#its like falling out of love with someone ya know...

[blee-bleep]

Starting easy ever coming back to diakko?

i sometimes think about them actually but the idea I have in my brain for them is so wildly different from their canon that I just give up on drawing it (ex. wolf diana, resurgence of abo diakko fanfic). i also find myself cringing drawingthem even tho I spent almost 10 years doing just that. its like being popped out of a bubble you've made for urself and u realize. 'fck, I might be insane cuz why did I think all that shit.'

also there is like. 0 traction when I draw diakko. its a dessert of a fandom and its sort of why I don't draw them anymore. 'why pour your soul out to a thing that barely gets any attention' is my reason. it felt like wasting my time because I found that there was no one who really took in my work. fandom engagement is something I both hate and crave, yet there is no one here. so no, I don't think so.

imma stick with cadina. maybe once i finish college ill draw them once in a while but eh

[tojisteddy]

Sweet Ride | smut, 18+ MDNI, 1.2k words, softdom!Toji x sweetheart!reader

You’d been 3 months into your relationship when Toji Fushiguro finally realized that you, for some odd reason, loved letting idiots fuck you.

It must’ve been where that very minuscule masochism kink came from. Had to be.

He’d noticed the way you’d get shocked when he went to pay for— well- everything. Didn’t matter if he lost a shit ton from gambling and losing that day, didn’t matter if you went over your own set budget, didn’t matter that you didn’t ask because you didn’t want to look money hungry or if you quickly pulled out your card and paid. He’s sending $300 to you to make up for it. The man. Was going. To pay.

Toji also noticed the way you’d shy away when you realized he was actually listening to the words that came out of your mouth. Informing you that he hated that coworker of Sherl just a little bit more than you did. Plainly telling you ‘no’, he didn’t just want to see just your hair bone straight- he wanted to see your curly hair that framed your face (when you wanted to of course) and that he thought you would look good with any hair color not just the jet black. Or when you only went to make food that he liked,

“But this is what my ex-“

“—Mama, what do you really wanna eat? Tell me or we’ll both starve tonight.”

Truthfully, it irritated the fuck out of the man.

He didn’t get it, how someone so precious got treated like shit on multiple occasions. He kept reminding himself that you weren’t the problem, those fucking dick wads were.

But the irritation jumped back out when you rode him. He knew after that first time (just a week ago) that those fucking idiots didn’t know what the fuck to do with you. He’d cock his eyebrow up at you because he simply couldn’t hide the vexation of it all.

“You don’t like it Toj?” Your voice was hoarse, curls falling over your face, a pout forming.

It was clear the way you moved your hips back and forth, held yourself and didn’t use him for leverage, you rode your ex’s to get them off and nothing more.

More sins against God.

There had to be a scripture about it somewhere, “Never let thou spouse ride-ith you in cowgirl without her cumming.” Or something— the man didn’t know. He knew for a fact, only a bitch would never let a woman cum while she’s riding him.

“Toji? ‘M sorry, it must not be good.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to relax, not be too touchy. “ ‘S just harder cause you’re so… so big. ‘Nd I- fuck- mmm- don’t think I’ve ever had time to relax like this. I must be takin too long.”

Shit, you frowned, big brown puppy eyes looking down at the green eyed monster and his heart ached. He nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck, his poor pretty baby. Sweet doll, don’t you worry your little head. Your Toji would fix this little problem tonight.

And when you two were done, he’d beat the fucking breaks out of each and every single one your exes.

It would cleanse the soul.

“ ‘S okay baby, yer doin good. Need you to relax f’me. Want you to take a little bit more though, hm? You can take it, right? You’re a good girl.”

You bit your lip, nodding in agreement.

Such a good girl. Toji’s sweet ‘nd good girl.

Tojis hands pulled you closer. “How do I get ya to relax then? Can you tell me?” You felt your cheeks heat up, shaking your head and attempting to hide yourself in his neck. But Toji kept you still, playfully bumping your foreheads together with a chuckle.

“Let’s find out then,” His hands wandered, up and down your sides, then one staying at the small of your back, the other making its way to your pretty tit in his hand. Slowly massaging it in his palm. “Maybe you like it here?”

You whimpered in his mouth and Tojis scar moved upward in amusement, green eyes low. He left a trail of kiss from your cute cheeks, down to your jaw. “Or here?” Down to your neck, taking a few nibblies here and there. “Or here?”

You let out a soft moan, finally nodding your head.

“Words, mama.” He was stern but you felt the grin against your neck.

“T-there feels— feels so nice Toj.” The man hummed at your words, being sure to praise you with an array of kisses and hickeys for the world to see tomorrow on your neck.

“I-I can move now?” You asked. You felt so full with what he was giving you, but you felt so good with every little kiss the aching tip and veins of his member gave to your walls.

“Course doll.” He enterwinted your fingers, “Gotta take it nice ‘nd slow baby, don’t gotta go fast.”

You gulped, gradually lifting yourself up and down and rocking your hips back and forth, then repeating the motion. Your hands left his large ones, starting to use his shoulders as leverage, “There you go ma, there you fuckin go.”

He hissed, you were a god damn waterfall down there. Toji didn’t even know how the fuck you were still managing to keep him insider everytime you’d move up so just the tip was in, and slamming back down. When you tried to go faster a large calloused hand came down to your ass.

“B-but Tojiii,” you whined, slowly swiveling your hips one time to get a curse out of him. “Wanna make you feel good too.”

“ ‘Nd I ‘ppreciate Doll, I do. You feel so fuckin good too ma, but it’s not about me tonight, ‘s about you. Need you to really feel it deep in your pretty pussy.” He gave you a few thrusts, matching your rhythm creating the most beautiful smack smack smack your bedroom has ever heard.

“Take what you need babygirl.”

Toji had a way with words, he’d gotten a pornographic moan from it alone. Your nails dug into his shoulders, the meat of your thighs jiggling every time you came down. Slick drenching Toji’s cock, your thighs were burning but you kept moving. Chasing your high with every bounce on his fat fuck.

“Goooood girl, now you got it doll.”

“I can— I can take more Toji.” You stammered out.

“I’d loooove that sweetheart— shit ma- but not tonight. Ngh— This is just enough.”

“But—“

“-Aht,” he grumbled, helping you move your hips as you got just a tad too slow for his liking, “don’t bite more than you can chew. Come on, you can make yourself and your boyfriend cum, can’t you?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you were grinding and slamming yourself down what you could take as hard as ever getting a loud from Toji. You were such a good and fast leaner, the man would have to keep you. Train you to do other things, soon enough you’d be able to take all of him. You were fucking pulsing like a over worked heartbeat around him as a wave of emotions smacked you over the head, a string of fuck fuck fuck and Toji Toji Toji leaving your mouth.

The man growled, giving your ass a few harsh smacks as he rapidly thrust into you. You never knew when you were cumming so you never vocalized it.

You’d work on that too.

Quickly pulling out, spurts of his cum hit your stomach. You both were panting messes, Toji’s pink lips meeting your temple, then your soft full lips.

“Good fuckin job, mama.”

a/n: ride the dragon by fka twigs

most recent masterlist

[rookiesbookies]

The boys catch their ladies reading smut, originally this had the books I was basing this on in them but I hadn't got the time to read the books so I remove the book titles and authors. I hope you enjoy <3

Price: Yeah, she’s younger than him. This book is like 100% just breeding kinks. So she was reading this book about a man breeding his young woman and being super obsessive and clinging… while sitting in their living room… with her fuzzy, super obsessive, newlywed husband. “What are ya readin love?” He said, swiftly snatching the book from her grasp as he sat down on the couch next to her. He kicked his feet up on the couch and laid so his back was against her shins under the blanket she was bundled in. “Nothing important! But you really should give it back!” She panicked, reaching for it. “Holy bloody Jesus, love. This is a casual read for you?” “... yeah.” He wiggled his eyebrows while looking up to see her. She put a hand in his face and took her book back. “You almost made me lose my page.”

Soap: Being bent over and defiled by a hot Scotsman in a kilt? Oh hell yeah. How could you refuse?

“Jesus, Bonnie, why are ye readin about this shit when ya could get the real thing with me?” He chuckled, flipping through the book she had poorly hidden in her nightstand. “My kilt is in the closet, give me less than 10 minutes to get me socks and straps on and I’ll rock yer world harder than some words on a page ever could. You’ll see, donnae worry.”

He did indeed rock your world harder than pages ever good.

You claim and cry that you want to finish it for the plot, he says you can only read “that filth” when he’s away on deployment.

Says its a waste if you have a real heavy, hairy, and thick Scotsman at your disposal on the daily.

Ghost: Reading a story about a man whose face was painted like death and has charm that causes hormonal riots? Sounds exactly like her Simon. She lay on their shared bed as he packed up for their walk to the park. Her legs kicked up in the air as she read. 

He raised an eyebrow at what could have her so giddy so he effortlessly snatched the book and was met with a nasty surprise when he looked over the words. “Take it you’d rather stay home than go to the park,” he mumbled with a smirk before bending down to kneel in front of her now with a red face. 

“No- no I think a walk in the park will be fine.” She nervously chuckled.

Konig: Hot giant caveman dragging a woman away to have his way with her? Basic Konig when he comes back from missions.

Grabbing his sweet girl and pulling her into the dark cave that is their bedroom, only letting either out once he’s had his way with her and showing her just how much he’s missed her.

His face was red flushed as he read over her shoulder though.

“Oh meine gut, Schatz."

The scream she let out even made him fall back.

“Don’t scare me like that!”

He pressed a kiss to her temple in apology. 

“This book made me horny, can we fuck?” She asked straight up, knowing Konig preferred her blunt. She didn’t need to ask him twice.

Gaz Hot british guy? Her standards were so low for her choices in literature as long as it was someone she could imagine her Kyle as. Hmmm easy.

So when she was leading her walk with her audio book in her headphones she was more than busy. When he got a hold of one of her airpods while at the gym and she forgot he had the other one, he looked over at her with wide eyes. He texted her, “I didn’t realize you were interested in being folded like that.”

[uzurakis]

megumi and yuuji falling asleep on the reader (pre dating era or established relationship) and the others teasing the reader abt it bc everyone knows they're in love <333 have an amazing day ahead bb 🫶🏼

DOZING OFF ON YOUR SHOULDER . .

featuring: fushiguro megumi. itadori yuuji. gojo satoru. yuuta okkotsu.

n. thanku for your req nonnie ^v^ i added other characters cs i dont wanna waste ur idea, most of these are pre-dating and gojo’s part took place when he was still in hs with the rest. hope ya like it !

ITADORI YUUJI

the soft glow of the tv illuminated the room as the four of you huddled together on the bed, engrossed in the movie playing before you. yuuji sat beside you, his eyes glued to the screen as the plot thickened. you couldn't help but steal glances at him, his features softened by the flickering light.

as the movie reached its climax, you felt a weight lean against your shoulder. you turned to see yuuji, his eyes closed in peaceful slumber, his head now resting comfortably on your shoulder. nobara noticed and couldn't resist a playful grin. "well, well, looks like someone's found a comfy pillow," she teased, nudging megumi with her elbow. megumi chuckled calmly, his gaze switching between you and the screen. "seems like itadori’s enjoying the movie a little too much."

you felt your cheeks flush at their teasing, unsure of how to react. "he must have been really tired," mumbling, trying to hide your embarrassment.

nobara only gave you a wink, "or maybe he just wanted an excuse to get closer to you." subsequently, you gave her a playful stare, hoping to deflect the attention away from you. "you're reading too much into it, kugisaki."

despite your attempts to downplay the situation, the thought of yuuji sleeping near you made you feel warm. as the movie went on, you found yourself stealing looks at him, unable to shake the fluttering feeling in your chest.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

the four of you were alone with just the gentle hum of the engine as the car moved through the peaceful streets. megumi sat beside you in the backseat, his eyes heavy with sleep after a long day of exorcising curses. whereas infront of you, yuuji and nobara chattered away, their voices blending into the night air.

the man leaned against you, his head drooping lower and lower until it finally came to rest on your shoulder. you couldn't help but smile, feeling the warmth of his breath against your neck. "looks like someone's had a long day, hm?” you whispered, gently shifting to make him more comfortable.

yuuji turned to look back, a sly smile growing on his face. "aww, how adorable both of you!"

nobara then laughed, delight glinting in her voice. "looks like he finally warmed up for you."

"shh, you'll wake him up!" you said to shut them up.

but it was too late. the sudden burst of light from nobara's phone camera flash flooded the car, causing megumi to jolt awake with a start. he blinked owlishly, confusion written all over his face as he realized where he was.

"sorry guys," nobara said, trying to contain her laughter. "but i gotta send this to gojo-sensei.” yuuji immediately chimed in, continuing nobara’s teasing. "they’re so over once he sees this photo."

megumi's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as he straightened up, rubbing his eyes sheepishly. "i-i didn't mean to fall asleep," the words jumbled from his mouth. you reached out to gently squeeze his hand, giving him an understanding smile. "it's okay, megumi. you needed the rest."

he glanced up at you, his eyes softening with gratitude. "thank you.”

with a contented sigh, megumi settled back against you, his head once again finding its place on your peaceful shoulder.

GOJO SATORU

gojo sat next to you on the train going home whilst geto and shoko stood across. the man beside you leaned back against the seat as the train lurched into action, his eyelids getting heavier by the second. before long, his head tipped just enough to rest against your shoulder as he fell into a quiet sleep.

geto raised an eyebrow at the sight of you both, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "if i were you, i’d shrug him off. right, shoko?”

“that’s mean, suguru,” shoko chuckled softly, rolling her eyes. "it's like they planned it all along."

"it's just a coincidence, guys," you stammered, embarrassed by their words.

geto chortled, shaking his head in amusement. "sure, sure. we believe you." then shoko slowly leaned closer, whispered a penny of thought.

"although, i have to admit, you two do look pretty cute together."

you shot her a glare, trying to ignore the redness spreading through you at the thought of gojo sleeping beside you. "damn, you guys really gotta stop with the teasing."

OKKOTSU YUUTA

the soft rustle of leaves filled the air as yuuta and you lounged beneath the shade of a grand oak tree, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. you felt yuuta's head slowly come to rest on your shoulder.

but you and yuuta’s moment of peace was soon interrupted by the approach of familiar voices. maki, inumaki, and panda emerged from the nearby path, their laughter echoing through the clearing as they spotted you both.

maki surveyed the sight in front of her, knowing what to tease already, prodding inumaki and panda with her elbow, "can you really be asleep that fast?" panda added his cheery voice and inumaki nodded in accord. "maybe he’s just pretending to—."

your eyes darting between them in an anxious manner. as you objected, trying not to look embarrassed, "hey, tone it down.”

but maki wasn't convinced. with her usual grin of mischief, she stepped forward and gently shook yuuta awake. "come on, sleepyhead. you can't just doze off on someone like that." yuuta blinked groggily, his eyes adjusting to the sudden light. the man glanced up at you, a smile spreading across his face as he realized his position. "sorry about that," he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

you couldn't help but laugh along with them, the warmth of the friendship washing over you as wondered, did he really fall asleep that easily though?

@uzurakis — rqs are open <3

[d1stalker]

Undercover Flames [Logan Howlett]

Summary: It was supposed to be easy: infiltrate the gala, gather intel, and report back. But when a mission takes a deadly turn, Logan is forced to confront his deepest fears as he races to save the woman who means more to him than life itself.

PART ONE OF TWO (part two here)

Warnings: Angst, kidnapping, canon-level violence, Logan goes feral, graphic descriptions, lot's of fighting, feels

WC: 10.8k - MASTERLIST

------

A black limousine pulls up to the grand entrance of the sprawling estate, its tires crunching on the gravel driveway. The mansion ahead is bathed in golden light, a beacon of opulence against the darkening sky. Inside, Logan’s gaze shifts to the woman beside him, his fellow teammate and the only person who can keep up with his banter. You adjust the diamond necklace around your neck, the gemstones glinting in the dim light. Logan has seen you in countless situations—on missions, during training, in the midst of battle—but tonight, in that floor-length black gown, you look like someone who belongs in this world of wealth and power. You look beautiful.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, Howlett,” you quip, catching him staring. A smirk plays on your lips as you adjust to fix your hair.

Logan grunts, pulling at the collar of his tuxedo. “Never seen you so dolled up before. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“I’m full of surprises,” you tease.

The two of you have been dancing around something deeper for years, hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and witty comebacks. But tonight, with both of you playing the roles of a married couple, the lines between reality and pretense are bound to feel thinner than ever.

Logan’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his gaze softening as he takes in the way the dress hugs your figure, the way your hair frames your face. You catch the look, and for a split second, the playful atmosphere between you falls away, replaced by a charged silence that neither of you knows how to break.

The driver opens the door, jolting you back to your senses, and Logan steps out, extending a hand to help you out of the car. You take it, your touch sending a familiar shiver down his spine. He holds onto your hand for just a beat longer than necessary, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nods, his grip tightening slightly on your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

As the doors to the mansion swing open, you’re greeted by the sight of a grand ballroom filled with the elite of society. Men in tailored suits and women in sparkling gowns mingle under chandeliers, their laughter and conversations blending into a hum of affluence. Yet beneath the glittering surface, Logan can sense the undercurrent of danger, the same instinct that has kept him alive for over two centuries. The people here aren’t just the wealthy—they’re the orchestrators of a new threat to mutants, a group so powerful that even the X-Men have to tread carefully.

“Stick close to me,” Logan murmurs as you step into the room. “These people are more dangerous than they look.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, your arm looped through his as you make your way through the crowd. “You don’t have to tell me twice. But remember, we’re supposed to be madly in love.”

He lets out a low chuckle, one that only you can hear. “Right. Madly in love.”

His words hang in the air between you, loaded with a meaning neither of you dares to acknowledge.

The two of you move deeper into the ballroom, and you can feel the weight of several eyes on you. It’s no surprise—Logan’s rugged demeanor and your striking appearance make for a captivating combination—nevertheless, you both know better than to let your guard down. This place is a viper’s nest, and any wrong move could cost you your lives.

“There they are,” you whisper, nodding subtly toward a group of older men gathered near the center of the room. “Our targets.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he focuses on them, recognizing the group from the briefings. “Time to make some friends.”

With practiced ease, you and Logan approach the group, slipping seamlessly into their conversation. You introduce yourselves as a wealthy couple from out of town, interested in investing in the right causes. It doesn’t take long before the men welcome you into their circle, eager to impress and share their twisted ideals.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels, was it?” one of the men, a tall, thin figure with silver hair and a sharp jawline, inquires. His eyes are cold and calculating, a predator sizing up his prey. “What brings you to our little gathering tonight?”

“Opportunities,” you reply, a hint of seduction in your tone. “My husband and I are always looking for the right people to align ourselves with. When we heard about your… endeavors, we couldn’t resist.”

Logan wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a show of possessiveness that feels all too natural. “My wife’s got a keen eye for business,” he adds for extra persuasion, “And we’ve been hearing a lot about your group. Sounds like you’ve got big plans.”

The man’s eyes flick between the two of you, as if his suspicions still linger. “Plans indeed,” he says slowly. “But only for those who share our vision. Tell me, Mr. Daniels, what is it that you despise most?”

“Weakness,” Logan growls, his eyes meeting the man’s without flinching. “In this world, you’re either strong enough to survive, or you’re not. And I don’t have time for the ones who can’t keep up.”

A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes spreads across the man’s face. “I see we understand each other.”

You feel Logan’s hand tighten on your waist, his body tense with barely contained aggression. He’s playing the part, but you know how much he hates being in the company of people like this—people who would kill without remorse, all to maintain some sense of superiority.

“And what about you, Mrs. Daniels?” the older man continues, turning his attention to you. “Do you share your husband’s views?”

You meet his gaze with unwavering confidence, channeling all the poise you have. “Absolutely. There’s no place in this world for those who refuse to evolve. We believe in survival of the fittest.”

That seems to do the trick, the men in the circle nodding approvingly. “Well said, Mrs. Daniels. You two might just be exactly what we need.”

Another man in the group, stockier and with a thick, gray beard, leans in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “And what do you think of the mutant problem?”

You exchange a brief glance with Logan, knowing that this is the moment of truth. If you say the wrong thing, it could blow your cover, but if you’re too vague, they might not trust you enough to share any details of their plans.

“I think they’ve had their time,” Logan says, false contempt bleeding from his words, “and it’s time someone put them in their place.”

The stocky man’s eyes light up with approval, his grin widening. “Exactly what we like to hear. You see, we’re not just talking about containment anymore.” He pauses, “We’re talking about eradication.”

Your stomach turns at the cold-blooded tone in his voice, but you keep your expression neutral.

“Eradication, you say?”

The silver-haired man nods. “A necessary step. Mutants are a threat to the natural order, and if we don’t act now, they’ll overrun us. But we have a plan—one that will send a message to the world.”

