#I have seen visions of a dark future

[colouredbyd]

“Tell Me You Will Believe Me”

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: Your visions as a Seer used to be harmless—until they turned dark. Now, you find yourself caught between protecting the people you love and the terrifying truth only you can see.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: emotional abuse, graphic violence, dark themes, angst, betrayal, emotional withdrawal, mental health struggles (anxiety, depression), trauma, past trauma, death of a loved one, remus being a sweetheart, visions of future tragedy, so much hurt/comfort, LOTS of angst but then happy ending <3

authors note: i should be studying but this idea has been on my mind for weeks so i decided to just write it, enjoy the major angst with comfort. Im trying to test my skills, idk should i do part 2 or leave the ending like this?

part 2 masterlist

It started slowly. Almost imperceptibly.

At first, you skipped breakfast. Said you’d meet them later in class. You didn’t.

Then you stopped holding Sirius’s hand in the hallways. Your fingers used to seek his like a reflex—lacing together as naturally as breath. Until one day, his hand brushed yours and you flinched, pretending not to notice. He didn’t say anything, just shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away.

You stopped waiting for James after class too. Where once you leaned against the wall with a playful grin, teasing him about being late, now you left as soon as the bell rang. “Thought you’d already gone,” you’d lie, when he showed up confused and breathless, eyes searching the corridor for you.

You started skipping Hogsmeade weekends, claiming migraines, unfinished essays, fatigue. “I’ll just stay in and rest,” you’d say, brushing kisses onto their cheeks like goodbyes. “You go. Have fun my love.”

They noticed, of course. The boys weren’t blind.

But you were clever.

You still smiled when spoken to. Still said “love you” back. Still sat beside them at meals—even if you barely touched your food, barely looked up, barely breathed. You learned how to be present without being there. An echo. A ghost in your own skin.

The boys watched you like you were slipping underwater, helpless to stop it.

One evening, James sat beside you on the Gryffindor common room couch, his voice low and joking, “You’ve got this whole ‘mysterious tragic poet’ thing going on lately baby. Should we be worried?”

You forced a laugh. “I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

He smiled at you, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We miss you.”

“I’m right here, Jamie,” you whispered.

-

The smell of fire, of burning flesh. Someone’s laugh twists into a scream that ends too fast.

-

But you weren’t. Not really.

“Take her and RUN, Sirius!” Remus roars, storming forward and grabbing him by the collar, shoving him back like the fire behind him hasn’t already started swallowing everything whole. “NOW!”

There’s blood in Remus’s mouth when he speaks, on his hands when he clutches Sirius, on his temple where something struck too hard, too fast. His lips are trembling but his eyes are terrifying—brighter than the firelight. They burn with something final.

“Moony—” Sirius chokes, voice hoarse with panic, tears already rising. “I can’t—”

“THERE’S NO TIME!” Remus howls, like it’s killing him to say it. “You don’t look back. You don’t come back. You take her and you fucking run, do you hear me? You keep her safe—Sirius, please—

-

-

“Hey hey hey pretty girl, look at me breathe for me come on.”

Sirius’s voice breaks through your fog. He’s kneeling in front of you now, his dark eyes wide with concern. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dorca and Peter are there too, hovering close by, their faces twisted in worry. They’re all looking at you, their concern thick in the air.

“Are you alright?” Remus asks, voice soft, but there’s something underlying—something urgent in his tone. He crouches beside you, his eyes searching for an answer you don’t have.

You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. You feel pathetic having a panic attack infront of everyone. The vision’s weight is still on your chest, pressing down on you, suffocating you. It feels like the whole world is closing in.

Sirius looks like he might reach for you, but he hesitates, as if afraid to touch you. The intensity of the moment hangs heavy in the air. “You’re scaring me princess.” he says quietly, eyes softening.

And for the first time in days, you feel something like a tremor in your chest—like the weight of their love, their worry, is finally sinking in.

“please just hold me.” you hiccup through sobs, your voice sounding too small, too fragile. But the words feel hollow in your mouth.

And they do, they hold you until you feel safe enough. 

It was Remus who saw through it first.

He’d catch you staring into the fire too long. Flinching when the wind howled against the castle windows. He noticed your fingers trembling when you thought no one was looking. The way your hands hovered just above the boys’ shoulders when they leaned in—like you wanted to touch them, like you were afraid to.

“Are you alright, dove?” he whispered one night, his hand brushing your arm.

You blinked, startled. You hadn’t even noticed him sit beside you.

“Fine,” you said too quickly, too brightly. “Just tired.”

He didn’t believe you. He never did.

But he let you go.

After that, everything became quieter, not the visions though. They got worse, more clear, and more horrifying. 

You stopped calling Sirius by his stupid nicknames. No more “Padfoot,” no more “Starboy.” Just “Sirius,” plain and clipped.

You forgot James’s birthday. The guilt nearly ate you alive, even as you watched him pretend not to be disappointed.

You stopped reading with Remus at night. Once, you’d fall asleep curled against his chest while he read aloud, voice soft and warm against your temple. Now, you claimed headaches. Stayed in your bed. Doors locked.

They started whispering when they thought you couldn’t hear.

“She doesn’t laugh anymore,” James murmured one night.

“I think she’s scared,” Sirius replied. “Of what, I don’t know.”

“Us?” Remus said quietly.

-

-

“They know. They know, James—run!” and then footsteps and a crash and nothing.

A golden ring in a pool of blood. The sound of Sirius sobbing into Remus’s shirt. “They said she was dead. They said—”

Remus’s breath on your neck. “Run.”

 Smoke curling under a door you don’t recognize.

The sound of chains dragging across stone. Always the chains.

Blood on parchment.

Your name scrawled across it again and again and again.

-

-

You pretended you were asleep, but your pillow was wet.

Until one night, Sirius finally snapped.

You were halfway through dinner in the Great Hall when he slammed his goblet down and growled, “Alright, what the hell’s going on with you?”

You blinked, startled.

“You don’t look at us anymore,” he hissed. “You don’t touch us. You barely speak. If you want to leave, just say so, but stop pretending everything’s fine.”

“I don’t want to leave,” you said, voice breaking.

“You already have.”

And when you looked at him—really looked—you saw it: the shadow of his future, the one you’d dreamed a hundred times. Screaming behind bars. Eyes hollow.

You turned away. “Please. Just let it go.”

And he did. Because even angry, Sirius would always choose you. Always love you, even when it tore him apart.

Then weeks turned into a month.

Then a month turned into two. 

And you kept fading—slowly, quietly, like death by a thousand unspoken words.

Until Remus couldn’t take it anymore.

Until that night in the library when he found you curled into yourself like a broken star, and you shattered in his arms and told him everything.

You were in the library at nearly midnight—eyes hollow, curled in the farthest back corner like you were trying to vanish into the stone.

You didn’t hear Remus at first.

But suddenly, he was there—standing in front of you, pale and shaking, with something desperate in his eyes.

“You’re done hiding.”

His voice trembled. You looked up, startled.

“I tried to give you space,” he said quietly. “I tried to trust you. Its been two months and 4 days (Y/n). I can’t anymore. You’re fading right in front of me. And I don’t care how much you lie and pretend you’re okay—you’re not.”

You stood too fast, the chair scraping behind you. “Please, just let it go rem.”

“No, dammit!” he snapped. “You shut us out. You stopped letting us love you. You look at James like you’re already mourning him. You look at Sirius like he’s glass. And you haven’t looked at me like anything in weeks.”

Your hands were shaking. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t want protection, I want you!” he shouted.

The silence that followed was deafening.

His eyes were glistening. “Tell me what’s happening. Even if it hurts. Even if it ruins everything. Please.”

You stared at him, throat tightening, vision blurring. 

Remus’s hands trembled as they gently cupped your face, his eyes searching yours for answers. The weight of everything was pressing down on him now, and he could feel the tension in your body, the way you were holding yourself back.

“Please, just tell me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, pleading. “I need to know, I need to understand what’s happening to you.”

You closed your eyes, tears brimming, throat tight with the truth you couldn’t bear to say. You’d been holding it in for so long, the fear, the guilt. It was all too much.

“Tell me you will believe me,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “Please. Tell me you will believe me.”

Remus’s breath hitched at your words, his grip on your face tightening slightly as if to pull you closer to him, as if to anchor himself to you. His heart was racing now, but his voice was steady. “I will,” he promised, his voice raw with desperation. “I believe you. I always will.”

You sank to the floor, legs giving out, and he followed, arms catching you before you could crumble completely. And then, for the first time in weeks, you told someone the truth.

“I’ve been having visions.”

He froze, but didn’t speak.

The words hung in the air between you like a spell. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t face his eyes yet. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, but then Remus exhaled like he had been holding his breath too, his hands moving to hold yours tightly.

“What do you mean? Visions?” His voice was filled with concern, but there was something else there—something dark, like he already knew this wasn’t just a simple problem. This wasn’t something you could brush off with a shrug and a laugh.

You pulled your hands away, holding them against your chest, as if protecting yourself from the storm you knew was about to break.

“It’s like—I see things. Fragments. Pieces. But they’re never in order, Remus.” Your voice broke, and you cursed yourself for sounding so weak, for not being able to keep it together just a little longer. “Sometimes, I’m in them. Sometimes, I’m not. But it’s always horrible. Always the same. It’s—it’s the end, Remus. The end of all of us.”

Remus’s eyes never left you. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t say a word, but his face twisted with confusion and concern, his brow furrowed like he was trying to make sense of the puzzle you were handing him.

“The night we’re all going to die,” you continued, your throat raw. “I’ve seen it, over and over again. I—I see James… He’s screaming. I see Sirius… He’s… he’s not himself. And you’re—” You stopped yourself, unable to finish the sentence, the emotion too raw to put into words. “You’re not there. You’re gone, Remus. And it’s my fault.”

Remus’s face went pale as he absorbed what you were saying, his jaw tightening with the weight of your words. He reached out, his fingers grazing your arm, but you jerked back, your heart racing as you continued, desperate to say it all before it consumed you.

“I’m not always there, but when I am… It’s like I’m not even alive. I watch from some place far away. Sometimes, I see myself dead.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to hold it together. “I see James and Sirius, and I—God, I can’t breathe. I just… I can’t fix it, Remus. I can’t stop it. There’s a traitor, someone in our circle, someone close, and they’re going to betray us. James dies, Sirius gets blamed. They throw him in Azkaban… And I—I get taken, or worse.”

Remus’s hand reached out, but you flinched away, guilt and fear flooding your chest. You couldn’t look at him anymore. You couldn’t look at anyone, not with this knowledge hanging over you.

“I’ve been pushing you all away,” you whispered. “I’m scared, Remus. I’m terrified. I’ve been trying to protect you, to protect all of you. But I can’t stop what’s coming. I can’t stop it. And it’s eating me alive. I’m watching all of us die and I can’t do anything about it.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t dare let them fall. You were already too weak. Too broken. You couldn’t bear to show him any more of your fragility.

“Please, Remus, you have to promise me—promise me you won’t tell them.” Your voice was barely a whisper now, a plea. “Not yet. Not until we know what to do. I don’t know how to stop it, but I have to try. I have to do something, and I can’t do it alone.”

His hand was trembling as he cupped your face, lifting it so that you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His gaze was filled with so much pain, but also an understanding that shattered you further.

“Don’t ever think you’re alone in this, dove,” he whispered. “I’m with you. Always. We’ll find a way to stop it.”

You collapsed into his arms then, the sobs you’d been holding in finally breaking free. He held you tight, letting you cry it all out, his hand rubbing your back in comforting circles.

When the tears subsided, he whispered into your head, “ I believe you, dove.”

And in that moment, you finally allowed yourself to believe it too—believe that together, you might still have a chance to rewrite the ending.

The days that followed were desperate, and the sense of dread hung thick in the air.

The Marauders—Sirius, James, and Remus—refused to leave your side. Remus spent hours with you, pushing you to strengthen your Occlumency, your focus unwavering as he guided you through each mental block. His presence was a steady reassurance, though the unspoken tension between you both never quite lifted. The weight of what you’d seen in that vision was suffocating, and you had to push yourself to stay strong for them. For him.

Every moment, every glance you exchanged with your boyfriends felt charged with the weight of a looming secret. You knew things were changing, but you couldn’t tell them yet. Not until you knew the truth.

And so, you turned to your studies, hoping that if you immersed yourself in magic, in spells that might give you a fighting chance, the gnawing fear would subside.

It was a normal evening. The fire crackled merrily in the common room, casting a warm, golden glow over the four of you. Sirius sprawled out on the couch, teasing James as he flicked through a Quidditch magazine, his signature grin pulling at the corners of his lips. James was laughing, leaning over to nudge Sirius, while you and Remus sat across from them, trying to hold onto a semblance of normalcy.

For a fleeting moment, everything felt right. Remus caught your eye from across the room, and his lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. You returned it, but deep inside, the unease never fully disappeared.

“So, how’s the study session going baby?” Sirius asked, turning his head lazily toward you.

“It’s… fine siri.” you replied, your voice betraying none of the storm inside you. “Just trying to get through all this Occlumency nonsense.”

