#mind coded behavior

[dorkhellbside]

concepts in my brain that i cannot even begin to explain

[theunholyvirginemilyprentiss]

HENRY: What’s that?

EMILY: *sipping an Oreo milkshake* It’s spicy, you won’t like it.

(From Twitter)

[mando-din-lorian]

I love me Star Wars time travel shenangians and I am absolutely giggling at the idea of Din going back in time and being, like, an expert in Yoda behavior and antics.

He’s spent so much time with Grogu, he picked up on things that seem to be natural for the species that perfectly align with Yoda.

He knows that they’re a carnivorous, and while they have sharp teeth to cut into meat, they typically swallow their food whole. He knows they like small prey, something usually slimy as it’s easier to swallow, and that food is important to them (as their species burn a lot of energy despite being small - my personal headcanon is that it’s because they’re so naturally in-tune with the force and use it more to often for basic living, thus it takes a lot to replenish that energy); offering food is like showing them off that they’ll be safe and well-fed with you, so when Din offers Yoda a raw, slimy eel as an offering of good-intent, everyone is absolutely baffled, disgusted, and enthralled when Yoda just swallows that mucus-covered atrocity whole and pats his legs, and they’re basically besties now

Din knows that they’re incredibly perceptive to sound due to their large ears, and thus speaks soft and quiet (or, you know, his natural way of speaking 😂) when talking with Yoda. He also knows that it’s easy for them to get ear infections, especially if they get a lot of water or wax-build-up in their ears, so any time after a mission in the rain, or in water, Din offers Yoda space-ear-wax cleaner and Yoda is like knows how to treat a person, this bitch does

And he just ends up getting along so well with Yoda and does things no one even considered to be Yoda thing (because Yoda is a maniac and likes to watch people bask in the confusion of his antics) that it’s just baffling. They don’t know what to do. How the fuck. What the fuck. They’re absolutely baffled, bamboozled, and bewilderment

To summarize, Din is Yoda’s homie and they have brunch every Friday and Din is more than comfortable with Yoda perching on his shoulder because their species likes having the higher ground

[fromtheseventhhell]

Asoiaf tumblr is turning me into a Rhaegar's stan. I get it that he’s not perfect, but saying "all the characters who have a positive opinion on rhaegar are obviously biased, they didn't know him" is a very delusional take :/

It's getting stupid.

This is where I'm at. Disliking a character is fine, but the way people rewrite the story + characters to justify their hate is beyond annoying. And what's crazier is that their hate for him extends to characters connected to him so Dany, Jon, Lyanna, etc. end up being demonized as well. The fact that they can't just say "I hate Rhaegar" and move on is crazy, he's really living in their heads rent-free 😭

[cerbreus]

Sometimes I have an epiphany about something about myself being very not normal when I'm trying to explain all these intricate paths of logic and plans and how I map out every little tidbit of every little thing I'm stressed about or working towards n I see the look on their face and go 'oh okay so this isn't.... How normal people approach things.....'🤔

[codeandcanvas]

There is a need beneath the need to communicate. I have it. Maybe you have it, too. Maybe, like I was before, your mind has been clogged up by projects never finished but also not abandoned.

Maybe reading server logs when you are bored is a thing you do, too.

I realized in ’23 how the thoughts I have are not who I am: they are habits, like how the grooves in licorice pizza interact with the needle. Ever caught yourself in what can be called Verhalten, that is, behavior? Something on repeat, the needle’s arm going back to the start of the record.

What I realized was, that people are on loops when they check out of communication and interaction. Out of life. You can watch it happening to you best and most easily: which words do you repeat every day? Is there a trigger for them? Which thoughts, whole stories of them come to you every day?

Thoughts are habits. They are habitual behavior of our minds, big fat neuronal firing patterns wasting your energy and time on something which is just your brain idling, neither creating problems, nor solving them. Just the needle in the groove, just the groove pushing the needle, in a loop.

And when it ends, along with all of your own thoughts about this firing pattern, maybe you just realized that even the thoughts about the pattern, are all part of the pattern your brain fires on its loops.

You can do what I did: become bored by the repeat. Demand better thoughts, new one ones, if better is too much to ask for.

And start a conversation about how you behave during the day, every day, is not who you are. Just a pattern of habits our brains go through when idling.

I used to be depressed, you see? Now, I don’t care anymore about that. I want to be something else now. And then the new thoughts came.

I don’t behave anymore. I just do. This is not about philosophy, because philosophy is over. No labels, no genre, either. This is neither fiction, nor its opposite, nor a third thing.

I can just sit here, and write this down, and you will read it. Something might happen then. Doesn’t have to.

I don’t miss people. Instead, it became a habit to think of them.

I don’t work on my past experiences. I just habitually think of and talk about my past.

If you are bored of this happening on repeat, maybe after a decade of it, maybe more, then it is time to do something more interesting with that licorice pizza. What happens when you don’t let it play out anymore?

And just so that we are clear on this, choom: all I want is to be myself, not my habits. You wanna be yourself, too?

Stop believing anything there can be said about you. Especially your own thoughts about yourself, about others. Exist in a context out of context with others, is what I am sayin’.

[r1ghtwhereyouleftme]

Also what was up with "metal as hell"? She used "metal" like multiple times. That threw me off idk why. It's just a weird phrase that I didn't expect taylor to say ig

[the-pea-and-the-sun]

the thing abt tsugimi ohba interviews is that sometimes i think he genuinely does not know why he does the things he does. like him responding to the theory that L knows capoeira by saying his thought process was that that was just how a person would fight while handcuffed like.... no it wasnt. that couldnt have been his thought process because light is also handcuffed in that scene but he's punching. but no one questions it and it probably felt like the right decision at the time because it makes sense that L would fight in an unusual way and light would fight in a more typical way. i ofc dont think the capoeira thing was secretly intentional but like it was proabably something more like that L fighting w his legs feels more natural with the way L tends to carry himself (like later in that scene he's crouching and doing the wrist-above-hands thing). but ofc thats a lot harder to explain both to urself an in an interview than "handcuff fighting". the capoeria v handcuff fighting thing isnt actually that important to me though im just using this as an example to say that like. death of the author aside jus cuz tsugumi ohba says he did something for a particular reason or w particular intention doesnt mean hes right. like yea sometimes the author meant x and we can ignore that an interpret y but othertimes people just dont actually remember why they wrote a certain thing. i think sometimes artists find something that works and dont necessarily know why it works or what exactly they found

[banannabethchase]

Okay so here's the problem.

When you have pretty severe OCD mixed with autism and PTSD and anxiety, you can misinterpret instinct and gut feeling for anxiety and vice versa.

And another problem is that, due to that unfortunate cocktail, it is very easy to gaslight that person and tell them something happened if someone says it in a mean enough, authoritative enough, and urgent enough way.

Anyway, fuck men who take advantage of people.

[loveanddeepdick]

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ hi angel!

obsesssed!perv!geto x f!reader || suguru keeps jacking off to you! stop it sugu!

here is a link to my obsessed!geto masterlist this fic is crazy btw pls click off if u get uncomfy

cw and notes: LOWK WRITTEN NASTYILY AND HORNYBRAINED, im gonna be honest its a mess of all the shit i like, kinda gross geto lol, groping, sir kink, dom/sub coded, obsession, unhealthy behavior, dubcon touchin, nudes, indecent exposure but in the comfort of your own home, piv sex, nipple play, creampie, teasing, masturbation, multiple rounds, posessiveness, this is a little insane of me but per the request of deepdick citizens i as your mayor will deliver, not proofead lol

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

geto suguru has no shame.

from the moment you met him until now, he always says everything and anything on his mind. when he first asked you out, he pulled you aside, gripping your shoulder as he bluntly confessed to you.

"we'll have dinner tomorrow. 8pm at nobu," he smiled before patting your shoulder and walking away. you damn near got whiplash as you swiveled your head around, speechless as he just nonchalantly walked off.

but if you thought he spoke his mind without any repercussions, you should've seen what he did to the coworker who was harassing you. he's heard about her during one of your stories about work, crazy customers, unhinged coworkers, careless higher-ups.

she was long gone the day you returned to work.

in a way, he loved that you didn't mind his straightforward behavior , that you appreciated how transparent he was. but with that also came with your nympho boyfriend jacking off anywhere and everywhere in your shared apartment. he walks around with his dick out for fucks sake, and today, you swore he was on some aphrodisiac.

9:14am. friday morning.

you were cooking up breakfast in your shared kitchen, humming as you sipped from your mug. you heard the heavy creaking of suguru's feet on the wooden floor approaching as he yawned. he was inhumanly tall, lanky and skinny yet toned whenever he stretched.

he groaned scratched his stomach underneath his black tank, lifting it up to reveal his dark happy trail.

"morning, baby," he grunted, wrapping his arms around your neck as he leaned down, pressing his chest to your back as he inhaled your scent.