Logan’s jaw clenches, his fists itching to unsheathe his claws and tear through this evil group of people. But he forces himself to stay calm, “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” he manages to get out through gritted teeth.

“We do,” the silver-haired man replies, his eyes gleaming with malice. “And with the right support, we can make it happen. Imagine a world free of mutants, where humanity can thrive without fear.”

You hum in feigned agreement. “Tell us more,” you prompt, leaning in as if genuinely interested. “How do you plan to pull this off?”

Glances are exchanged among the men, a clear sign of their satisfaction with the interest you seem to show.

“It’s quite simple, really,” the stocky man begins. “We’ve been gathering resources and allies from around the world. The most powerful minds, the wealthiest families—all united by a common goal.”

“And once we’ve secured enough support,” the silver-haired man continues, “we’ll make our move. We’ll target key mutant populations, taking them out in a way that will serve as a warning to others. Public displays, executions—whatever it takes to make them fear us.”

You keep your voice steady, despite the chill that runs down your spine, as you reply, “That’s… quite an undertaking.”

The men chuckle, mistaking your hesitation for awe. “It is. But it’s necessary. And with people like you on our side, we’ll be unstoppable.”

Logan smirks. “Count us in.”

The men smile, delighted with what they believe is newfound support. Logan hates every second of it—despises having to play along with these monsters. But he knows you both have to get more intel before you can make a move. The mission has to come first, even if it means playing nice with the enemy.

“Excuse us,” you say smoothly, grabbing Logan’s hand and glancing at him with a look that says it’s time to go. “We need to discuss a few things, but we’ll be in touch.”

The men nod, distracted by their own plotting as you and Logan step away, moving toward one of the less populated hallways. As soon as you’re out of earshot, Logan exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“I need to tell Scott what we just heard,” you murmur quietly, “They’re planning something big, and we don’t have much time.”

Logan nods, his hand squeezing yours as you walk down the hallway. “I’ll keep watch. Make it quick.”

You find a secluded spot near a corner, pulling out the small communicator you’ve hidden in your purse. Quickly, you begin to relay the crucial information to Scott and Hank back at the X-Mansion, your voice hushed but urgent as you detail the plans you’ve overheard. Logan stands nearby, his senses on high alert, his gaze sweeping the hallway for any sign of trouble.

It’s too quiet.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, instincts prickling with the sense that something is wrong. He turns to you, about to suggest wrapping things up when he hears it—a faint noise, like the subtle shifting of fabric, imperceptible to anyone without enhanced hearing.

Logan’s eyes dart toward the source of the sound, muscles tensing as he spots movement down the hall. “We’ve got company,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

You quickly finish your transmission, tucking the communicator back into its spot in your purse. “How many?”

“Too many,” Logan mutters, his claws itching to come out. “We need to move. Now.”

It’s too late. A group of security guards rounds the corner before either of you can make a break for it. Their eyes lock onto you with suspicion, and you can see the realization dawning in their expressions. Logan immediately steps in front of you, his body a solid wall of protection.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” one of the guards says, his hand resting on the weapon at his hip. “Who are you?”

Logan forces a grin, trying to buy some time. “Just lost our way. We were headin’ back to the ballroom.”

The guard’s eyes narrow, evidently not buying it. “I don’t think so. You two don’t seem to belong here.”

Another guard steps forward before Logan has time to respond, pulling out a device that emits a faint, ominous hum. The man waves it over you, and Logan’s heart sinks as the device beeps loudly, flashing red.

“Mutants,” the guard spits, his voice filled with disgust as he steps closer, his hand reaching out to grab you. “We’ve got ourselves some freaks here, boys.”

A wave of panic surges through you, but you shove it down, focusing on the cosmic energy you can feel crackling at your fingertips. Summoning all your strength, you swing a fist, aiming to land a powerful, energy-charged punch straight into the guard’s face.

But just as you make your move, another guard from your other side grabs your wrist mid-swing and your other arm, twisting them behind your back with brutal precision. The cosmic energy fizzles out instantly, your powers rendered useless by the anti-mutant handcuffs that snap around your wrists with a harsh click. The cold metal bites into your skin, and you feel immense fear crawl its way through your body as you realize how vulnerable you are without your powers, or the use of your arms.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” the guard sneers in your ear, his grip on your arm painfully tight as he shoves you forward. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

Logan’s eyes widen in fury as he sees the guard cuff you, his body trembling with the effort to keep his rage in check. “Let her go,” he snarls, his voice dangerously heavy.

The guard only grins, tightening his hold on you. “Or what, freak? You gonna bark? Gonna bite?”

Logan’s claws shoot out with a metallic shink, the sound echoing through the hallway. He takes a step forward, the feral side of him failing to suppress itself as he glares at the guards with deadly intent. “Last warning. Let. Her. Go.”

Instead of backing down, the guards react with eager viciousness. The one holding you shoves you hard against the wall, his leg sticking out to block your own, pinning you in place. Some others step forward, one landing a brutal punch to your stomach, the force of it knocking the wind out of you. The world tilts, and pain explodes in your ribs as another guard’s boot connects with your side.

Logan sees red.

Something primal surges within him, the instinct to protect you overwhelming every other thought. With a roar that shakes the walls, he launches himself at the guards, his claws slicing through the first one with a sickening crunch. Blood splatters across the floor as Logan tears through them with a ferocity that is terrifying to witness.

He moves like a whirlwind of rage, his claws ripping through flesh and bone with savage efficiency. The guards don’t stand a chance against him, but even as he fights, more of them swarm in, trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

“Logan!” you cry out, the fear and pain you feel palpable as you struggle to get free. The guard holding you down slams your head against the wall, and stars burst behind your eyes as the world blurs.

Logan spins around, his eyes wild as he sees you slumped against the wall, blood trickling from your nose, eyes fighting to stay open. The sight of you being beaten, helpless and vulnerable, sends him into a frenzy. He slashes through another guard in his way, his claws dripping with blood as he tries to tear through their ranks.

However, his efforts are futile, the guards are relentless. Their numbers never dwindle, if anything, more and more seem to join the fight. They pile onto him, using their advantage, holding him down to the ground. Logan fights with everything he has, but even he has limits. He can feel the weight of them pressing down on him, can feel his strength waning as they force him to the ground.

“Logan!” you call his name again, breaking through the chaos. He can see you being dragged from the scene, your wrists bound, your eyes locked on his as they pull you farther and farther away.

“NO!” He roars, his voice breaking as he thrashes against the guards holding him down. He has to get to you—he has to save you.

Yet the more he fights, the more they press down, their combined weight and force overwhelming even his enhanced strength. They slam his head against the cold floor, pain exploding through his skull as his vision begins to fade. The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is your terrified face, the way your lips form his name, and the cold, cruel hands dragging you away into the shadows.

And then, nothing.

----

Logan wakes up to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the distant sound of beeping monitors. His head pounds, and every muscle in his body aches as if he’s been through a war—and in some ways, he has. Groaning, he tries to sit up, but a firm hand presses him back down.

“Easy, Logan,” comes Hank’s calm, reassuring voice. “You’ve been out for a while.”

Logan blinks, his vision slowly coming into focus. He’s in the med bay, the familiar white walls and harsh fluorescent lights greeting him. Once he finally comes to his senses, and he remembers the events that transpired the previous night, he realizes none of that matters. The only thing he cares about is you.

“Where is she?” he demands as he struggles against Hank’s hold.

Hank’s expression softens with pity and concern. “She’s… Logan, they took her. We’re doing everything we can to track her down, but—”

Panic jolts through Logan like a bolt of electricity, drowning out the rest of what Hank is saying. His eyes burn as he wrenches himself free from Hank’s grasp, his voice a gruff, dangerous snarl.

“How the hell did you get me out but leave her behind? You’re telling me you saved my sorry ass and couldn’t save her?”

Hank hesitates, his features morphing into a pained look, “It wasn’t like that. We were overwhelmed. There were too many of them, and you—”

“I don’t wanna hear excuses!” Logan cries, his words echoing off the walls as he slams a fist down on the bed. The metal frame groans under the force of his anger.

At that moment, Charles Xavier wheels in, his imposing presence immediately felt within the confines of the small room. He speaks calmly, trying to cut through the fog clouding Logan’s mind. “Logan, we did everything we could. It was hard enough getting just you. We had no choice but to retreat. If we hadn’t, we might have lost you both.”

Logan’s glare could’ve burned holes through steel as he turns to Charles, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t give a damn about me! She’s out there, alone, with those bastards, and I wasn’t there to stop it. I should’ve been able to protect her.”

His fists clench, his knuckles turning white as he struggles to contain the whirlwind of emotions tearing through him. Guilt eats him from the inside out. The thought of you suffering because he wasn’t there to protect you… “You–We…We left her behind,” he mutters, voice cracking.

Charles’s voice is firm but compassionate as he addresses the younger mutant. “You need to rest and regain your strength. When the time comes, you’ll be ready to get her back—but you can’t do that if you’re broken.”

Jaw tightening, Logan leans his body forward, holding his head in his hands. His temper is boiling, he wants to tear everything apart until there is nothing left, but he knows, deep down, that Charles is right. And as much as it kills him, he has to bide his time, to heal and prepare for what is to come.

But that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Hank, get out,” he growls, “Get out before I lose it.”

Hank exchanges a worried glance with Charles before reluctantly nodding. “We’ll find her, Logan. I promise.”

After Hank leaves the room, Logan sinks back onto the bed, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from exploding. His eyes bore into Charles’s, who remains, silently offering his support.

“When we find her,” he says, his voice low and full of promise, “there’s no holding back. I’m done waiting, done with all the excuses. She’s mine, and I’m not letting anything or anyone take her away from me again.”

----

The first thing you feel is the cold—icy, unforgiving, and seeping into your bones. Your head pounds, a dull, persistent ache that makes it hard to think, let alone move. When you try to lift your hands, you realize they are restrained, heavy iron chains biting into your wrists and pulling your arms taut above your head.

You jump to your senses, sharp and immediate, as you force your eyes open. The world is a blur at first, everything spinning and distorted. Then, as your vision clears, the reality of your situation hits you like a slap in the face.

You are in a cell. The walls are made of rough stone, the floor damp and filthy. There is barely any light, just a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering occasionally and casting long shadows that dance across the room. Your dress—the one you’d worn to the gala—is torn, the delicate fabric shredded and hanging off you in tatters. You can see your own blood between the patches that reveal your skin. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and a deep sense of dread settles in your stomach.

You try to pull against the chains, but your limbs are weak, your movements sluggish. They must have drugged you—this realization makes your heart race, fear clawing at your throat. You have no idea how long you’ve been out, no idea where you are or what they plan to do to you.

A sound from the other side of the cell catches your attention—laughter, low and mocking. You turn your head, the movement sending another wave of dizziness through your skull. Two guards stand just outside the bars, their faces twisted in cruel amusement.

“Look who’s finally awake,” one of them sneers with malice. “The mutant bitch.”

The words sting, but you refuse to show it. You force yourself to sit up straighter, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster. “Where am I?” you demand, your voice hoarse and shaky.

The guard laughs again, louder this time. “You’re in hell, sweetheart. And there’s no way out.”

His companion, a stockier man with a scar running down his cheek, steps forward, his eyes raking over you with a look that makes your skin crawl. “The boss is real interested in you, you know. He’s got plans,” he smiles, “Big plans.”

You swallow hard, fighting to keep your composure. “What do you want with me?”

“Oh, it ain’t about what we want,” the scarred guard replies, a disgusting grin spreading across his face. “It’s about what you can do. For us. You mutants think you’re so special, so powerful. But look at you now—all chained up and helpless.”

He reaches through the bars, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking your head back. Pain shoots through your scalp, but you bite your lip, refusing to cry out. You won’t give them the satisfaction.

“Let go of me,” you hiss.

The guard’s grin widens as he leans closer, his breath hot and foul against your skin. “Make me, sweetheart. Oh, wait—you can’t.”

He laughs again, muttering to the other guard about how satisfying this is, and you feel a wave of nausea rise in your throat. You can feel the energy within you, your power that usually simmers just beneath the surface, always ready to be called upon. But now, it’s like a distant echo, muted and weak. The chains—they must be suppressing your abilities, keeping you from using your mutation.

“Your little tricks won’t work here,” the first guard taunts, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “Those chains are special, made just for freaks like you. No powers, no escape.”

You are trapped, powerless, at the mercy of these men and whoever their leader is. You know you can’t let them see your fear. You can’t let them break you.

“I’ll get out of here,” you say, keeping your voice level despite the terror gnawing at your insides. “And when I do, you’ll regret this.”

The guards exchange a glance, then burst into laughter, the sound grating and harsh in the confined space.

“Big talk for someone who’s all chained up,” the scarred guard says, releasing his grip on your hair with a rough shove that sends you sprawling back against the wall.

“You’re not getting out,” the first guard adds, his tone more serious now. “No one’s coming for you. Your friends probably think you’re dead already. It’s been days.”

For a moment, your resolve falters. What if they are right? What if the team thinks you’re gone, or worse—what if they can’t find you? But then you think of Logan, of the fierce determination in his eyes, the way he’d fought for you before. No, they wouldn’t abandon you. He wouldn’t abandon you.

“They’ll find me,” you say, the conviction in your voice surprising even you.

The guards don’t laugh this time. The scarred one scowls, stepping back from the bars. “Keep dreaming, mutant. You’re ours now.”

With that, they turn and leave, their footsteps echoing down the corridor until they fade into silence. You are alone again, the cell’s walls pressing in from all sides. Yet despite the fear, despite the pain, you hold onto that sliver of hope, that image of Logan and the others coming to your rescue.

You aren’t going to give up. Not now, not ever.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. The drugs are still in your system, making it hard to concentrate, but you won’t let that stop you. You start to tug at the chains again, testing their strength, trying to find any weakness, any way to break free.

It is agonizing, and with every movement, the metal digs deeper into your skin, drawing blood. But the pain keeps you focused, keeps you from slipping into despair. You have to keep going. You have to believe that Logan will come for you.

And when he does, you will be ready.

----

Weeks pass since that fateful night at the gala, weeks that feel like an eternity to Logan. Each day that you remain missing is another day of excruciating uncertainty, each hour that ticks by another reminder of his failure to protect you. The mansion, usually a place of camaraderie and purpose, has become a suffocating prison where he is forced to wait and hope—two things he has never been good at.

Charles Xavier is relentless in his search, utilizing every resource, every connection, and every ounce of his telepathic abilities to track down the organization that has taken you. The X-Men work tirelessly alongside him, scouring the globe for any trace, any whisper, that could lead them to you. Logan is a constant presence in the war room, his patience worn thin by the endless dead ends and false leads. He’s ready to go after them with nothing but his claws and a vendetta, but Charles insists on a plan, a strategy that won’t just rescue you but will dismantle the threat for good.

Finally, after weeks of frustration and relentless searching, they find something—a lead that could change everything.

Charles is in his study, surrounded by a tangle of maps, files, and reports, his mind stretched to its limits as he sifts through the chaotic swirl of information. Then, in the quiet hours of the night, he finds it—a faint, almost non-existent mental signature, hidden deep within the shadows of his mind. It’s the psychic equivalent of a whisper, a delicate thread that, when tugged, reveals a location: a remote island, far off the coast, where the organization has set up a secret base.

This base, as he quickly pieces together, is where they are holding you, along with other mutants they have captured. It’s heavily fortified, nearly impossible to reach by conventional means, and shielded against most telepathic detection. The mental signature he finds slips through only because it’s so faint, a brief lapse in their otherwise impenetrable defenses.

Charles spends days verifying the information, cross-referencing it with the intelligence they’ve gathered over the weeks. Every detail lines up—this is it. This is where they have taken you, and this is where they will launch their attack.

With the location confirmed, Charles knows he has to get the team together and act. Act fast.

----

Time loses all meaning in the cold, dark cell where you are held captive. The days and nights blur together, an endless cycle of hunger, pain, and hopelessness. The cold stone walls, once foreboding, have become your only companions, and the silence is a constant reminder of how alone you are.

Your dress is taken hours after you awake, replaced with a rough, beige prison uniform that itches against your skin. The fabric is thin, offering little protection against the freezing temperature. Your wrists and ankles ache from the tight cuffs they keep you in most of the time, the metal leaving angry red marks that never seem to fade.

They barely feed you—just enough to keep you alive, but never enough to give you any real strength. The meals are a cruel joke, infrequent and consisting of nothing more than stale bread and murky water that tastes like rust.

What makes it truly unbearable isn’t the food itself; it’s the way you are forced to consume it.

Chained to the wall, your arms shackled above your head, you can’t even feed yourself. Every day, like clockwork, one of the guards enters your cell, a twisted smirk on his face as he carries a small, dented tray of food. He kneels beside you, holding the bread just out of reach, as if daring you to try and grab it.

“Hungry?” he taunts, waving the bread in front of your face. “You look like you could use a bite.”

You glare at him, your stomach growling with hunger, but you refuse to beg. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how desperate you are. In the end, your body’s needs always win out, and you reluctantly part your lips, letting him shove the stale, crumbling bread into your mouth.

The guard never makes it easy. He pushes the bread in too far, making you gag, or holds it just out of reach, forcing you to strain against your chains, the metal digging painfully into your wrists. When it comes time for the water, he tilts the cup too quickly, spilling most of it down your chin, leaving you with just a few precious drops to quench your thirst.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, wiping the spilled water off your face with the back of his hand in a mockery of kindness. “Can’t even eat without help.”

You swallow the bread, the dry crumbs scraping down your throat, doing your best to keep from choking. The water that follows is barely enough to wash it down, leaving your mouth dry and your hunger only partially sated.

It’s a humiliating, degrading experience, one that leaves you feeling even more powerless than the chains ever could. And that’s exactly what the guards want. Each meal is an exercise in control, a reminder that you are at their mercy, that they hold all the power.

Somehow, that still isn’t the worst of it all.

Guards come daily, sometimes in pairs, sometimes alone, always with that same twisted grin on their faces. You have learned to anticipate their visits, to prepare yourself for the taunts, the jeers, and the beatings that inevitably follow. They seem to take pleasure in your suffering, their laughter echoing off the walls as they deliver blow after blow, leaving you gasping for breath on the cold, hard floor.

Every time they come, they mock you, their voices dripping with contempt. “Where are your precious X-Men now, huh? Guess they forgot about you. Must be nice knowing no one cares enough to come get you.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. But inside, the doubt begins to creep in. How long has it been? Weeks, maybe more? Surely they would have found you by now. Surely Logan is out there, tearing the world apart to find you. But as the days drag on and the beatings continue, it becomes harder to hold onto that hope.

One day, after an especially brutal session where they leave you bruised and bleeding on the floor, you find yourself laughing—a bitter, hollow sound that startles even you.

“What’s so funny?” one of the guards sneers, looking down at you with a scowl.

You lift your head, your gaze locking onto his, something defiant sparking in your eyes despite the pain. “Do you guys get off on seeing people in pain? Is this a fetish or something?”

The guard’s expression darkens with disdain, and he steps forward, delivering a swift kick to your side that makes you gasp, the air rushing out of your lungs. “Shut up!” he barks.

You cough, tasting blood on your lips, but you can’t stop the words that tumble out. “Is that all you’ve got?” you rasp, pushing yourself up onto your elbows despite the throbbing in your ribs. “I’m starting to think you’re not very good at this.”

The guard’s face twists into a snarl, and he raises his hand to strike you again, but the other guard grabs his arm, pulling him back. “Enough,” the second guard says, though his voice is more cautious now. “We’re not supposed to kill her. Not yet.”

They leave you there, crumpled on the floor, your body aching. As much as it hurts, as much as the beatings wear you down, you cling to that small act of defiance. They haven’t broken you. Not yet.

----

The tension in the war room is suffocating, the air thick with urgency and dread. The X-Men gather around the long, sleek table, the holographic map of the enemy compound glowing in the center, casting an eerie blue light across their faces. Scott stands at the head of the table, his expression stern as he outlines possible infiltration points, while Jean, Ororo, and Hank listen intently.

Logan sits at the far end, his posture rigid, every muscle in his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. He doesn’t want to be here—doesn’t want to waste time with plans and strategies when all he can think about is you. But he knows that going off on his own, especially in his current state, would only end in disaster. So he forces himself to stay, to listen, even though every second feels like a waste.

His hands clench into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. He can barely focus on Scott’s words, his mind consumed with images of you—frightened, abandoned, injured. The thought makes his blood boil, his claws itching to extend and tear through anything in his path.

“Logan,” Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Are you with us?”

He glances up, meeting her concerned gaze. He knows she can feel his turmoil, his barely restrained anger, and that only makes him more frustrated.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he snaps.

Ororo shoots him a warning look. “We need to stay focused, Logan. Losing your temper won’t help her.”

