thigh.

The sound of it coming out makes her abandon her hold at last, squeaking out something like oh my god, wrestling with him until he’s flush against her back, head in the space between their pillows. An arm curled around her in a bear hug, the other drifting lower.

His name comes out in a panicked, slurred whisper. “Nik? Nik—Nik—Nik, you c-cah aaaan’t–”

The morning passes into the afternoon before the last of her fight fades. She eventually curls into him like a cat, soft and pliant against him, her muscles relaxed, her cheek pressed to his chest. There’s only one brief interruption in the long stretch of hours—just enough time for him to give her more than just his own fluids, and for him to indulge in the all-important ritual.

He lets her sleep, allowing her to come to on her own time, while he sneaks another drink directly from the bottle, appreciating the burn.

This give and take, the push and pull?

He would not trade it for anything.

She stirs with a small groan, wiping drool from her chin with the back of her hand, blinking slowly, eyes heavy with sleep. A quiet chuckle rumbles in his chest, and he sets the bottle down with a soft clink, his thumb absently tracing the peeling corner of the label.

Her face scrunches in discomfort, pushing herself upright, and suddenly freezes. She cringes, pulling her hand away from a damp spot.

“Kolya?” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

“Yes?” 

“C’mon, let’s change the sheets…”

He arches an eyebrow, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Mm, this is the only set.”

“You animal.”

He chuckles again, pulling her back down to steal a kiss.

She sighs against his mouth. “Happy birthday, old man.”