Remus laughed softly, his gaze never straying from you. “You’re doing great. You’re stronger than you think.”

James grinned. “You’re both scary smart,” he said with a wink. “I’ve been trying to catch up, but it’s been a slow process.”

Sirius chuckled, his usual mischievous energy making it feel like everything was just as it should be.

But then, in the blink of an eye, the room seemed to shift.

The dizziness hit first, so sudden you barely had time to brace yourself. Your vision blurred, and a rush of cold air washed over you. You pressed a hand to your temple, trying to steady yourself, but it was no use.

It wasn’t just dizziness. It was like the world itself was slipping away, replaced by something darker. A vision.

-

-

The world is suffocating—darkness swallowing everything.

The air is thick with screams—raw, guttural, pleading.

James’s glasses fall, shattered into pools of red.

The earth is drenched, soaked with fear, with blood, with everything you never wanted to know.

“Run!” Sirius’s voice cracks as he yanks you forward

You hear Remus, pleading, begging—

“Please, don’t look back. Just go!”

The air is heavy with the crack of spells, the sickening sound of bones breaking.

Sirius’s grip is all you have left to hold on to. You feel the weight of everything pressing down on you, but his voice is a lifeline.

“We need to go NOW.” You don’t look back, but you hear it. That scream.

James.

It’s not just a scream. It’s the sound of everything breaking. The sound of life ending.

It rips through you, through all of you, tearing something deep inside that you can’t even name.

Remus’s eyes lock with yours for a brief second, and in them, you see everything: fear, love, regret. “Don’t look back,” Remus’s voice is barely a whisper, 

The screams keep coming, one after the other. A storm of death and pain. Then, the worst sound of all.

Remus.

You hear him cry out—no, not cry out—begging. His voice breaking, splintering as if his very soul is being torn apart.

The sound cuts through the air like a knife, a desperate plea for mercy that doesn’t come.

The trees are closing in, but you can’t outrun the screams. You can’t outrun what’s happening.

Sirius stumbles, dragging you with him, but you both know it’s too late.

The ground is shaking now, trembling with the weight of death.

Something moves in the distance. Something that’s always been there, lurking, watching.

It’s him.

You hear the soft whisper of a name in your mind, but you don’t believe it.

The world stops.

The truth crashes through you, breaking you wide open.

The traitor.

The one you trusted.

The one who sold them out.

Everything you thought you knew is shattered.

-

-

Gasping for air, chest heaving, you felt the pressure of hands on your shoulders, holding you steady.

“Hey—hey, stay with me. You’re okay.”

It was Remus. His voice was strained with worry. But it didn’t make sense. None of it did.

The world was still spinning, and the faces around you were all blurry—except for one. The one that you couldn’t pull your eyes away from.

Peter was standing by the door. His eyes were unreadable.

And in that moment, you knew.

“Peter.”

The word was barely a whisper, but it hit the room like thunder.

Remus’s grip tightened, his voice full of panic. “What are you saying? What do you mean?”

But you couldn’t answer. Your mind was reeling from the truth. The betrayal that had been right in front of you all along.

It was Peter.

[lex-the-flex]

Drinking the Water of Life

Paul Atreides x reader

He didn't want this. He never wanted this to happen. So why now? And why did it have to you?

From the moment Paul Atreides claimed his Fremen name, he prayed this wouldn't have to happen. But it did. While his mind was clear and open, yours remained foggy and closed off. If it was up to him, he would've kept you there, with your limited visions of the future.

But he loved you with all his heart.

And he couldn't see you suffer any longer without him. Paul chose you to rule at his side, after all.

Returning to your place in the shared communal room, Paul offers you a small smile before returning to his meal.

"How are you? I haven't seen you all day." He whispered so only you could hear.

"I'm alright. The water extractors are holding up. You should've seen all the packs I had to carry. Stilgar was impressed that I could carry thirty pounds for three straight miles." You explain.

Finally being able to relax at Paul's side, you notice how his blue within blue eyes look at you. While he's proud of you, something else lingers behind his orbs.

"Paul, what is it?" You ask.

Setting down his bowl, he takes your hands in his with a gentle grasp. Calmly stroking his fingers over your knuckles, he leans closer, his lips inches from your ear.

"I need you to travel South with me. Just the two of us, on a private mission before the others make the journey. I need you by my side, Y/N." He explains.

Calmly nodding your head, you instantly knew what he meant: you had to drink the Water of Life. The others knew it too, spreading rumors that stung like needles into your back. How you weren't worthy of loving Paul, the Muad'dib. Even the other Fremen began to question your loyalty.

As you were an outsider like Paul and his mother, Jessica, you remained faithful to House Atreides as it was one of the final commands given to you by Duke Leto himself. But now you had to truly prove yourself, you had to show everyone why Paul chose you above any other Fremen girl in your sietch.

"Okay, Paul. I will follow your hand until the very end. I will follow Muad'dib, my Usul, with an open heart." You declare as he pulls you in for a loving embrace.

*****

Guiding you further into the Southern temple, Paul never lets go of your hand. The beautiful sanctuary pulls you in with its calming circular architecture and stillness. Leading you to the main chamber, Paul is welcomed by another Fremen fundamentalist showing him the utmost respect.

Discovering a pool of water, you wander over to it before noticing the presence of a small sandworm swimming in the cloudy liquid. Scrunching your brows at the rapidly moving creature, Paul places his hand on your shoulder.

"It's time, Y/N."

Joining Paul and the Fremen member, she holds a jar containing a bright blue liquid that appears even sharper than the blue within blue eyes themselves. Feeling your breath catch in the back of your throat, you begin to panic, even taking a step away from Paul.

Placing a hand over your chest, your bare fingertips try to find solace in the sand covered stillsuit, and your own heartbeat echoes against your eardrums.

"It's alright. It's alright, Y/N. I'm here." Paul advises, leaning his forehead against yours.

Holding the nape of your neck in his hands, his dark curls tickle the edge of your face.

"I... I don't know if I can do this, Paul. I can't fail you." You say as your lip begins to quiver.

"You can. I believe in you. House Atreides believes you. You can do this, Y/N, just as your Usul before you." Paul replies, stroking your cheek.

Calming your breathing, you quietly nod before Paul, coming to your decision.

Laying down in between the stone pools, the Fremen offers you the glass bottle, lowering the top of the spout into your open mouth. Drinking the cold liquid, you swallow the water, and it enters your system. Taking your hand in his, Paul rubs your knuckles whilst your body goes numb.

Convulsing on the stone, every inch of your body writhes in pain, from the temples on your head, to your very reproductive system. A terrifying scream releases from your damp lips as the visions of the future, past, and present dance along the thin skin of your eyelids. Then, as soon as they appear, the prophecies of the future disappear within seconds.

You were cold, numb, in between the land of the living and the dead.

Offering the bottle to Paul, tears begin to fall on his face, and he mixes the salty drops with the freshwater.

Pressing the water to your lips, Paul bends down and kisses you lips, allowing you to return to him once more.

Feeling his lips leave your own, your eyes open, and you are awake. Your mind was open and Paul took you into his lap, studying your new set of eyes with all the love he could give you.

taglist ~

@dreamliners

@visionsofsweettea

@xplore-the-unknwn

@kaleidoscope1967eyes

@shions-new-blog-of-stuff

[occamstfs]

Halloween Bacchanal

Greek god of madness just wants to see some fun this Hallow's Eve- what better place to start than with little Theo and his satyr costume.

Happy Halloween! Here's my take on everyone's favorite Halloween TF trope: men dressed as satyrs, knights, cowboys and more become what they wear at this hedonistic Halloween party! Hope you enjoy! - Occam

Greek mythology has been an obsession of Theo’s as far back as he could remember. From what his parents say he would force them to read him myths rather than fairy tales before bed each night before going on to spend his waking hours punching way above his literacy level to indulge in every scrap of the Hellenistic pantheon he could stumble across. His dreams were filled with visions of himself aiding Hermes in his tricks and cheering on Heracles in his trials.

It’s no surprise that his time spent in this mythological world influenced his sexuality. What with all the muscular men and tales of transformation he ravenously consumed it doesn’t take a detective to follow the throughline to his present self. In fact he can clearly remember stumbling on a far too steamy illustration of a satyr right when he was about that age that clearly had some deep-rooted repercussions. Which, no surprise, brings him to his current Halloween costume.

He never thought he’d have the confidence to dress up as one but what the hell right? It’s what halloween’s for, just a spot of fun and indulgence. Once he finally decided on biting the bullet and dressing up as his root and began construction on his little costume it’s like he was possessed. Hands worked deftly sewing goat legs and sculpting horns and hooves and before he knew it he was finished before he even realized he had begun.

When the party finally arrived he found himself walking on his toes with a shocking ease, though despite the apparent expertise, his knees began to shake more with each step towards his friend’s apartment. Theo takes a deep breath before knocking on the door, sweating despite the chilly air of autumn against his bare skin. Before he does so the door creaks open and Theo’s greeted by a man he’s never seen before.

Man is almost too inconsequential to describe him. As soon as Theo’s eyes land on him he feels content to spend every waking moment for the rest of his life simply staring at this figure. Dark skin somehow glimmering in the dim light, his teeth sparkle as his lips pull into a smirk. He then turns his gaze onto, into, Theo. It’s as if he were looking through the costumed man, languishing in his past and imagining his future, taking in everything Theo has been, is, and will be. And before a moment passes he shifts to look Theo directly in the eyes, raising a hand to cup his head as if it were a glass, he rumbles out, “I love your costume dear.”

His touch is electric to Theo’s skin, or no not electric, magnetic. The fingers clutching the young man’s jawline leave him wanting more, needing more. Despite feeling frozen in the gaze of this too-ideal figure he craves more than anything to be closer. Lost in his desires, Theo flinches as his ability to ambulate returns and the figure in front of him laughs as he plays with his words, “Dear- Or should I say faun Ah Hah!” Barely a joke, but as the figure begins guffawing Theo cannot help but reciprocate. Compulsive, heaving roars of laughter fill him with ecstasy and delight as memories of raucous nights and impossible debauchery soar into his mind. More real than reality he sees himself with a cup of wine in hand standing in audience of the man now before him.

Just as soon as it began, his laughter jarringly stops and he pulls Theo close and whispers in his ear, “Call me D.” Theo gasps as he is brought closer to D’s form and the intensity of his delight only continues to heighten. Every inch of his exposed torso is suddenly burning with intense pleasure and he shivers as his neck is grazed by D’s sticky breath. In a moment briefer than Theo is able to even grasp, a thought flickers across D’s expression before he looks down at him and his eyes glow a vibrant violet. D stretches his back, doing something between a shrug and a warm-up. Theo trembles at the feeling of his powerful traps and delts moving, allowing him to feel the power they hold as the men stand in each other's grasp.

D once more grabs Theo’s chin, this time angling it up as he cranes down to meet the party-goer’s lips. It’s not quite right to say the kiss was explosive but Theo has no better way of understanding it. It’s as if he were being suffused with power, as if the man’s lips were casting a spell, as if he were drinking in a force of pure energy. Physically, his taste buds are overwhelmed with the taste of wine, richer than any he’s had the chance to experience heavy and sweet and greater than anything. 

Theo, sure that he’s dreaming, clutches the man tighter as their lips and tongues continue to dance. If D’s laughter instilled him with memories, their kiss infused something far more real in his mind. Mouth awash with wine, touch burning with pleasure from being lucky enough to touch the man’s powerful form, Theo opens his eyes and rather than seeing the world he knows he was in, he sees D tied up on a ship. Before he can make sense of his surroundings the man breaks from his bonds and the men who must be his jailers flee, hopping overboard before D waves his arms and they are no longer men. He knew the true name of D as soon as wine graced his tongue but it is further confirmed by a vision of him carrying his mother from the mouth of a cave before he sees her apotheosis. He sees grapevines sprouting from arid earth and finally sees the man, the god, bestowing Midas’ golden touch.

These are all brief passages however, pauses in between the meat of Theo’s visions. Accompanied by D, by Dionysus’ laughter, Theo sees hordes of satyrs and nymphs dancing in fields and in forests. He sees wine dripping through thick beards and staining hairy chests. Theo watches revelry devolve into madness as festivities rapidly degenerate from dances to orgies in grass fields. Shifting to an aristocratic masquerade he sees a crowd of straight-laced prim and proper nobles spin in clearly practiced circles until Dionysus, sitting at the main table, rolls his eyes and removes his mask. Calling their attention to himself as soon as they glance in his direction they are changed, filled with bestial need as they return to their partners with an animalistic fervor. 

Theo knows these visions should fill him with fear, they are far too real to be dreams. Despite that, despite himself, the scenes only excite him more. He doesn’t know why the god has chosen to show him these events, why he has chosen him, but then he realizes he doesn’t care. He just needs to experience the same. His chest quivers with struggled breaths as he feels consciousness waning as he lies in the god’s arms. With a blink he sees D’s face once more, clearly experiencing more pleasure than Theo could ever offer. His vision begins to fade and his body goes limp in the god’s arms. Theo sees some look of care in D’s eyes that is promptly wiped away with a wink. Smirking, he whispers to Theo, “Hope you lot have fun with my gift-”  The sound of the god’s laugh echoes through his empty mind, lulling him to sleep while whatever gift Dionsysus intends for the party festers within him.