Logan grits his teeth, biting back the retort that rises to his lips. He knows she’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to control the storm of emotions raging inside him. “Just tell me when we’re movin’,” he growls, his tone laced with impatience. “I’m not sittin’ around any longer while they’ve got her.”

“We all want to find her, Logan,” Scott says, “But we have to do this right. If we go in guns blazing, we could get her killed.”

“And if we wait too long, she’ll be dead anyway.”

“Logan,” Hank interjects, trying to be the voice of reason. “Scott’s right. We have to be smart about this. We’re dealing with people who have resources, power, and a deep-seated hatred for mutants. They’ll be expecting us.”

Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts again, this time in his mind, her telepathy reaching out to him. Logan, I know how much she means to you. We’re doing everything we can to bring her back. Trust us.

He shoots her a glare, not appreciating the intrusion, but he doesn’t push her away. Jean has always been the one who could reach him, even when he’s at his most stubborn. I’m not lettin’ them keep her from me any longer, Jean, he thinks back, his mental voice raw with emotion.

You won’t, Jean replies, her mental tone firm but soothing. We won’t let that happen. But you need to stay with us, Logan. We’re stronger together.

“What’s the plan?” he asks, breaking his stupor.

Charles exchanges a glance with Scott, who nods and steps forward to explain. “We’ll approach under the cover of night. Ororo will create a storm to mask our presence, and we’ll use the Blackbird to drop in undetected. Jean and I will handle disabling their telepathic defenses so we can get a read on the situation inside. Hank will take out their communications to prevent them from calling for reinforcements.”

“And me?” Logan growls, his eyes locked on the island’s location.

“You’ll be leading the assault,” Scott replies without hesitation. He can sense the violent need rattling within Logan’s bones—craving to avenge you. “Once we’ve neutralized the outer defenses, you and I will go in together. Our primary objective is to get her out—everything else is secondary. We can always go back to finish the job."

Logan’s fists clench at his sides, his claws itching to be released.

“When do we leave?”

“Tonight,” Charles answers from where he sits at the table. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Logan remains by the map while the team disperses and begins to prepare, his eyes fixed on the small island in the middle of the vast ocean. This is it. After weeks of waiting, weeks of imagining the worst, he finally has a chance to make things right.

He can almost feel the cold metal of the anti-mutant handcuffs around your wrists, the bruises on your skin from the guards’ brutality. The thought makes him see red, but beneath the rage is something even more powerful—a fierce determination to see you safe, to get you out of there and back where you belong.

Logan will lead the charge, and God help anyone who stands in his way.

As the team assembles, suited up and ready for the mission, Charles wheels over to Logan, placing a hand on his arm. “We’ll bring her home, Logan. And we’ll make sure this never happens again.”

He nods, the fire in his eyes burning brighter than ever. “We will,” he says, a dangerous growl clawing its way out of his throat, “And when I get my hands on them, they’ll wish they’d never laid a finger on her.”

With that, the team boards the Blackbird, the weight of the mission pressing down on them as they soar into the night. The storm Ororo has summoned rages around them, the skies dark and foreboding, as they approach the island. Every second brings them closer to the moment of reckoning, and Logan’s focus sharpens to a razor’s edge.

“I’m comin’ for ya, darlin’,” he murmurs under his breath, the words a promise to himself as much as to you. “Just hold on.”

----

“Approaching the drop zone,” Ororo’s calm voice comes over the comms, though the storm she controls outside is anything but calm. Lightning splits the sky, momentarily illuminating the jagged cliffs of the remote island below, their destination hidden within the darkness.

Scott cuts through the tension. “Alright, everyone. Remember the plan. Jean, Ororo, and I will handle the outer defenses. Hank, take out their communications. Logan and I will lead the assault inside. Our primary objective is to find her and get her out.”

Logan barely nods, his eyes locked on the ramp as it begins to lower. The cold wind whips through the interior of the Blackbird, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the earth below. And underneath it all, Logan can smell them—guards, weapons, blood.

“Ready?” Scott asks, glancing at Logan.

His response is a rough, feral growl. “Let’s do this.”

With a sharp nod, Scott activates the drop sequence, and Logan is the first out, dropping into the storm with the grace of a true predator. He lands in a crouch, claws out, eyes scanning the perimeter. The island is as fortified as they feared, with high walls, watchtowers, and heavily armed guards patrolling the grounds.

But none of that matters. He has one focus, one goal: finding you.

The rest of the team lands behind him, moving quickly, quietly, and efficiently. Ororo raises her hands to the sky, intensifying the storm, the wind and rain becoming a blinding force that conceals their approach. Lightning arcs overhead, briefly turning night into day, revealing the outlines of guards scrambling to respond to the sudden onslaught.

Scott gives the signal to move in, and the team splits up, each member heading to their designated targets. Jean and Ororo focus on the outer defenses, disorienting the guards with telepathic illusions and powerful gusts of wind. Hank slips into the shadows, his agile form disappearing into the underbrush as he makes his way to the communications hub.

The Wolverine moves like a shadow, traversing the rain-soaked night with deadly silence. He can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, every sense heightened as he approaches the main compound. The guards are on high alert, but they are no match for the X-Men. He watches as Jean’s telepathy turns their own weapons against them, as Scott’s optic blasts tear through their defenses.

But as the team advances, the guards regroup, their numbers swelling as they pour out of the compound. They aren’t going down without a fight. Logan spots a heavily armed squad taking position near a turret, their weapons trained on the team. They open fire, a barrage of bullets slicing through the air.

“Jean!” Scott shouts.

Jean extends her hands, a telekinetic shield flaring to life just in time to deflect the incoming fire. The bullets bounce off harmlessly, but the force of the attack makes it clear this isn’t going to be easy. The guards are better prepared than expected, their movements coordinated, their strategy clear: delay the X-Men as long as possible.

Logan growls in frustration, his claws itching to tear through the enemy lines. “We need to move, now!” he snarls, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Ororo nods, her eyes glowing white as she summons a powerful gust of wind, sending the guards sprawling. Scott seizes the moment, firing a series of blasts that take out the turret and send the remaining guards scattering. Still, even as they advance, more guards appear, swarming from every direction.

Hank emerges from the shadows, his blue fur slick with rain as he tackles a group of guards attempting to flank the team. He moves with agility and precision, disarming them with brutal efficiency before disappearing into the darkness once more.

Logan pushes forward, his senses locked on the main compound. Every muscle in his body is taut, ready to react, as he closes in on the entrance. But the resistance only grows fiercer the closer they get. A squad of heavily armored guards appears, their rifles spitting fire as they advance in formation.

“Ororo, cover us!”

Ororo unleashes a torrent of lightning, the bolts crackling through the air and striking the guards with dead-set accuracy. It’s almost like a scene from the gala, the guards coming in endless waves, their numbers never faltering.

Logan’s patience snaps. He shoots forward, his claws slicing through the rain, his cry echoing across the battlefield. He crashes into the line of guards, tearing through their armor as if it were paper. Blood splatters the ground, the metallic scent mixing with the rain as Logan carves a path through the enemy.

Scott and Jean are right behind him, their combined powers devastating the remaining guards. But the compound is heavily fortified, and as Logan bursts through the first door, a new wave of guards meets them head-on.

These are the elite, the best of the best, and they fight with a cold, calculated precision that makes them more dangerous than the others. Jean’s telepathy is their saving grace. She reaches into the minds of the guards, sowing confusion and fear, turning their own thoughts against them. But the strain is visible on her face, the effort of controlling so many minds at once taking its toll.

“Jean, hold on!” Scott calls.

“I’m… trying,” Jean gasps, her voice strained.

Logan knows they can’t keep this up. They have to find you, and they have to do it fast. He slams his claws into another door, splintering it into pieces, only to be met with a hail of gunfire from the guards inside. He ducks, rolling to the side as Scott’s optic blasts provide cover, the two of them working in tandem to clear the room.

“Move!” Scott shouts, and Logan surges forward, his claws tearing through the last of the guards in the corridor.

The air is thick with the smell of blood and gunpowder, but Logan doesn’t care. He can hear it—the faint sound of muffled cries, the rattling of chains. His heart pounds in his chest as he moves forward, faster now, driven by the desperate need to reach you.

Then he sees it: two hulking mercenaries guarding a heavy steel door. They are well-armed, and this time, their eyes hold no uncertainty. These are the final line of defense, the ones meant to stop anyone from getting to you.

They open fire, the bullets ricocheting off the walls, but Logan is too fast, too eager to be reunited with you. He ducks and weaves, his claws gleaming as he closes the distance. With a guttural roar, he leaps at them, his claws slashing through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. The guards crumple to the ground, lifeless, as Logan stands over them, his chest heaving with exertion.

Without wasting a second, Logan slams his claws into the door, the metal screeching as it gives way under the force of his rage. He rips the door off its hinges, tossing it aside as if it weighs nothing. Inside, the air is heavy with the smell of damp stone and fear. And there, in the dim light of the small cell, he sees you—chained, battered, but alive.

You are slumped against the far wall of a small, dank cell, your wrists bound with the anti-mutant handcuffs, your body bruised and battered. The sight of you, so broken and vulnerable, makes Logan’s heart twist with desperation and longing. All of his fury immediately floods out of his system. He crosses the room in two strides, his claws retracting as he kneels beside you, his hands trembling as he reaches out to touch your face.

“Hey, darlin’,” he whispers, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You stir at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttering open as you try to focus. When you see him, a weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Logan…”

“Shh,” he soothes, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m gettin’ you outta here.”

He quickly reaches for the handcuffs, his claws slicing through the metal with ease. The moment they fall away, you feel a sudden surge of power within you, like a dam breaking, your abilities rushing back after being suppressed for so long. You slump forward into his arms, too weak to hold yourself up. Logan’s heart breaks at the feel of your frail body against his, but he holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

“Can you walk?”

You nod, though it’s clear the effort costs you. “I… I think so.”

Logan helps you to your feet, his arm supporting you as you lean heavily against him. Every step is a struggle, but he’s right there with you. Making your way out of the cell, the sounds of battle grow louder, the chaos of the X-Men’s assault reaching its peak.

“We gotta move fast,” Logan mutters tensely, “But I’m not lettin’ go of you. We’re gettin’ outta here together.”

He keeps a firm grip on you, his entire focus on getting you out of this hellhole. The whole island around you is in shambles, the walls of your prison shaking with the force of explosions and the sharp crack of energy blasts. The X-Men are relentless, cutting down the remaining guards with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Scott and Hank’s voices echo through the comms, issuing orders and coordinating the team’s movements.

Everything fades into the background—the sounds of battle, the flashes of light, the scent of blood and smoke.

All Logan can concentrate on is the fragile feel of your hand in his, your fingers moving shakily against his rough skin, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggle to keep going.

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he rasps, urging you, “We’re almost out. Just hold on a little longer.”

Your fingers tighten around his, as if letting go would mean losing him again. The two of you move as one, your bodies pressed together as you navigate through the debris and destruction. The storm outside mirrors the one within him, but as long as you’re with him, he knows he can weather it.

When the exit finally comes into view, the cold night air hits you both, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the compound. The Blackbird is waiting, its ramp lowered, and the sight of it brings a surge of relief so powerful it nearly buckles your knees. But Logan is there, his arm wrapped securely around you, practically carrying you up the ramp.

Finally in the jet, the familiar hum of the engines fills the cabin, a soothing backdrop to the storm raging outside. Neither of you cares about the storm or the battle left behind. The only thing that matters is that you’re together.

Logan guides you to a seat, but instead of sitting beside you, he pulls you into his lap, holding you as close as he can. You don’t resist, your arms wrapping around his neck, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. In many ways, he is.

Hank approaches, concern etched across his face, but Logan barely glances at him. His focus is entirely on you, his hand brushing your hair back from your face, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that have begun to fall—not from pain, but from the overwhelming relief of being safe, of being with him.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses into your hair. “I’ve got you. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, your tears soaking into his shirt as you cling to him. Each touch, every whispered word, acts like a balm to the wounds you have endured. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his heart pounds against your chest.

“I knew you’d come… but you guys took a lot longer than I was expecting,” you whisper, trying to bring a hint of your usual humor into your voice, “made me look a little stupid in front of those guards.”

Logan’s arms tighten around you. “I’m here, sweets. I’m right here. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He continues to kiss your hair, his rough, calloused hands gently cradling your face as he wipes away your tears. Neither of you wants to let go, the fear of losing each other again too fresh, too real.

Logan’s lips brush against your temple, a tender, lingering kiss that conveys more than words ever could. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, over and over again. “Nothin’s gonna happen to you again.”

You nod, unable to speak, but your grip on him tightens, your heart finally beginning to calm as you rest in his arms. For the first time since your capture, you feel safe. Truly safe. And it’s all because of him.

----

Returning to the mansion after the rescue is a blur of activity, concern, and overwhelming relief. The moment you touch down, you’re rushed to the med bay, surrounded by familiar faces, each one filled with a mixture of worry and hope.

The sterile white walls of the med bay feel oddly comforting now, compared to the cold, damp cell you were held in. You’re laid gently on a bed, Hank and Jean immediately setting to work, checking your vitals, assessing your injuries. Their voices are calm and reassuring, but you barely hear them. Your mind is still reeling, your body still trembling from the whole ordeal.

Logan never leaves your side. Even as Hank and Jean move around you, speaking in low tones about your condition, he’s there, a grounding force. He holds your hand through it all, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your skin. Whenever your eyes flutter open, his are there, locked on yours, filled with a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart ache.

Hank and Jean make sure you’re well-fed, insisting on regular meals to help you regain your strength. Plates of warm, nourishing food are brought to you, and though you have little appetite at first, Logan’s gentle encouragement coaxes you to eat. He sits with you, holding your hand while you slowly nibble at the food, his deep voice murmuring soft words of reassurance and comfort.

“Just a little more, darlin’,” he says, his tone comforting. “You need to get your strength back.”

You nod, taking another bite, the warmth of the food spreading through you, bringing with it a sense of safety and normalcy that you hadn’t felt in what seems like forever.

Nights are the hardest. The darkness brings with it the memories of the cell, the guards, the pain, and the fear. You often wake in a panic, your heart racing, the shadows of the past closing in around you. But every time, Logan is there, pulling you into his arms, whispering reassurances until the terror subsides.

Logan, for his part, is dealing with his own demons. You can see it in the way his jaw tightens when he thinks you aren’t looking, the way his eyes darken when he hears you gasp in pain or when your hand trembles as you reach for something. He’s haunted by what happened, by the fact that he hadn’t been able to protect you from the start. You know he’s carrying a heavy burden of guilt, and it tears at your heart to see him so troubled.

He tries to hide it, of course—tries to be strong for you. However, in the quiet moments, when the mansion is still and the only sound is the soft beep of the heart monitor, he lets his guard down. He sits beside you, his head bowed, his hand holding yours as if afraid you might slip away if he lets go. And in those moments, you can see the depth of his pain, the way it eats at him from the inside.

On one occasion, after a particularly vivid nightmare leaves you shaky and breathless, Logan pulls you into his lap, holding you close as he murmurs words of comfort. As you cry, he holds you tighter, his voice breaking as he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your heart breaking at the sight of the tears in his eyes. “Logan, it wasn’t your fault,” you say, as many times as you need to, if it means he’ll stop feeling this way. “You saved me. You found me.”

He shakes his head, his grip on you tightening as if trying to anchor himself. “I should have been there sooner. I should have—”

“No,” you interrupt, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You did everything you could. You saved me. You brought me home.”

His eyes close at your words, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“You won’t,” you promise, and you mean it.

----

When you’re finally discharged from the med bay, it feels like a victory—a hard-won battle that leaves you both relieved and eager to reclaim your life. Your strength has returned, slowly but surely, and now, after weeks of healing and recovery, you’re ready to start training again. The thought of moving your body, of pushing your limits, fills you with a renewed sense of purpose.

But there’s one thing you hadn’t counted on—Logan.

Ever since the rescue, he’s been by your side, a constant, unyielding presence. At first, you appreciated it—you truly did—his steady support, his silent vigilance, the way he seemed to always know when you needed a comforting word or a strong arm to lean on. Yet now, as you step back into the training room, ready to test your limits again, his presence is starting to feel more like a shadow you can’t shake.

“Logan,” you say, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice as you stretch, your muscles still tight from the weeks of inactivity. “You don’t have to watch me like a hawk. I’m fine. Really.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall, his sharp eyes never leaving you. The intensity of his gaze is almost suffocating.

“I know. You’re strong,” he finally says, “But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna stand by and let you push yourself too hard.”

You sigh, rolling your shoulders as you turn to face him fully. “I’m not made of glass. I need to do this. I need to get back to where I was. The fight isn't finished.”

He pushes off the wall, his expression hardening as he takes a step closer to you. “And I’m not sayin’ you can’t. I just… I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Something in his voice makes you pause, the frustration fading away as you look at him more closely. There’s a tension in his posture, tension that hadn’t been there before, and the way he’s looking at you—it isn’t just concern. It’s something deeper.

“I’m not alone,” you assure him. “I’ve got the whole team behind me. I’ve got you.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, letting the moment pass between you, and then he exhales deeply, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say. “You know, when you were gone… I told Charles I wouldn’t hold back anymore.”

His words catch you off guard, and your brow furrows in confusion. “Hold back?”

Logan takes another step closer, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right way to explain.

“I told him that if we found you, if we got you back safe… I wasn’t gonna keep my feelings locked up anymore. I’ve been doin’ it for too long, and when I almost lost you… it made me realize I can’t keep pretending I don’t care as much as I do.”

You know what he’s trying to say. The charged energy between you, all the banter—it was never just friendly. It was more than that—something neither of you had ever acknowledged out loud, but it was there. You’d never been just teammates, and deep down, you both understood that.

He reaches out, taking your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. “I’m in love with you,” he confesses, his voice deep and hoarse, filled with all the emotion he’s kept bottled up for so long. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I was too damn stubborn to admit it. But after what happened, after goin' through all that…”

He lets his voice trail off. Your heart pounds in your chest, the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You’ve always sensed the undercurrent of something more between you two, something that made every shared glance, every sarcastic quip, feel like a promise unfulfilled. Hearing Logan finally admit it, finally put words to what had always been there, makes your breath catch, your mind soar with joy.

“I know,” you confess back, “I think I’ve always known. But I was afraid to push, afraid to break whatever it was we had. I’ve felt it too. I always have.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly at your confession, relief flooding his features, the hard lines of tension softening as if a great burden has been lifted from his shoulders. For a long, heart-stopping moment, the two of you just stare at each other.

Then, as if pulled together by the same magnetic force, you and Logan surge forward simultaneously. The distance between you vanishes in an instant, and your lips meet in a fierce, passionate kiss that speaks of all the pent-up passion and unspoken words you’d both kept buried for so long.

His hands roam your body with an urgency that borders on desperation, as if he’s making sure this is real—that you’re truly there, in front of him, kissing him. His fingers trace the curve of your back, the line of your shoulders, and then tighten their grip as he pulls you even closer, his touch firm and possessive. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding onto him with just as much need.

The kiss is everything—relief, passion, love—all rolled into one overwhelming, breathtaking moment that makes your head spin and your knees weak.

When you finally break apart, gasping for breath, Logan doesn’t move away. His forehead rests against yours, but the distance between you seems to close even further, if that were possible. His hands grip you tightly, as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality. He’s consumed by you, by the feel of your body against his, by the taste of your lips, by the sheer relief that you’re here, safe, and his. His breath is ragged, his heart pounding, and when he opens his eyes, they’re filled with a raw, burning intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“God, I don’t want to let you go,” he whispers.

His hands roam your back again, as if reassuring himself that you’re really there, that you’re not some illusion that will slip away the moment he loosens his grip.

You smile softly, though your heart is still racing from the intensity of the moment. “I don’t want you to let go either,” you whisper back. “But… I still need to be independent. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.”

His gaze tightens a bit, and you can see that he’s torn between the overwhelming urge to protect you and the understanding that you’re right. His eyes search your face, as if trying to reconcile his deep-seated fear with the reality of who you are.

“I just… I don’t know how to give you space,” he admits, “Not after everything that’s happened.”

You smile gently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to step away,” you reassure him. “But you do have to let me stand beside you, not behind you. We’re in this together,” you kiss him again, “They’re still out there. The mission isn’t over.”

Logan’s hands tighten on your waist for a moment, as if his instincts are against the idea of giving you any distance at all, against the idea of you throwing yourself back into the fight. But then, after a long pause, he slowly, reluctantly nods. “I’ll do my best,” he murmurs. “I can’t promise I won’t want to keep you close… but I’ll try to give you the space you need.”

Your heart warms at his words, recognizing the struggle he’s willing to endure for your sake. “That’s all I’m asking for,” you reply, your voice tender as you lean in for another kiss.

[END OF PART ONE]

-----

A/N: Phew! Part one done, and part two is on the way -- it'll be up by the end of the weekend. Please comment or send me a message if you'd like to be tagged in the next part. Hope you liked the story!