"brush your teeth, su-" you paused as he pressed his nose into the crook of your neck, behind you ears, and the top of your head. you silently cursed, feeling something hard growing against your back. "again, suguru?".

you lightly pushed his head back before he whined and buried his nose in your hair again, inhaling deeplty.

"you smell so good, angel," he was nearly whimpering, his cock growing harder, "please, baby, just let me have my morning fill,"

you bit your cheek to keep a poker face, grabbing bowls for you and suguru before bending over the counter

"help yourself," you playfully sighed before grabbing the pans and plating the food. he grinned, giving you kisses in your hair before pulling your pajamas and panties down, taking his cock out to jack off to your ass. "make it quick, suguru,"

"fuucck, youre so hot, just keep.. keep doing what you were doing," he spat into fist before fucking his dick into it.

"you're such a pervert, suguru," you mumbled, bending over a little more to give him a better view.

"keep calling me that, turns me on," there was hearts in his eyes, watching your cute pajama pants scrunched around your knees as your pussy and little asshole was twitching and puckering just for him.

like clockwork, he squirted white ropes, coating your pussy as it dripped down onto your panties. he kneeled down, pulling your panties up to your cum soaked pussy before he brought a finger up to run it against the crotch area, poking around at his sealed cum against your hole.

"so gross," you rolled your eyes.

"yeah? but you stand there, you take it, and you love it, don't you?" he chuckled, pressing his nose in to inhale as you yelp, making you bend over just a little better as he sniffed in the nasty mix.

with a kiss to your clothed pussy, he pulled your pajamas back up, getting back to his feet with a gentle smack to your ass.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

11:52pm, friday afternoon

you get a text during your lunch break from suguru. what could he need this time? well, you had an idea.

>'hi, angel im otw with some lunch for you'

>'doing what i asked you to, aren't you?'

you hid your blush even though you were alone in your office. there, under your tight skirt and white cotton panties, was suguru's load was pressed wetunder your panties, your thighs squeezing together and keeping the cum warm.

<mhm im in my office

>[video attatchment]

you opened the video with low volume. he was in his car, holding a polaroid of you. he's in the parking garage of the apartment complex with his zipper down, his cock pink and standing tall. the video is only a minute long as he jacks off to your picture, his cock tip nearly touching your face on the polaroid before he cums, covering the entire thing.

what a nasty man.

you hear a knock on your door before he comes in, your thighs instinctively trying to hide your arousal from his teasing words. you place your phone on your desk as he approaches, chuckling at the sight of your not-so-well hidden flustered face.

"what's wrong, angel?" he mocked, grinning before he stood before you, his pointer finger lightly stroking your jaw as you peered up at his form.

his tall, dark form is almost eerie as he leaned down a little to look at you. he had hurricanes in his eyes as they bore into yours before trailing down a bit to your cleavage poking out from your white button-up. what a pervert. even then, it was like peering into heaven after centuries damned in hell.

your arms drift up and around his waist before you embrace his toned figure, your cheek pushed into his sweater.

"my eyes aren't as low as where you're looking, you creep,"

"just means i can focus on two things at once, huh?"

you playfully slap him before he grabs your wrist, pulling you up from your chair and pinning your against your desk, your chest against his ribcage as he peers down upon you.

"missed you so much," he breathed out before his eyes trailed down, his hands coming up to trace your figure, his hands stopping to cup your tits through your clothes as you squirmed and closed your legs, "keep them open,"

his knee came in between your legs, parting them and leaving you. vulnerable to him.

"you been a good girl today, hm?" he chuckled, giving your tits a squeeze before one of his hands travelled down to your skirt, lifting it up to reveal your nearly see-through panties squished up on his leg.

"yes, sir.." you the inside of your cheek to bite back a moan as he began slighly moving his leg up and down.

he guided you to sit on the desk as he knelt, lifting your skirt as he looked at your panties with hearts in his eyes. you leaned back a bit so he could take them off. his fingers hooked both sides of your panties as he slowly peeled.

"ffuuckkk, angel," he hissed as the mixture of his cum and your arousal strung to your pussy as he pulled down your panties, the crotch area gooey and smearing the sticky substance all over your pussy.

you whined as he licked a hard stripe from your perineum to your clit, giving it a loud suck before leaning back, showing you the nasty mix on his tongue before swallowing it with a shit eating grin.

"gross perv- ah, fuck!" you couldn't even finish your sentence before his head dove in between your legs again, lapping at your pussy as he flicked it with his tongue and shoved his face deep between your thighs, using his hands to push them together and trap his face.

"suuguuu..." you whined as you grinded on his face

"use my face, baby, y'taste so fucking good, nobody knows this sloppy pussy like i fuckin' do," he pulled off your clit with a slurp before spitting on it, "say it. say i know this pussy the best,"

"y-you know this pussy the best, sir!" you gripped his long silky hair before your heart dropped into your pussy, "w-wait sir, something c-coming!"

"just let it happen, angel, let go for me, it's gonna feel good i promise," he groaned into your pussy before you twitched, convulsing as you squirted into his mouth. he latched onto your pussy, sucking your clit and messily lapping his touch as he drank your juices.

"so.. gross, sugu,"

"lunch break's over, sweetheart," he chuckled with a kiss after he helped you clean up, "tell your coworkers i said hi,"

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

6:07 pm, friday evening

suguru loves watching you eat. he rarely ever works in person, preferring to have his spirit consultations online (where he loves to scam rich people who exploit others). before you come home from work, he makes sure to make you a nice home-cooked meal or get takeout from somewhere you love.

he watches you eat, savoring each spoonful and gushing on and on about how good it tastes. the small smile on his face looks like little cracks on a china plate. to any other person, it would seem as though his reaction was neutral, but you knew this meant he was ecstatic.

later, you flopped on your bed, landing atop the blankets on your back as you sigh happily from the food. he comes up to you, climbing into bed to sit against the headboard before he reached down and rubbed your stomach lightly with his thumb,

"tummy must be all fun huh, angel?" he chuckled, "should i put on a movie?"

you nod, rolling over onto your stomach as you rest your cheek on your crossed arms, shuffling pressing your side against geto's as he watches you swing your feet in the air a bit.

suguru puts on a horror movie and you groan, realizing it was his turn to choose. you haven't seen this one yet, an old classic thriller probably. some stupid killer on the loose with more stupid people getting killed probably.

he watches you, the way you seem so intrigued with the plot, the way your back moves up and down as you breath, your little laughs when the characters make a joke. he just can't help the blood rushing down to his crotch. the movie plays as you begin to drift off before you hear the shuffling of fabric.

before you turn around, you hear him cough and spit into his hand. the sounds of his spit-soaked hand going up and down his cock, sloppy and desperate for relief as he gets so turned on by you doing anything.

"suguu.. are you jacking off right now?" you gasp, your head whipping around to see him pumping his cock with a expressionless face.

"just focus, baby," he grunted, "you look so cute right now,"

you shifted, sitting against the headboard with him, snuggled up to his side as you watched him masturbate. it wasn't weirdest thing, in fact, this was probably the most normal thing going on in your home. he draped his arm around you, resting it on the headboard as you shyly watched him.

"you're so pretty, suguu," you breathed as he sped up his strokes

with a groan, he finishes on his hand, bringing it up to your lips so you could clean it.

"goood girl, always so obedient, aren't you?" he smiles as you release his finger with a pop, licking his hand clean and drifting your focus back to the movie. you try to swallow it covertly but the way his eyes dart to you face shows that he noticed. he nestled closer to you, his arm resting on your thigh.

the movie continued, suguru not even bothering to put his dick back and going bare in your room (ew) before his arm shifted again, the arm around you dropping lower until his fingers were grazing your shoulder. with a blush you squirm as his hand begins to travel down to your clothed chest, resting on it.

you glare at him before focusing on the movie again until you feel him squeeze it lightly, his finger coming up to draw circles around you covered nipple. biting back a moan, you drift your hand closer to his cock until the killer from the movie pops up with a loud bang, scaring you as you yelp.

your clothed clit grazes against geto's fingers as you jump. he holds back a laugh for your sake, watching you scared expression from the film as he keep his fingers against your clit. after a couple minutes, he begins rubbing it gently through your panties.

you moan, pawing at his wrist gently as you babble about watching the movie. he knew you didn't give two shits about the shitty cgi two-star film.

"you don't want it? tell me if you don't want it, baby, i'll stop," he mumbles against your hear as his groping and rubbing stops for a moment, waiting for your response only to be met with silence. he smiles against your ear before he lifts you up, laying you down on the previous position on your stomach again as he sits behind you.

"you wanna focus? then focus."

he watches you squirm, your fluffy pajama shorts hugging your figure as he can almost swear he can see your pussy. he stalks like a predator hunting prey behind you, trapping you under him as he pulls your panties aside.