When Theo awakens the party is in full swing. He remembers meeting D clearer than anything but everything between that moment and now is obscured. He feels a wet patch in his crotch and quickly crosses his legs to hide the mess made in his excitement. Seeing that he’s finally awoken, his friend Kevin, clad in a cowboy costume, walks over and greets him. “Yoo dude what’s up! Glad you could make it, you know it’s a costume party though ya? Hahah!” Theo narrows his eyes, preparing to call out his friend for being so drunk as to not see the horns on his head before he feels for them and realizes that they are no longer on his head. Indeed, glancing at his crossed legs he finds he’s fully not wearing the costume he so intently made. 

Clutching at his chest, his face burns with embarrassment as he so clearly remembers working up the confidence to come here without a shirt on and yet, here he is just wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Seeing his friend rapidly nearing tears Kevin puts his drink down and apologizes, “Hey hey buddy- Sorry I didn’t mean to press you. Do you want to go get some fresh air?” Theo sighs looking at Kevin’s outstretched hand, pouting for a second longer before reaching out to grab it. Never could he truly know what he is about to unleash when he takes it.

How could he, he was still under the impression that his little episode with Dionysus was just that, an episode. Some weird little dream that led to him cumming on a friend's couch like a loser. That is, until Kevin grasps his hand and grows glassy-eyed. Natural color briefly overtaken by a lilac haze, Theo is immediately concerned, “K- Kevin? Did you get some, um weird contacts?”

His friend shakes his head, not out of his stupor but further into it. He clears his throat and his voice is unmistakably deeper, rougher, “Now why’d I go and do somethin’ like that partner?” Theo feels the hand in his own thicken and grow calloused as tanner skin leaks up his forearm. Hair pokes out of Kevin’s wrist, rapidly thickening and growing dark as it matches pace with his increasingly sun-kissed arm. He breaks the handhold and Theo falls back in shock. Kevin stretches and whistles as biceps bulge under his costume which similarly changes texture from cheap linen to dense torn cotton that one would need in his line of work. His line of work?

“Whoooee! Maybe we’ll skip the fresh air eh Theodore? Love to see what else yew can do with those hands.” Theo stutters as the man starts rubbing his back, “I- You-” Kevin’s jaw widens and grows thick stubble as his brow hangs lower over his eyes, a piece of wheat lolls out of his mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Theo pushes away and the cowboy raises a hand in surrender while adjusting his large belt buckle with the other, “‘Ey now no problem amigo, we’ll put a pin in it. Check back in after spreading the love-” He scratches his newly stubbled jaw and tug once more at his crotch as an unmistakably growing package begins to need far more room than his chapped levis could allow. Staring at a man holding a few swords with shoddily sprayed green hair, Theo almost swears he can see Kevin’s dick throb as he begins tugging at his belt.

The young man doesn’t have time to question whatever unthinkable thing he just did to Kevin as he is struck with a headache greater than anything he’s experienced before, as if something were pushing its way out of his head. Throbbing with pressure he clutches at his head and feels two bumps forming and his eyes widen in fear as he remembers the parting words of the olympian, hope you lot have fun with my gift- Across the room Theo hears the voice of the swordsman grow gruffer as Kevin puts an arm on his shoulder. He hasn’t a chance to investigate as itchiness begins to rise across his body. 

Theo quickly lurches to his feet and finds it difficult to keep his heels on the ground, as if he has always walked on the tips of his toes. He grunts and keeps his head down, trying to not draw attention to himself as he stumbles to the bathroom. He bumps into another party goer wearing a homemade spiderman costume who grabs him before he can fall. 

Fearful that he’s introduced another point of impossible contagion into the party, he looks up and confirms his fears as the padded muscle disappears to be replaced by the hardened abs and arms of a superhero. The man takes off the mask to reveal he’s Theo’s friend Mark, though eyes exposed Theo can’t help but see the lavender corruption in his taking over as his hair throws itself into a middle-part. Grunting as he inches taller, his other web-shooter begins to poke into his friend. Theo runs before he hears whatever smarmy one-liner falls from the lips of a man whose name is Mark no longer.

Miraculously the bathroom is unoccupied when he stumbles in, painstakingly ensuring that his heels stay on the floor with every step. As soon as Theo crosses the threshold he is overwhelmed with a burning itch. Before he even has a chance to check his reflection he’s filled with a supernatural urge to remove his shirt. Ceding to the impulse he no longer sees the unimpressive chest he woke up with this morning, pecs have begun to pad his chest while his few chest hairs have begun to spread like weeds in its center. He clutches at the new pounds of meat piling onto his form and bites back a moan as it fills him with visceral pleasure as his fingers trail through the field of chest hair that is growing thicker. 

Only then does he turn his eyes to the mirror and discover that the changes are not limited to his newly-muscled chest. While hair continues to trail down his thicker torso to his similarly strengthening stomach, the hair on his head begins to lengthen and curl as two horns begin to rise above them. His shaky hands go to tug them off as if they were an accessory which only causes his neck to jerk. Leaning in close he parts his hair and clearly sees the keratin growing forth from his skull. Beyond his new spikes he has somehow missed the darkening of his face as just like Kevin, stubble has begun to make its home on his cheeks. Rapidly growing sideburns shoot down his jawline as a real goatee lengthens on his chin.

In shock he falls back against the wall of the bathroom, accidentally losing his footing and catching himself standing on the balls of his feet like he has so pointedly tried to avoid. No longer is it possible to force his heels down as his toes are overtaken by the transformation, hardening and becoming impossibly imobile as they are covered with black keratin. New hooves burst out of his shoes while his pants begin to stretch at an odd angle from legs changing beneath them. 

Falling to the floor Theo cries out as he tears at the pants he swore he didn't throw on as his legs irrevocably leave humanity behind. Voice pitching deeper and shifting rougher as his thicker hands struggle against his clothes, he feels the new treasure trail on his stomach thicken as it rises from a bush of pubes so dense that they could be labeled nothing other than fur.

While his hands are unable to make progress tearing at his pants, his growing thighs make light work of the garment as they begin to flourish with fur, rapidly covering with curls thick enough to totally burst the tight pants to tatters. His hands trail upward from his hairy legs, feeling the forest of fur give way to the thick human hair that covers the rest of his torso. He blushes imagining finally becoming a creature he always dreamed he could be.Thick hair trails down his forearms and the smell of the wild rises from pits to be evermore unwashed. His hair continues to lengthen and tangle as he truly becomes a spirit of the wild, a spirit of unchained lusts and unending gaiety.

Rubbing his sweaty body against the floor, hearing his new hooves clatter against the tile, Theo feels his mind begin to be overrun with the instincts and ideas of a creature whose primary goal is the spreading of mirth and the heightening of hedonistic desires. Fear of what he wrought upon Kevin and whatever other transformations launched on the other side of the door falls completely to the wayside as the idea suddenly does nothing but increase his own excitement, his own lustful desires. Groping at the decidedly still human cock hanging in between his thick thighs, Theo finds himself certainly more gifted in this department as well, heavy balls send lustful hunger coursing through him while his new powerful rod stands high and drips with pre. Theo smirks as sweat more powerful than any aphrodisiac trickles from his pores and he stands to a new height.

Were he to exit he would stand a few heads taller than anyone else fortunate enough to be in a room with him, his cock would be fencing with their torsos, and something within him tells him that it’s not beyond him to grow even more formidable. Though latching onto that idea, he realizes the true nature of the gifts bestowed unto him. He instead shifts into a form more enticing to whatever partygoers remain that need further enticing. The new satyr hides his beastier parts and watches as his reflection seamlessly shifts into that of a wild man whom no one would be able to turn down.

His hairy torso still glistens with sweat while he trades his hairy legs for sweatpants that could scarcely hide the powerful package hanging from his crotch. Smirking at his new form, Theo steps out to see what has become of his new domain. Exiting back into the steamy gathering he finds that festivities have not slowed down in his absence. The crowd around the cowboy has multiplied and devolved into quite the intimate pile of bodies, muscled arms and deep moans shoot through the air as every outsider that the horde bumps into finds the idea of joining rather appealing. He sees a man dressed as a caveman beating his chest as weight piles on and instincts take over.

Likewise the costumed superhero that was once Mark has found a crowd of his own. Mask pulled up over his mouth to find dozens of other costumed men wanting for him. Even before he changed he was charming, and now with a body made for the big screen it’s no wonder the crowds are clamoring for him. Though he hasn't the time to spend nearly as much time as his fans desire, after the shortest of moments spent with the amazing man himself they likewise begin filling out. Costumed congregants soon enough find themselves more than willing to spread their gifts with any number of lolling mouths around them.

Theo’s hungry eyes and wanting cock feel the compulsive awareness that there remain attendees deliberately avoiding the pleasures that await them. Point in case, he turns to the balcony to find one of his friends, Peter, dressed up as a knight and hiding from true jubilation. Theo’s lips twitch as he imagines corrupting his bookish friend into someone that can finally let loose.

Prior to the party the two discussed their costumes at length. Both spent a good chunk of energy and care in preparation, Peter’s dressed as his longtime DND character. Just like with Theo, the costume had long been a fantasy for the young man. That is to say, isn't it only fair that he get to experience the real thing just like the satyr? Theo doesn’t hesitate to answer the question as he makes his way towards his friend. Peter jumps as the sliding door creaks open and his friend steps out onto the balcony.

“Jesus- oh? Theo? Is that you?” The satyr smirks as he sees Peter’s anxious eyes appraise him. He contorts his body in just the right ways to get the paladin off his guard, stretching to show the power that rests within him rather than simply flexing. Inviting Pete to wonder what this new form is capable of rather than simply performing a brash display of brutish strength.

Peter blushes though remains guarded, “I um, I thought you were dressing up as a satyr?” Theo tilts his head before laughing at having forgotten his glamor, with the flick of his hand horns return to his head and Peter once more jumps back, though now facing the satyr this sends him far too close to comfort to the lip of the balcony.

Seeing Peter bump against the railing, any playful plans of slowly bringing him into his own euphoric transformation vacate as he instead moves with inhuman speed and pulls the paladin close to him. The clink of Pete’s chainmail and plate echoes on the balcony as the sound of the party behind the two men fades from their ears. Everything in the world around them is instantly muted and dulled besides each other.

Peter’s eyes grow clouded as he has no choice but to inhale breath after breath of the wild man’s sweat as he’s held close. Theo watches his eyes start to flicker violet like the dozens of other men in attendance. He grimaces and clenches at the neck of his armor as he grows unreasonably warm. “Th- Theo. What’s happening to me-” spit trails from his mouth as the metal of armor begins to grow heavier as it turns into the real hammered iron chestplate that a paladin of his station would be expected to wear. He stammers out for help and begins clawing at the suit now too heavy for him to wear, and Theo is more than happy to help.

The satyr feels his hunger for the man in front of him grow with every inch of further revealed skin. Sweaty chest now exposed, Pete’s heaving breaths begin stretching his ribcage larger. When Theo’s hairy hands begin to creep into his kilt Pete pushes the man away despite his own wanting cock begins to stir. This isn’t right, something horrible is happening. 

Theo steps back, resigned to just watch for now, and Peter goes to scratch at his arm as a nervous tic. Only then does he notice the great changes that have begun to overtake his physical form. With each movement, small as they may be, his biceps have begun to pulse larger, veins trail down new meaty arms that rival the size of his head. Powerful biceps and defined traps demonstrate his prowess in combat without his even needing to pick up the sword.

His chest tightens as he sees his hands twitch and bulge larger, calluses forming from training for hours, for years, for longer than he could recall spending on anything. His new rough hands race to his scratch at his torso, to remove a costume he’s no longer wearing, but they only find more evidence of growth. Under his chin pecs have clearly burst into existence, below them meticulously carved cobblestone abs that would make any lord proud. 

His lavender eyes twitch as the idea strikes him like a club, he’s losing his mind as well. Theo continues patiently watching and waiting for his chance, not to strike but to personally usher Pete into the bacchanal, and as the knight tears off his codpiece to make room for the surging cock beneath it’s clear that moment is rapidly approaching. Tearing off greaves and gauntlets he roars as his neck thickens from that of a modern squire to a proper knight of old. Voice deepening and growing resonant enough to shout orders and taunt those he is to meet at the other end of a blade.

Speaking of blades, returning to the present as his jaw sharpens he sees quite the specimen standing in front of him. Peter’s cock easily pokes through his skirt and stands like a beacon as he ravenously desires the spirit of sex standing opposite. The knight is more than eager to meet the satyr on a decidedly different kind of battlefield than he’s used to. As soon as Theo sees the throbbing cock he pounces and the two enjoy their new forms together on the balcony, in view of the party and the city. Deep, wild moans of pleasure echo through the streets as Theo traces battle scars on the knight's form and Peter tugs at patches of hair that cover the satyr. 