[lanabuckybarnes]

Would you write a plus size reader w either bucky or steve(or both) where they are her first real relationship and she gets scared that she doesn't deserve to be with either of them and so she tries to push them away so she doesn't get hurt but instead they show her why she is their person.... like tooth rotting fluff and the filthiest smut..... if that's okay if not no worries

| All Yours, Only Yours |

18+ Minors DNI

✧Pairing✧ Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Reader

✧Warnings✧ A lil angsty, Sharon being a big bully (like seriously you’re 50 and you’re bullying someone? ick), Name calling, Angry Buck, Crying, Bucky is a simp, Confessions, Marking, Dry humping, Oral (F), Fingering (F), Teeny bit of cum play, Dirty talk, Unprotected PinV, Praise, Petnames, My shitty writing — again very tame for me but i didnt want to go overboard. If there any more I’ve neglected to add please let me know.

✧Word Count✧ 4.3K

✧Author Note✧ I really hope you enjoy this and I've done your request justice, I honestly tried my best but idk…Anyways!!! Much love to everyone, please let me know what you think. Love ya xxx

“Still not answering?” Natasha asks from her spot in the cockpit, concern evident from the wrinkle between her brows.

“Nope” he spits his reply, reeling from the whole ordeal. He thrusts his phone into his jean pocket, sick to the back teeth of nothing but a black screen greeting him instead of your sweet little messages.

“Did you piss her off or something?” Sam tries to lighten the mood but is swiftly shut down, his hands rising in surrender at the killer glare the brunette shot his way.

“Calm down everyone, we’ll be home soon so we can figure this out” Steve, the voice of reason commands order within the small confines of the jet. He sits, a gloved hand rubbing over his friend's shoulder trying to reassure his muddled brain but to no avail.

Bucky is pissed. He’s pissed and he’s worried sick. A week he’s been gone for and he’s missing you like crazy. The only issue? You are ignoring him, straight up ghosting his brooding ass which is completely unlike you. Often on missions when Bucky clicks his phone on he’s greeted with a flurry of messages from you; photos of little birds you see on your walks, photos of alpine taken at odd angles and constant little messages that make his heart full and ready to continue his painstaking missions—none of it, just a notification from your favourite restaurant offering a discount to keep him happy.

As soon as this jet landed he was going to get to the bottom of what was going on and then he was going to cuddle you to death as punishment. Not that he’d let anyone else know that.

One Week Earlier…

Beep beep beep. Bucky’s alarm sounds at the ungodly hour of five am, his groan following. He didn't want to get out of this bed, he was too warm, his huge body wrapped around yours. Your movements spurred his own, your arm reaching over to switch off his alarm while he pushed himself into a sit, thoughts already on the mission afoot.

“Morning,” your raspy voice purrs, bringing his attention back to you. His eyes fall to your face; following the slope of your puffy cheeks up to your barely open eyes, your hues peeking through only enough to tease him. Putting his weight on his right arm he’s on top of you before you can blink, his head tucked into the crook of your neck, peppering tiny kisses along the warm skin.

“Morning princess,” he bites back his yawn, shifting so his hips slot in their spot between your plush thighs, loving the way they wrapped around his narrow waist just the way he loved. Practice truly did make perfect. His dark vibranium fingers drifted from your collarbone, over the swell of your breast until it found its favourite perch on your hips.

“So fucking pretty” he breathes, his pupils dilating to let more of you in — until you pushed him away.

“You gotta get ready Mr” you giggle, moving your foot so you could push him further away, ruining his plan B of pinning you down by your hips.

“Don’t remind me…”

His cold left hand hooks around your ankle, pushing at it until your knee hinged, bending up and out. A suspicious hardness presses against you, a wicked smile on your boyfriend’s face.

“I mean it Buck we can’t, Nat will be kicking that door down any minute” he groans at your words knowing that you are completely right. That lock had been replaced an embarrassing amount of times because of that exact situation. You hated rejecting him, knowing that he could easily put you back to sleep until midday if he wanted. After a small standoff between you both you warn him again, an arch in your brow and a growl behind his name.

“You’re such a little tease, you know that?”

You laugh, sitting up, watching him skulk around the room in nothing but his grey Calvin Kleins, “I haven’t done anything!”

“Sure you haven’t” he argues, moving over to you again, his metal fingers looping under your chin to tilt your head back to gaze up at him, “Looking so fucking sexy in the morning and I can’t fuck you stupid. That’s not teasing that’s damn near criminal.”

You groan, rolling your eyes at your pouty 106-year-old man. You inch closer to his mouth, a sickly sweet definitely not bratty smirk on your face. “Get your ass ready.”

“Fine…but only because you looked so fucking sexy ordering me around,”

“Bucky!” You shout after him, blush on your full cheeks. He only smirks over his shoulder, pushing his briefs to the floor at the entrance to the bathroom, giving you a full view of his posterior.

You get up too, knowing you had been awake too long to fall asleep again. You get ready with the shower as background noise, pulling on some workout clothes. Today you decided you’d try out the gym right here in the compound, you’d been to many different ones in the past; often polluted with the smell of days-old sweat and men reeking of testosterone, grunting and groaning at weights you could only dream of lifting.

An hour later, after waving Bucky off on his week-long mission you were in the gym.

“Hey” you smile as you pass Sharon, her blonde hair whipping as she ducks and weaves to dodger imaginary punches the bag throws out before throwing a couple of her own. She offers you a tight-lipped smile, her eyes straying from your face down your body. She takes note of your long top and shorts that settle around mid-thigh compared to her sports bra and tiny shorts — her flat stomach and sculpted legs on display.

God you wish you had just as much ventilation. Just as you go to place your earphones in your ears you hear a scoff coming from Sharon’s direction. You pay it no mind, setting the treadmill for a nice incline and pace, pressing the timer until it shone with the time you wanted.

The treadmill slowed for the cooldown. Your eyes moved from the display in front to glance over your shoulder, the gym was empty. You grab your bottle only to realise thanks to your distraction you'd finished off your water. You stop the treadmill and hop off, making a beeline for the kitchen. The walk to the kitchen from the gym wasn’t that long but with the feeling of your sweat culminating in places you didn’t want it to be it was almost torturous.

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw her,”

A gaggle of hushed laughs comes from the kitchen, stopping you. A familiar dread coils in your stomach, reminding you of when you were young, the children pointing and laughing — joking at your expense.

“she must been on that treadmill for about five minutes and she was all like huff huff” she laughs obnoxiously “Her face was like a big tomato, I almost died trying to keep myself from laughing” Sharon continues.

The group cackles again at your expense, almost doubling as Sharon makes the huffing noise again. You cling to your shirt, pulling it from sticking to your body. These women you thought were friends did just what everyone else did.

“She’s pathetic, I don’t know what Bucky sees in her” Your heart stops. That little devil on your jumps and cheers at the confirmation of what it has been telling you since the start of your relationship with Bucky. You were never enough.

“I can’t wait for him to dump her once he gets sick of her wide load.”

Tears fall on their own accord but you don't register them, too busy inside your head being suffocated by every doubt and self-conscious thought you ever had since you confessed your feelings for the super soldier. You didn't deserve Bucky and everyone thought that too.

Back at your room, freshly clean. You scrolled through your messages from Bucky. The little hearts next to his messages no longer felt genuine like he was only doing it merely to save your feelings from being hurt. You were nothing but a burden that he was forced to bear; it wouldn’t be long before like Sharon said, he got sick of the clinginess and the need for reassurance and broke up with you.

Well, you weren’t going to be a burden any longer. You wouldn’t let him break your heart first. You turned your phone off, tucking it into your bedside drawer.

—

“Bucky wait!” Sam calls from the quinjet but it goes ignored. Bucky’s face is twisted in annoyance as he takes wide, purposeful steps towards the tower doors. He was going to find you and you were going to tell him why the fuck you were ignoring him.

He ignores the shouts of his name as Nat, Steve and Sam follow him indoors, smashing the elevator button with his thumb and stepping inside. Once on your floor, he stormed like a charging bull to your room, slamming a gloved fist on your door in a poor excuse for a knock.

The loud knocking from the other end of the room had you jumping back in your seat, the slee overtaking you gone in an instant. Your heart lurched at the familiar face, worn from exhaustion and malice clear from the scrunching of his forehead and tick in his cheek muscle.

“Oh hello, where have you been?” Bucky snaps, glaring down at you as you use the door as a shield from his scrutinising eyes. Here it comes, the moment you’d prepared for all week. You don’t think you’ll go back to dating apps, too many weird me—

“You know how worried I was when you didn't answer me all week?”

Huh. “Huh?”

“‘Huh?’ Are you joking? You ghosted me, left me scared to death on a mission halfway across the globe and all you can say to me is huh!” His blue eyes glisten and you look at them closer. There was no anger there, only concern and fear culminating in swirls across his blue orbs, rearing its head in rage across Bucky’s face.

“Bucky I—” you try but you can’t find the words, each syllable sticks in your throat, balling up until it feels like you can no longer breathe. The week of bottled-up emotions spills forth at the sight of him — at the revelation that he was utterly terrified. Tears fall from your eyes before you know it, your lip wobbling as you keep trying to speak.

Bucky’s shoulders tense at the sight of tiny tears falling over your full cheeks, guilt replacing his earlier pain,

“Fuck c’mere baby” he pulls you close, bending at an almost uncomfortable angle just to hold you as close as humanly possible.

“I'm so sorry for being so annoyed but you have to see why I was so scared something had happened to you. You left me on read for an entire week and blanked my calls. That isn’t you, you know how scary that was for me?” He whispers so softly, backing you up to sit on your bed.

In his arms, surrounded by his warmth and scent the week you had fell from your mouth like alphabet soup, from the gym to Sharon to how hard it was to ignore your phone knowing that Bucky would’ve been calling you every single day but you did it to protect your own heart. Nothing was kept a secret.

“I’ll kill her,” he growls when you finish, muscles tightening even more around you.

“Buck.”

“Right…sorry, I won't kill her” He lied between his teeth, well sort of. He wouldn’t actually kill Sharon but he knew you'd be upset if he did anything to her which he was indeed planning to do but to save you any more pain for the evening, to keep that teeny tiny smile on your face he lied.

“What makes her think she has any fucking right to speak on other people’s appearance anyway?”

“She wasn't lying…” it came out in the tiniest little voice, maybe your way of silently hoping he didn't hear it and he wouldn’t have if it weren't for his super soldier ears.

Gripping onto your wrists Bucky flipped your world in an instant, the breath leaving your lungs as your back makes contact with the bed, your wrists caught on either side of your head.

“Are you lying to me doll?” He says, raising a brow at you.

“No…”

“You are! You're lying right to my face,” he argues, pressing your wrists further into the mattress below. Your eyes fall shut as his face inches closer to yours.

“Look at me princess,” he waits until you open both eyes again, looking up at him as if he strung the stars in the sky “There is not a single thing that I'd change about you and I mean that. I fell in love with you the way you are now, you aren't some bitch that gets off on making fun of others. I fell head over damn heels for you because you are you.”

His eyes sparkle with adoration, his hands running up and down your body softly. The juxtaposition of metal on one side and warmth on the other sends shivers up your spine.

“I love you,” he breathes, leaning down again till your lips graze his. A teasing smile pulled on the pink corners of his mouth, a similar glint in his eyes, “you know that right?”

“Yes,” you nod, pushing up to close the distance between your mouths but he pulls away.

“I don't think you do,”

“I do Buck I promise.”

“Well…” he began, the glint in his eyes dulling as want engulfed the colour, “let me make sure.”

Bucky takes his time. He has to knowing that you're feeling small. Slowly his lips slot with yours, ushering out sweet little sounds to replace the broken ones that still thrum fresh in his mind.

“I love you,” he says again, capturing your hitched gasp with his tongue as he pushes it past the seam of your mouth, the tip flicking against your own to entice it to mingle. Slowly but surely the tension drips from your shoulders, your arms moving from his grip to trail up over his rigid stomach and chest. They sink below the shoulder pads of his jacket, pushing it off his broad frame and onto the floor beside the bed. Your hands paw at the exposed skin on his arm, fingers squeezing, nails scraping over the corded muscle.

“All of yours…all of it.”

Each time the seal of your mouths broke you chase them, planting kisses teeming with nothing but raw desire onto kiss-bitten lips. The words that Sharon said are long gone from your mind now, replaced by the man in front of you. Everything you smell, taste, touch and see — it's all him.

The brunette slips off his glove; his warm and cold, metal hand grips your hips, pulling you up into his lap with a squeak.

“You feel that?” He grunts, moving from your mouth down your face to your neck. His lips suck and his teeth nibble, marking you, proving to anyone around that dare dispute his love for you again. With undeniable strength he grinds you down into a sizeable bulge poking from his tight jeans, he hisses at the contact, letting a hand fall to your ass with a small spank.

Your arousal seeps through your thin panties making them stick to your dainty folds; your clit buzzes at the delicious scratch the metal of his zip brings you — a gasp catching in your throat every time your neglected nub catches the pull tab.

As much as he worshiped the way you dry-humped his cock, soaking the front of his jeans. Bucky is desperate. After a week of no contact, not even a tiny emoji heart never mind a raunchy photo, he needs something — anything. And he's going to get it.

“Get on the bed” he demands, pushing at you ever so slightly. “Panties off.”

You do as you are told, fingers frantically hooking into the waistband of your underwear, rolling the material over your thick thighs until they hook around a single ankle.

“Spread those legs for me baby, lemme see that sweet little cunt.”

You hesitate for a second, your legs twitching to open but knees knocking again as you close them. Blown pupils snap onto your face his jaw clenched hard and his nostrils flared. Before you can react his calloused hands settle gently, luring you into a false sense of security.

They soothe down your thighs as his blue eyes study you. Inch by inch his dull nails tap over your beautifully wide thighs until he's back at your kneecaps. With a soft unassuming smile, bucky pushes your legs wide, a rush of oxygen leaving you as your sopping folds are exposed to the cool air of the room. He doesn't give you a chance to breathe before a warm hand smacks over your wet folds, your body jerks, an unabashed moan flying from your parted lips.

“Don't fucking deny me this” he growls, fire roaring in his eyes. “You ghosted me for a week, now you're gonna lie there all pretty and let me eat this sweet fucking cunt.”

You nod, biting your lip. At the first presence of him between your legs, his hot breath billowing over your labia, your eyes roll into the back of your skull. Over each fold, ridge and crevice his breath fans, a shiver rolling over your spine each time; without warning he lays his tongue flat and wide, licking a strip from hole to clit. His tongue disappears and he does it again, guttural sounds falling from him at your taste mixing with the sharp trills you let out.

“Sing for me baby, let me know how good I'm making that pretty pussy feel” He delves in like a man starved, devouring your cunt as though it were his first and last ever meal on earth. He'd die happily if it were.

You were a mess, a mess of pleading cries. Your legs shake against his powerful hold, your hands grip his unruly brunette locks. Letting his hands drop from your thighs he stops his slurping to lay a soft, sweet peck on your raw clit. He smiles up at you, his face glistening with your juices visible thanks to the city lights peeking in through your open windows. Your mind wandered, wondering if the people in the building across could see the way Bucky fucked his tongue into you, curling the long muscle up to press against that ridged spot on your upper walls — he hit it with ease every time.

Using your distraction as an advantage bucky moves a hand to join his mouth, sliding his fingers in alongside his tongue for a second before he pulls his tongue from you. He moves, looming over you with a massive shit-eating grin at how much he unravelled you. you should've been embarrassed at how wet his face was; slick ran from his stubbled upper lip over and below his chin. You had done that to him and he wore it proudly. His fingers push deeper and curl out, coaxing the coils in your stomach to snap.

“Come on baby I know you feel it” he speeds up, the sound of your messy pussy almost as loud as your harsh breaths and whimpers.

“Buckyyy” you squeal, gripping at anything you can.

“That's it, baby…you're squeezing around my fingers, are you gonna cum?”

You nod but it's not enough for your man. He dips, nipping at a pebbled nipple and that's all it takes for those tightly coiled ropes to pull taut and snap. A sound you've never heard from yourself erupts from your lungs, your fingers clutching at bucky, the sheets, anything. Stars peppered your vision, blocking out the smug image of your boyfriend, blood rushing in your ears muffling his words of praise.

“Come back to me baby, that's it, good girl. such a good girl” Bucky coos, his fingers slipping out to rub lazily at your clit. He keeps going until you jerk harshly in his hold.

“You did so well, such a good fucking girl cumming like that for me” He praises, kissing your cheek and then your mouth, a smirk pulling at his lips when you moan at your taste.

You flash him a big dopey smile in return, your eyes hazy and your plump little cheeks flushed. You look gorgeous; Bucky had seen many things in his long drawn-out life but nothing could ever compare to how you looked fucked out beneath him.

He would stay like this forever…if his cock wasn't aching for release.

He stands, fiddling with his belt and fly until it comes loose. He wastes no time in pushing them both past his round ass and onto the floor, his cock springing free. His shirt goes next, thrown somewhere in your small room letting you get the full experience of what Bucky had to offer you. Layers of corded muscle ripple beneath his silky but scarred skin, his chest peppered in tiny curly hairs that sink below his sternum and over his abs where they begin to thicken until they finish, well trimmed at the base of his thick, heavy cock.

His eyes never stray from your body as he takes himself in his hand, pumping once, twice, his thumb catching the precum leaking from his tip. He kneels back between your welcoming legs, rubbing his slick thumb over your lips. A hushed chuckle vibrates in his chest as you suck the thumb into your mouth, eagerly licking his taste from the digit.

“Such a dirty girl,” you giggle, pulling back until his thumb slips out of your mouth with a pop. “Do you think you can handle one more hm? Can you let me fuck that little hole?”

“yes Buck” you smile, your eyes falling shut as he kisses you again.

“good girl” he growls, moving your legs over his own before grabbing a pillow to squish under your hips. With one hand he pushes the head of his length through your mess, dipping into your hole before running back up over your clit. He does it a few times, occasionally slapping his cock against you, praising each tiny sound you let out.

“Please Buck” You toss your head back, grinding your hips up to meet nothing. At this rate, you were going to come to nothing more than his teasing.

“Please what?” Oh he's a piece of shit. He knows what you want because he wants it too. He waits for a beat, enjoying your huffs of frustration. “Tell me and I'll do it.”

With the last of your sanity, you cry out, “fuck me buck ple—ah”

You slap a hand over your mouth as he spears into you, stretching you like he does time and time again. It never gets any easier with a size like Bucky’s; his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust and your walls sing at the almost painful stretch.

Bucky’s thrusts are delightfully slow, letting you feel each drag and push, each rigid vein on his pulsing cock. There is no fucking involved, he's making love, making sure you know that he would spend eternity wrapped up in your body no matter what size you are. The deep coloured marks along your neck and between your thighs would attest to that.

“Fuck” he moans, mouth gaping. “Don't think ill last long princess” His vibranium fingers fall to your soft belly, skating over the smooth skin to your full hip.

He squeezes hard enough to leave marks, “fucking mine.”

His thrusts speed up, his head snapping back and eyes rolling. His balls bounce rhythmically against your ass, the bulbous head of his cock smashing into the end of your cunt where a dull ache forms — a warning of future hurt when you wake tomorrow. You don't care, not when his free hand dips between you both, pulling back the hood of your sensitive nub and flicking it over and over.

He feels the way you tighten around him, holding him in a vice grip, “hold it princess, just a little longer come on”

“I can't Bucky please” you whimper in response.

“Yes, you can baby—oh fuck I'm close” his weight falls atop yours, smothering you in him. His hips stutter, his balls pulling up towards his body.

“Cum now, soak my big fucking dick.”

The slamming of the headboard ceases when his thrusts slow to shallow grinding, his mouth swallows any sounds you let out.

“Such a good fucking girl for me—shit” he sighs, slips from you with a hiss.

“Buck—”

“Shh pretty girl you're alright” he holds you close for a while, holding you tight to his broad body. Tears fall from your cheeks but he swipes them away. You don't know why you ever doubted Bucky, he's the only constant in your life.

“I love you” He whispers as the blood rushing in your ears settles, running through your veins in exhaustion.

“I love you too”

“Don't you ever listen to those idiots again, because I will show you over and over what you mean to me” Bucky promises with a kiss on the crown of your head.

You smile, laying your own lazy kiss over your thumping heart. You like the sound of that.

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except this page I have not given consent for it to be used.

Comments, Reblogs, Likes and Asks are always appreciated, however if you like this fic please consider reblogging to help it reach a wider audience. They let me know that you are enjoying what I read and give me motivation to write more.

Thanks for reading~

[xoxotiamathh]

Light Switch: Turn On(s) and Off(s)

Note: NO MINORS. Hi angels! There's 3 topics here, one for your current partner, one for your FS and one for your Next Partner, you can choose both Piles one after the other. Paid Readings are open now! Only a few slots are open right now! Please like and Reblog if you like.