"don't get scared, baby," he chuckles, "you jumping is only gonna make me feel good,"

he thrusts his dick deep into you as you moan, gripping the sheets as your feet kicked against the bed from the sudden intrusion. he pressed his body against you, leaning into your neck as he inhales your scent, his hand coming up to your face to shove his fingers into your mouth.

"y'look just like the person on screen, sweetheart," he grunts as you dart your eyes to the film, seeing the victims of the killer trapped in a basement with their arms restrained and their mouths duct taped.

what a strange movie.

he presses his body weight on your back as he drills mean thrusts deep into your pussy, his fat cock head pushing against your cervix as you drool on his fingers. you closed your eyes in fear of getting scared by the fictional killer again, but seeing your cute face all scrunched up and choking on his lanky fingers only made him thrust harder.

"shhuuuguu," you choke as he holds you down under him, his mean hips fucking you over and over again.

"gonna cum, angel? yeahh? good girl, take this dick-fuck, i was made for this fuckin sloppy pussy,"

he groans as you nod and drool, enjoying your slurry of words as he pushes his fingers deeper. you convulse and squeze around his cock, milking him until he came with a loud groan. he continues thrusting slowly even after that, letting you ride out your orgasm until he stills in your cum-fill pussy.

he takes his fingers out your mouth, popping them in his mouth to suck them before turning your face to meet his eyes. giving you a soft kiss on your lips, he carries you out your room to properly clean you up.

what a messy girl

[marvelstoriesepic]

Your Ghost Knows Me

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: On a mission to dismantle a Hydra base, Bucky’s activation codes are triggered. And what does he do without a kill order?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: mind control; non-consensual behavior (not sexual but bodily autonomy themes); possessive behavior; gun violence (implied, not graphic); threats of violence; emotional manipulation (unintentional); PTSD; trauma responses; forced proximity; mentions of Bucky’s past; Hydra

Author’s Note: I'll never get tired of a possessive Winter Soldier!! Honestly, I should write about him more often. Anyway, this absolutely iconic request is from my sweet dear!! Thank you so much, and I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

There is always something quiet about Bucky when he looks at you before the mission begins. Quiet in the way thunder is quiet just before the crack. As if he is holding something inside himself too loud for the world.

You always say his name and he would look at you like he’s afraid to blink.

You don’t think you’re supposed to notice the way he hovers at your side. You’re not supposed to feel his shadow, stitched to your steps. But you do. You always do. Because Bucky Barnes does not know how to stay subtle. Not with you. Not when he thinks you might not make it out of this alive.

Your mission is to break into an old Hydra base with heat still humming through the walls and ghosts still hanging from the rafters.

The team drops in like rain. Controlled chaos. Clint on the left flank. Sam from above. Steve on the right flank. Nat somewhere in the dark.

You are light-footed and fast and smart and alive. Bucky stays behind you. Always behind you. Watching your six. He never lets you fall.

And you get the proof of this for the thousandth time when he throws his arm out and grabs your vest to yank you back hard enough to make you gasp. Your heart stutters in your throat. You stumble, twist, spin - and crash into him.

There was a tripwire. You almost walked into it. And Bucky saw. He sees everything.

“You okay?” He breathes, voice low, not quite touching worry but brushing the edges of it.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Thanks.”

He nods. Says nothing. Keeps moving.

You press forward into the maze of concrete and metal that is the Hydra base, gun raised, heart playing the drum in your ribs.

Bucky slows.

You glance over at him. “What is it?”

He stares at a rusted door, barely ajar. A soft static pulses from within, like an old radio dying in slow motion. The sound crawls down your spine. Your skin prickles.

“Bucky,” you start, reaching for him. “Let’s move.”

But he’s already walking toward that door with narrowed eyes.

The room is dark. Cold. Frost is on the walls like a memory that won’t let go. A machine in the corner makes low noises. Wires twitch on the floor like veins ripped from a corpse. The air stinks of metal and mildew and something old. Something wrong.

And then it speaks. A voice, thick with static, seeps out of the machine. A voice you don’t understand. Not really. You can’t make out the words, but you know them. You know what they mean.

“Желание. Ржавый.”

You spin around, heart rushing up to your ears, calling his name, but it’s too late.

“Семнадцать. Рассвет.”

Bucky stands frozen.

Stone. Steel. Silence.

His face is slack. That haunted stillness takes over.

He isn’t gone. But he isn’t Bucky anymore.

“Печь.”

His eyes go distant. Flat. His face cracks into something you’ve only seen in nightmares. No fury. No fear. Just absence.

“Доброкачественный.”

“No,” you breathe. Your heart forgets how to beat. “Bucky,” you basically yell at him. Nobody even knew there were still functioning systems here. But they’d been waiting. Planning.

“Девять.”

“Bucky please snap out of this.” You know it’s useless. You don’t know why you say it.

“Возвращение на родину.“

Your hand trembles around the grip of your weapon as you force yourself to jump out of the shock your limbs are locked in. You raise your arm and aim. You pull the trigger. One.

“Один.”

Two.

“Грузовой вагон.”

Three.

Four times.

The machine sparks. Cracks. Screams. A dozen red lights blink and die like stars going out. The voice cuts out, perhaps wanting to give a command, a final breath of Russian strangled by silence. And it slams into the room like a body.

For a heartbeat, for a breath, you think it’s over.

You hope it’s over.

But his name dies on your tongue when you turn back to him.

Bucky doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe like a man. He doesn’t look at you - he tracks you, the way a sniper does. As if you’re a piece of intel.

Sam’s voice crackles over the comms. “Hey. We heard something. Everything good over there?”

You can’t answer right away.

Your voice is lost.

Because Bucky Barnes is gone.

And the Winter Soldier is standing in his place.

It takes you a minute to explain your situation and you hear the tremor in Steve’s voice when he tells you they’re on their way.

You try to breathe around the panic growing like thorns in your chest.

You whisper his name, again and again, as if it’s a spell that might pull him back. But the Winter Soldier does not know your voice.

Does not know you.

And when Steve finally rounds the corner, face pale, shield up, Bucky growls.

Low. Subhuman. A warning without words.

“Woah, woah- easy,” Steve says, holding up a hand. He looks at you. “He’s- He’s not gone. We’ll fix this. We can bring him back.”

You don’t know how promising he tries to make this sound.

But Bucky shifts his body, in front of you.

He plants himself between you and everyone else, like a wall, like a weapon.

Like a threat.

No orders. No hesitation. Just instinct.

He scans Steve’s hands. Sam’s gun. Natasha’s eyes.

Every time someone even twitches in your direction, he angles his body tighter around you, metal hand flexing. His breathing is shallow. Sharp.

He has no words. No explanations. He doesn’t seem to need them.

You try to take a step forward, away from his back. He moves with you. You stop. So does he.

“Please,” you whisper. “Bucky. Come back.”

But he doesn’t flinch.

Not for the begging in your voice. Not for the heartbreak in your eyes.

But you know he doesn’t hear you. He only hears the ghosts in his blood. The machine in his brain. The purpose Hydra seared into his bones.

“Alright, this can’t-“ The moment Sam takes a step forward, Bucky moves.

He grabs you. Not roughly, not violently, but fully. As if the air between your bodies has never existed. As if he’s made of magnets and you’re the only thing that ever pulled him north.

His metal arm anchors around your waist, his other hand at your shoulder, your spine, your hip - everywhere, all at once. He places himself between you and the others again and makes sure to keep you there as if you are a holy thing. His breath is ragged. Feral.

“Bucky,” Steve tries. There is something pained in his tone. Also something warning. “Let her go.”

But he doesn’t listen.

Because there is nothing left to listen to.

No more commands. No more codes. No more voice in his ear.

So he seems to have written a new directive into his mind and that is you.

You are the mission now. You are the purpose, the protection, the last thing left when everything else burns.

His hand is wrapped around your wrist so tightly, it makes your breath hitch. But you don’t pull away. You can’t. There is something in his eyes. Something not Bucky but not nothing either.

Not the soldier.

Not the man.

Just this animal of loyalty. Of violence. Of need.

You try.

God, you try.

You speak to him in pieces. In whispers. In words coming from trembling lips and bruised hope.

“Bucky,” you plead.

Soft. Like maybe softness will do it. Like maybe he’ll come back to the sound of your voice wrapped in love instead of command.

But he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t let anyone near you.

Not Steve, who takes one careful step and ends up with a knife lodged in the floor in front of his foot.

Not Sam, who reaches out and gets a warning growl that raises the hairs on your arms.

Not Natasha, who tries to circle behind, quiet as a whisper - and is met with the barrel of Bucky’s gun aimed clean between her eyes.

You frantically call Bucky’s name.

“Hey- easy,” she says, voice low. “Nobody wants to harm your girl, Barnes.”

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t care.

He tightens his grip on you, fingers locking around your arm like a shackle. You try to find a piece of Bucky still breathing in there.