Inside, the festivities have devolved into precisely the orgy that the god of revelry and madness had hoped. Cowboys and Spidermen using their webs and lassos to quite creative ends, demons finding the new nerve endings in tails and horns, werewolves truly unleashing the beast and finding more than common ground with vampires who are likewise finally sucking something other than blood. Briefly checking in, he’s pleased that the satyr found his way to the armor wrapped gift intended for him,  fingers crossed Aphrodite doesn’t mind his brief step into her domain. But more than that he can’t wait to see where the satyr goes from here, after all, his gifts don’t stop on November first- once a sex spirit always a sex spirit. Theo’s going to find people lining up all the time to experience the reverie he now inherently offers. As the night goes on and the pair rejoin the party it becomes clear that he is not to mind. 

[katsukistofu]

USER KATSUKISTOFU, WRITE A HANTA SERO PIECE, AND MY LIFE IS YOURSSSS‼️🙏🫡

all eye wanted was you

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ s. hanta x fem reader. fluff. ★ sero reminds you of a few important things that your all-seeing quirk overlooks.

“So you’re not dating him?” The girl in front of you asks again to clarify. She’s either from General Studies or the Business course you think, you honestly don’t really remember and don’t care.

You heave a sigh. “You asked that already, I said no the first time.”

At this point you’d assume the conversation would be over, but of course she opens her mouth again.

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I asked him out, right?”

Your head’s starting to throb and you force your tone to be calm. “Sorry, but do you understand the definition of not dating—“

“Uh, yeah she would.”

A familiar voice speaks, and your eyes widen as you make contact with its source, your best friend. “Sero? What are you doing here?”

“Making sure people don’t have the wrong idea of us.” He offers you a sly grin, tugging you closer by the sleeve of your uniform.

“How is this making sure people don’t have the wrong idea of us?” You hiss, placing your hands on his unfairly firm chest to stop yourself from colliding with it. With a quick glance around, it seems like the girl is gone.

“Hmm.” Sero’s smirk only deepens on his pretty lips. He did this on purpose to have you alone to himself, didn’t he? “Didn’t see you complaining when we pretended to be together to get a discount for tatts.”

“Their prices for hypothetically single people were crazy!” Your cheeks burn as his fingers trail over a spot on the fabric of your school uniform.

The skin underneath burns as he continues to trace the almost exact pattern of your tattoo, like he has it memorized from when you both showed each other right after getting them done at the parlor.

Sero playfully fidgets with the hair tie on your wrist that he let you steal from him earlier as he continues. “Or when I told the waiter at that fancy restaurant you were my girlfriend and that he couldn’t give you his number, but we’d love to take the couple’s deal instead.”

“That’s different!” You protest weakly, sounding unbelievable even to your own ears.

“What, are you going to play with my hair, like how you always do when you get stressed?” He murmurs, gently tilting your chin up to force you to meet his eyes.

You curse as you realize he’s right, somehow your finger has already found its own way to twirl one of his dark locks.

Sero’s dusky eyes darken with a hint of hurt.

“How long are you going to keep pretending?” His voice is painfully soft.

“I don’t know, I’m just…“ You take shuddering breath. “I’m scared, I guess.”

“Scared of what?” Sero’s brows furrow. “Is it because of that rando? Because you could easily take her, I’ve seen you with some strong ass villains—“

You laugh and smack his bicep. “No, dummy! I’m scared because…” Your voice hesitates, and he hugs your waist tighter.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches as he uses that tone. “Okay now you’re just being unfair.”

“Hey, I’ll beg if I have to.” He grins before faking a drop down to his knees.

You squeal as his strong arms take you with him, only to come back up and steady you, and he chuckles as you smack him.

“Okay, I’ll tell you! I’m scared because I don’t want to end up pretending like we don’t know each other when we break up. You mean a lot to me, and I think,” You mumble as your finger continues to play with a button on his dress shirt. “I think that would really mess me up.”

“You mean a lot to me too.” Sero’s eyes soften. “And if we break up.”

“Nothing lasts forever, Sero.”

“Let’s prove them wrong then.” He brushes his knuckles across your cheek with such tenderness that it hurts. “Baby, why are you so worried about a future that won’t happen?”

“Because I’ve seen it happen to people.” There’s a worried frown on your face as all your past visions from your Quirk flash through your mind. “One moment everything’s going fine, then it all falls apart. Fate runs its course. I don’t want that to happen to us.”

“Forget fate, I want you.” He cups your cheeks, and you huff as you’re sandwiched between his hands. “It’s hot when you get all Doomsday on me, but I think you’re overthinking it.”

You let out a giggle, realizing he’s right. Nothing is ever set in stone, and you knew that your powers would cause you to be predisposed to anxiously anticipate things, even ones far from your current time.

He’s always reminded you to breathe, like now.

“I want you to focus on the present in that pretty little head of yours, okay?” Sero’s warm, caramel voice tickles your ear. “Can you do that for me?”

“Okay.” You whisper from where your head’s tucked under his chin, clutching his uniform in your hands. “I really want you too.”

He breathes a relieved laugh into your hair. “That’s good. So I can say it now right?”

You bury a smile into his shoulder and his lips tug upward as well when he feels it. “Go ahead.”

Sero takes a deep breath.

“Can I be your boyfriend?”

The butterflies in your stomach flutter while you stand on your tip toes, and to your delight his pupils are blown out and his cheeks are already flushed before you even lean in to give them a kiss.

“Yes. In every future, yes.”

[lilolilyr]

~ Lilo's 2024 Star Wars recs ~ (another Ao3 year in review)

This is specifically the star wars edition of my reader year in review, the rest & more info can be found here!

Descriptions/summaries by me, click the links for the ones from the authors.

The Good Sith by sonnyrain - Obi-Wan Kenobi and all of the Vod'e time travel and end up on a Sith planet. Obi-Wan, now 'Aranar', turns to the dark side, swearing to protect his men no matter the cost. Over a million words, lots of plot and character developments, fix-everything, still ongoing as of mid last year but you can read the first part(s) on their own.

I love this fic a ridiculous amount, I read several parts at least twice, and I'm thinking about it constantly. Like, when I think up my plotless little fluff piece fix everything bedtime stories I think up to fall asleep (and sometimes when something's good have to forego sleep to write down immediately because I know I won't remember fuckall come morning), I think of the versions of the characters from that 'verse just as often as I think of canon star wars characters or ones from any other fics. It fits into my headcanon 'verse really well because I always work with multiverse settings, and I love the kid characters especially little Sithling Aurek and his twin Soul.

Knives and Spices by argentee, mikaiyawa and others: A whole group of humans from earth is kidnapped into the Star Wars world, and separate fics follow separate characters. One becomes Mandalorian, one a pop star, yet another befriends some pirates and travels to lands we've never seen in canon. 280k, ratings and warnings vary, series still ongoing, parts can be read separately

I love and adore all kinds of self insert stories but this one is just extra levels of amazing - it's basically humans are space orcs meets Star Wars, and humans are all a bit force sensitive - the ending of the series summary describes it perfectly: "how much trouble can a few humans cause? All of it. All the trouble." and I love it all to bits!

Like a Tree by the River by @bairnsidhe - at Galidraan, Komari has a vision of the canon future and decides that she'd rather leave the Jedi behind than be a part of that massacre. Somehow, this ends with her and Dooku being adopted by mandalorians, and her in turn kind of adopting teenaged Obi-Wan at Melida/Daan? 20k T

Idk, this isn't even such a long one and I mean all of BairnSidhe's works I've read are great but somehow specifically this one with Dooku being the 'a bit old' ad and Komari therefore the bu'ad of a random coruscanti Mandalorian just stuck with me and I sometimes randomly think of Dooku being all confused and have to smile xD the plot&writing is also really good!

How a Romance Novel Saved the Galaxy by @arianaderalte: The mandos get their hands on a novel that describes a romance between mandalorians and jedi, and just how perfect jedi really are as partners for mandalorians... This changes things when both groups interact irl. 200k, rated T, Violence

This series has Everything. Jedi, Mandalorians, action, relationships, all kinds of queerness, and excerpts from a romance novel about the ancient Sith wars. Honestly, this fic just couldn't be better! I binge-read through it in one go even though I should have done a million other things at the time and I didn't regret it one bit xD

All the Amavikka stories: the slaves on Tatooine have a separate secret culture with language, myths and names, and Anakin, coming from this culture, reacts to Palpatine being his newest slave master

I think this idea of Tatooine slave culture and of Anakin's characterization is so interesting and I love reading it, from long Double Agent Vader by @fialleril, which I think is the original fic creating the Ekkreth lore, over the ongoing series Biting His Own Tale by @adragonsfriend, to the short story I can't find anymore about depur erecting a tower, a song-fic to Babylon by Dirt Poor Robin and the reason for my obsession with that band - please, if anyone has a link, send it my way! - and all other fics, I love this trope so much!

I think Ekkreth Skywalker was one of the first trope rabbit holes I stumbled into when I got really into Star Wars longfics in the middle of 2024, and I'm always excited to see references to it in fics mainly about other characters as well, like Breaking Chains by @jehanneargentee, and I went back to (re)reading fics about the trope on purpose several times as well :)

The last fic leads neatly into the next trope I really loved this year, Time Travel stories, more specifically Obi-Wan Kenobi time travelling and meeting mandalorians :D

I don't really have more specific stories for this one, I read so so so many of them that they just blur together in my mind. I marked a couple with the Ao3 rec function so I assume I liked those especially much, but going through them now I still don't really remember much, but I do recognize a couple fic author names as authors I read many good fics from, Ariel_Sojourner AppoApples @batshieroglyphics @roosjem LeeTheHobbit @triscribe cjwritesfanficnow @laurabwrites y'all's are awesome! Everyone, go check out all their fics!

I do also read and enjoy stories where people other than Obi-Wan travel through time, one that really stuck with me is In Good Time by morwen_of_gondor, about the Mandalorian trainers Kal Skirata and Walon Vau time travelling back to their time on Kamino.

All the fluffy h/c, fix-it, everyone lives, no order 66 Clone Wars fics! Pro-jedi, pro-clones, anti-sith (which sometimes includes Anakin, sometimes not), usually focusing on the 212th.

I never watched the series and it's been ages since I watched Attack of the Clones, but somehow, probably on the time travel -> Obi-Wan fics -> General Kenobi pipeline, I ended up reading a loooot of clone wars (fix it) fic, specifically lots and lots of Codywan!

You know that lovely feeling of getting into a new fandom without having any preconceived notions or otps or anything, so you can read All The Fic without any ships or bashing squicking you out? Yeah, that was me in Star Wars several months ago, cursed be the Codywan that got to me xD I can barely read time travel fics anymore without mourning the existence of the Vod'e because changing the past usually means they won't be created (unless they're the ones time travelling of course. Love those fics) and where I used to read just about anyone x Obi-Wan (and also anyone x anybody else lmao), I'm not pretty exclusively into Codywan... That being said, there's a reason for that, and that's the amount of amazing fics for that ship that I came across!

Again, I don't have specific fics that I remember because I just read so many one after the other... I guess I'll have to re-read them all. Which is great actually because me not remembering them much means I can reread them basically for the first time! I did mark some as rec but looking through them now I think they're not mainly recced for the codywan... My shippy bookmark tag might give a better overview.

Another ship I got into was clone troopers Waxer x Boil, I like the thought of the Vod'e being a society of to outsiders identical looking but to each other separate people who only see their immediate batchmates as siblings (which would also psychologically make a lot more sense), and these two are just super cute.

One of the first Waxer/Boil fics I read is also Codywan and it's one of these clones&Obi-Wan time travel fics I like so much :D The 212th Attack Battalion's Guide to Saving the Galaxy by Accident by @antigrav-vector and @quarra, it also has some Dooku/Sifo-Dyas which is another ship I really like.

Another one I still want to continue reading is RCAU: Open Skies mainly by @cacodaemonia, what I've seen of it so far is great and the story is So Long (almost 900k, a honestly daunting wordcount and probably what made me procrastinate continuing it, but also Awesome because So Much Fic), it's cute and shippy and no order 66 but also has plot and interesting characters and ocs and I just love it <3

Also similar but less ship centric, I absolutely love all the fics where Fox gets to kill Palpatine. Just, best trope ever. The Corrie Guard deserves a little Sith Murder. As a treat.

Jaster Mereel and his haat'ade (True Mandalorians), there are a bunch of really good ones where they rescue Obi-Wan and the Young from Melidaan, but also in general all the Jaster fics are great!