Current $ ! % • Next 1 2 3 • FS a b c

Masterlist • Paid Readings + FB • Tip Jar

Current Partner

Next Partner

Future Spouse

Current Boyfriend:

Pile $

Okay so, what turns them on is when you are out and about being free spirited, being social and coming out of your shell, they love seeing you interact with other people because they think there's just something so bright and confident in the way you handle your conversations with others that just lights a fire in them. They also enjoys slow, teasing touches when it just gets too unbearable to keep waiting and maybe also phone sex or like sexting thats the kind of person where, before you even get physical, the mind does most of its work. They are all about emotional intimacy that becomes physical. They want soulful sex which is not only about body parts, but more about a deep connection like slow build-ups of lingering kisses, soft touch of skin on skin, exploring each other like it's the first time, every time. Eye contact is a big deal they love when you're both lost in each other oofff hot!

Now for the turn-offs, if it's just the same old, same old if it feels too routine, they're out. Predictable sex doesn't do it for them. They need some edge, something spontaneous. Routine is not the only thing they dislike, they could also feel turned off when they feel like you’re trying to control or dominate them. Too much force or intense power struggles can turn them off. They need balance, not someone trying to overpower them in the bedroom. Gentle dominance might be their thing, but if you push them into something more extreme like bdsm or smn, they may get put off.

Pile !

Mmmm ok ok so they're into the mystery, the allure of the unknown, so what turns them on is literally not knowing, but not surprises just when you are being all mysterious, dam. Also doing things in public, like not public but the thrill of almost getting caught is something that gets them going like there's no tomorrow, a little deserted area in like idk a mall complex Ya that's what they like. They want the sex that feels secret like you both are doing something forbidden, hidden touches, something naughty, and those dark, emotional undercurrents that turn you both on. Maybe even a little roleplay, specifically idk why I'm seeing Jessica Rabbit, but they want you to actively seduce them, almost like, them pretending to be reluctant and wanting you to "coerce" them all like with former consent and conversations of course. They're also aroused by the build-up, long, drawn-out foreplay, teasing them till they're desperate for you. They like that gripping slowness with, slowly undressing, taking your time, also the kind of person who wants to edge you and make you beg for it and vice versa wanting you to make them wait until you both can't stand it anymore.

Okay so although the loves mystery, hidden agendas, playing games, or just suddenly going hot and cold? Nope. They are not into materialistic or transactional sex if you’re treating sex like a “trade” or trying to buy their affection, forget it. They wants genuine chemistry, raw passion, not an exchange. Like they don't like partners who are too materialistic or too into all that conspicuous consumption type thing, it really turns them off like crazy. They also don't like messy, and explosive energy. No awkwardness or emotional wreckage in bed, things need to flow and not fall apart.Like breakup or hate sex or like fighting, that can be like an aphrodisiac for some but for them its just so bleh, that they just want to distance themselves after any sort of conflict.

Pile %

Ok no one is surprised but they are most turnd off during the aftercare and like the time you have after sex when you both just cuddle each other and just lie there inside the afterglow, no rush. Feeling their skin on yours, sensual massage with whispers and lazy kisses before the both of you drift of slowly. Abother sapiosexual here y'all, wildly turned on by your mind flirty texts, dirty talk, and that playful mental foreplay that builds the sexual tension. Transformation in the bedroom, they;re not afraid of change and love exploring new dynamics, role-playing, or even kinky sex that pushes the boundaries of what you two have already explored. Maybe it's bondage, its probably the idea of a power shift. They would be very turned on at the idea of you submitting to them and again vice versa it goes both ways, but the former is definitely more appealing for them.

If you are performing, trying to fake it or be something you're not, they can tell, they need authenticity. If it feels like sex is a game or you're trying to impress them, it will be a major turn-off. No hesitation, they're not into slow, timid sex. They need you to be bold, confident, and willing to take charge. Uncertainty is not hot and they love someone who can be passionate, not someone constantly questioning or pulling back. This is random but they may not be big on like the sound stuff, like if theres a lot of sound during oral, they may get overwhelmed and stop feeling anything at all.

Next Boyfriend:

Pile 1

They get turned on when you celebrate your own small wins, moments of being connected that feel really explosive. They want an experience where everything seems to flow perfectly, and you let go of your inhibitions together, becoming one with each other. A night that feels like an achievement, something worth bragging about. Whether it's after a long, hard day or a special event, he's into that sort of fiery passion that feels like an explosion of joy and lust. Honestly, ok, this may sound bad, but it's not, they just care a lot more about lust, like it gets them off. Okay so, mystery is a huge turn-on. They love the idea of hidden desires and those moments where both feel like you're caught up in a world of your own. Okay so they may also be into like heavy bondage both on them and on you, but more on them, they like giving up control it turns them on. Loves a good slow burn, really enjoys holding out with foreplay, teasing each other just enough so you both are desperate to get at it. Imagine hours of touching, kissing, and discovering, making the final release so much more satisfying. They're a big fan of making things last, giving every moment the attention it deserves, stretching the anticipation to its absolute limit soooo edging and then maybe overstimulation after is something they may be into.

They're not into overly sentimentalized or romanticized sex. When things feel too sweet, or it's more about an emotional connection, they may check out. They needs wild, raw, intense sex that has a lot of passion and lust and not as much love im sorry guys T_T. They aren't about "love-making" where everything has to be about deep emotional bonding and soft, slow moments they're about passion, and they don't need the emotional connection on all levels with someone during sex, just something primal is what they need. They are also turned off by any pressure or expectations in the bedroom. Sex needs to be fun, effortless, and full of pleasure. If it starts to feel like a chore or you’re both putting in too much effort to keep things interesting, he’ll lose interest. No obligatory sex either they want it to feel like its just another thing in their day, like if either of you invest "too much" they're out, god this screamsss commitment issues im T_T.

Pile 2

They are turned on by confidence, not only in the way you look but also in the way you carry yourself. They love it when you feel comfortable in your own body, and confident in your own sexual power. There's something extremely sexy about a person who knows what they want and isn't afraid to take it. If you can walk into a room with that seductive energy, they're already thinking of a hundred ways they want you that night iykwim. They exude like pureee fire energy and love when you bring that bold, fearless attitude to the bedroom. They want you to be playful, yet sensual, taking charge without hesitation. Don't be shy to show them your naughty side, talk dirty to them and dominant positions like cowgirl or reverse cowgirl will definitely turn them on too, just wanting you on top. I'll leave you with three words: Impulsive, Submissive (them) and Animalistic thats it, go crazy go wild.

Okay so they're not much into when you are too nurturing in bed, it may make them feel smothered and turn them off like showing that maternal or nurturing energy at the wrong time, you can make them feel crushed. It's all about going crazy stupid etc and nothing about responsibility. If you are too comfortable, too much in a settled routine, then it doesn't turn him on. They want that newness, that spark that makes everything feel fresh and exciting. Sex should feel like a rush, not something that's guaranteed or too planned out. They are not that interested in domination or dominating. If you play the dominant role with aggression or try to twist roles in a way that feels like they're being overpowered, he will love that. Sometimes tho they want to not have that dynamic and be equal in bed, he likes to believe the two of you can come out of sex feeling balanced.

Pile 3

OOO love this, they get turned on by deep connections that go beyond just physical attraction. They want to feel like there's an emotional bond between you both that translates into passion in the bedroom, the kind of sex that feels like a soul connection where both of you are craving each other so intensely that it's not just sex but it's like you're becoming one. They like it when everything just flows into place, and you just melt into each other grrr this is so hot gn gn gn. They're into that feeling of indulgence during sex too where it feels like you're in touch with the richness of everything, every touch feels so warm and electric and rewarding. They also love when you take your time and you both savour each moment. Like sensual massages, lingering kisses, and a slow buildup that's more about physical gratification than a quick rush to the finish. Guys this person is so ughhhh i want them lmao THIS IS THE I WANT THEM PILE anyway let me continue They want to feel fully surrendered when it comes to you, they're turned on by that level of attraction, the kind where you both want each other so badly that there's no denying the chemistry. There's a dangerous energy here because the lovers popped into my head like you both can't control yourselves, and that unpredictability turns them on.

Okay simple person does not like or want mental games or anything that makes them feel trapped in their head. Any feeling of hesitation and confusion in the mind can immediately take them out of the mood. They need freedom and he is turned off by imbalance. They are going to tune out if it feels like you are only there to please them or if you are not on the same level of pleasure. They want to feel that it's a give-and-take kind of thing, where both of you are on the same level in making each other feel amazing. If you give more than you receive, or vice versa, that is going to sit badly with them. They likes mutual satisfaction where both parties are on the same level of fun. They also don't fw emotional baggage. They will quickly shut down if you bring in past hurt or if you're emotionally unavailable. They turn off anything with lingering sadness or emotional blockages during sex. They are looking for a partner who can put the past aside and live in the moment. If you're not ready to enjoy the moment with them, or if you bring any past relationship drama into the mix, it will kill the mood.

Future Spouse:

Pile a

Oh law conflict turns them on so much whether it's after a fight or just the two of you taking the frustration out after a busy day, they love the rawness that comes from the negative feelings and love channelling that sexually because they may find it difficult to like express themselves in another way. They will be v v turned on by your depth and empathic nature and loves when people open up to them on an emotional level, which opens up a space for deep connection before the physical part comes in. They will be seduced by your nurturing, sensual touch, where you guide them through a moment of emotional vulnerability. Moreover, a connection where sex feels like an expression of love, trust, and emotional fulfilment too, also the kind that thrives on that initial spark of chemistry, there is something about the physical contact that turns him on and they love when the passion between you two feels explosive. If you take the lead with passionate kisses, touching, and mood setting, they will definitely feel the heat building up. Love when others take control, kinda pillow princess-y

They're turned off by stagnation. If you Alright now onto the turn-offs, one of the main turn offs could be when you leave them hanging, or make them wait too long for something, this is in general not you specifically but they are just someone who is very impatient and do not appreciate stagnation and things not moving at their pace. They may also get turned off if someone is a bit of a show off and they will also not like being physically overpowered like it could turn them off because they may be the one who would want to show that aspect off, being strong may be very important to them and if someone can physically overpower them they may just no longer be interested. Furthermore, if someone is to secretive or tries to play too hard to get, they will just stop trying, they are not someone who’s into “the chase” because they grow tired and they believe they are a grown adult not wanting to act juvenile. two get into a pattern or there is too much waiting, too much space, or sex becomes automatic, he'll lose interest. He does not want to feel that he waits for something to happen or that you are withholding or disengaged. Maintain the fluidity of energy: spontaneous and constantly in movement. He needs to feel like there's always something new to discover, or else the passion dies down.

Pile b

They are completely turned on by your sensuality, not just your physical appearance, but how you exude a divine, like soft energy. Whether it's your confidence, the way you move, or the way you connect with them emotionally, they are attracted to the sense that they're with someone who feels at ease in their own skin and radiates warmth, care, and affection. Ykw what turns them on? someone they think they can grow old with. This is someone who likes to celebrate wins with their partner through sex and lovemaking and, body worship like them to their partner or well you is a big big big turn on for them. If you provide for them a space that they feel is secure, they will express passion. This person enjoys having someone who is seriously devoted to making them feel desirable and cared for too.

Alright so, they hate the classics LMAO sorry, the first thing that popped up in my head was NO MISSIONARY like... ok moving on, what turns them off is that they cannot stand inactivity like their libido is high, and they need someone to match their freak like that, it's like where they want to pounce like... almost constantly lmao so if there's like a libido discrepancy it may be a turn-off. They don't want any drama or combat in the bedroom. If any kind of verbal or emotional manipulation is going on or if sex is being used as some kind of way to "win" something over them, its over, they are not into games either, they want connection and vulnerability.

Pile c

Freaky ahh pile SORRY ok moving on, they are giving v v taurus and venus energy with the way their biggest turn-on is having all the senses pleasured and catered to, they love luxury. Like candles, silk sheets, gentle lighting and anything that appeals to the senses and brings pleasure to the body will definitely turn him on. They also like a slow burn, where you both take your time with foreplay and focus on each other's physical enjoyment before diving in. There's an indulgence to this, creating an atmosphere that's rich in sensation will heighten the connection. Whether it’s giving them a sensual massage, taking your time with every kiss, or getting lost in each other’s bodies, this will drive them wild.

They're turned off by someone who's not emotionally present or who holds back. If you're not fully engaged or if you're stuck in the past, emotionally distant, or emotionally unavailable, it's going to drain the sexual energy between you. They are not into emotional baggage that makes you withdraw from the connection. They crave reassurance and closeness, so if sex feels cold or disconnected, it's going to disrupt the passion. They are also repelled by drama, betrayal, or anything that seems like it is the sharp end to a situation. If sex is being used to avoid conflict, they will back off, and they don't want sex to feel like an escape from pain or hardship. They are also turned off by a lack of choice, like if they feel like someone picked them because its like a last resort rather than being picked from a bunch of people like a choice, it turns them off big time.

DO NOT PLAGIARISE, REWORD, REPHRASE, REPOST MY CONTENT ALL RIGHTS RESERVED xoxotiamathh©®

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Without you." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

Summary: As the two of you navigate the mysterious and sometimes turbulent waters of falling in love, a devil in angel's clothing threatens your life, managing to keep you quiet. Until Daryl finds out...

@gunnerblue21: So cool! I just found your content yesterday and so far im loving what im reading so youre amazing in my books lol so, for my request, i was wondering if you could write a story where back in the prison era, daryls girl best friend is secretly being harassed by one of the guys from woodbury, he knows that reader and daryl have a friends with benefits relationship secretly and threatens to out the reader to everyone about their secret if she tells anyone about about his harassment. When the dude from woodbury takes it too far one day and beats up the reader for trying to run from his abuse, daryl finds out and finds reader, he deals with the harassment his own daryl way lol im sorry if its long, i just really love protective daryl energy especially when its someone he really loves.

A/N: I felt some nice things with this imagine, hehe Promise it's not THAT boring, but I do hope the person who asked for this like it at least a little. Sorry for saying your name! I generally don't like the "she's mine" thing, but with Daryl I can break that rule. A warning about the sexual harassment theme in this story! although it's not very explicit. To everyone who has been harassed in any way, I'm so sorry. I still don't know why we keep silent, feeling guilty about our weakness to speak up and defend ourselves, ultimately feeling like we deserve that experience. I hope everyone can recover from that. There are surely mistakes, but it's 3 am and I have a baptism tomorrow, so I'll correct them as soon as possible. Thanks as always!

Your breathing is soft, but almost nonexistent in the void of the silent prison after the night swallows the sun, so silent that it forces Daryl to slide an arm around your waist, breaking the distance he promised himself to keep with you, searching for your warm skin beneath your short–sleeved shirt, fingers tickling your flesh with just a touch to elicit a slight movement from you, always accompanied by a sigh, a proof that you're still alive.

Sleeping together was not part of the deal, but a rule he broke long ago when, amid a world fractured by thunderous noises (guns, screams, curses), the gentle sound of your breathing helped him sleep.

Far from being a romance, the bittersweet story between the two of you began when you appeared that sweltering afternoon in the city alley next to Glenn, aimless walkers wandering the world, ruling it, and yet, his petulant, sarcastic, and judgmental, though always alert gaze, matched his condescension and hopeless and even somewhat dark comments that day—real, you couldn't deny it—but unnecessary, until it all ended in an argument between the two of you (the first of several along the way), with his true belief that he knew best shining brighter than the scorching sun.

Blue eyes like an ocean too dangerous to swim in stared at you relentlessly, a clear warning not to come closer, infested with trauma like sharks in the water.

“Ya wanna die, woman?”

That was his response to your desire to rescue Glenn when he was kidnapped, underestimating the only thing you had at hand and within you: a weapon you barely knew how to use, and an insatiable desire to live and help people. Daryl wasn't selfish, you could see it in his deep gaze—along with a somewhat terrifying intensity—it was just his own fervent wish not to die with that sharp pain under the hands and teeth of the undead, and yet, that didn't prevent the feeling inside you. You hated Daryl so deeply you could taste it on the tip of your tongue, an almost metallic taste.

“There are worse fates than death.”

Your words echoed in him the entire time it took you all to return to the camp outside Atlanta, everyone finally safe, momentarily.

Losing his brother made him withdraw from the back—and—forth conversations, sometimes empty, never deep because everyone wanted to leave the past in the back of their heads when the present and future felt like stepping into a minefield, but Daryl was always ready for the hunt and feed the people, bringing in small animals (after losing that deer and taking out his frustration on that already–finished walker) leaving them quietly near Carol or Lori, before retreating to the solitude of his tent.

Yet you always ran into each other in that small space, by chance or when Rick started to lead the camp in his endless attempt to keep everyone alive. Arguments between such different people became normal, something routine, but you were one of the few who let him go off the deep end, with the annoying and loud way Daryl used to snap at others, highlighting their lack of survival skills, with you ending the pointless conversation with a whatever, leaving him incredulous, with a frown so deep it hurt and the incandescent desire to throw a curse at you that he swallowed.

A new life had begun when that new world arose, stained with the blood of those who perished along the way, and although Daryl was always calm and ready to survive—amid his short temper that sometimes put him at risk as well—the annoyance that settled in his chest when he saw you, laughed in his face, turning the table where his cold apathy rested.

You were beautiful to look at, and the way you wrinkled your nose before smiling caught him like a poor rabbit in a trap, falling into his own trap, turning him into a prey, pathetic, vulnerable, and weak, and Daryl hated you even more for it. He hated you because you made that gesture especially with Glenn, as if you could destroy all your walls around yourself when you were with the Chinese boy (even though Daryl knew he was Korean) only to build them up again when you were with him. Daryl didn't recognize it as jealousy, even though it was, in all its splendor.

Daryl Dixon wasn't used to calling people with sweet names (they were a punch to his masculinity), but he found himself calling you lil' bunny, using that false sweetness that carried all his sarcasm in that moment. And those words were a mockery of your entire existence, you knew it, as if you were weak. But with what would happen later, you managed to convince yourself that you were.

But your sass almost matched his own, turning you into a dream Daryl dreamed at night and a nightmare during the day, and yet, he began to look for you with his eyes when the day began, always making sure you were somewhere safe, always making sure you were in his line of sight. And maybe it was staring at you too much that made him think of you differently, almost sinfully, thoughts so shameless and impure that they made him blush or feel the heat on the tips of his ears and inside his pants.

Sometimes, just seeing you exist there in the middle of the woods made him feel things that were warm, and unpleasant, and totally foreign to him. Life had been a bitch to Daryl, so unfair that it was hard to believe those things had happened to a kid (like something out of fiction, out of the most twisted mind), but they were real and they happened, and all the experiences he'd lived through built who he was—though he'd eventually put it all behind him. Daryl was hurt, both physically and emotionally, so battered and broken that he was unable to feel big, good things, keeping the wounds of war in the shadows after he'd barely escaped from that hostile place alive: his own home, ironically.

The iron blows of his parents' fists sank into his body and played cruel tricks on his mind until that little angel with blond hair and blue eyes had his tiny wings ripped off and he was convinced that heaven never existed, and that he deserved hell. So for Daryl, this new world was just a new kind of hell he knew how to live in.

Although he had also managed to chuckle a few times, a short, harsh sound, always accompanied by his usual sarcasm, like that day you two had to find a car to get back to camp when night fell, too dark and dangerous to walk.

The damned engine resisted, stubborner than a mule.

“Go ahead, give it some gas. Jus' a lil'.” You turned the key that was connected to the car, hearing a dry, harsh sound that Daryl tried to stop with a rap on the hood, his eyes finding yours between the slits. “Stop! I said a lil'!”

“That was a little.”

“No, that was too much.”

“How am I supposed to know when too much is too much, Daryl?”

“Ya listen, and if it sounds like too much, then s' too much.”

You frowned, confused and irritated.

“You're too much.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

A moment later, the car decided to cooperate, but when Daryl got in, slamming the door with a little too much force than necessary, your body tensed in the seat as he drove back, opening his stupid mouth to just snarl at you like a child. And as always, you let him talk until he shut up.

“Bite me, asshole.”

Though with all the dirty thoughts about you piling up in his mind, a pile so high he could no longer see the end of it, Daryl didn't know if that was an insult or an invitation.

His temper was a roller coaster that went up and down so violently that a crash seemed imminent, with you always feeling like it would all be over in a second, catastrophic, making you feel unstable. But among the things that could be salvaged about Daryl, it was his undeniable, indelible desire to protect people—his people. Behind his apparent apathy, there was a need to make sure everyone was safe.

You had seen it, you had felt it. Between the unspoken words and the stares that trapped each other, even between the layers of his false hatred for you, he would often stand in front of you at any sign of danger, when things felt deadly, one arm extended in the air to guide you behind him while Daryl used his own body as a shield for you at the same time.