But all you see is possession.

He steps back into the shadows, pulling you with him, shielding you with his body as if the world is trying to take you and he’s the last wall still standing.

No one sees you now.

Because he won’t let them.

He moves you behind crates. Walls. Corners. Shadows. Always putting something between you and them. Always hiding you. Not out of shame. Not out of fear.

Out of possession.

Out of protection.

Out of a command he gave himself.

You are a mission. A precious object. A singular order sculpted into the ruins of his memory.

You hear Steve’s heavy sigh. His quiet and deep voice. The pain in it. “We need to sedate him.”

The next thing you pick up is the click of a safety releasing.

Bucky’s gun is pointed and ready.

He would kill for you right now.

He would kill them.

All of them.

Within the blink of an eye.

For you.

“No,” you croak out, voice breaking. It feels wrong to call him Bucky. It feels wrong to call him Soldat. “Please don’t! Don’t do this!”

You don’t know if it’s something in your voice or something in your tense stance against his back, but he slowly lowers his gun, slowly turns his head to stare at you.

Empty.

Unreachable.

But somehow not cold.

And then his hand rises. Flesh fingers trace your jaw. So gently it nearly breaks you.

It’s not affection. It’s assessment.

He’s checking. For wounds. For weakness. For threats, you might be hiding beneath your skin.

You breathe as if forgetting how to.

You try to shift. Just a little. Just to look behind him. Just to meet Steve’s eyes, Sam’s, Natasha’s, Clint’s - who finally got his ass here as well.

But Bucky moves. Fast.

A hand around your chin. Tilting your face back toward him.

Eyes narrow. Jaw locks.

You know what it means.

He doesn’t want you to look at them.

He doesn’t want you to speak with them.

He doesn’t want you to think of them.

You are his now.

Because something in his mind burned the world down and left you standing in the wreckage, and he needs something to hold onto. Not just anything. Not just anyone. You.

You try again.

Whispers, again.

“I have to talk to them-”

He shakes his head. Once. Sharp. Final.

“No,” he growls. Not language. Not word. Just a sound scraped from somewhere too deep and too far gone.

You flinch and he feels it.

His grip grows stiff.

Your body goes still.

He doesn’t want to hurt you. But he doesn’t let you go.

You catch the glint of Steve’s shield out of the corner of your eye.

They haven’t moved in minutes.

They’re waiting.

They’re watching.

They don’t want to hurt him either. But they will if they have to.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Don’t come closer. Don’t- don’t try to talk to me, he- he doesn’t want that.”

You hear Sam lower his weapon, just a hair. “We can’t leave you like this.”

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to pull Bucky into your arms and shake him until something clicks and he remembers you. Remembers himself.

But the Winter Soldier only seems to be remembering his duty. Violence shaped into protection.

And right now, that protection looks like isolation.

You. Alone. Tucked behind crates and corners and silence and his broad shoulders.

You speak anyway. Because you have to. Because he’s in there somewhere. Because he might not hear the others, but maybe he can still hear you.

“Bucky,” you speak. Swallow. “They’re not the enemy.”

His hand twitches on your arm.

“They’re your friends.”

He tightens his grip.

“They’re my friends.”

He releases another deep and gravelly sound.

His body is tense, electric, fury held in the cage of his bones.

“Please,” you say. You hate the sound of your own voice now. You sound like you are shattering in slow motion. “You don’t have to protect me from them. You don’t- I’m not-”

You breathe out shakily.

Your lip trembles. Your eyes sting.

Because he’s looking at you as if he would kill the whole world to keep you safe. And he doesn’t even remember who you are.

You press your forehead to his chest. His body doesn’t move.

He’s breathing faster now. His pulse thrums under your cheek.

But he lets you stay there.

That has to be something.

Behind Bucky, someone whispers your name. Carefully. Cautiously. As though if they say it wrong you’ll be ripped out of this moment and Bucky will hunt them all down.

You lift your head.

Bucky sees it.

Sees the way your eyes pull toward Sam’s voice.

Sees the way you’re still trying to hold onto them. Still reaching.

He doesn’t like that.

He hates that.

His hand finds the back of your neck. He pulls you into him, hides your face in his chest. Your shoulders lock. His body shields you like a fortress of flesh and metal and confusion. As if your gaze is a window, and he is closing the shutters.

You are not theirs anymore.

And he will not let you be.

[worldseer]

NO BECAUSE OP YOU'RE SO RIGHT-

toji is NEVERRRR beating the big cat allegations . never

[warlockslovetomeow]

time flies...

when captain jenna assigns you to infiltrate an intel hub disguised as a jazz club in the N109 zone, you make one simple request to the universe: don’t let me run into my ex. that prayer goes unanswered. but others? you might just get lucky.

pairing: exbf!sylus x female reader warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, porn w plot, porn w feelings, exes w unresolved tension, possessive behavior / mild jealousy, loooots of banter, thigh rubbing build up, dirty talk, like filthy, bratty!mc, sylus wants you so bad, walk him like a dog sis, oral (m & f), eating from the back, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, mating press, cumming inside a/n: wrote this with one hand!!!!! i need this man so bad!!!!!!!! wc: 5.9k

"....located in the N109 zone. any questions?"

and then she shot you. captain jenna—your fierce and until approximately five seconds ago, loyally trusted commander—had just fired her pistol at you within point-blank range.

you swallowed the bullet lodged in your throat before responding, reaching deep within yourself to appear as neutral as possible.

"no, captain!"

damn it all. of course your previous experience in the N109 zone would put you at the top of the list for this mission. unknown to your captain though, you'd rather chew on knives than risk a chance encounter with your ex boyfriend.

but since the intel she's assigned you to look into involves a new strain of protocore tech that mimics wanderer signatures, making it nearly undetectable and dangerous for all factions, it was high priority. and unfortunately for you, the same thought was likely running through his mind.

it'd been months since your messy breakup, months since you've spoken to each other. he wouldn't dare try anything again, especially in a compromised place like a covert jazz club.

when it came to sylus, however, you knew better.

you run through the briefing details once more in your head. this intel hub operates like most others in the N109 zone: secretive and precise. a surefire way to get yourself killed in places like these is by looking confused or unsure.

your orders are to tell the bouncer you're searching for a man wearing green inside, the color being code for the information category. according to association intel, green signifies everything related to protocores. once inside, you're to head to the bar and order an emerald isle, the contents being a gin and mint martini. the mint serving as a tip-off that you're looking for fresh, new information.

from there, you're basically on your own. the guise of a jazz club is intentional, patrons are to fraternize with their drinks visible in hand, searching for people with similar colored ones. once you find someone, you relay what drink you ordered, and if they have information on such a topic, they'll take a sip from your drink.

the catch? no refills allowed. if the person has irrelevant information, you've wasted part of your opportunity.

you saunter up to the entrance of the club, your black maxi dress shaping your body perfectly and almost causing you to disappear into the low lighting, exactly as planned. if the situation were to get threatening, your dress wouldn't be a risk.

however, this mission required you to look enticing while eyes were on you. the low, fishtail back and thin straps were sure to prompt onlookers to approach you and chat. you'd keep them in line, if not with words then with your loaded gun strapped firmly to your thigh.

you smile sweetly at the bouncer, saying everything required and getting inside without breaking a sweat. the club is busy, but not overwhelmingly so. you do a full room scan and mentally note that there are around 8 people with green drinks in hand—all at different levels of fullness. after you order the emerald isle, you make your way to the floor.

time to hunt.

the moment you walked in, sylus choked on his drink.

of course you'd be the one sent here. of course the same woman who hadn’t so much as looked at him in months would stroll back into his life with a drink coded for protocore intel.

the very thing that blew everything apart.

you hadn’t changed a bit. still walked like you owned the room. still wore danger like perfume. and those straps clinging to your body? a challenge written in silk. that dress wasn’t for him, he knew that, but he couldn’t help but wonder if some part of you knew he’d be here. if some part of you wanted him to look.

hell, he was looking. couldn’t stop, actually.

he leaned back in his seat on the second-floor balcony, his eyes locked on your every move through the dim haze and low lights. moments ago, he’d been halfway through a trade with the scrawny male seated across from him. but now, the man might as well be invisible. sylus couldn’t care less about anything that didn’t involve looking at you.

he watched you flash that fake, pretty smile—the one you wore while you were on missions. no one else would know the difference. but he did.

when he saw the color of your drink, he almost laughed. no doubt you were here for information surrounding the new wanderer mimicking tech. the irony twisted like a blade between his ribs.

you hated him for hiding his connections to protocore manufacturing. said it was betrayal. said you couldn't trust someone who kept secrets like that. but you never saw the full picture. he was protecting you from yourself.

you didn’t understand, maybe you still don't, but he hadn’t been lying to hurt you. he knew what getting you involved would cost. he knew you, and the second you found out the truth about what exactly onychinus was sponsoring, it'd drag you into the depths of the mystery surrounding your aether core. he knew you wouldn't be able to stop pursuing it all, no matter what it did to you.

and now, here you were. wading waist-deep into the same fire he lost you to.

sylus clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around his glass. he should look away. should let you do what you came here to do.

but then some lowlife in a tacky rust-colored suit slithered up to you, requesting a dance. he was too close. acted too familiar. sylus watched your smile shift into something tight and forced. the kind you used when you were baiting someone.

no.

he wasn’t going to just sit back. not when you were back in his orbit, whether you meant to be or not. and not when he still wanted you just as badly as the day you walked away.

this had to be some sort of punishment. you must’ve pissed off the universe in a past life to end up pressed against a man wearing the ugliest rust-colored suit known to mankind. he smelled like sweat masked with cheap cologne. every inch of him screamed sleaze. yet, here you were, letting him touch you. because, of course, the filthiest bastard in the room had the most valuable intel so far. and with your drink nearly empty, you couldn’t afford to cut the dance short.

his grimy left hand rested on your waist—drifting lower with each passing second—while his other clung to his green drink like he planned to propose to it before the night was over.