While I'm very anti guns irl I just love the fictional Mandalorian culture xD with their cool armor and their codex and the language (per my last count I know 90 words of Mando'a just from fic reading osmosis, send me an ask if you want a list lmao), the vibrant culture created by it being a creed, not one species... and Jaster is just my favorite Mando'ad ever, maybe because he doesn't have much canon attached so fanon just went wild? xD there are also a bunch of jedi shippy fics with him and Dooku sometimes in ot3 with Sifo-Dyas, or him and Jon Antilles like the wonderful 100k wip trade your heart for bones to know by @blackkatmagic, and I think there was one with time travelling adult Obi-Wan as well - edit: yes several, by @roosjem @cjwritesfanficnow @batshieroglyphics <3

Skywalker Family Values by Ariel_Sojourner: Sith-son Luke and senator daughter Leia end up in the same summer camp, it ends in a destruction of the speciist camp, a rebellious theatre performance and the reintroduction of their parents... Aka the parent trap/ Doppelte Lottchen AU that is still somehow perfectly in tune with the Star Wars world! 55k, T for violence.

Can't forget the fic that actually got me into Star Wars! At least I'm pretty sure this is the one? I think there was a tumblr post talking about crackfic ideas for a parent trap AU, and I went looking and found this one, which is actually 100% serious and such a good read. I actually made my mom read it as well xD Das Doppelte Lottchen (German original parent trap book from 1949) was one of our favs for her to read to me when I was a kid, and my mom is always looking for new reading material and as I'm mainly reading fanfic, I'm always happy to find fic she'll also like.

And, because I turn everything into a tag meme, maybe some of you also want to show your appreciation for the writers who got us through the last year - everyone who sees this, feel free to make your own post (if it's just Star wars fic I guess you can reblog-add to this one, but otherwise seriously make your own post)! and remember to leave your authors some comments especially if they can't be @-ed on tumblr :) tagging all the authors already tagged above and everyone else who sees this!

here's my 2024 rec list for other fandoms

more of my fic recs • my writing • my Star Wars • Star Wars fic recs

[paperclip-skz]

Just You and Me

fem*Reader x Bang Chan

*WARNING

contains: Teasing, trapped ( Chan and reader are kinda kidnapped), kidnapped!, slight force spaced, squirting, fingering, humping, over-clothes stimulation, nicknames, overstimulation, unprotected sex (don't), I'm sure I missed something, let me know in the comments.

prompt: Fuck or die you have 48 hrs to complete the challenge- “Okay, fine, lets do of this then” “Whoa, I might be a fan, but I don’t know you” - “Can we start over…. And maybe we can save each other lives?”

WC: 4.1k

part 2 part 3

***

You felt the suffocating weight of a bag over your head, darkness, and cold wrapping around you like a shroud. Goosebumps erupted on your skin as the icy air seeped into your bones. Then, with a sudden yank, the bag was ripped away, blinding light assaulting your eyes. 

As your vision cleared, dread washed over you. Just a few feet away, there was another figure chained to the floor — The one, the only, Bang Chan, fear etched across his beautiful face. Panic surged through you. Why is he here? And more importantly, where the hell are we?

“What the hell is going on?” Chan roared, his voice echoing with desperation as he struggled against the unforgiving metal cuffs. The sound bounced off the sterile, white walls, amplifying the terror in the air.

Then, a chilling click resonated from above. Your heart raced as your gaze darted to the speakers embedded in the ceiling. A sinister voice slithered through the darkness, dripping with malice. “It’s simple. Play my game, and you both might just live to see another day—along with a bucket full of money.”

“What’s the game?” You dared to ask, your voice trembling, uncertainty creeping in like a slow poison.

“Sleep with each other. Pleasure each other. If you both survive the night, you’ll walk out of here with more than just your lives. You’ll walk out with $5 million.” The voice loomed from the speakers above, blunt and final.  

5 million dollars was on the line, and the thought of it sent a rush of temptation through your veins. 5 million dollars could help you pay off debts, fulfill dreams, and secure a future that felt increasingly uncertain, but there was no way you’d stoop that low; your pride wouldn’t let you. 

“Piss off, go get your porno somewhere else,” you screamed.

“Fine, wanna play, fuck him or die. Your choice,” and the click you heard told you he wasn’t playing anymore. 

Suddenly, the chains unclasp, and you scramble to your feet. You rub your wrists; the lingering sting from the metal reminds you of how vulnerable you are. A sense of panic bubbles within you, clawing at your insides.

“I’m Chris,” he says. His voice is so soft, it’s like velvet, caressing your ears, yet it sends a shiver down your spine at the same time. The thick accent wraps around you, igniting something deep within—was it fear or something more? You feel an overwhelming urge to flee, but where could you go?

“I know,” is all you can muster, your throat tightening as you speak. Your heart races, and in that moment, you realize the implications of your words. What did it mean to know him? You avert your gaze, refusing to let him see the conflict swirling inside you.

“Seen me on the news, I take it?” He rubs his own raw wrists, and your eyes dart to the marks, an echo of your own pain. But you can’t afford to feel sorry for him, not when your own fears loom so large. 

“No, I'm—” Hesitation grips you. “I’m a Stay,” you finally blurt out, your voice steadier than you feel. His eyes widen, surprise etched on his face, and for a fleeting moment, every instinct screams at you to run. “Well, don’t act too surprised,” the tone of your voice shifting subtly.

“No- I just- well I mean- what are the odds?” he stumbles. If it wasn’t for the situation your both in, or the rawness of your skin, or even the coldness of the room, you might have found his flustered state cute. Your lying to yourself. You still found it cute. 

A silent moment passed by. “I think it’s just best if we get this over with.” 

You take two steps back, holding your hand up, acting as a defense. “Whoa, whoa, I might be a fan, but I don’t know you.” 

“Sorry sorry” Chan takes a few steps back. You hold your arms, panic still coursing through your veins. 

“Can we start over? And maybe save our lives in the process?” 

——-

Moments passed. You couldn’t tell if it was an hour or two. The voice didn’t come back, and the lights never dwindled. You couldn’t tell if it was light or dark outside. 

The boredom caught up with you two. It led you to play games to pass the unforgiving time. 20 questions. 

“What’s your favorite color?” Chan asked, a pout on his lips. 

“Maroon” you answered bluntly, from across the room. You knees meeting your chest. “Favorite place to eat?” you shot back. 

“A small tteokbokki mom-and-pop shop in the subway, Sinchon” he shoots back. 

You both go back and forth for a little while until you ask. “What do you want with the money? Don’t you get paid enough?” It wasn’t meant to be an insult or a passive-aggressive comment. But a genuine question.

“Contrary to popular belief, celebrities don’t get paid as much as you might think.” He shifts his gaze to his hands, and his shoulders slump. “You're a Stay, so I assume you know our story—my story,” he corrects himself. “We fight so hard, tooth and nail, every single day, and yet they still want more. It’s a miracle we get all our work done sober, let alone on time.” He chuckles softly to himself. Despite the somberness of his words, a small smile tugs at his lips, and a sparkle shines in his eyes. Even though the life he chose is challenging, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Why don’t you want to sleep with me?” his next question. 

A deep pit hits your stomach. It's not that you don't want to sleep with him. You’d be rich if you 

got a nickel for every time you thought about Chan in a…certain way. But, it was more than just wanting to jump his bones. Yes, he was attractive, yes,  anyone in their right mind would want to see this beautiful man naked, but he was still a person that you didn’t know - he was still a man who was very capable of taking advantage of you. 

You couldn't meet his intense gaze, heat flooding your cheeks under the weight of his stare. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” you admit your voice barely above a whisper, a hint of vulnerability lacing your words. 

A playful smirk dances on his lips, and you can feel the tension crackling in the air, but he remains rooted in his spot, a teasing distance between you. 

“I just don’t know you. For all I know, you could be a total asshole behind the camera,” you challenge.

“Do you still think that?” he asks, a teasing lightness in his voice. He’s right—while you’ve traded innocent questions, each answer from him has been honest. He could’ve revealed his darker side, but all he showed was the kind, funny guy you admired. 

“No” you didn’t recognize your own voice. It came out raspy. Hushed. The situation you were both in dwindled a bit. The fear almost drained from your veins and was replaced by something else. 

“Your turn” he says, a new darkness in his eyes. “Can I ask you something a little more personal?” you venture, locking your gaze with his. He shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes, encouraging you to continue. “Have you ever… slept with anyone?”

He lets out a hearty laugh, his confidence radiating through the small room. “Of course, I’ve slept with someone. I’m not a virgin.”

“What?! I just had to know,” you reply, your laughter mixing with his, a warm smile spreading across your face. “I’m surprised they don’t keep you idols under tighter wraps.” You tease, feeling the tension in the air shift, your muscles relaxing.

The laughter flows freely between you, bubbling the small room. Then, he leans in, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Can I ask you a personal question?” he murmurs, his tone low and inviting.

“Sure,” you reply, your heart racing a little as you shrug nonchalantly, intrigued by where this might lead.

“When was the last time you had sex” he finally said the word. Neither one of you dared to say it until now. 

Your entire body ignited with warmth. “It’s been a while,” you confess, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. His brows lift playfully, and you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “Okay, okay. It’s been at least…�� you hesitate, choosing your words with care, “at least a year and a half.” You hide your face in your hands, your heart racing.

You hear a low chuckle escape him. “Wow.”

“Don’t be mean,” you retort, slowly removing your hands to reveal your flushed face. He lifts his hands in mock surrender.

“I’m not! Honestly, I’m no better—it’s been a whole two years since I kissed a girl, let alone slept with one. I’m just surprised, that’s all. You’re really beautiful; I expected you to have a boyfriend or something.” His eyes widen with curiosity. “Do you… have a boyfriend?”

You laugh, the sound light and airy, as the unexpected question tumbles from his lips. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend… or anyone, really.” your smile lingers a moment. 

“Can- can I move closer?” His voice sounds soft and gentle. You nod your head slightly, tightening your grip on your knees. Chris gets up and walks over to your side of the room. He sits down next to you, leaving a good two feet of space between your bodies. You will your heart to slow as his cologne fills your senses. He smells like a breath of fresh air; your whole body craves another whiff, wanting to be enveloped in his scent. 

You feel your core clench around nothing, the thought of Chris against you, skin against skin, your two breathing mingling with each other. “Thinking of something?” he asks, a cocky smirk tugging his lips. 

You feel warmth radiating from your neck to your chest, and surely all across your face. "N-no, nothing," you say….convincingly enough. 

A teasing laugh bubbles out of him. “Your turn” he turns his head to you, and you keep your head straight trying to ignore his piercing stare. But you feel him watching your every breath, tracing every rise and fall of your chest as you breathe heavily, the way your lip teases its way back and forth from between your teeth, igniting a warmth that spreads like wildfire through your body.

 “Um,” you stammer, your eyes darting around, momentarily lost in the moment. “Why isn’t this freaking you out?” The rasp in your voice reveals the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. “Aren’t you scared they’re recording us?” 

A sly smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “I could choose to be scared,” he says, his voice low and sultry as he leans in closer. His hand finds your jaw, gently guiding your face to meet his gaze. “Or I could forget the details and lose myself in the pretty woman in front of me.” With that, the space between you evaporates, charged and electric, the tension practically begging to be released.

Your lips part, and your eyes dart between his eyes and his lips, the space inching closer and closer. His hand on your jaw slowly glides down to your neck, not demanding, not dominating, not tightly, but enough to send bolts of pleasure coursing through you, enough to have you begging him to touch you more. 

His gentle fingers, warm and delicate, glide around your neck, softly brushing against your skin. You know he feels your heart racing, pulsing rapidly just beneath his fingertips. Your mouth dries, and the dampness between your legs makes you rub them together. “Y/N. Can I kiss you?” he asks, his breath ghosting your lips. 

You don’t answer him, not verbally at least, instead, you lean in that extra inch and connect your lips with his. His touch, yet gentle, is nothing compared to the way he kisses. It's charged, confident. He kisses like its the last kiss he’ll ever have. Savoring every gasp, every moan, every movment of your lips against his. 

His other hand snakes around your waist, silently asking for you to climb on top of him. And you oblige wordlessly, swinging one leg around him so your legs are wrapped around his waist, your arms taking purchase wrapped around his neck. “Fuck you taste so sweet,” he says between breaths of air, but he refuses to leave your lips longer than a second. One of your fists grips his shirt, grounding yourself before you let yourself fall completely victim to his touch, the other tangles into his hair, gently pulling at his roots. He grunts in approval urging you on. 

“W-wait” you push him back. The sight before you leaves you momentarily breathless. His hair is tousled, tangled strands falling alluringly over his forehead, it makes your insides clench and a shiver run down your spine. His lips, visibly red and slightly swollen, His eyes, wide and shimmering with adrenaline. 

His hands, restless and eager, seem to ache for your skin to bridge the distance that feels electric between you. Yet he holds back, a silent plea in his gaze, waiting for a signal—a tentative nod, a whispered word—to close the gap and unleash the storm brewing between you.

You force yourself to look away, your eyes darting around the room where you're both trapped. Still clean, white, and locked. No mirrors. No cameras. No windows. They must have something; they must be watching—panic surges through you. “Hey, hey," Chris cups your jaw again, bringing you back to him. The room fades away; the only sight you focus on is his coffee-stained eyes. "It's just you and me." He connects his forehead with yours, and your breaths intertwine, “just you. And me." You breathe him in deeply, his warmth calming your anxiety like a wave gently crashing on the shore.