By the time you all arrived at the CDC, the fake place that seemed like a fairy tale (too perfect to be real) gave you a false sense of security, and beneath four walls that promised a safe and even promising future, Daryl dared to do what he never thought he'd be capable of.

That night, when there was no one left, not a soul wandering the world, there was only him and you, and his hand that closed around your waist in the kitchen. With your back to him, your body tensed, his heat invading your senses until you were drunker, even after all the wine at dinner, but when you felt his breath on your hair and recognized his full presence, the confusion of pulling away and pressing yourself against his body, which was already too close, was so great that the line between them blurred.

“Tell me to stop. Please.” You closed your eyes as his calloused fingers, the result of a lifetime of working with them, pressed against your stomach, and it contracted every muscle in your body, awakening a scorching heat inside, right where he was touching and a little lower. “Can I keep goin'?”

You nodded. And the rest was history.

Daryl just needed to get you out of his system, give his body the answers to that question in his head: what would it feel like to touch you, to feel you pressed against him, naked? Part of him hoped to feel in his own body that your time together would be a disaster so he could move on, but the problem was, it wasn't at all.

Shit, you were passionate even in intimacy, your hands pressing his body against yours the entire time that night lasted. And like becoming addicted to the most dangerous drug in the world, he and you started looking for each other again after that, even after the explosion of that place, during the time at the farm. Being between your legs, doing something other than thinking, blocked out the outside world and all the dangers and sadness it brought. Daryl always started there, especially when the whole dysfunctional but close–knit family arrived at the prison and that gave you two a kinda decent bed instead of the floor of a tent, when time gave you all a break.

Then you started to think that the more you cared for someone, the more vulnerable you were to a broken heart. But between the way you started wrinkling your nose when Daryl actually said something that might have been funny (sometimes unintentionally because he had no sense of humor) he started to let his interest in you show, though only one person outside of the original group seemed to notice.

Among the people of Woodbury, existed someone who hid his empty heart beneath the facade of being a good boy, always willing to lend a hand. Like new lives in a new environment, everyone struggled to adapt to that kind of normalcy, trying to collaborate to ensure the well–being of others. You among them, because you were kind or tried to be, eager to build a true future for the adults and especially the children, until that person mistook your good wishes for weakness.

One night, dressed again and breathing more calmly, Daryl and you existed in silence because life was simpler that way, less lonely, side by side in bed, but not touching, leaving a small space between you two, until he took a small rock from his pants that seemed even smaller in his large hands. It had no sharp corners, only smooth, smoothed edges.

It seemed polished, soft against your fingers, a reminder that not all that is hard is rough.

He handed it to you silently.

“Are you proposing to me penguin–style?” You joked with him, laughing when Daryl scoffed to mask the feelings he’d genuinely tried to keep from growing too much, but that were already spilling over the edge of his soul.

And as you inspected the stone under the dim light of the candle on a nearby table, Daryl took in the profile of your face, the tip of your nose, the edge of your lips, the ones he used to press against his, a demanding hand on the back of your head to keep you in place, and that sparkle in your eyes that seemed to glimmer with the power of a star.

“Thank you.” You meant it, but when you turned your head to look at him, Daryl looked away again, his eyes lost in the space between the cracks in the ceiling. “I’m truly grateful for this, so I apologize for all the times I cursed you too loud.”

Daryl frowned, his gaze searching yours, brave enough to do anything when it wasn't about feelings.

"Yer not loud, yer quiet as shit."

"In my head, I've cursed you in every way possible, very loudly. So I’m sorry.”

Again, a scoff, almost accompanied by a roll of his eyes as he settled back onto the uncomfortable mattress, closing his eyes as the weight of sleep began to overcome him, an arm draped over his face.

"Whatever. Now shut up, I wanna sleep."

Confused, and slightly offended by his sweet personality, your eyebrows tried to knit together.

"Are you going to sleep here?"

There was no annoyance in your voice—so you weren't chasing him away.

"I don' wanna walk back to ma cell."

And even with his eyes closed, you could see a new kind of ocean in his eyes, safe, peaceful.

You shrugged even though he wasn't looking at you, putting the rock in your pocket for safekeeping before closing your eyes as well. But when reason stumbled for an instant, you knew it was stupid to fall for Daryl—the person at your side who could be as much of a jerk as he was handsome—with his long hair now and those damned arms exposed, clearly hard to the eye even when he wasn't flexing them.

Daryl was intimidating, walking silently with his steely gaze that made people fear and respect him at the same time. His imposing figure was scary, but none of that mattered when everyone noticed that he genuinely cared for all and for you, in a selfless way.

And all of that made someone truly hate him.

Sean was charming, the opposite of Daryl's exterior: smiling, falsely warm, so kind at first glance that he offered to entertain the children in the library to distract them a little from the reality on the other side of the gates. And that's when it happened for the first time: his hand pressed against your backside in the solitude of that hellish place, empty after everyone left, so violent it froze you there, like a little rabbit that knows it will be devoured in the cruelest way possible.

“What are you—?”

Your stuttering made him smile, laughing at your fear, which crushed you cruelly, like a blow to the stomach that knocked all the wind out of your body. You knew there were still bad, unscrupulous people, but you didn't expect to find one in that place. A sick desire shone in his green eyes, a feline that played with the mouse's body even after it was dead, because deep down, he enjoyed that macabre and perverse pleasure of knowing he'd ended a life and could continue to amuse himself with the remains, of knowing he could do whatever he wanted with his victim.

You were never a victim, but he turned you into one in a single second, silently, taking away pieces of your will to live little by little.

And the harassment began that night, and not gradually, but escalated with such brutality that it made you vomit. Why didn't you say anything? Maybe you knew, maybe you didn't; maybe it was all the reasons, and because you couldn't find any that made sense. The fear of speaking up and made him being kicked out of security burned in your stomach, a new kind of hell that screamed at you with anger and mockery how stupid you were being. Telling Daryl would be like unleashing the lion from its cage, the beast that would end everything, though you knew Sean's expulsion would be a godsend considering what Daryl would do to him.

There were no labels between the two of you; you were nothing more than a piece of silence when the world became heartbreaking, but there was something about Daryl that everyone knew, a truth they spoke only with their eyes. The difference between Daryl and Rick, or Glenn, or the rest, was that Rick seemed to be guided in his decision–making by the shadow of his morals that still lingered within him, a memory of his past life, a compass to stay on track, while Daryl seemed willing to have no morals at all if it ensured the safety of his family.

And his anger could easily overcome his morals, or make them disappear in an instant.

Unbridled, such was his love and his anger. Daryl fought, hurt, and even killed, and you didn't want another body to fall lifeless because of you and become another scar on his mind, another reason to feel guilty about still being alive.

Sean's harassment was just words piercing your insides, calling you names others would call you if they found out you were Daryl's whore, words that were just that, nothing more: a terrifying touch that, like the wind, came and went, until one night, his hand pressed so hard into your flesh it almost felt like a bone of your ribs would break.

And when all that torture of a few minutes was over, you sat in the prison's backyard, asking for some kind of guidance from whoever or whatever was on the other end of the call. A sign, a hint of what to do, how to stop keeping quiet, how to stop suffering and fearing, but with no answer, just the devastating emptiness that seemed to swallow you alive—only shining to tell you that maybe the only way out was a bullet in the head, in his or yours.

But shit, the beast was dragging you down to hell with him, and you let him do it.

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath when someone sat behind you, but like the first time his body landed behind yours, it only took you a second to recognize him as you glanced over your shoulder. “You scared me.”

Daryl chuckled, his legs on either side of you.

“Whatcha doin' here? S' cold.”

Always hiding your feelings, you chuckled back.

“I was waiting for you.”

“Shut up.” He scoffed, wishing with all his might that it were true, that your feelings for him were as strong as his, but silently, always avoiding speaking about them, Daryl leaned forward until his chest was so close to your back that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, even under his poncho. “Did ya have fun with the kids?”

He cared for everyone, without measure or any condition.

“Yeah. We read a lot today. I know it’s not your strong suit, so I won’t bore you with the details.”

“I can read, woman. I jus’ don’ like it.”

“Can you? Tell me the truth; I won’t tell anyone.”

It was an attack, but not an offense, and Daryl chuckled once more, that signature sound of his, before pressing himself against you, his hand cupping the spot where Sean had touched you without a hint of kindness, hand holding you with affection and a hint of teasing, his fingers almost cupping your breast.

"Hey." The tickle of his touch made you try to escape, but there was no way out when his other hand held you in place. "At least ask me out first."

He's screwed, always had been since that first afternoon together in the city, and now Daryl knew it clearly as he smiled softly against your hair, ignoring your fake protest as he tried to hide from his own feelings.

"Missed ya, bunny."

That same night, when he buried himself in you, you held him even closer, wanting to erase every touch Sean left on you, which still felt like fire burning your skin. But trauma, guilt, or shame—everything made you keep silent for the weeks that followed, which brought more damage, leaving you feeling more worn down every day, making your self–loathing grow, and even your desire to end it all.

And one day, it all turned into just pain, physical in every fiber of your being.

Sean had an unstable temper, quicker to anger and lose control than a little boy who didn't know how to manage his emotions, and hell, he did just that. In one moment, one of those distant moments now because you'd stopped going to the library alone, the devil disguised as an angel caught you in the emptiness of a hallway, his claws closing so tightly around your arm that it was easy for him to push you into an uninhabited room.

Don't cry, don't give him that pleasure. The only thing he won't be able to take away from you is that. Not one tear, not because of him. Fight, or at least die trying to be free, but he didn't give you the chance when his fist slammed into your belly, destabilizing your whole world, breaking something inside, just because in his eyes, as if you belonged to him, you dared not to listen to him, to try to run away from him. And when he felt he had nothing left to lose, Sean took advantage of every second of it. His anger was like those natural disasters that sweep away houses and people in their wake, leaving a stain of mud so big that covered the essence of your life and the hope to live that you always knew how to keep alive.

He didn't make a sound, and your body screamed without making the slightest sound either.

But life and pain became one when you were told it was your turn to go on a supply run, just you and Daryl because the chosen neighborhood was remote and small, enough territory for only two people to go. You were good, you were careful, meticulous about not letting walkers see you, but Sean had exposed you to so much pain that your vision blurred at the edges of your eyes, obscuring your gaze to the point where you didn't see the walker who pushed you against the wall of that kitchen in that abandoned house.

Maybe it was the sound of his fist in your ear that kept you from hearing death.

Life passed in a second, like the worst things that end quickly because they don't deserve to have freedom in the world, almost dying when you took too long to press the knife against his skull, the sharp edge finally sinking into what remained of his rotting flesh at the same time as an arrow.

The lifeless body fell to the ground, as heavy as your breath.

Every day that you had to leave the protection of the prison, it was like a blow to his chest, or so it felt to Daryl, with no air in his lungs until you finally returned, always worried that something would happen to you, that you wouldn't come back to wrinkle your nose in sarcasm or happiness, but in that moment, when death's hands truly almost closed around your body, Daryl could swear he saw life laughing at him as it played with yours.

You were there, but the next second you could not be.

And Daryl lost control.

"Are ya stupid?!"

Yes, you were, but not for the reasons he thought.

He shouted a few cruel words, and you listened silently, missing another chance to tell the truth, lowering your gaze for the first time in your life, but holding your head as high as you could, somewhat exhausted. For Daryl, the thought of you vanishing from his life was terrifying, but in that moment, that possibility became devastating and unbearable.

The drive back to the prison was so silent it stunned you.

The afternoon fell, heavy and lonely as you sank into your cell, lying on your side and face against the wall, wanting to disappear so far that not a trace of your existence would remain in the world. With your body aching, your muscles begging for mercy, and a mind screaming into the void to let it sleep until the end of days, you fell asleep. You had fought hard for the hope of living even in that world dictated by Sean's selfishness, always without conscience, eager to see blood, but not spilling it like the coward he was, enjoying sending you tumbling off the cliff only to catch you a second before hitting the ground, repeating the action over and over again.

Always on the verge, but never allowed to truly die.

That night, late when the icy wind chilled him to the bone and let him think, Daryl entered your cell, leaving dinner on a plastic plate on the only table.

“(Y/N)?” He sat on the edge of the bed, his heartbeat blocking his throat and any attempt at an apology Daryl was ready to utter. “Hey—”

“Leave me alone.”

“Bunny—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Your indifference hurt more than your anger, more than the blows he’d received in his childhood and in that life. So many years of abuse in the place that should have been the safest for him—his house, not a home—and yet, Daryl would much rather have to face that hell again, as a child, than have to feel the cold of your heart.

“M' sorry.”

“I don’t wanna hear you.”

Daryl swallowed, hard.

“Can I stay here at least?”

His voice was low, deep, but terrified, like the child silently begging his mother to love him, even after feeling her hatred.

“Do whatever you want.”

It felt like the entire prison was collapsing on his chest, crushing him underneath.

Daryl feigned courage, refusing to accept the idea that this was the end of both of you, and he lay down, on his side even though his view of you was your back, the space between you feeling wider than an abyss. And again, as the minutes or a couple of hours passed, your breathing slowed, hiding behind the silence of the place. You had forbidden him any access to your body, losing that right himself with his stupidity and his actions, with his outburst, with his fear of losing you that Daryl didn't know how to begin to explain, but the idea of ​​feeling your lifeless body, in any sense, in the most brutal or the simplest way (like simply stopping breathing, an unnecessary fact that Hershel had dropped one afternoon long ago) made him cross the boundaries you silently drew, reaching out his nervous hand to tickle you as he had been doing so many times that he had lost count.

Just a touch, so light you wouldn't feel it. Yet when his fingers lifted a fraction of your long–sleeved shirt, a whimper of pain seeped between your closed lips. Daryl frowned, for you'd never done that in your life together, and then, a red bruise glowed almost imperceptibly in the light of the candle that was a few nights away from burning out.

His calloused fingers slid over your skin to expose you even more, just as the pain made you wake with a gasp.

"Stop."

"The fuck happened to ya?"

Your words and his collided, a mess scattering around the room as you turned, sitting up with a pain you held prisoner between your still closed lips as he sat up as well, and your confused, dazed, and anger–filled expressions met, face to face. There was no place to hide your surprise anymore.

“Daryl—”

“Who?” His voice grew thicker, more dangerous with the full weight of his rage. “Ain't gonna ask ya again, (Y/N). But m' gonna beat the shit outta every single person in this whole fuckin’ place 'til I find out who it was if ya don’ tell me who did that to ya.”

He was threatening you… not you, but there it was, the moment looming when he would lose control, reaching the point of no return. Your throat was so dry it hurt to swallow, feeling the fear in every corner of your being, as if you were made of nothing but that.

“Daryl—” His jaw was so tight it hurt, you could see it, every muscle that contracted, but he didn't ask again, true to his promise. “Please, no, it's not worth it.”

And then he saw it clearly, the pain in your eyes that hurt more than that bruise on your skin, the misguided idea that, somehow, you were the one who wasn't worth it, that the person who hurt you wasn't worth hurting. And that was more painful for him, for the man who took other people's pain as his own, especially if it came from the person he loved the most. And between the small spaces of his anger, Daryl felt his gaze water as he approached you as he could, pulling you close, until his demanding hand cupped the back of your head, once again to look you in the eyes.

“M'sorry, m' so sorry.” His deep voice cracked on the last word, but it was all or nothing, to love you completely or not to love you at all. “M'sorry I yelled at ya, m'sorry I was such a jerk. I swear I only did it 'cause m' terrified of losin' ya. I love ya so much that I know I can’t live in a world without ya. I’d die for ya, ya know that, but I hope I don’ have to 'cause I want a future with ya. An' to do that, I need to keep ya alive.”

Daryl pulled away, playing his part.

“Tell me the name. I’ll do the rest.”

Then, you said his name out loud, for the first time. And Daryl nodded, pressing his lips to yours in a hard, short kiss before he left, without another word. Unable to speak, you knew it was either you or Sean; you couldn’t save both of you: and he didn’t deserve to be saved either.

And it all made sense to Daryl in that moment, the way you stopped going to the library alone, the way you started jumping in fright whenever he touched you, an act that began when that boy came into his own home, daring to destroy it, not knowing how far someone like Daryl Dixon would go for you. Sanity faded into the shadows, terrified of fighting a nearly savage man, a man who lived so much in the wild that he adopted the instincts of an animal: fight to dead to live, to protect.

He clenched his fists, so tight the skin seemed to stretch to the point of breaking. Daryl needed nothing more than his own hands, hard and rough after using them to fight for his own life. And though his mind was clouded with only one murderous thought, his near–perfect memory led him seamlessly through the prison until he found Sean's cell.

The bars creaked slightly when he opened them, but the peacefully sleeping boy didn't feel it until Daryl's hand closed around his neck, with no trace of gentleness until he pushed Sean to the ground, though his fingers itched to break it right there. It was like forcing a dormant volcano to awaken, a force of nature that not human could stop.

Sean whined, scared, feeling the fear of being prey in his body. He looked so small compared to Daryl that Daryl felt a throb of pity, one that disappeared instantly.

"Out."

"What?"

“Get the fuck outta this prison 'fore I step on yer neck. An' if ya cry for help like the lil' bitch ya are, I'll break it 'fore ya say a word.”

He knew Daryl would do it, without any guilt. There was a blankness in his gaze, but somehow, all his composure was gathered there, and that was even more terrifying to Sean. Daryl wasn't completely blinded by his anger, but rather used it almost strategically, calculatingly. So he did it. Sean walked down death row in silence, feeling his heart pounding in his prickles, his mind so messed up that he couldn't even imagine how it would all end, but knowing it would.

The cold air hit him in the face, as hard as a punch.

"Listen, man, I don't know what's going on, but I swear you're wrong." Daryl's expression remained flat, emotionless, even though they were all over his body, noisy, buzzing in his ears, so loud that they blocked out the sound of the walkers' growling on the other side. And when Sean saw that his words didn't make even the slightest change on his face, he feigned dementia even more. "I don't know what (Y/N) told you, but she's crazy. She threw herself at me."

There it was, the typical excuse, absolving himself of all blame only to throw it at you.

Which only made his blood boil.

"Yeah, she kinda is. (Y/N) is wild, but she's good, one of the best people in this fuckin' place an' in this fuckin' world, an' ya dared to hurt what's mine even though ya knew I'd kill ya."

“I don’t—” Sean choked on his terror, so latent it made his body shake even more, like a tiny leaf. “I’m sorry, I swear. Please don’t kill me, I don’t want to die.”

And it was funny how Daryl remembered what you said to him that first day.

“There are worse fates than death, but by the time m' done with ya, yer gon' beg me to kill ya.”

Like fire on gunpowder, everything was strident even when there wasn’t a deafening sound. Time stretched each time Daryl gave him a break, a pause just to make him feel the pain of each blow more, for his body to register it even after his mind shut down when it could no longer take so much damage, his system shutting down as well, leaving Sean on the edge of the precipice until morning came.

The exact trace of time was lost long ago, but when Daryl returned to your cell, you were still there, sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked beneath you, the other on the floor as if everything had frozen, until you looked up and your gaze regained a little life, a promise that everything would soon be all right.

“Lie down.”

You did, silently and painfully. Daryl lay down with you, closing the space between you for the first time, as if it had never existed.

[sunskisser]

hola!! can i request a remus imagine where you’re in their friend group at hogwarts and remus has a huge crush on you and james and sirius are constantly teasing him about it in front of you and you’re just all confused and then remus finally breaks and tells you how he feels? only if ya want! thank you love!

thank you for your request <33

like | r.l.

tw: fluff

remus lupin x reader

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” James smirks as you stomp down the stairs of the common room and collapse into the couch.

A loud sigh escapes you as you throw your head back dramatically. “Mary’s just gone out with her new boyfriend!”

“So?”

“Lily and Marls aren’t here either,” you pout, turning your head to face him on the other end of the sofa. “Who’s gonna paint my nails for me?”

Sirius grins at you from where his head rests on James’ lap, feet pressing into the side of your thigh. “Don’t you worry, babe. Moony is so ready to help you with it.”

Remus looks up from his book, a crease between his eyebrows and pink dusting his cheeks. “No, I’m not.”

He regrets saying the words as soon as he sees the smile leave your face. You turn to him, looking as though you were a puppy he’d just kicked to the curb. “You’re not?”

Your soft voice seems to have cast a spell on him, weaving its way into his heart and pulling words out his lips before he even had time to think. 

“I – I mean, I am. Of course I am. I’d love to paint your nails for you,” he blurts out immediately, words stumbling over one another. His cheeks turn a shade of red only you seem to be colourblind to, the heat rushing to the tips of his ears.

Your face lights up with a beam, and he knows in that moment that he’d do anything to make sure that smile never left your lips.

You move to sit in front of him on the ground, soft knees bumping against his torn, tattered ones. A slight wave of embarrassment comes over him, immediately leaving to make way for butterflies when you casually flatten your palm on his thigh to balance yourself.