"...only sold to the 1%, then trickling downwards to whoever can afford those prices. say darling, you oughta come home with me tonight. there's a lot more i can tell ya, you know, in private." his voice dripped like oil, and as he leaned in to whisper the last part, his fingers slid beneath the open hem of your back.

you resisted the overwhelming urge to pull out your pistol and really show him something private.

instead, you forced a breath and put on a tight smile. a smile that was nowhere near reaching your eyes, barely a curl on your lips. then you steered him back to the reason you were even still breathing the same air. “who are they buying from? is there no logo? no trace of manufacturing?”

“not a thing,” he said, grinning like he thought he was clever. “but I did hear some old abandoned buildings around the N109 zone have been lighting up lately. enough space to test high risk tech in those.”

you could barely hold back your eye roll. the way he spoke, like you owed him something just for opening his mouth, grated on every nerve in your body. and he looked at you like he planned to collect on that imagined debt in full.

“where’s the closest one?” your tone had a sharp edge now. his fingers kept wandering, and your patience was running thin. you needed this conversation over. and this man dead.

"hmm? not far from here. i'd say about—”

he didn’t get to finish.

a tall figure stepped between you and the creep, sliding a hand onto your waist in place of the one you'd been seconds from snapping in half. you didn’t need to look. didn’t need to double check.

you could recognize sylus by touch alone.

“mind if I cut in?” he said smoothly, his voice low and razor-sharp. “this man appears to be more thirsty than classy.”

you sighed. worst timing possible.

"no, thank you. that’s the idea,” you replied coolly, but it didn’t matter.

sylus had already made his move. the shorter man stumbled back, face ghost-white, mumbling something that sounded like an apology—or maybe a prayer—before scurrying off as if sylus had just rearranged his face with a look alone.

then, he turned to you.

he didn’t speak at first, only stared. like he couldn’t breathe, like he couldn’t believe you were real. his gaze swept over you, slow and starving, as if he were trying to memorize every inch before you vanished again. not a trace of a smirk, just a man who’d been sucker punched by the sight of you.

but eventually, sylus flipped the mental switch. he stepped closer, hand outstretched, voice as smooth as sin, "this place was dangerous before you walked in. now, it doesn’t stand a chance.”

you stared at him, unblinking, letting the silence hang just long enough to make your point. the theatrics didn’t impress you, but the corner of your mouth twitched anyway, a reflex you hated. with another sigh you stepped forward, your hand sliding into his like muscle memory.

before you could get a word in, sylus reached for the drink still in your hand. his fingers brushed yours, unhurried and deliberate, as he took it from you without asking to silently relieve the burden.

his other hand found your waist and you let yours rest on his shoulders, the familiar feel of him under your fingertips sending a shiver through you.

it was dangerous how easy it was. how quickly your steps matched the rhythm. how naturally your body leaned into his, like the time apart had never happened. the jazz music swelled around you and you both moved with it like something practiced in another life.

then his mouth was near your ear, voice dipping low as the air between you tightened. “careful. you dance like someone who remembers exactly how I feel.”

“i dance like someone who can’t wait for this song to end," you shot back, your tone sharp enough to cut.

"no," he said, like he knew something you didn't. "you dance like someone pretending the space between us isn't pulling you in.” 

a tense beat passed.

"poetic. a bit too drab for my taste, unfortunately."

“you used to like the way I spoke when it was your name in my mouth.” his voice danced down your spine like a dirty promise, hot enough to make your stomach twist.

you hated it. hated that he still had this hold on you. that months later, you still reacted.

you bit back, voice steady and full of edge. “and you used to listen when I said no.” 

“you never said no when it was just the two of us.”

his tone was so unbothered, so undeniably sylus. you hated how your chest ached at that. you'd buried that version of you with him a long time ago. or at least you thought you had.

you glared at him, trying to telepathically communicate how badly you wanted him to burn.

the song then faded into a slower, darker tune. like even the music knew how deadly this was becoming.

you stepped back, but only a hair. not enough to give him the satisfaction. just enough to remind yourself you still could.

his gaze followed the retreat like it hurt him to let you go. “how did you find out about this hub? did you come alone?”

you didn’t answer. instead, you turned from him. a clean, intentional break. you were done letting him circle you like he still had the right.

but his fingers caught your wrist before you could fully disappear from him again, placing your hand back on his shoulder.

“an emerald isle,” he murmured. “what intel are you here for?”

you looked him dead in the eyes, annoyance painting your features. “sooo many questions. do you always get this chatty when you're trying not to look desperate?"

god, he missed you. missed when you got like this with him. he loved nothing more than when you challenged him, rough and biting.

“just concerned, sweetie. especially if what you know brought you here…" his smile curled as he spoke. "…looking like this.”

“that's too bad. you don’t get to play protective anymore. that role expired." your voice came out flat and cold, like you had rehearsed the indifference.

“mmm. but it seems your feelings for me haven’t, kitten.”

“funny. i don’t remember ever admitting I had them.”

“no? then why are your thighs tensing like they remember everything?” 

your breath hitched. not loud, but enough to make you furious with yourself. heat flushed up your throat, mortification and memory colliding in the worst possible way. you hated that he noticed. hated more that he was right. that your body reacted before your mind could catch up.

you didn’t let the silence stretch. couldn’t let it stretch.

"you're in my way."

sylus tilted his head, the smirk on his lips making your blood boil. “and you’re in my thoughts. every day. every night. doesn’t feel fair, does it?”  

“what’s not fair is how your ego somehow survived our breakup.”  you spoke through gritted teeth, still recovering from his last blow.

“you don’t have to say it," he was grinning now—the bastard. "i can feel it.”  

“what, your neediness?”  you practically spit back, the tension between you thick enough to choke on.

“yours, actually. you’re shaking, kitten."

“it’s rage.”  

“mmm. is that what we’re calling want these days?” 

before you could fire off something scathing, sylus wrapped his fingers around your wrist again and this time he pulls. not hard, just enough to close the last of the distance. chest brushing chest, breath mingling in the small space in between your lips.

“you think I don’t know that look in your eyes? that tilt in your hips when you dance near me? you want distance, yet your body keeps inching closer," his voice was low, fever laced into every syllable. "what am I to believe?” 

“i'm working, sylus. this—” you gestured between your bodies, the closeness, the feelings, all of it. “—can’t happen again."

his smirk fades, but not into hurt. into hunger. “then tell me to stop.”

you don't.

his fingers trace the underside of your jaw, measured and daring.

“say it." he murmurs. "say stop.” 

but you don't. you can’t. your lips part, but not for protest. then—

“is there a problem here?” a voice cuts through from behind, snapping the spell. a man steps between you and sylus, eyes flickering between your faces. “doesn’t look like you want to be with him, sweetheart. just say the word.” 

“step back,” sylus says before you can even breathe, his tone icy. possessive. “you’re in her space. that’s the problem.”

the man falters, visibly unsettled by the sharp gleam of red in sylus’ eye. “i’m sure she’d prefer someone who doesn’t drag her around the dance floor.”

sylus smirks at him, deadly calm. “she’s exactly where she wants to be.”

it seems the man recognizes onychinus' leader, because that’s all it takes. the man backs off without another word.

you let the silence settle, pulse still fluttering from both the interruption and everything before it.

“jealousy doesn’t suit you,” you tease, turning your head just enough to draw his eyes back to your mouth.

“neither does watching you pretend you don’t miss me,” he shoots back, matching your quip as he always excelled at doing.

“i don’t.”

he smirks. “liar.”

your voice sharpens. “we’re broken up, sylus. don’t you recall?”  

his gaze doesn’t waver. “i remember everything. your laugh. your skin. the way you used to—”

“don’t,” you cut in, voice like a blade. “you don’t get to say those things anymore.”

he leans in anyway, close enough that you can taste the desire radiating off him.