You angle your head slightly to capture his lips once more. But this kiss isn’t like the one you both shared only moments ago. This one is gentle, slow, and deliberate. He matches that same intensity, his arms hugging your body close to him. You feel his heartbeat against your chest; it’s rapid. 

You wiggle your hips against him, getting into a more comfortable position against his lap, but a deep guttural moan rips out of his chest. And thats when you feel it. The large, prominent bulge pressing against you. You gasp against his lips, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. His eyes plead with a blend of embarrassment and desire. 

You bite your lip, and a sultry smirk spreads wide across your face. You rock against his middle, the tent in his pants only growing and hardening. He shuts his eyes tightly, and his face twists as he tries hard to focus and avoid losing control. A wicked idea forms in your mind; you push your body down against him, the leggings you're wearing thin and tight enough that he can feel your wetness between your legs. You rub yourself against him, pushing and rocking slightly, teasingly. 

A deep, heavy sigh escapes him as he instinctively tilts his head, baring his neck to you. You seize the moment, leaning in closer as your lips gently meet his skin. With each kiss, you leave delicate, lingering marks.

His hands seize your waist, begging you. You're not sure if they're begging you to slow down or speed up, but nonetheless, you don’t stop.  “Fuck” he moans. 

You lean back, not stopping your hips, as he meets your stare once again. His eyes, their usual coffee-stained manner, were now replaced by something darker, something exciting. His hand comes back to grip the side of your neck, bringing your lips against his once again before he fully takes control. With swift, easy movement, he lifts you up slightly only to set you down against the tile floor. His middle connects with yours, your legs still wrapped tightly around his waist. His kisses turn rugged as he leaves your lips to trail his lips lower down your body. 

“All this needs to go” he gestures to your still-clothed body. 

You smir,k and a small laugh bubbles out of you. You lean up slightly and tug your shirt over your head. You slide out of his reach, only for a moment, to also pull your leggings down your body. Leaving you in just a sports bra and soaked panties. “Your turn, hot shot.” 

He pokes his tongue to the side of his cheek while he maneuvers his shirt over his head and stands to rip his pants off his legs. You stare at his muscled, toned body, each ridge and muscle defined, looking at you like it's a meal. You swallow lightly as your eyes trail southward to the tent in his boxers, taunting you. He sees your stare and pulls down his boxers. 

You gulp at the sher size of him. Is he even gonna fit, you think? He practically sees the worry written on your face when he laughs and moves to lean down on top of you again. “Scared you can’t take me, babygirl?” his hands dance along your skin, and your legs spread wider. 

His fingers leave goosebumps along your skin. He trails them lower…lower…until they tease around the apex of your legs. “You can take me, princess. I know you can,” he whispers against your ear. He hooks his pointer finger around the middle of your panties, pulling them down with a force that makes you shiver against him. His fingers immediately go back to playing with your folds teasingly, refusing to give you exactly what you need, not yet. 

The whine that leaves you is completely foreign to you; you’ve never been much of a beggar in bed, but something about Chan makes you want to get on your knees for him. “Tell me, baby. Want do you want?” his voice breathes against the shell of your ear, as his fingers play with your thrumming bud, only to go back to circling your entrance. 

“Please, please, I need it. I need you,” you beg. 

“Ah, ah, ah. I need details. You have me, princess. What do you want me to do?” the bastard teases. 

A mix of a moan and a groan leaves you. “Chris, please.” you hesitate for a moment. “Please make me cum” 

He kisses the shell of your ear, and you feel two fingers plunge into your walls, curling upward. You gasp into the air, and he swallows that gasp with a kiss. He keeps a steady, relentless pace with his fingers, not too fast, but not slow either. He pushes his fingers deep inside you, moving his body in tandem with them, keeping them curled. He swallows every moan that ripples out of you, and your hand grips him so tight you think you might draw blood. 

He removes his hands, spreading the gathered wetness around your folds. A whine rips out of you from the loss, but he kisses you gently, leaning his forehead against yours. “Please, please,” you beg. You don’t even know what you begging for, whether it be to cum, or for him to finally take you as he pleases. 

“I know baby,” a kiss to your forehead, “it's coming, I promise.” he enters his fingers back in you, quickening his pace this time. Your back arched,s and your head tilts back. Your whole body starts to move with his thrusts, and you feel that all too familiar feeling form in the pit of your stomach. The tightness in you is familiar but slightly stranger. You actually think you might pee, “w-wait I think I’m gonna-” 

“Shhh,” he kisses your forehead again. This is wrong, it doesn't feel like a normal orgasm, it- it feels-

But pleasure sends you reeling, a silent scream shakes your bod,y and your arms cling to him. His fingers don’t stop, letting your whole body ride out your orgasm until you whine from overstimulation. Your body glistens with sweat. Every breath leaves you breathless. 

Chan's cocky laugh makes you open your eyes. He leans up, balancing on the heels of his feet while you prop yourself up on your elbows.  “Holy shit,” you gasp. Wetness… your wetness shines on his body. Evidence of your pleasure dripped on every sculpted muscle on his chest. “I’ve never…squirted…before” 

“I could tell,” he says, his voice dark and a smile wide. 

You gulp, the sight making that first wave of pleasure seem like a warm-up. Embarrassment covers your cheek, “hey,” he leans back down, “It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” You sigh when the tip of him slips against your sensitive bud. His face twists, and a small grunt leaves. 

Pants and quick breaths fill the empty air of the room. Chan looks down where the two of you dare to connect, his hips rock against your heated core, only skimming your folds but never entering, your wetness coating him. 

“Chris,” you breathed, his name a plea on your tongue. Your core clenched once again, nothing to grip onto. 

Your hand slid to the side of his hip as he angled himself at your entrance. Your other hand went up to his jaw, guiding him to see you. His breathing went uneven as he carefully slid deeper into you. At the first nudge of him, your body went taunt and surged to claim his mouth with your own. Your tongue ran over his bottom lip, and he dominated your mouth with urgency. You swallowed the low groan of pleasure as his hips rolled in gentle, slow thrusts. 

The feeling of your tight walls engulfing him left him gasping for air. But once Chan paused at the hilt, once he let you feel the fullness of him, you actually thought you might explode. You thought you could combust from the sheer desire that swept through you. 

Beyond words, beyond little gasps of breath and small whimper of pleasure, your hips moved against him, urging him deeper, harder. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?” he chuckled. 

You answered with a small whine. You clenched around him. His body became rigid like lightning coursing through it. “Do that again and see what happens princess,” he threatened. The darkness in his voice sent a sudden heat shooting through you…. You clenched harder than ever before. Chan groans loudly, almost like he’s in pain, but the smile on his lips says otherwise. 

You weren’t entirely prepared when Chan’s thrusts became crushing. Each thrust made your eyes roll to the back of your head and your whole body move inched further on the tile floor. His pace was timed, but his thrusts were deep, making each one count. The noises that left your throat were pure animalist, pure lust. 

Sweat shines on his forehead, and his pace quickly becomes rushed, those same deep thrusts turning matched with a relentless pace. The tip of his dick kissing your cervix, it made you see stars. “Are you gonna cum babygirl? Are you gonna cum for me” Each statement paired with a deep thrust makes you cling to him for dear life? Words are lost in the back of your throat. “Fuck” Chan grunts, “cum for me princess.”

As if it were a command, your whole body freezes, and you moan out his name loudly, your mind a puddle of pleasure. 

His hips rock into you two more times before he freezes; you can feel him twitch and throb inside your walls. He collapses beside you, pulling out in the process. Beats of silence follow, and after another breath, you both look at each other. And you laugh. The bubble of laughter fills the air along with your heavy breaths. 

A hollow click slices through the silence, echoing off the walls and setting your nerves on edge. Unlike the familiar sound of the speakers crackling to life, this noise is far more substantial, a heavy, industrial thud that reverberates in your chest. Suddenly, the door at the front of the room disengages with a groan, its old metal latch giving way as it inches open, revealing shadows beyond. 

A chill sweeps through the space as anticipation thickens the air. You turn to your companions, your hearts racing in unison. Chan catches your eye, his smile glowing with warmth that cuts through the tension like sunlight piercing through clouds. “Together?”

**************

@multi-fandommaniac

AN: I'm not sure how happy I am with how this turned out in the end....let me know. Also, let me know in the comments who you want to see more of or if you all want to see more fluff? more smut? longer stories? Shorter ones, etc? Love yall!

part 2?

[little-fae-hero]

Linked Universe, The Chosen Hero

My headcanons/aus

Art by Atro

Colored version.

Long talk/Ideas under the cut. Warning for dark themes, sickly appearance and death visions (Note: I may stuff over time but nothing will be delete from the list).

Twilight. Wind. Legend. Hyrule. Four. Time. War. Wild.

Sky (Skyward Sword). Other Nicknames: Hylia’s chosen, Sleepyhead, Cloud, Birdbrain, First knight, Skyloftan.

Titles: Hylia’s Chosen Hero, The Hero Reborn, Hero of Skyloft.

God who has claim over his soul: Hylia

Part of First’s soul: Caring/kindness (biggest piece)

Note: While he is technically called the ‘first hero’ he wasn’t actually the first hero. The first one while saving humanity was wounded, and died. However the first hero was scrapped from history, so by all accounts Sky is the ‘first hero’. He’s also the ‘first hero’ by a time travel and the grandfather paradox.

History:

Link was just a boy on Skyloft, he was in the knights academy along with his best friend Zelda and his rival known as Groose. They are bonded with Loftwings which are considered half of their soul. Link gets a weird dream, is woken up and then has to go looking for his Loftwing, Red. Link eventually finds his Loftwing and wins the race, officially graduating and Zelda gives him her sailcloth.

A tornado pulls Zelda out of the sky, Link tries to help her but it is seemingly useless. When Link wakes up, he’s called by a mystery figure who lures him down to a secret place, where the Goddess sword is located. He meets the spirit in the Goddess Sword, her name is Fi and she was given the task of helping the chosen hero defeat the Demon known as Demise, she offers that if Link takes this adventure he will find Zelda as well.

Eventually during this adventure Link learns the truth, that Zelda is Hylia reborn, that this was a long plan coming and just exactly who he is. Despite everything he still goes after to save her, having to forge the Master Sword to make sure it can actually be strong enough to kill the demon. After facing and killing the demon, Demise uttered a curse, to always be reborn and that the ones with the goddess blood and the hero spirit can never know peace. Link says goodbye to Fi but has to grapple with what he’s learned, he still loves Zelda and his new quest is to settle on the surface and have a family with Zelda for as long as his body will allow.

Death: Happened soon after his second child with Zelda. Suddenly his soul was becoming too much for his body and burned him from the inside out. He died out on a walk, Zelda did her best but couldn’t get his heart to start again.

Interesting stuff/Headcanons:

Link learns about his past and gains memories back after his first temple. He kept trying to push and go forward so Fi had to push him into the water to save him.

Basically his soul was burning up his body.

He does have a slight breakdown after this and is left with a burn scar over his heart.

After the final battle, Sky is lit with lighting scars crawling up his body. Most are seen on his neck, but some hint up to his face.

Sky talked a lot with Fi and really grew to care for her, she was the only person who would talk about the past with him. He still talks to the sword even if he won’t get an answer.

He learns a lot of songs and a lot of stories that he shouldn’t know. He knows history that has been lost to ages and will forever stay lost.

Sky falling asleep isn’t natural, it was a safety measure done by Hylia, to try and keep his soul from burning out like the last hero.

So if he sits down for too long without something to do, he will fall asleep.

He also suffers from visions and dreams about the future. Some are vague but others are not. He knew he was fated to die before Zelda’s hair even turned gray.

The prophetic dreams come from the father of his soul, and his connection to time. Sky has the dreams cause he has the biggest soul piece.

Sky tries to stay on the positive side because 1) it’s in his nature and 2) if he didn’t he probably would have broken down by now.

Sky has come to terms that Zelda isn’t Hylia, she may have some memories but Hylia couldn’t be bound in a mortal form (at least not like in the games), she is just what Hylia thinks are her best parts (you can think like Zelda is a daughter or offshoot of Hylia).

Zelda and Sky both deal with an identity crisis and bond over it. Zelda does try to find ways to stop Sky’s visions from coming true.

He keeps a feather from his Loftwing in his hair, so he can always be connected to Red.

He took up woodworking and whittling to keep himself awake when he sits down.

Unlike the others, he seems to be the only one experiencing the curse, it could be because he has a bigger piece of the original soul.

He can play the harp, specially he still carries around and uses the goddess harp.

He can cook, he just often doesn’t because he would doze off while something was cooking.

Just because Sky is sleeping doesn’t mean he’s resting, so he has bags under his eyes despite the amount of sleeping he does.

The bags combined with his pale skin that never seems to get darker, gives him a gaunt appearance at times.

His visions have also allowed him to see what the others deal with on their adventure (as well as their deaths). He mainly tries to come across as someone you can talk to.

Sky adores birds, he doesn’t understand why all the others seem to hate them.

Sometimes he feels a bitter envy for the other heroes, not knowing their fate, not knowing the burning feeling digs into his chest.