He makes a fold in the corner of the page before setting his book aside. You hand him a bottle of nail polish, pulling your knees up to your chest as you get comfy on the plush rug.

“Do you like the colour?” you ask hopefully as his eyebrows scrunch up in concentration, preoccupied with twisting the cap open. “It’s brown with golden sparkles, just like your eyes, you know?”

“Huh?” he looks up at you dazedly and abandons his efforts of opening the bottle, feeling his heart stop.

“Yeah,” you smile casually, like you hadn’t just told him that you chose to paint your nails the colour of his eyes. “You’ve got these really deep, dark brown eyes, and in the sunlight they’ve got pretty golden flecks. I think it makes you look quite like an angel.”

There’s a loud whistle instantaneously audible from the other side of the room just as Remus murmurs a soft, “Oh.” He didn’t think he could like you any more than he already did. But you had just told him he resembled an angel, in that honeyed voice with those bright eyes – who could blame him for falling into the abyss of love?

It had always been difficult for Remus to see you as just a friend, someone on the same level of familiarity as Sirius or James. Because truth be told, he would let you do to him whatever you pleased – yet he wouldn’t trust the boys around him even in his sleep. But these days it was downright impossible not to feel his heart throb for you, like his body was hardwired to love you. Like it was fated for him to fall for you.

He tears his eyes away from you to find the source of the repeated, screechy cheers with a look that could shoot daggers.

Sirius had his fingers to his mouth, wearing a grin and a pair of wiggling eyebrows. “Way to go, Y/N!” he cheered as he nudged his best friend, who was clapping as though he’d just witnessed a circus.

“Will you shut up? James, get him to shut up,” Remus hisses with no real venom in his voice, glaring at the pair who were now making kissy faces and lewd smooching sounds.

He turns back toward you to find your pretty face dampened by a small frown. You’re eyeing your friends suspiciously, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. 

“What’s going on? Are you guys okay?”

“Are we okay?” James snorts, like you just said something blatantly hilarious. “You should be asking Moony that, sweetpea.”

As you open your mouth to argue that Remus was, in fact, perfectly fine, you feel slender fingers tugging gently on your own. 

You turn to your right to find the scarred boy staring down at the carpet with an almost perplexed look on his face, like there was a burden resting on the tip of his tongue but he was trying to swallow it down. He clears his throat once and lifts his gaze to Sirius and James, who immediately quieten at the burn of his glare.

You open your mouth to question Remus but he beats you to it, turning toward you expectantly. The look in his eyes softens into something more delicate, something reserved just for you.

“Actually,” he swallows as he unconsciously begins to drum his fingers on your wrist, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

You arch an eyebrow, head tilted adorably in confusion. “Okay, what is it?”

He sucks in a shallow breath.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Just spit it out, Rem.”

Remus blows out a wisp of air, heart feeling close to explosion – from nerves or affection, he couldn’t be sure. “Fine, I…” He sighs and purses his lips, running a hand through his curls haphazardly. 

You couldn’t help but think that Sirius and James were being astoundingly quiet, big eyes unashamedly staring from where they were perched on the edge of the couch.

“Remus,” you mutter impatiently. “If you don’t say it right now, I’ll –”

“Okay! Okay, okay,” he mutters, hands going up in surrender as his eyes dart to the ground. “I… I like you.”

You blink. “And…?”

“No, like –” he runs a hand down his face frustratedly, which was getting pinker by the second. “I like you, you know? Like not just like, but like like, like –”

“Remus,” you breathe softly, cutting him off. He looks up to find you smiling. Really smiling, like one of those beams which could light up the whole town. His heart was going to explode, and it was all your fault.

“Yeah?” he whispers back before he could stop himself, sucking in a shaky breath.

“Me too,” your smile widens. It feels like you just lifted the world off his shoulders and kissed his worries away. “I like you too. A lot, actually.”

Like they’d been summoned, your friends begin to shriek raucously until you flip them off and mouth at them to zip their mouths. If they noticed how the smile on your lips never faded, they weren’t going to say anything about it.

Remus grins almost smugly, but his shyness is still obvious in the way his mouth forms several different shapes before he settles on, “Let me take you out to coffee,” like you hadn’t gone out together a million other times before.

You pretended to think about it, but eventually agreed. Remus felt like the luckiest man in the world.

He felt even luckier when he held your hand up to his face to compare the colour of your nails to that of his eyes, and you leaned in to sneak a kiss to his cheek.

[hotheadedhero]

Think You're Cute

'Like 'em Big Series'

AN: I have so many stories to write but I had to do this. Blaming being sick, m'kay? Fever has got me bad and these meds got me loopy. Thinking we need some good, silly fun in our lives, right? Plus, now that I've watched Rise, I'm hungry for some big Raph appreciation. I know I ain't the only one

Part 2

All characters are aged up

Raphael x Reader

Warnings: near peril, easily smitten, possible errors due to fever (what kind of fever is up for deliberation🥴)

Cutting right to the chase. You like big dudes. That doesn't necessarily mean muscles, either. You just love you a big man - someone with a bit of something-something to them. More to love, you know? Given your track record with the greater world, it shouldn't be all that much of a mystery. Cats? Get yourself a tiger that you can cuddle into. Jumpers? Comfort central, baby. Beds? If you can't spread eagle then you see no point. The old-age saying does declare that the bigger the better, so who are you to disagree? How true that is may be up for debate but it’s merely as simple as understanding what your preferences are.

However, this makes dating a difficult ballpark to play in. No matter how tall, jacked, or voluptuous someone is, it never feels like enough. Human biology and genetics can only go so far in the conceivably possible sense. You just want to be absolutely engulfed when you get a hug. Is that such a crime? Apparently, it is. Unfortunately, you also seem to come across the worst jerks when you attempt to date within this set of criteria. One might argue it's your karmic justice for being so superficial and picky but a woman has needs. Not those kinds of needs, either. Get your head out of the gutter.

All hope seems lost and after yet again, another failed date, you decide to call it in for the evening and make your way home. A fresh failure and another wonderful outfit gone to waste. By no means is it anything flashy but you put a lot of work into it: pencil skirt, turtle neck sweater, and a nice pair of boots to compliment the look. The whole shebang! All of that effort for nothing. This is the last time you spend three hours doing your hair and makeup. Block after block, your feet grow heavier with every step. What you would give to come across a mountain-like man you can climb who is also a kindred spirit. Perhaps this dream guy will forever be that - a dream. Men like that don't just fall out of the sky.

"Look out!!"

The sudden shout almost scares you into tripping over and you look behind yourself, wishing you hadn’t. Two very large, very dangerous-looking figures entangled in battle, those of which are approaching your helpless little self. You quickly duck as the giants hurdle over you. One falls on its side whilst the other claws and skids against the ground, regaining its balance. It shakes its head and locks onto you, a guttural snarl rumbling past its jowls. Such a creature is surely from the stuff of nightmares. An indescribable nightmare whose sights are set on you. The smart option would be running away but it's as though your shoes have melted into the pavement. Pawing into the tarmac, the beastly thing growls and lunges for you. Great. This is how you die: torn limb from limb by a demon dog. Well, assuming your clothes join you, at least you’ll look like a total babe in the afterlife.

"Oh no ya’ don't," the other one yells from behind the predator, grabbing it by its tail. “Pretty ladies are not food!”

With a mighty tug, he pulls it back and swings it as far away from you as possible. You release a shaky breath, legs trembling beneath you. That was far too close for comfort. The fight isn’t quite over, however. Just as it approaches him, the green goliath swivels on his feet, full 180, and whacks the creature's jaw with a closed fist. His speed alone has you in awe but the force is astounding, practically earth-shattering. It completely knocks the air around you and pushes you onto your backside.

When the dust clears, the first thing you see is your saviour panting, his spiky shell(?) pointed towards you. Just past him in the distance, you notice three more figures in blue, purple, and orange taking a closer look at the unconscious tyrant. You swear one of them pokes at it with a stick. Witnessing strange beings such as this isn't entirely new. Anyone who's watched Chateau Pretenche knows about the celebrity chef turning into a grotesque pigman. To describe it in one word? Horrifying. It's just whether people choose to believe it genuinely happened or if these bizarre entities exist. Being up close and personally observing it now puts your scepticism in check.

As the humanoid turtle calms, he turns to face you, recapturing your attention. A red mask sits over his eyes and there’s a noticeable snaggle tooth poking past his upper lip. Typically, the prerogative is keeping out of sight but it’s much too late for that. He gradually advances towards you. You watch him warily and he keeps his movements slow for that very reason. It wouldn’t be a shock if you were to try and make an escape. He wouldn’t blame you. Currently, all he wants to do is make sure you weren’t hurt during that fiasco provided you don’t suddenly come out of your bewilderment and run off. You have good reason to but he just saved you. Either that or he’s as ravenous as that beast and wants you all to himself. The irrational conclusion remains as such - irrational - when he descends to one knee and outstretches a hand. There’s an irrefutable kindness in his eyes; a caring nature that can’t be replicated in the face of savage brutes.

"You okay?" he asks.

You continue to gawk without a word but, bit by bit, you reach out for his offer. Your fingers lightly trace the centre of his palm before comfortably trusting the proposal. His hand engulfs yours completely and Raph hopes to mercy that you don’t realise how sweaty he’s getting. He can feel his heart beating like crazy. He wonders how much of that is the adrenaline from the fight and how much of it is being in the presence of such a beautiful gal. As he helps you to your feet, he rises to his own. Someone of his stature shouldn’t be capable of being this delicate but he is. It has you running through a loop and you unintentionally stare at the remarkable behemoth.

Quite pathetically, you nod, unable to verbally respond to his question. How can you? You are effectively starstruck. Once you gloss over the turtle-y features, all you see is the sheer size of him as he towers over you. Height, width, the magnitude of those arms! All of it is glorious. You can hear the universe asking, “You want a big man, huh? How about one who isn’t human?” to which you answer, “Who gives a damn?”. If the only way a man can be this big is not to be human, so be it.

Amidst a whisper, your mouth moves on its own, "You're beautiful."

"What?"

"Huh?" Blinking out of your trance, you realise what you’ve said and giggle sheepishly, "I mean, you're be... ba... booming! Totally awesome with the whole- uh... saving thing." Nailed it. 

He blinks right back down at you. This is certainly a first. He can feel his face heating up and he withdraws his hand lest you endure the wrath of his bashfulness, opting to hold the back of his head. At this moment, he seems to look anywhere but you.

"Heh. Gee, thanks." His humility is adorable and you’re glad he doesn’t question your initial statement. He turns to you once more, regaining some composure. "You sure you're okay, though? That thing was pretty scary looking."

It’s clear that you haven’t sustained any physical injuries but even bearing witness to something so unsightly can have lasting effects on one's mind. His brows furrow gently in concern down at you and it occurs to you that there’s a soft heart under all of that shell and muscle. Bonus points. This makes you smile for the first time in front of him and Raphael is sure that the streetlights got brighter.

You laugh fondly, “Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you.” Twiddling your fingers, your lips purse up in his direction.  “Is there any way I can repay you?”

He places his hands on his hips and chuckles cutely, “Just doing my duty, ma’am.”

He may be indulging in his alter ego - the Red Angel of Preventing Harm - but it’s not every day he gets paid thanks when he saves someone. It’s also not every day he gets to save such a pretty woman, either. You, however, can’t just leave it at that. There must be some way in which you can properly thank him. Ulterior motives include getting to know this already loveable lug better but shh. It feels like the odds are finally turning in your favour and you won’t let this slip away from your grasp. That’s when it hits you.

Muttering under your breath, you erratically search through the confines of your little handbag. You are certain that you had one in here somewhere. In the spare pocket maybe? Ah! Found it. Fumbling to take the lid off of your pen, you hold out your hand, gesturing for his. He slowly complies, to which you jot down a series of digits on his palm accompanied by your name and a tiny 'x'. 

"Gimme a text sometime," is the last thing he hears before you disappear around a corner.

Oh? Oh. Ohhh. Wow. Getting your number is the last thing he expected. Did he get hit on the head during that scuffle or something? Was everything from the last few minutes a dream? He bores holes into the writing on his skin, scanning it over and over, scared that it’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. A dumb, wobbly smile not so gracefully decorates his lips as he trudges back to the turtle tank. He takes his seat but it’s obvious that he isn’t all there. Being so caught up in his rose-tinted bubble, he doesn’t register his brothers' voices. In an effort to gain his attention, Michelangelo jumps onto his shoulder, partly intrigued by what their leader is so absorbed by.

"Oh me gosh!” the young brother screams in shrill excitement, “Raph's in love!"

Careful not to smudge the neat ink, he’s quick to hide his hand against his chest. "That's crazy talk!”

Donatello sniffs the air and mockingly covers his nose. "The overwhelming manifestation of your nervous stink indicates otherwise, dear brother."

"I got a girl’s number!” he continues to defend, feeling his face go all kinds of red. “'Course, I'm nervous but that don’t mean I’m in love."

Lies and slander. It was practically love at first sight. He just doesn’t like the idea of his brothers knowing that. It’s easy pickings to be made fun of.

"Don't worry, Big Red. Lucky for you, you got a guy who knows all about the charm." Leonardo points both thumbs at himself as he falls back into his seat and props his legs up on the dashboard. "First, you just need to..."

The "helpful" advice drowns out as the large snapper opens and gazes at his palm again. He just can't comprehend how a gorgeous individual such as yourself could take one look at him and give him your number. It's puzzling but he supposes there’s a first for everything? That also doesn't mean he won't text you. The only thing getting in the way of that is fear. Raphael thinks he’d rather go toe-to-toe with that mutant dog again than have to face the risk of embarrassing himself. To anyone who knows him, it’s no surprise that he caves under pressure. No. He will do it! A chance like this is one in a million.

Oh boy. What could possibly go wrong?

[montimer]

Deadpool x reader

Gn!reader,him gaining a crush on ya

He tries not to believe it. Is there even a scenario where you would love him back?

He tries his best to push these feelings away. But he just can't help it, i mean why you gotta be so beautiful and kind to him and your voice, gosh- but the more he tries getting his mind off you the more it hurts. Especially if he goes to drink at a bar and gets so drunk he ends up with someone next to him in the morning.

So instead he lets his obsession grew.

Oh you're shopping? He just happens to be there too! Don't question it, he'll start yapping and drags you with himself.

He invites you over more than usual. You wanna watch a movie? Play games? If he wins he gets a kiss- whoa what,who said that?

He'll wanna have sleepovers. Throw pillow fights and no he won't sleep on the floor, make some space for him. Incase you don't tell him to sleep on the couch he'll totally not creepily stare at you as you sleep. Sure he'll fall asleep,,eventually.

He gives you tiny hints that he loves you. But of course you won't really catch them, after all he acts freaky with everyone.

And by flirting i mean, putting a hand around your shoulder. Telling you that you are gorgeous and calling you nicknames. Showing you a heart with his hands and so much more.

If you let him he would love to hug you every now and then. Tho his hugs get longer and longer the more you let him closer to you.

Speaking of which, he'll let you see his face and know more about his past only after a longer time.

But even then, when he took off his mask and expected a disgusted look or a mean comment, you just smiled at him and reassured that he is beautiful inside and out. Can you be any more charming? He just fall head over heals all over again.

You laugh at his jokes and think hes cool? He is wordless.

He will try to kiss you through his mask and will do it if you don't push him away. "Smooch me!"

Sometimes he stares at you with out noticing.

His room is full of stuff that you gifted to him and photos of you (where he got it? Oh don't worry about it..)

And if you happen to be a hero/etc, he will have a plush and other merch of you around.

He'll even give you a mini version of himself. To keep you safe he says.

He loves to be around you and is overly affectionate.

He squishez his eyes into a smile upon seeing you. He'll wave at you and everything.

He'll draw you silly pictures (mostly the two of you holding hands and being lovey-dovey)

He also leaves you flowers.

If you say nice things to him it'll blow his mind. By nice i mean stuff like "You are cute!" Or "You're the best!". Yeah you really think so? His heart feels like its beating stronger.

He speaks before thinking rather often. He lets his stranger thoughts out. Such thoughts like "You're so hot". He stares wide eyed at you after. Then comes the awkward laugh, just laugh with him please.

Anyways get used to it cuz he'll make your life a living hell, or maybe heaven?

He would ask you to move into an apartment with him, and he won't stop asking that question. Wouldn't it be less lonely and more fun to have a roommate?

He just can't come up with a way to confess..maybe the job will do it itself? No Yes,yes it will Wade don't worry.

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Hey its me, The Swayze Dean request anon. In the wise words of SpongeBob..."Mr.Kraaaabssss, I have an ideeaaaa"

Sam who's with someone who doesn't moan/make noise easily. Like he'd get desperate and wear himself out just to hear a whine- ya dig?

Helloooo again Swayze Anon (can I call you Swayze Anon?), thank you for coming back with another delicious ask after your lovely request that turned into The Swayze Method ! ❤️ I appreciate you thinking of both brothers, though. Bless. 🙏

Little spontaneous Sam fic below the cut!

The Highest Note - a mini Sam Winchester fic

CWs: 986 words. Sam's bruised ego. Just a touch of smut. Communication.

Sam Winchester likes to think he doesn't have much of an ego.

He's wrong, of course, but that's beside the point. He keeps it in check, somewhat. Doesn't flinch at low-brow insults. He's long gotten past wanting to be liked and is fine with being tolerated. He's not afraid to ask for help, at least not with some things, such as: "sorry, where do you keep the frozen burritos?" or, "you're right, officer, we were speeding, yes, he'll be careful from now on, have a great day."

But getting you to make certain noises when it's just the two of you? Well, it seems he met his match.

It gnaws at him, and that's what surprises him most. He knows sex is a duet, it's about forging a connection. And if you just happen to be quiet, that should be totally fine. But he's... well, Sam has a few tricks. Probably not the amount his brother has, but stuff that's tried and true. And he knows everyone's different, he knows that, he really does. But what does he have to do to get you to make that sound?

That high, voice-cracking moan. An involuntary whimper. Sam loves these noises in his partners. The knowledge that he's made them check out of their body, has given someone that floating feeling, that factory reset. It's sometimes better than the actual coming, though he's not about to verbalize that to anyone.

And he loves sex with you. The chemistry between you two is unreal. Your kisses are the sweetest he's ever felt. Your touches, God, they undo him. There's just something between you that's right. It's only this thing. He wishes he could just not care. But he does. He just does.

Like now. He's been between your legs for a good long while. He loves it there. The softness of your thighs, the way your adorable toes rub along his side, because you're eager to stay in touch. Your smell, your taste. And he knows what he's doing is working, because the way you twitch and tense he's pretty sure is real.

He looks up at you, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip pressed between teeth. Chest rising and falling as you suck in breath. But not a sound to be heard.

"Just let it out, baby," he says, softly stroking you through the aftershocks. But then your body goes slack, your lip released from its toothy prison, your head rolling to the side. You look beautiful like this, exhausted, elated, and Sam did that. Still, he finds himself suppressing a sigh. Then he crawls up your body, plops down next to you.

You roll towards him, arm going around him as you press your cheek against his chest, hum a little. Sam swallows, then wraps his arm around you too. Gently strokes your hair with his fingers.

"Did you," he asks, feeling insanely self-conscious immediately, embarrassed that he'd ask like this. "Did you like that?"

You turn your head a little, kiss his skin where you can reach it.

"I loved it," you say, voice low. "That was amazing, Sam." Sam chews on the corner of his lip. He shouldn't bring it up, right? The last thing in the world he wants is that you think you're doing something wrong. Just cause he needs his damn ego stroked.

"It's just," he says, taking a strand of your hair, running it between his fingers. "You don't really make, you know, a lot of, I mean, noises, I guess, so I'm just wondering."

Oh, that sounds so much worse than it did in his head. Why couldn't he just say it outright, simply ask, instead has to make it this little game where he pretends he's just casually inquiring.

He's sure he's fucked up, but then you raise your head, look at him and Sam needs to swallow, forces a smile on his face, which probably makes it all worse. You study him, in that unreadable way you have.

"Do you think," you say, voice neutral, but your hand is slowly running along his back, so maybe you're not mad? "Do you think that I don't like what you're doing because I don't scream and moan and, I don't know, holler?"

Sam can't help but huff at that last word.

"No, not at all, just..." he says, then stops. "It, it might have crossed my mind."

You blink up at him, then untangle your arm from him, making Sam's heart drop for a second, but it's only to bring up your hand and brush some of his hair away from his face.

"Sam," you say in that super reasonable tone Sam has come to love so much. "Have you ever considered that you make me feel so good that I just completely lose the function to make any noise?"

Sam opens his mouth, then closes it. Looks at you, trying to read your expression.

"Is that," he says, feeling a tickle of pride inside himself, "is that what it is?" You shrug.