“then stop looking at me like that.”

“like what?” you hiss.

his mouth curved with mischief and warning. “like you want me to follow you upstairs.” 

you blinked, heart slamming so hard it hurt. and for one breath, you let yourself feel it, all the pain he left behind.

then you swallowed it whole, and drowned in him.

as you both slipped out of sight from the crowded dance floor, sylus tugged you closer, kissing you like he’d been starved. your bodies stumbled up the stairs, hands tangled and desperate, a hunger between you that neither could deny. he pressed you against the wall at the top of the stairs, his lips trailing down your neck, each kiss an act of claiming. you felt his eagerness press against you and your head swirled deliciously.

“i can feel how badly you want me,” you taunt, chest rising as you fight for composure. “want me so bad you’d drop to your knees if I told you to, wouldn’t you?”

"you could make me beg for you. and more." he pressed into you, harder now. his body solid against yours as the air became thick with want. “but we both know you want to be the one on your knees." 

you pull off him with a smirk of your own, opening the closest door and leading him inside. “you think you’re the only one who knows how to play this game?”

once you both stepped into the room, you shove sylus back onto the bed. his handsome face tipped up at you from where he landed, eyes cocky and smug despite being beneath you.

"i’m the one who taught you how to play, sweetie.” 

you lock the door behind you with a click, leaving him on the bed to watch every calculated move you made.

you turn to face him. your steps unhurried, hips swaying like a predator with a plan. his gaze devours you as you reach the center of the room and spin your back to him.

the low hem of your dress dips scandalously, held up only by two delicate straps. you slide one down, then the other. the fabric sinks down your body, every inch a show for the man breathing heavier by the second.

the fabric hits the floor and you step out of it and cross the room. sylus sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread like he's trying not to burst at the sight of you.

you drop to your knees before him, fingers ghosting up his thighs.

you undo his belt like it’s second nature, because it is, but this time there's no soft glances or whispered promises. only tension, sweat, and the sharp edge of something darker.

you shift him out of his underwear and he's already leaking, throbbing for you. you pull him out slow, eyes locked on his like a dare. despite taking him plenty of times before, his huge length still intimidated you. and made your mouth water.

then, with his hard cock still in your hands, you tilt your head back and loll your tongue out with a dirty smile.

“fuck,” he breathes, before leaning forward and spitting directly into your open mouth.

you swirl it around with your tongue, exaggerated and filthy, before letting it drip from your lips straight onto the tip of his cock. you stroke him with it, twisting your wrist just right, watching him twitch and strain in your grasp as you spread the mess down him.

sylus manages a breathless smirk. “has our time apart made you dirtier?” his voice is wrecked. “or have you missed me this much?”

you drag your tongue up his length, lingering on his sensitive vein, then pull back with a wet pop. the action drives him wild, and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning.

your eyes gleam with something wicked. “you’re so much more attractive when you’re moaning for me instead of talking.”

your lips part again, this time to take him in painfully slow. you twirl your tongue around his tip, the taste so familiar it makes your eyes roll back. the mix of fluids slick his cock all the way down to the base, your lips shiny and swollen around him.

then you sink lower and he can’t stop staring. can’t stop twitching in your mouth like he’s about to blow from just the sound of your gag. his hips jerk when the tip hits the back of your throat, and you pull off again with a sinful smirk.

“you always get so twitchy when i barely touch you,” you purr, stroking him with lazy precision. “what happened to that control you're so proud of?”

his jaw tightens at your jab, hands gripping the edge of the bed so hard his knuckles go white. while he did enjoy you challenging him, you were working his last nerve.

you lean in once more, smiling with satisfaction at his reaction. your movement light on his aching cock, suckling and teasing, never committing. your hands move unhurried, your mouth even slower, and his whole body is trembling from restraint.

sylus lets out a low, ruined growl. “keep teasing me and you'll regret it, kitten.”

“is that a threat or a promise?” you whisper, licking along the underside of his shaft. “because it sounds a lot like begging to me.”

his hands tremor like he wants to grab you, but you stay in control. for now.

you now take him with vigor, enough to make him moan, then stop. again. and again. always just a little more, never enough. he's throbbing in your grip, leaking like he could cum from this alone.

“fuck,” he mutters. “you’re gonna drive me insane.”

you pout with faux innocence. “what, this?” you give him a long, slow lick, eyes full of mockery. “close already?”

and then he snaps.

in a blur of motion, sylus grabs you by the hair, pulls you up, and throws you onto the bed, flat on your back.

you barely have time to gasp before he's on you, all passion and vengeance. he slides between your thighs, yanking your panties off like they personally committed your aggravating acts.

“you wanna tease?” he snarls, breath hot against your inner thigh. “then fucking take it.”

his mouth hovers just above your dripping cunt, teasing you now. his turn to play. he breathes against your folds, lips barely brushing, just enough to make you whimper.

“what’s wrong, sweetie?” he taunts, voice thick with revenge and lust. “thought you liked going slow.”

you reach down and twist your fingers in his hair, yanking his face into you with a growl of your own.

“eat. or i will ride your face and make you regret waiting.”

sylus keens at your words, tongue diving in like a man starved. he loved when you got rough with him, turning him on like no other.

you moan right back at the feeling of him, legs already starting to shake. there's no more teasing in his movements, he’s messy, frantic, seemingly obsessed. his mouth is somehow everywhere at once, like he’s trying to drown in your taste.

you writhe under him, losing every ounce of control you once held. and he doesn’t stop. not even when your thighs close around his head. not even when you scream his name.

there’s no finesse, just open mouthed hunger, his tongue and lips on a mission to touch every part of you. then he adds two fingers, slipping in deep and curling them just right, hitting that spot you never could on your own. you gush around them, soaking his hand, and he groans like the mess is a gift.

you clutch the sheets below you, the sensation too much and not enough. every time his nose nudges your clit, every hit of his perfectly angled fingers, your body jolts. the bed creaks below you as he pushes you closer and closer to that high you've been chasing for months. but nothing, nothing, ever touched you like this.

your orgasm starts barreling toward you and right when you're on the cusp of mind numbing pleasure—

he slows down.

right as your toes curl and your thighs tense, he pulls back. you whine, strung out and soaked.

you’re about to beg when you notice the bed is still shaking. not just from you.

sylus is grinding against the mattress. hard and desperate.

you let out a breathless, evil little laugh. “you’re humping the bed? i’m the one getting eaten alive, and you’re the one falling apart?”

you should’ve stopped there. you really should’ve.

but you smirk, lift your hips so you can meet his eyes, and whisper, “what, couldn’t wait your turn?”

his face changes at that, deep and pissed, then he grabs your hips and flips you onto all fours like you weigh nothing.

“should’ve filled your throat with cum to shut that mouth,” he hisses into your ear.

before you can reply, his hands are spreading you open and his mouth is back on you. from behind.

his tongue laps at your entrance, filthy and unrelenting, while his fingers sneak down to bully your clit in ruthless circles. your arms give out at the same time as your legs begin to buckle, but he doesn’t let you fall. one strong arm wraps around your waist whilst the other pleasures you without mercy.

you greedily grind your ass into his face and he groans at the action like he wants to live between your thighs. you clench around his tongue, fluids mixing together, and the mess just spurs you on further. spurs him on further. the building liquids slide down your legs, coating his face and all he wants is more.

you’re about to fall apart all over again when he pulls away in one fluid motion.

your body collapses onto the bed, shaking from the sudden change. you roll onto your back, dazed and desperate.

sylus wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, not even trying to be subtle, and spreads your legs wide. his eyes drink in the sight, as if your glistening pussy was some divine offering.

you pout, fingers drifting toward your clit, desperate to finish what he stole. but sylus grabs your wrist, pins it above your head, and lines himself up with you. his neglected cock dripping with precum as he slides it between your folds.

you bite your lip at how heavy and huge he is. the head alone makes your thighs tremble.

then he leans down, mouth right against your ear.

“you’re not cumming,” he murmurs, slow and cruel, “unless it’s on my cock.”

your breath stutters. it’s been months since you took him, months since your body was trained for that stretch. he was so big, it hurt. you swallow hard, pride burning at your own words.

"just… not too fast,” you say, trying to stay steady. “okay?”

he tilts his head, mocking you with that fake-soft voice. “of course, sweetie. whatever you need.”

he kissed your forehead like the lover he once was.

then slammed his full length inside you.

your mouth opens in a silent scream. he’s thick, obscene, and the sudden stretch makes your vision fade out. you claw at his biceps, nails digging in, but he doesn't care.

“you thought that bratty little attitude was gonna earn you favors?” he grits out, voice strained and dark with desire.

he pulls out almost completely, then drives back in deeper. harder.