Sky is very protective of Fi and the Master Sword, he doesn’t understand how someone like Time sees it as a curse.

Sky can actually feel/see the other hero’s spirits or the broken part. Sometimes his mind screams at him to do something, but he doesn’t know what. (it’s like a faint greenish glow)

—-

[loves1ckmoth]

SCALES AND FINS

Ambessa x mermaid!reader

Warnings♡: dark!ambesssa (just a little, as a treat), fem!reader, pet names, she basically sees you as a pet, she pushes to have complete control of you

Word count♡: 1188

“Lady Ambessa.” Your heard the muffled voice of a servant through the hardly filtered water in the claustrophobic tank you’re being kept in. You can’t hear the lady's response but you watch as the light slowly fades into the tank, the sheet that kept you hidden from the rest of her expansive castle now lifting to reveal you to her.

Her smirk looks almost evil as she looks you over. In a flash of terror, you rise to the top of the tank, bashing against the cover as if it’ll help you escape. You can hear her deep chuckle, and she seems almost more enamored in your defiance.

When your hands are practically bleeding from bashing them on metal, you stop, floating back down to the solid bottom of the glass container. She eyes you, preferring to stand so she won’t seem at your level. Almost like an annoying child at an aquarium, she taps on the glass, trying to get your attention.

You don’t reward her with it and she seems a little irritated. She turns to a servant, her voice low enough to only make the glass and water hum but not loud enough for you to completely decipher it. The sheet covers the container again, shrouding you in darkness.

Due to generations of mermaids being born and raised in dark water, they had evolved to have better vision in dimly lit spaces. It’s especially useful now when the floor is see-through even though the covered glass allows no light. You watch as the floor beneath you changes from the cold tile of the room where you met General Ambessa Medarda, to the carpets in her hallways to a rug in a strange room.

Just by the floor, you can tell it’s lavish. Pristine and almost brand new floors, something you saw rarely even in the magazines you pocketed from humans. You can see pieces of furniture from angles but you still can’t decipher what kind of room they’ve placed you in now. But at least the nausea from being pushed around has subsided.

You’re left in the still, gloomy silence of the glass cage for a long time, with nothing to keep you from fearing for the future. You can’t tell if it’s on purpose, the amount of time she leaves you alone and unattended for, but it doesn’t allow you to do much. You attempt to bang on the walls this time and even try ramming into the sides to get the sheet covering it off.

You’re stopped after what feels like an era of waiting by someone’s strong hands stabilizing the glass tank once it starts to tip too much. “I believe you’ve had your fun, little one.” Her voice is deep, seemingly cutting through the glass and water that separates you both.

The sheet lifts once more, blinding you due to the light from a giant window. You shield your face with your hands, bubbles escaping your mouth as you whimper. She sits there, amused, watching as you try to adjust. She thought it was cute, the way you cowered. You were fearful and you hadn’t even seen the worst of her.

Once your eyes focus and take in the room you’re in finally. You can feel the fins on your neck flutter a little as you spin around in the tank to get a look at everything. The room is huge, and it belongs to Ambessa.

“I’ve commissioned a pool for you, my dear.” Her words cut through your amazement, bringing your attention right back to her, right where she wants it. “It won’t take long to make, I’ve ensured it.” She says, her hands drifting to the cover of the tank.

You’re frightened, drifting back to the bottom. But isn’t that what you wanted? To be free of that tank? No, it wasn’t that. It was her. You wanted to be away from her castle and human land. Of course, their trinkets and inventions were a guilty pleasure but you would never like them.

“Come on, don’t make that face, dearest. I’m helping you. We need to see if you’re one of the transforming types. It’s all so we can provide the best care for you.” A lie. While she does want to see if you can transform, she also wants to see the face you make when you can’t breathe. Having your gills full of air instead of water will make that easier than placing a hand down on your windpipe. It was a perverted and cruel fantasy, but one she wanted to indulge in nonetheless.

The top lifts and rough hands drag you out despite your frantic flailing. A towel immediately covers your neck, drying away the droplets and she watches in amazement as your fins and gills fade away with the water. As she continues to dry you, scales, fins, and even marks that represent your family line completely fade, leaving you bare with two legs.

You fall into her with a huff, gasping for air. She holds you tight, frowning as the color returns to your face and you no longer look sickeningly blue. “All better. See, I told you. Well, you won’t need that tank anymore.” She sets you on the bed like some object to be tossed aside, throwing a robe in your direction as an instruction to cover yourself.

While you’re not a fan of her, you listen, draping it over your shoulders until you find the sleeves. By the time you look back up, the tank has disappeared, and you’re left alone without anything to shield you from her. A guard is at the door, speaking to her quietly, as if updating her. She keeps glancing over your way and eventually dismisses him to come back to you.

“Well, then. You’re still not adjusted to your legs. I assume you didn’t know you were a shifter? Most of your kind don’t. Not until we oh so graciously take them in.” She comes up to your side and begins to play with your hair, twirling it around her finger. “We’ll get you someone to teach you and perhaps a cane to assist you. Until that pool is built, you will stay at my side no matter what.”

Your nose wrinkles up at the prospect and she chuckles. “What? Don’t like that idea? Don’t worry. I won’t do much. Your only job is to be good. You can handle that, can’t you?” When you hesitate to agree, she grabs your face with force, tilting your head to make you look her in the eyes.

“You can handle that. Can’t you?” Her tone is firm and when you still hesitate, she nods your head for you. “There you go. Alright then, it’s settled little one. You’ll stay in this room while we get you a cane and some proper clothes. I will bring you food and tend to your needs.”

You sigh softly, letting her hands roam where they please now. Ambessa’s hold is tight, you’ll learn just how tight soon enough. For now, your best bet is to follow her directions and “be good.”

Hi everyone, sorry for the late post!! Hope you like this one ♡♡ my cat kept attacking my computer, so apologies if there's any mess ups ♡ Reblogs and likes are most appreciated ♡

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Cho Sang Woo X F!Reader: A blast from the past

a/n: this was originally supposed to be a Gi hun x Sang-woo X reader but it became something else.

Warnings: smut, kissing, Sang woo being an ass, fluff, jealousy, fingering, penetration (p in v), mentions of attempted suicide, domish Sang woo, fighting, no use of y/n, not proofread, female reader

Word count: 3656 (holy moly)

Fate is a funny thing. Here you were, trapped inside a game of death with none other than your childhood best friends. You hadn’t seen them in ages but the moment you laid eyes on the two men you recognized them instantly. You raced over to them, a smile on your face as you watched the men's eyes widen in recognition.

“Oh my god! Sang-woo, look who it is!”

Gi hun wasted no time, immediately pulling you into a warm embrace. He smelled different then you remembered. The sugary scent that he had when he was a child was completely gone, replaced with a metallic scent that reminded you of coins. Gi hun pulled out of the embrace, his arms holding onto your shoulders as he turned to glance at Sang-woo with an easy smile. The other man gazed at you with an impassive expression. He had always had a sober look, even as a child. You smiled at him but he didn't return the gesture, opting instead to push his glasses up.

“What are you doing here?”

The emotionless tone in which he asked the question made a twinge of anger shoot through you. He sounded like he was judging you. 

“I could ask you the same thing, Mister SNU Business School graduate.”

Gi hun looked between the two of you, noticing the obvious tension. In a desperate attempt to stop this conversation before it became an argument, something that often happened when you and Sang-woo had any sort of interaction, Gi hun placed his hands on either one of your shoulders. You looked at him, your belly warming at the sight of his goofy smile. 

“Looks like we’re going to be playing some games. Should be fun right?”

You glanced at the doll at the edge of the room.

“I was always quite good at red light, green light.”

Sang-woo shrugged Gi hun's hand from his shoulder before silently moving away from the two of you. You scoffed at the action.

“What’s up his ass?”

“I think he’s embarrassed that you saw him like this.”

“But I'm in here too. And so are you.”

“Yeah well, I never had a promising future laid out for me.”

Your brows furrowed at his words but Gi hun just shrugged, as if he knew the affirmation was true.

“Plus, he always wanted to impress you. Even as kids.”

Before you could question Gi huns words a voice rang out through the room, telling you the games were about to begin. 

Your hands shook as you walked back into the dormitory. Blood stained your face and clothes. You looked like a zombie, stumbling around in silence until you reached your bed. You knew the boys had made it too, you’d gotten a quick glance at them as you walked back to the dormitory but you were far too out of it to do anything about it. Luckily you didn’t have to search for them. They found you instead.

You raised your head as a sudden darkness filled your field of vision. Sang-woo stood before you, his face covered in sweat. Somehow he’d managed to keep his glasses on during the game. He didn’t say anything, his eyes moving over the blood on your body. A shrill call of your name rang out from behind you, causing you to look over his shoulder. Gi hun raced towards you, pushing past Sang-woo so he could get to you. He kneeled before you, his hands moving to hold onto your face. 

“Are you okay?”

His eyes seemed to notice the blood for the first time, eyebrows raising with horror.

“Are you hurt? Did you-”

“It’s not hers.”

Sang-woos voice made the two of you look up at him.

“What?”

“The blood Gi hun. It’s not hers.”

Your lip started shaking. Before you could stop them the tears began flowing from your eyes. A small sob made its way from your lips, causing Gi hun’s head to snap back to you. He watched you with wide eyes for a moment before his hands moved to tug you into him. He pulled you to the floor, holding you in a fierce hug. 

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Sang-woo watched the exchange with a heavy heart. He watched the way your hands clawed at Gi huns jacket, desperately trying to cling onto something. He wanted to move but he didn't feel like he should. You were probably angry at him, he’d been a dick to you after all. He thought of moving away, leaving you and Gi hun to your tender embrace. But before he could turn around your voice ripped through the silence. You called out his name in a rough whisper, voice a barely contained sob. You hand moved from Gi hun’s jacket, extending it to him in invitation. Gi hun unclinged himself from your body, allowing him to look at Sang-woo. Sang-woo looked from your tear stained face to Gi hun's wide eyed expression and before he could stop himself he was sinking to the floor before you, allowing you to pull him into a tight hug. 

You were sitting on your bed, one of the boys on either side of you. Gi hun held one of your hands in his lap. Sangwoo’s gaze drifted to your hands ever so often, a small twinge of jealousy making its way into his mind. He didn’t know why he’d suddenly started caring about your caresses with Gi hun. Even as children you’d always been closer to the other boy, a consequence of Sangwoos cold nature. But now he wished you’d cling onto him the way you clung to Gi hun. The thought was ripped out of his head when the alarm sounded. 

During the whole voting process your hand remained glued to Gi huns. You watched player after player vote until finally it was Sangwoos' turn. You gave him a small smile as he walked over to the buttons. Your face dropped as you watched him press “O”. You could feel Gi hun's disappointment beside you but he pushed it down to whisper in your ear.

“It’s okay. We still have a chance.”

You nodded, eyes never moving away from the back of Sang-woos head. 

Your body crashed onto the harsh ground with a thud. You groaned as you tried to lift your body up. You couldn't see a thing and your body was bound at an awkward angle. You felt a pair of hands move against your face. You twisted away, a small shriek leaving your lips.

“Stop wiggling around.I’m trying to help.”

You recognized his voice instantly. A small part of you wanted to keep wiggling just to make his life harder, but the cold air on your body was becoming very uncomfortable so you stayed still. The moment both of you were free Sang-woo made his way over to his bag, pulling out his clothes. You stared at him in disbelief. He seemed to notice your eyes on him because he turned around.

“You should get dressed. You’ll get sick.”

You let out a scoff.

“Like you give a shit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You voted to stay!”

You’d made your way over to him, hands moving to tug the bag out of his hand before throwing it at the floor. Sang-woo gave you a tired look.

“I’m really not in the mood-”

“Oh! I’m sorry! You’re not in the mood to listen to what a shit person you are?”

Sang-woo bit into his lips in anger, his head moving to look at the road.

“Don't look away from me!”

You hit his chest with all your might, something you would do when he’d pissed you off.

“What the hell were you thinking huh? People were killed! We were all going to die and you wanted to keep playing? For what? Some extra cash?”

“Extra cash?” 

He was angry now. You could tell from the look on his face, the way his lips became a small line as he spoke.

“That money would get rid of my debt!”

“It’s blood money Sang-woo!”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t think about it. I saw your face when they started to fill the piggy bank. You wanted it.”

You shake your head at him.

“You don't know anything about me. You never bothered to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means!”

Your face was so close to his that he could feel your breath on his skin. You were looking up at him with a scowl, your brows furrowed so intensely that the line on your forehead became very predominant. You’d only ever looked at him with such anger once before. He didn’t want to remember that day. His eyes shifted over to your body, gaze catching on the bare skin.He couldn’t help it, he’d always found you rather beautiful. He wanted to keep arguing but he was cold and tired. He knew you would keep this up all night if you had to. You were stubborn like that. So he did the only thing he knew would shut you up. He kissed you.

He tasted like cigarettes, his hands were cold as they grabbed onto your waist, pulling flush against his body. Your brain stopped working for a moment, the feeling of his lips was intoxicating but then you seemed to remember that you were mad at him. You shoved him off of you. Your face was flushed, chest rising and falling as you stared at him.