"That," you reply, "and also I just don't make a lot of noises. Always been that way. It has nothing to do with you."

You don't say it unkindly, but Sam still feels dumb. He made this entirely about himself. But of course it's not. He clears his throat.

"I'm sorry," he says, feeling awkward. "I didn't want to make it a thing." To his surprise, you smile softly.

"You didn't," you say. "I mean, I can try being louder. I just can't guarantee, you know." Sam nods quickly.

"Of course," he says. He looks down at you. "Thank you."

You chuckle, and then you're pressing closer to him, your hand wandering from his face down his chest and lower.

"Now," you say as your fingers find him, begin drawing soft circles on him and Sam needs to close his eyes. "Let's see what noises you can make."

Thank you again for the lovely ask, this was so fun! ❤️

[moth2flamewriting]

Options

Guysss, the feedback has been so nice and feeling so much support from the fanfiction world. As always I appreciate you all reading! ❤️

Some one suggested I write from Smoke's POV and honestly I love that! So here's a little take!

Trying to find longevity in my ideas so it's taking me longer to push out! Nonetheless, here we go.

Smoke x Annie

Warning: Sexual Content.

ENJOY.

I was in the Delta after 7 suem years. Chicago ran its course and Stack and I were ready to go.

Home was the first place I wanted to come back to. I had somebody waiting on me. Two somebody's and I didn't know how to approach it.

"Boy I see you getting tense," Stack joked. I laughed it off. But i was tense.

I was nervous. Cause all I could think of was her. If she'd have me back. If she felt the same. I was sweating.

"Stack, think you can drop me off by Annie's?" I asked.

"Fasho' but don't get too caught up. We still got business to handle," he replied.

To be honest, I ain't come here for no juke. I came for her. The juke just something to keep me here.

"You think she'll have me back?" I could always open up to my brother. He never judged me, never made me feel dumb for wanting someone I aint seen in 7 years.

"Oh she'll have you back. You can't get rid of a Moore. No matter how many spells she cast," he grinned. That relaxed me a bit. But I still had a bit of unease going into this situation.

It's like she knew I was coming. She was standing right on the front porch. Hand on hip. God she was beautiful.

Chocolate skin that danced in the sunlight. Beautiful brown eyes that cut right throught you. She was perfect and hopefully.. she was mine.

I got out of the car, closing the door and adjusting my clothes. Even though Stack starch and pressed my clothes perfectly. Under her eye, I was nervous.

I approached her anyway.

"And what do you want?" she sucked her teeth.

Damn, right out the gate she was fiesty.

"I came to see you, I really need to talk to you," I replied.

Her eyes rolled so hard to the back of her head, I thought they were gonna fall out.

"Elijah please don't come around here on no bullshit." She was mad. She had every right.

And my nerves were dancing.

"Annie, I just wanna be civiliz-," she cut me off. "You think I give a damn about being civilized with you? You done rolled in from God knows where and what?," her arms were swinging back and forth in the air with every word.

But I knew her. I knew to just be honest here. One thing we always said was to just be honest.

"I came here to make things right with ya," I stumbled over my words. "It's not a day that went by that I didn't want you." I sunk into myself under her glare.

A moment of silence passed between us. The air was so thick.

I could see the wheels turning in that pretty head of hers. Looking for questions ask. Looking for answers. Needing an explanation.

"Where you been Smoke?"

"Chicago." I replied, wanting to meet her with full honesty I raised my head and stood up straight.

"Why you leave with no explanation?"

"If I would've told you, I would've stayed and I was too scared to do that."

She leaned back into her thoughts. Wheels turning in her head so hard, I could see steam coming out her eats.

"What was you doin' down there?"

"Working." I knew that wouldn't be a good enough answer.

"Working on fucking what, Smoke? Be so fuckin' serious right now," her left eyebrow was raised now and she couldn't even try to hide the irritation if she wanted to.

"We went up there to make some money, it was dangerous. Got into some shit. Came back down here to lay low." I knew it sounded like bullshit. I knew I would need answers.

"So what? You here cause you needa' place to stay?" she cackled. I wasn't welcomed here. At least that's what it felt like. "You got one more chance to tell me why you here and then I'm gon leave you where you standing," her hands were on her hips now.

"I want you. I tried to convince myself that I was coming back here for other reasons but, I know that aint true. The only thing I came for is you, Annie." Her feet shifting, she back thinking and to be honest I knew I was fucked.

"Did you fuck anybody while you was in Chicago?" Her face was dead straight. I swallowed hard. Nervous as fuck to tell her.

"Yes."

What once was the fiesty woman in front of me now look like a lost puppy. I broke her. Tears welled in her eyes and I had no way to fix it. I fucked up. I knew I fucked up.

The moment I was intimate with someone else I felt our connection sever. But that was my first month or so in Chicago. I was lonely and sad. And instead of writing my wrongs with her, I chose to be with someone else.

"Leave," she said throught sniffles.

She looked up at me. Eyes red.

"Leave, Elijah." I didn't move.

She approached me, so close that she's breathing what I am exhaling.

"I waited for you. My body waited. My mind waited. I waited for you and you left me high and dry. Then you come back all these years and what?" She's crying so hard. Fist balled up, pounding my chest. I let her. I deserve it.

"Annie, you gotta understand. Soon as I did it i regretted it. That was 7 years ago-"

"It don't matter Elijah. Somebody had a piece of you that was mine. Sacred to just us," her head was down now.

I feel like shit.

She planted her hands on both sides of my chest.

"I had some type of hope for us all this time. I just knew that my man would come back to me," her voice cold.

"I am right here," I'm pleading. My hands wrap around her waste but she pushes me off.

"I want you gone." She turned away from me, walked back into her house and, closed the door.

I couldn't give up so easy, I needed her back. So I walked up the stairs and I sat on the chair. I stayed there. 'As long as it takes.' I would do whatever to have her.

I heard shuffling inside, which prompted me to look up. It was her, in the window. Unimpressed. She closed the blinds and I was met with the sound of the door locking. Which meant GO AWAY. But I wasn't doing that.

The next morning..

I don't think she expected to see me, being as thought she let out a scream when she opened her front door to me sitting there.

"You scared the shit out of me," she exclaimed holding her chest. "What are you still doing here?"

"I want you," I said.

She let out a laugh that would hurt any mans pride.

She went along her day. Running errands, the shop, chores and visits with friends.

She acted as if I wasn't there. And that hurt me bad. Bit I deserved it.

I could hear an engine sputtering from down the road. Wondering who it could possibly be.

It was Stack. "Bro, she got you sitting outside her door like you a stray cat." He was laughing and it broke me out of my mood.

"Man she aint fuck with me, AT ALL," I chuckled quietly.

"I just rode by to see wassup wit ya," he said. "I figured Annie stubborn ass wasn't going for that."

"Nigga you said fasho she was gon have me back. Yo punk ass just be talkin," I recanted with a weak ass smile.

"Sittin' outside her door gon do the trick, you know she aint got the heart to be so cruel," he said.

"Speaking of which, think you can roll me up a couple cigarettes? If ima sit here, Ima smoke sum."

"Fasho, I got 6 rolled up for you right here. Figured you'd need em,"

We said our goodbyes and he was gone whever the wind to em.

I sat back down in my spot and watched as the sun began to go down.

The front door lock came undone and it creaked open.

It was her. Checking on me. Even thought she was so tough yesterday.

"You ate today Elijah?"

"I be sittin' here all day, aint going nowhere til I got you." I was determined.

"You so damn extra. Just come eat." She walked away but left the door open. I followed her in.

...

Fried fish, cornbread, cabbage, yams and mac.

Her food was so good, I had 3 plates. But once the scraping of my fork against the plate stopped, the tension came back.

"Was the food good?"

"You know the food was good Annie." I'm getting irritated because where is this going. Even though I had no right to be upset.

I just want her back. But I know I gotta get through the hard part first.

Her eyes went black, I could see she was working herself up.

"When you fucked her did you like it?"

Here we go.

"I'm a man Annie," I answered honestly. "but I wanted you."

She laughed, unconvinced.

"You wanted me so bad, you went and fucked somebody else."

I took it. I deserved it.

"Was her pussy better than mine?"

I hate that I even let shit get so bad between us that she even thought to compare herself to some random girl. That was my fault.

"Nobody will ever be better than you," I was honest.

"Did you give her your seed?"

"Fuck no, the only person I've ever given that to is you."

I stood up and walked over to her, my turn to invade her space.

Both our chest rising and falling at the same time, due to close proximity.

"Smoke back up," she's moving away from me with her hand up to create space.

"No," I back her into a wall.

I kiss her. Immediately her hands go to the back of my head pulling me in closer. She opens her mouth to grant my tongue entrance. Our spit being exchanged, I pulled back from the feverish kiss. I look into her eyes and I am madly in love.

I leave a trail of kisses from her lips to her neck. Swirling my tongue in circles, sucking hard and soothing it with a soft kiss. My hands found her ass, pulling and squeezing it. Eliciting moans and gasps.

"Smoke," she whimpers. "We shouldn't be doing this."

That didn't stop me, I was in and she wasn't going to stop me.

I slip my hands into the front of her waistband to find a hot and wet pussy. Coating my fingers in her sex, she throws her had back up against the wall.

I'm swiping over her pussy with just enough pressure to get her close but not enought to go over the edge.

"Elijah.. I- Ahh-," she couldn't even speak I was fingering her pussy so good.

The moment was abandoned with a stiff push. She pushed me off her. 'Did I hurt her?'

"I can't do this. I can't let you hurt me the way you did. And you get to just.. come back?" She was standing firm in her boundary. And I was at a loss for words.

"Annie, I'm trying to show you," fat ass knot in my throat.

"I can't take your word for it Elijah. It has to be constant, not when you want it."

She walked to the mirror at the end of the hallway. I followed. Only, talking to me through the reflection and not turning around to address me head on.

"I think you should go,' her head tucked damn near between her shoulders.

"I'm gonna leave now, but I will prove to you that this IS constant. That I never stopped loving you. That I want to be with you," not caring if I convinced her in this moment. I was convinced. I was getting her back and that was final.

She walked me to the door and before I made it down the steps she called after me.

"I hope you stand firm in your words," followed by a weak smile on both our ends.

"I will," and I turned from her with my head held high.

I was going to get her back. If it is the last thing I do.

[gatorbites-imagines]

*me hiding in the obscure corner of the room* Can i request about a markcest harem, like instead of reader its the og mark that have the pregvincibles/petvincibles?, okay that was too freaky, i go now *runs away*

I would pay money for someone to write a longer fuller fanfic about this, if I had money. All I can offer is my rambles, and sending it out into the universe... may it find a home. Go, be free... 

I have no problem whatsoever with selfcest in fandoms, I used to be into undertale, my fave ship was fell sans x undertale sans, try me.  

I can't remember if its canon that OG Mark ends up stronger than the other Marks, but he ends up real strong anyways, so some would fall for him because of that strength. Others might be because they are egotistical, and would love to fuck themselves. 

Mark would need to work harder than the reader to get them all completely dick whipped. Cuz they aren't gonna be careful with a version of themselves, especially the one they were technically sent to mess with. 

OG Mark would also have a harder time just accepting this compared to reader cuz he thinks its just, weird. Hes got his thing with Eve ya know? So no, he's not gonna let 20/20 Mark choke down his dick while in the air, floating over Toronto. 

Would be great if Eve was like “please, I just wanna see” when the alt marks start trying to get into OG Marks pants. Eve sits there like 😏 cuz it's so hot to see her boyfriend making out with another version of himself, while fucking a third version of himself. 

Insert that one “she was fujoshing out!!!” meme, cuz Eve would just have a great time, I think. Like yeah, this is my boyfriend Mark, and his alternate versions of himself who are also his boyfriends, but not mine. 

OG Mark knocking the alt Marks up would also never had been his plan, but he ends up doing it. Someone ends up making a “talk about self love...” joke. Mark will never live it down. 

[letorip]

Which one of Jenna’s characters do you think would be the best kisser ?

best kisser

okay, so i have a lot of thoughts on this, it’s legitimately like a thesis question that basically turned into headcanons. i crown a winner at the bottom so if it’s tl;dr and you just want to know then scroll on down

wednesday addams:

she “hates romance” but the moment you two fall in love she would be head over heels.

you fell first, she fell harder

she does everything to make you feel her passion and love, within every breath she breathes you must know, it’s for you

therefore, her kisses are insanely passionate. she knows what she wants and it’s you

she does lip biting (for a little bit of sadism) and tongue, and she loves leaving hickeys all along your neck to mark you as hers

your lips and your neck are her favourite places to kiss, your shoulder is her favourite place to bite

she definitely did her research. she studied how to become a better kisser at first, because she was so new to love, and now its sweet when she wants it to be and wanting all the other times when she can pull you away to roughly shove you against the wall and kiss it better

it’s just so perfect, she has you melting in her hands like putty when your lips meet hers

shes not the most comfortable with PDA. she struggles to kiss you when others are around

she’s not embarrassed, she just wants to keep your love private and for the two of you without the peanut gallery

best believe, behind closed doors, she’s kissing you so hard you almost release during foreplay. it’s almost pitiful how easily she has her way with you

tara carpenter:

okay tara is a wild one

she loves to party and have fun, but she also absolutely despises you at first because you’re hot and lord knows how that turned out last time

you definitely hate-fuck several times at first, and it’s the most sloppy, impassioned thing on planet earth, because you’re both a bit drunk.

she has you sitting on the edge of a bed in an abandoned bedroom at a house party in which neither of you know who the fuck is hosting. she’s straddling you, neck craned down for her to reach, and she smashes her lips to yours.

she always wears a strawberry lip gloss that tastes nice when you kiss her, to the point where you associate her with the sweetness.

she’s definitely noisy when you kiss

she huffs and stuff, and moans and groans, and she lets out little sighs when she’s coming down from her release

tara’s favourite places to kiss you are your jaw, ear, and neck, though she’s not much of a biter, like wednesday was

instead she uses her nails, and drags them down your back and shoulders in red streaks from holding on while you fuck

even after you get together, tara kisses you like she wants to take you out back and make you hers, no matter the venue

funeral, baby shower, wedding, bar mitzvah, she’ll kiss you with that ferocity and fight with you tongue to tongue

lorraine day:

lorraine begins as someone super unsure in herself

she wants you so bad, but all she really knows how to do is small, gentle, chaste kisses whenever the crew (and especially Bobby Lynne and Maxine) have their backs turned away

but she wants to do more, even if you tell her you love her as she is

after she starts participating in the movies, she becomes far more skilled at kissing and opening to trying tongue, catching your lip between her teeth, etc. when you’re all on break and she has you with your back against the wall

doesn’t matter how many scenes she films or what’s going on in them, she imagines it’s you doing them with her, and looks back when she can to where you stand in the corner with the boom mic

her kisses become so needy, with her work, and she slowly grows out of her guilty, timid shell to realise she wants more

she tracks you down one night, while you’re all on a trip to shoot a movie and crawls into bed with you. you grab her in your arms and hold her against you until she whispers “i want you to take me as yours, ya hear?”

even though she’s experienced, her voice still trembles a bit as she says it

she kisses your cheek, when you slowly nod and your hand slips under her nightgown

her favourite places to kiss you are your lips, your cheek, and along your collarbone

she doesn’t drag her nails or bite but she’ll wrap her arms around your neck and thread her fingers into your hair while you play an overture on her body

cairo sweet:

she’s so smart it takes a while for you to realise her general disdain for you stems from how badly she wants to kiss you

she hides it behind jabs at your intelligence, but eventually you catch her hungry eyes watching you

your first kiss happens in the library, and as she teases you with pungent condescension, you shove the book right off the table at kiss her right there and then

she pulls away the moment she realises out of shock— only to immediately kiss you back, twice as ferocious

you get caught by the librarian, pressed against a bookshelf with cairo’s arms around your neck and thighs around your waist

she kisses you to “reaffirm her superiority,” but unless that needs to happen twenty times a day, in the janitors closet, at her house, at your house, you’d say it’s bullshit or she’s super insecure

it genuinely upsets her when she can’t stop thinking about you, to the point where it’s unintentionally interfering with her plot involving Miller

shes insatiable for you in general, and she realises with horror that she’s in love. she loves the way you make her laugh and the way you dress, and it washes over her to realise she wants you

she no longer wants to kiss anybody, she wants to kiss you. She tells you this in an afternoon study session at Lovell Hill and you almost immediately confess the same thing

cairo’s favourite places to kiss you are your lips, neck, and jaw, and she loves hickeys the most, placing them everywhere she can.

whenever you and cairo fuck, your neck has so many small bruises and bites

she feels she can drop her guard around you and doesn’t have to be the perfection she seeks, because you’ll love her and kiss her anyways

it’s definitely tara for me, i love the energy and how much passion i think she would have. she would definitely be super passionate and fun, and i think the fact that she’d be so wanting of your kiss and experienced (*cough cough* amber) she’d definitely know how to kiss you right and get you all worked up. this was fun, i had fun trying to think as each character and take a break from my longer form writing which i’ve been toiling away at all week with my hurt hand. definitely hit me up for more headcanons/ questiony ideas if you liked this. i might also do a part 2 with vada, mabel, astrid, phoebe

[allfearstofallto]

YAYAYAY Can you do C, J, L, P, T, and X for ayato yandere head cannons por favor

For sure!!! Here ya go!!

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Ayato had never been once described as a cruel man. Mischievous, yes, but never cruel. Especially towards you. He may play little jokes and pranks on you, enjoying watching your expressions.

It's endearing at first, when you're naive to his true ways, almost comical, how such a serious man can have such a playful side. But there's a part of him that seems to revel in the way you fear him. Not sadistically. He doesn't find joy in actively bringing you harm. Just amusing. He likes to watch what you'll do, how you'll attempt to get away, even though there's absolutely no where you can go.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Ayato is better than most people, that much doesn't need to be said. He's handsome, talented, witty, and smart. He's almost perfect, if not for his particular urges. But most people don't know about that, so most don't see anything, but the excellence he shows. He knows he's so much better, yet when he sees your eyes fall to someone else, his heart clenches.

Jealousy is an emotion he didn't think he was capable of feeling, he thought he was better than such a pitiful weakness. That is until you begin speaking to another man. Smiling for anyone else. Your hand lingers on someone's for just a little too long. The most he shows on his face is the quiver of his lip while eyeing the physical contact, a fault that he quickly schools back to his usual, reserved facade.

Turmoil is raging inside him, bubbling in a pit in his stomach, practically trying to claw its way out. But he's never one to act rash. Ayato plans everything ahead. That person will be disposed of with practiced ease, their legacy buried and your questions about them silenced. It doesn't date the painful jealousy in his heart, but it does balm his soul, just a little, to have you have to run back to him.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Ayato isn't one to spoil you with material objects. He believes in showing his longing for you through actions. A man who is constantly neck deep in paperwork, usually drowning in meetings and forms, taking the time out of day to come and see you? Well, it's rare for Ayato to stop working for anyone, so he wants you to not only acknowledge the actions he's taking for you, but also appreciate it. You should feel honored that he's spending his time with you. Honored, and attracted to him.

Sacrifices are needed to strengthen a relationship and he is sacrificing his routine for you. That should be more than enough. Right?

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He plays the role of a patient man and he plays it well. Ayato doesn't get violent, doesn't have outbursts, he doesn't curse, nor does he break things. At least, not in your presence.

Ayato is a man who's patience is always wound thin. A busy man. A tired man. He has no time for anyone else’s antics, snapping quickly with anyone else. But with you? He's softer. He can play the role of a patient lover to you. Although, if you look at him while actively disobeying, you might see the twitch of his eyebrows or even the clench of his fist.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Ayato isn't a sadist. He constantly tries to convince himself of this daily. But he can't deny the way his entire world shifts the first time he sees you cry. Was he teasing you too much? Did he scare you? Was your hatred towards him finally pouring out in fat, hot, angry tears down his cheeks? He didn't know, but he didn't want it to end.

His large hands will hold your cheeks as you cry, making you look at him. The warmth of your tears. The slight redness to your nose and under your eyes. Why does it entice him so? Why does he like it? Why did he love the sight of your crying face so much, to the point where he wanted to go against his own morals, and make you cry even more?

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He loves you. You know that, right? You should. He wouldn't do any of this, jumping through all the hoops, endearing himself to you, if he didn't feel such a strong love for you in his heart. So don't take it personally when he says that you are not his equal. You are less than, but that's alright, he will work to make you worthy of him.

Ayato is the reason your family has power. He's the reason your family has money. He's the reason that you went from an average family in Inazuma, to micro politicians. Although, you don't know this initially, thinking that everything good happening to you was just lucky finally shining down on your weary name.

It's only when you finally know him, long after he's already your lawfully wedded husband, do you learn that nothing happened out of coincidence. Everything was carefully planned and plotted by him. Down to the day you first met.