“be good and take it.”

your mind is reeling, your body even worse. you're clenching around him like a vice, almost trying to force him to slow down. he doesn't.

in fact, he lets go of the hand pinning yours above your head and grabs your hips instead, tilting them up and fucking into you faster. he’d force you to take it. you always liked it rough.

"just needed some dick to shut you up, hmm?" he stated, each word hitting with the rhythm of his thrusts.

you almost choke. he was drilling so deep it felt like he was aiming for your throat. his hand then slid over your stomach and pressed down, and he grinned above you like the smug devil he is when he felt himself moving inside you.

"shut up—nghh—'n fuck me harder." you manage out, your tone not matching the challenge in your voice even slightly.

your body remembered him now. that stretch, that angle. you were soaking him, walls practically begging for him. his cock slipped in and out like he owned it. because he does.

sylus realizes it too, because he leans in, pushing impossibly deeper before gloating in your face. "this pussy missed me. she’s crying for it."

you try to snap something back, something sharp, anything to bite into his smugness. but it dies on your tongue the second his hips grind into yours. his cock drags deep and slow, just once, and your whole body locks up. the stretch is somehow overwhelming and perfect. like you were made for him.

your fingers scramble over his back, clinging to him for stability, but all you can manage is a strangled, “fuck, sylus—”

his rhythm falters, just for a second, but you feel it. his gaze snaps to yours, suddenly serious. his body stills then, cock twitching inside you. it seemed like he was searching for something in you that he was too scared to name.

he leans in once more, but this time not to hit deeper. to look at you, really look. his breath fanned your lips, your cheeks, your throat.

"you missed me too," he says. no question in it.

you want to lie. bite back with something petty and proud. but your pussy clenches around him like it’s answering for you, loud and shameless.

your chest heaves as you stare up at him. your throat aches from holding back all the things you swore you’d never say.

and still, you whisper it.

“yours.”

sylus goes rigid at your confession.

you feel a shudder pass through his entire body. he clenched his jaw while his hands trembled against your waist, grip tightening. then something breaks. he manhandles your thighs up and wide, body looming over yours.

“say it again.” he demands in between guttural grunts. “say you’re mine.”

you wail at the change in position, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes and pleasure twisting in your belly like a storm. “'m yours. fuck—sylus, i’m yours.”

his chest pins your thighs to your torso, folding you nearly in half. the angle makes your head dizzy, an entirely new world of bliss. you’re split open, completely at his mercy, and your cunt pulses around him like it knows it’s where it belongs.

“fucking say it while I ruin you.” his voice cracks, hips pistoning forward again and again. he’s completely unraveling, thrusts messier now, more desperate.

you chant it like a mantra. “yours, yours, yours—”

“look at you,” he grunts, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your chest. “taking me so good now. tight little pussy just needed a reminder.”

his pace is brutal and unrelenting. your thighs shake, pinned wide open, helpless to do anything but feel every inch of him. be filled by him.

his eyes don’t leave yours. there’s hunger there, but you also notice something raw too. that longing feeling you thought only you felt.

sylus dips down, lips brushing yours, and murmurs against your mouth. “you really gonna go back out there like this?”

you blink at him, dazed. “huh?”

“full of me,” he snarls, hitting deep enough to knock the breath from your lungs. “my cum soaking your thighs while you try to finish your mission. think you can keep it in?”

you moan loudly at his filthy words and he grins against your cheek.

“say you want it. say you want me to fill you up.”

you don’t even hesitate.

“yes please! sylus, want it!”

“say it right.” he commands, snapping his hips so hard the bed frame groans. “tell me who you belong to.”

“you! ’m yours—fuck—please cum inside me!”

he loses it.

his grip tightens bruisingly on your hips, dragging you down to meet every savage thrust. the drag of his cock is erratic, his body shuddering above yours.

“gonna fill you up,” he pants, “make you mine all over again—shit!—you’re gonna leak for me, kitten. gonna walk outta here with my cum dripping down your thighs and everyone knowing you let me claim you.”

the possessiveness in his voice sends you spiraling. your pussy clenches tight, fluttering around him like your body’s already begging for it. the tension in your belly coils impossibly tight. every hard, brutal thrust inside you making your vision blur.

“sylus,” you gasp, pitch high and breathless, “close, please—”

“you wanna cum on my cock?” he asked, slamming into you with the full force of his weight. “wanna milk me while I fill this cunt up?”

you nod frantically, tears spilling down your cheeks. “yes, yes! please, wanna cum with you, wanna feel you!”

sylus drops his head to your shoulder, teeth scraping your skin. "go on, then. show me how bad you want me."

and you do.

you shatter with a loud cry, your orgasm hitting like a wave that floods your senses. you clench tight around him in spasms that make your back arch off the bed and your fingers dig into his back to anchor yourself. you sob his name as your pussy pulses around him, your entire body wrung out and shaking.

“that’s it,” he moans deeply, his rhythm stuttering as your walls clamp down. “so tight—”

and he’s right there with you.

with a sharp groan, he drives himself deep to bury every inch inside. his hips jerk and his cock twitches as he spills into you, hot and thick. his voice breaks as he utters your name out like a prayer. one hand squeezes your thigh tight while the other trembles on your waist, trying to hold himself together while he fills you up.

you’re shaking, panting into his shoulder, pulling him close as his warmth spills into you. he doesn’t pull out. not yet. just stays there, breathing ragged against your skin, forehead pressed to yours.

your body trembles with aftershocks, cunt fluttering weakly around his cock, milking every drop from him like your body refuses to let him go.

“fuck,” he whispers, voice almost gentle. “you were made for me.”

you’re still dazed, your brain lagging behind the high. you can feel him dripping out of you already, warm and slick between your thighs.

he leans in, brushing a kiss to your temple, like the lover he is.

“you better squeeze those legs shut when you leave,” he murmurs, cocky smirk creeping back in. “i don’t want anyone seeing what’s mine.”

a/n(2): first time writing sylus, hope i did him justice >_< likes and reblogs r super appreciated, lmk your thoughts on this!!!

@mcdepressed290 here is your tag friend as requested. hope u enjoy!!!

[pettysreverie]

Kinda really obsessed with the idea of him becoming super obsessed with you after fucking you…

CW: AFAB!Reader, stalking, obsessive behavior, yandere-esque behavior (if I missed something, pls kindly let me know!)

Like, I imagine that maybe he’s just come back from deployment? Would explain why he’s so starved for a good fuck, ya know?

Probably meets you in a pub (bc duh) and after a few drinks between the two of you, you both decide to go back to his place.

He figures it’s gonna be nothing too big of a deal. Certainly nothing he hasn’t done before.

Who hasn’t taken a bird back from the pub for a good fuck?

But the moment he slides into your cunt, he knows that he’d been wrong.

Whatever he’d been doing before was not fucking. Was not having sex. Because sex with you—with your slutty cunt and those heavenly sounds you make—is bewitching.

As if your cunt is putting him deeper and deeper under a spell with every twitch and clench.

A spell he gladly welcomes.

Your body is so soft and beautiful. And you…you’re so pliant and willing—batting those pretty lashes at him with that dazed, fucked out look in your eyes.

And that’s when the spell cements.

When a flip switches inside of him.

When something…changes.

He grips your ankles and hoists your legs over his shoulders to drive his cock even deeper inside of your quivering heat.

Your back bows off the bed and your hands grapple the sheets, moans tumbling from your kiss swollen lips as your eyes nearly roll all the way back.

“Yer mine. All mine.”And there’s a stutter in his breath as he moans, his hips momentarily stuttering in their otherwise relentless movements. “Say it fer me, love.”

But with the way he’s got you practically folded in half—knees all but bent to your chest with your legs draped over his back—replying to him is the furthest thing from your mind right now.

He angles his hips, driving long and deliciously thick cock directly into your sweet spot over and over again—seemingly determined to drive you insane with pleasure.

Seemingly determined to fuck you positively dumb.

“Say. It.”He grits out, his voice taking on an almost animalistic, growling tone.

There is something so primal about his command. Something about it brings out such a fundamental instinct in you that you cannot help but to comply—to submit.

“Y-Yours…”You manage to utter amongst your incoherent babbling and moaning.

One word.

You only speak one word.

But one word is all he needed to hear.

He fucks you well into the morning. The sun rises, its light shining through the cracks in the curtains by the time he turns you loose and allows you to rest.

And rest you do.

When you wake up, it’s practically evening!

You’re quite embarrassed. But like the gentleman he is, he assures you that he does not mind. In fact, he even offers to pay for your transportation home.

You decline, too embarrassed about your faux pas.

And for you? You assume that, while this was an amazing experience, it was a one time thing. You don’t expect to see him again.

But you do.

You run into him again and again and again.

At the market. At the park. At the coffee shop.

It’s fate! It’s the universe! It’s gotta be something, right?

It’s…him.

You really thought he was going to let you go after that world altering fuck? The way you blew his mind? The way your cunt hypnotized him?

Silly, beautiful, stupid woman.

Just the thought of someone else having you like that…no, he doesn’t even want to think about it.

How could he let you get away?

No, he had to hack your phone.

Not like it was hard…sure he’s more of a “field” agent. More used to having a gun in his hand and his boots on the ground, but he’s no stranger to some lines of spyware code.

Besides, you made it quite easy for him by sleeping in as long as you did…not that he minded of course!

You look so peaceful while you sleep. So beautiful, actually.

And really, he was so very glad he’d hacked your phone. How else was he supposed to know where you lived when you rejected his offer to pay for your transportation home?

But now that he’s in your phone, he’s practically in your life already.

Every contact you have saved, he knows.

Every place you go, he knows and can go there too. (How do you think your two have been running into each other so often?)

Every post you like. Every pin you save. Every song you playlist. He knows it all.

Not that you know it…not that you ever will.

He’ll let you believe it’s fate. Or the universe. Or whatever. Doesn’t matter to him, really.

Besides, you’re already his.

You even said so yourself…remember?

(Oh you don’t? Then why doesn’t he just remind you?)

[luna-azzurra]

The Villain Checklist!

Creating a villain is a delicate art, much like crafting a masterpiece. To ensure your antagonist leaps off the page with depth, consider these essential elements for your villain checklist:

Motivation: Every great villain is driven by a potent motivation, one that fuels their actions and sets them on their dark path. Explore their backstory and unearth the core reason behind their villainy. Are they seeking power, revenge, redemption, or something more sinister?

Complexity: Gone are the days of one-dimensional villains twirling mustaches and cackling maniacally. Infuse your antagonist with layers of complexity and nuance. Perhaps they possess redeeming qualities or wrestle with inner conflicts that humanize their actions.

Flaws and Vulnerabilities: Despite their nefarious intentions, villains should be flawed beings with vulnerabilities. These weaknesses not only add depth to their character but also create opportunities for conflict and growth throughout your story.

Backstory: Delve into your villain's past to uncover formative experiences that shaped their present disposition. Trauma, betrayal, or societal pressures can all contribute to their descent into villainy, providing rich narrative fodder for exploration.

Goals and Ambitions: Just as heroes strive for noble objectives, villains pursue their own twisted goals with fervor and determination. Define what your antagonist hopes to achieve and the lengths they're willing to go to attain it, even if it means sacrificing everything in their path.

Antagonistic Traits: From cunning intellect to ruthless brutality, equip your villain with traits that make them a formidable adversary for your protagonist. Consider how their strengths and weaknesses complement each other, creating dynamic conflicts that propel your story forward.

Relationships and Alliances: Villains don't operate in isolation; they forge alliances, manipulate allies, and cultivate relationships to further their agendas. Develop the connections your antagonist shares with other characters, be they loyal minions or reluctant collaborators, to add depth to their character dynamics.

Moral Justification (from their perspective): While their actions may be abhorrent to society, villains often believe they're justified in their pursuits. Explore your antagonist's moral code and the twisted logic that rationalizes their behavior, offering readers insight into their twisted worldview.

Arc of Transformation: Just as protagonists undergo arcs of growth and change, villains should experience their own journey of transformation. Whether it's redemption, downfall, or something altogether unexpected, chart the evolution of your antagonist throughout the narrative.

Memorable Traits: Give your villain distinctive traits or quirks that leave a lasting impression on readers. Whether it's a chilling catchphrase, a distinctive appearance, or a haunting backstory, give your antagonist elements that linger in the minds of your audience long after they've closed the book.

[clockwayswrites]

Birds and Mice and Tea Parties 20

Masterpost

AN: B really was trying his best to protect Danny last time, he just was missing too much information. Poor Danny...

No reading over. We suffer and post at 2am.

-

It had been two weeks since the last rogue Wayne visit.

Danny hadn’t intended to keep track. There was no reason to. One visit from Cass and one from Tim did not a pattern make.

He tried to dismiss the observation. He had plenty to do; it wasn’t like he didn’t have friends. The bi-weekly trivia group would start meeting again soon. He also had a TTRGP session that did its best to meet around all that life threw at them. Tucker and him played online games when they could make schedules match and he and Sam talked when she was stateside. He even had regular lunches with coworkers!

Still, there had been something different about spending time with the family.

So no, Danny hadn’t meant to keep track, but he still knew it had been two weeks and a day. But of course he wouldn’t see the Waynes that often. Bruce was a very busy man and most of the children would have no reason to come to W.E. They had their own lives with work and school and being kids or young adults. The other visits had simply been flukes, as nice as the visits had been.

The subtle feeling of melancholy that had settled over him was ridiculous and he wasn’t having it. His mood was simply off because of the whole Ancient thing. The way it was affecting his health didn’t make feeling better any easier either.

Danny leaned against the wall of the elevator as he tried to catch his breath. He really shouldn’t be walking right then to get lunch, not with the way that he felt, but he hadn’t had anything at his place to make lunch with. He hadn’t had the energy to go shopping. He’d just go somewhere close instead of walking to anything on the other side of the park.

The natural reverb of the lobby assaulted Danny as he stepped out of the elevator.

He just had to get through the lobby, the street, the restaurant, back through the street, and through the lobby again. Then he could hide in his office and eat. Or he could hide in there and eat as long as Lucius didn’t find him. Maybe even Lucius would give him a break today though.

“Dr. Fenton…?”

Danny looked up from rubbing his neck.

It was Tim. Damian was at Tim’s side, flanking him like a little guard dog and scowling. Tim was frowning too. Danny immediately wanted to fix whatever was wrong.

“Look at that, a pair of Waynes. How are you two?”

“That is unimportant,” Damian said with a little sniff. “You are clearly unwell. I assume you are returning to your apartment to rest?”

“Oh, no, I’m just going to go grab lunch. I’m alright, really,” Danny said and put on the best smile he could muster.

Tim and Damian looked at each other in some sort of silence conversation. Danny started to edge away from them, thinking he could escape before they came to some sort of end. He really needed out of the lobby and its echoing sounds.

A startled shriek from the entry way cut off that plan.

Danny twisted to face the sound as he stepped in front of the kids.

Of course it was a rogue, what else would it be in Gotham? It was a rogue, but at least it was the Mad Hatter and his squad of likely mind controlled goons. He usually wasn’t prone to death and destruction like some of the others were. But still, Danny felt his metaphorical hackles rising. The kids were here.

The kids were here and sure to draw the Mad Hatter’s attention if he saw them. Danny stepped slowly backwards, herding the kids away from the scene. At least they weren’t far into the lobby.

“Back up to the stairwell,” Danny said lowly, trying to cast his voice behind him.

“Tch. We can—”

“The elevator, the back left one,” Tim said quietly but firmly over his brother’s protest. “I have a code to take it to a safe room in the basement.”

“If he kills the power,” Danny started.

“The elevators have emergency back up.”

“That’s not very good behavior for a tea party, is it?” the Matter Hatter shouted at someone.

Danny bit back a rising noise of anger in his throat. His fingers twitched to act. But he couldn’t. The best plan was to get the kids out of there away from any action.

“Yes I see, Damian,” Tim hissed. “We’re almost to the elevator.”

“Call it as soon as you can,” Danny said. Was there a reverb to his voice? It felt like there was a reverb to his voice. No, no, he couldn’t, he had to…

“That’s better! See? This is how you behave when someone invites you to a tea party! Now where is that little dormouse?” the Mad Hatter called. “I know I saw him come in here! With an even littler one too.”

He wanted Tim.

“Calling the elevator.”

“Another mouse? A rat? A cat?"

The Mad Hatter wanted Tim and Damian.

“Here mousy mouse mice… where are you?"

Danny would not let that happen.

“Oh there you are! Hiding back by the doors, of course he is!” The Mad Hatter said. The crowed parted in fear. His wide, manic eyes looked right past Danny and he grinned. “Get them. We have a tea party we’re late for.”

“Over my dead body,” Danny growled.

The Mad Hatter blinked at Danny like he just noticed him for the first time. His goons rushed past him and through the crowd. “Oh, who are you? Never mind, if death is what you want, we can make that happen.”

Danny couldn’t hold back the chortling laughter. “See, that’s where you have a problem you don’t even know you could have.”

“And what is that?”

“You couldn’t handle my dead body,” Danny said just as the first goon reached them.

Danny stepped forward. He ducked under the swing of the punch and used the momentum to spin the goon around. With a push of his ghostly power, he sent the attacking goon careening into the next one and they both went tumbling.

“Danny, it’s here!” Tim shouted.

Not turning his back to the attackers, Danny stepped backwards into the elevator. Tim slammed a button and the doors basically snapped closed, much faster than they should. Danny was left staring at the polished metal surface of the elevator. Luminous green stared back at him. Soft black feathers dotted his temples. His fingers ended in talons. And he could feel it.

He could feel the skin on his back started to split.

Wings.