“You’re such a dick Sang-woo.”

With that you’d turned on your heels making your way to the bag that held your clothes. Sang-woo watched you rip it open, removing your clothes from inside before beginning to get dressed. He waited for a moment before beginning to get dressed too. 

Your shoulders shook as you walked down the road. You’d been giving Sang-woo the silent treatment ever since you’d both decided you would walk to the nearest convenience store so you could charge your phones. You kept up with Sang-woos pace but it was obvious you were having a hard time with the cold, not that you would ever admit it to him. Sang-woo stopped abruptly. You turned around to look at him.

“What are you doing? We're almost there.”

You watched him take off his suit jacket. He put his hand out to you, offering you the garment. You glanced at the jacket and then up at him. What was his deal? First he treats you like shit, then he kisses you and now he’s giving you his jacket.

“Take it. I know you’re cold.”

You're about to say you’re fine but a strong gust of wind blows causing you to shiver.

“Oh for fucks sake.”

Sang-woo makes his way to you, placing his jacket over your shoulders. You stare up at him as he drapes the jacket over your body. His glasses are slightly falling down his nose so you raise a finger to his face and push them up. He looks at you for a moment, surprised by the action. 

“Thanks.”

“You’re still an asshole.”

With that you start walking again, leaving Sang-woo behind with a shocked expression. 

It had been a day since you’d left the games. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about that place. Or about Sang-woo. You hated to admit it but even since you’d seen him you’d been plagued by memories of your childhood. You had a crush on Sang-Woo when you were younger. It was hard not to be attracted to him. But as you two grew older he seemed to become more and more distant. One night you had a big fight. It was right before you’d gone off to college and neither one of you had spoken since then. That is until the games brought you back together. 

You stood in front of his door, a bag of takeout in your hand as the other moved to ring the doorbell. When there was no sign of an answer you rang again. You waited for him to come to the door but it seemed he wasn't home. With a disappointed sigh you began moving away. Your head snapped back to the door when you heard the lock click. 

Sang woo stared at you, his eyes moving to the bag in your hand before moving to glance at your face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought maybe you’d like some company…”

You looked at him, noticing the water that dripped from his pants.

“Did you fall into the bathtub?”

Sang-woo moved out of the way, not bothering to answer your question. You entered his apartment, being careful as to not slip on the watery floor. Sang woo trailed behind you in silence. He watched you remove the food from your bag, placing it on the table before turning to look at him. 

“You should probably change. You’re all wet.”

He looked down at his feet, watching the water drip from his pants. You watched him, worry filling your chest. You made your way to him. Sang-woo lifted his gaze from the floor as you approached him. The pitiful look you gave him made him feel pathetic. 

“Do you want me to help?”

He nodded slowly. 

“Okay.”

You moved your hand to his chest, slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt. Once you've managed to get all the buttons you reached beneath the cloth, pushing his shirt and jacket off in one go. The wet fabric landed with a dull thud on the ground. Your hand moved to his waistband, eyes gazing up at him through your lashes. The tension filled the air, making it hard to breathe. You moved slowly, afraid that any harsh move would make Sang-woo react negatively. You began to work on his belt but his hand stopped you. You looked up at him, searching for discomfort in his face. 

“Everything okay?”

He nodded, his hand moving to rest on your waist. You gasped as his cold hand made its way beneath the fabric, fingers skimming over the bare skin. He tugged your shirt up a bit, stopping only to look at you for confirmation that this was okay. You nodded at him, not trusting your voice. You lifted your arms, allowing him to tug your shirt off. He looked at you for a while, just talking in the sight of your flushed expression. One of his hands moved to trace your collarbone and you let out a breathy sigh. 

“Sang-woo.”

“Hum?”

“Please don’t tease.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

He was. But not on purpose. He was trying to remember every inch of your face. He needed to go back in time, even if just for one night. He wanted to feel like a teenager again. Young and unburdened. His hand moved to hold onto your face, fingers tracing your lips before he leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was gentler than the one he’d given you the night before. Your hands wrapped around his neck, tugging him closer. Your pants began to drench up the water from his as the two of you kissed. You pulled away to breathe and Sang-woo took it as a chance to kiss your neck. You gasped as his tongue moved over your skin. Your hands fumbled against his belt, tugging it off in desperation before moving to pull his pants down. His own hands found their way to your bottoms, pulling them off as well.

The two of you broke apart for a moment, panting as you took in the sight of each other. Your eyes traced over Sang woo's body, you’d seen it hours prior but the circumstances had been very different. You couldn’t help but rub your thighs together as your eyes caught onto his hard on. Sang-Woo's throat was suddenly dry. He’d been planning to kill himself moments ago, if you hadn't knocked he’d probably gone through with it. He pushed the thoughts down, trying to focus on the task at hand. There was a beautiful semi naked woman before him. He wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. 

With one long stride Sang woo made his way to you, kissing you with a newly found hunger. He pushed you against the wall, his lips swallowing your gasps. His hard on rubbed against your clothed cunt and you couldn’t help but moan. His hand moved down your body, fingers rubbing over your underwear for a moment before pushing it to the side. You gasped as his digits entered you, nails digging into the muscles of his back. The sound your pussy made as he fingered you was down right shameful but you couldn’t get yourself to care. Not when your body buzzed with your upcoming orgasm. Your mouth went slack as Sang woo shifted his hand, allowing him to enter his fingers even deeper. 

“I missed you.”

“You’re the one that didn’t keep contact.”

Sangwoo grumbled at your words, fingers curling into you.

“I- ah- had to find out how you-shit- were through your mother.”

He was moving at a rapid speed, his motions making the air leave your chest. 

“Gi hun was all over you.”

“What?”

The words caught you off guard. Here you were,in his apartment, with his fingers inside you. And he was talking about Gi hun.

“In the games. He was all over you.” 

“He was excited to see me. Unlike some people.”

Sang-woo stilled his movements at your words, making you whine.

“Why’d you stop?”

“You’re mine.”

“What are-”

“Say it.”

You looked up at Sang-woo with wide eyes. The pathetic puppy dog you’d found when you walked in was completely gone. Sang-woo was back and he knew exactly what he could do to you. Your walls clenched around his fingers as he waited for you to say what he wanted. 

“I’m yours.”

Sang-woo's neck twitched at your breathy voice. He crashed his lips onto yours, fingers moving inside you once again. Your moans became more and more high pitched. You were so close, your eyes began to roll back into your head, mouth becoming slack. Just as you were about to tell Sang-woo you were going to cum he removed himself from you completely. You wanted to yell at him. He'd brought you to the brink only to rip it away at the last second.

You moved forward, fully prepared to hit him but you stilled when your gaze fell to his boxers. He was incredibly hard. There was a small stain on the fabric you assumed was pre cum. You watched him place his fingers on the edge of his boxers, thighs rubbing together in anticipation.  In one smooth movement he tugged his boxers down, his dick slapping proudly against his stomach as he removed it from its confinement. Sang-woo hissed at the feeling of the cold air on his dick. You stared at him without a twinge of shame. 

“Take your bra off.”

You didn’t even question it, immediately moving to unclasp the garment. Sang-woo made his way back to you, his hand moving to caress your breasts. You whined as he kissed your neck.

“Sang-woo please…”

“What is it, hum?”

“I need you inside me. Please fuck me.”

You could feel him smirk against your skin. This cocky bastard. You grabbed at his dick causing him to let out a moan. His head snapped up to look at you.

“I’m starting to lose my patience, Sang-woo.”

The look he gave you was comical. He was always in control but he’d forgotten just who he was dealing with.

“Either you fuck me right now or i’m leaving you to deal with this alone.”

“Oh yeah? And what about you huh? Gonna deal with this yourself.”

He grabbed at your cunt and you keened. 

“Don’t worry about me. I’m sure Gi hun would love to help.”

A growl left Sang woo's lips. In a blink of an eye he’d dragged your underwear down, his hands pushing you against the wall as he inserted himself in you. He didn’t give you a moment to breathe, his dick beginning to bully into you. All you could do was whine as his dick rammed into your pussy. You grabbed onto him, legs moving to wrap around his waist.

“Think Gi hun could fuck you like this? Think he could even compare to me? Answer me!”

“No! Sang-woo only you can fuck me like this. Please!”

“Good girl. You gonna cum? Gonna cream all over my cock?”

You were a babbling mess, your head nodding eagerly as your orgasm approached. You half expected Sang-woo to pull away again. It’s not that he didn't think of punishing you, the idea did cross his mind but the feeling of you wrapped around him was far too irresistible. And then if it couldn’t get any better you came. A shrill screech of his name made its way out of your lips as your juices counted his dick. Your body sagged into his, head resting on the crock of his neck. His hands moved to grab at your ass, allowing his thrusts to quicken. You whined into his neck, a slight feeling of overstimulation beginning to come over you. Sang-woo gave one last harsh thrust before his body stopped moving. You felt his side spill into you, coating your walls with ease. 

You removed your legs from his waist slowly. Sang-woo continued to pant, trying to recover from his orgasm. You pushed some hair off his face. He looked at you, his eyes full of an unexpected tenderness.

“Don’t leave me again.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Sang Woo. I’m right here.”

As if to prove your point you placed a loving kiss to his lips, forehead resting against his as silence filled the room.

[leighsartworks216]

What's In A Name

dragon!Sylus x blind!oracle!Reader

Series Masterlist - Chapter One - Prev Chapter - Next Chapter

Today has been rough, but I still wanted to get out this chapter since it's already written up

Warnings: injuries, pain, banter

Word Count: 1,005

Main Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You hiss as you carefully pour the medicine over your palm. The bottle clatters against the floor, unintentionally. The pain is all you can think about, willing the sting to fade so you can keep working. As soon as it becomes bearable, you pick up the roll of cloth from your lap and work through feel alone to line it over your hand and start wrapping it. It’s not the best job ever, but it’ll do. Hopefully.

You repeat the actions on the other side. Soon enough, your hands are as well treated as you can manage. You feel the ends of the cloth, checking that they’re secure and won’t come unraveling.

Something almost giddy wafts up in your chest. You giggle dumbly as you open and close your hands, testing the limits of the wraps. “Hey, not bad!” you say to yourself. “Hah! I knew I could do it!”

Your cheering voice echoes back to you, slowly petering off into nothing. The silence sours the glee. You sigh and wrap your arms around yourself.

You have no idea what time it is, no idea where you actually are, and no idea where the stranger went off to. All you do know is that the longer you sit here on the thin sheet meant to be your bed, the more aware of your exhaustion you become.

You try to set everything where you can find it again. The room is small, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.

You feel out how long the sheet is. It’s not even half as wide as you are tall, but you’ll have to make do. You wrap it tightly around your shoulders and lay down slowly on the rock floor with your arm acting as a pillow. You wrap your cold feet tightly in whatever excess blanket you have left.

With a quiet prayer to Astra, you let yourself be consumed by a restless sleep. Visions of darkness, blood, and flowers, and a story that spans hundreds of years.

-

“Has your god seen fit to answer my prayer, yet?”

“He has, actually.” You walk alongside the edge of what you can only fathom to be a pile of gold. The metal coins dig into your feet, but that you can handle just fine. It’s when a gem is suddenly underfoot that you’re cursing and trying to brush it aside. You can feel his smug look every single time it happens.

You hear metal clinking against metal a short ways behind you. “And?”

You shoot a sly grin in that direction. “Why should I tell you? What would I get in return?”

He huffs an amused laugh. “What do you want in return?”

“Fresh food and water, and new clothes. It’s freezing in here, you know? And I haven’t eaten anything since…” You trail off, thinking. “What time is it, anyway?”

“You’re demanding a lot for a simple prophecy, pet.”

“Oh?” You turn away, walking along the mounds of treasure again. “Then I guess you’re not interested in what your future holds? Pity. I found it quite interesting.”

He sighs. Good. Serves the bastard right for kidnapping you. You hope he regrets it every single day. Though… whether he’d kill you over it is definitely a risk.

“I’ll get you some food. There’s a spring in the tunnels that you can get your water from. As for clothes…” You turn to listen better as you hear furniture creaking. Heavy footfalls approach, rounding you. “I have some tucked away. Whether they’ll fit you or not is questionable.”

“Are they good quality?”

“They’re better than your tattered rags. Does that suffice?”

You hum, considering. “Your destiny is going to be intertwined with someone else’s.”

He scoffs. “That’s it?”

“Until I’ve had a proper meal, yeah! Besides, I’m still trying to decipher some of what the prophecy is saying.” You cross your arms over your chest with a frown. “It’s like it spans millennia, but that shouldn’t be possible.”

He’s blessedly silent for a minute, giving you time to consider this predicament, before something hard nudges at your back. “Come on, pet. I’ll show you where the clothes are.”

You follow the clinking of metal under his shoes out of the chamber. “Stop calling me that! My name is Y/N, I’m not a pet, least of all yours, and I’m not some helpless ‘little thing’ for you to toy with!”

He tests your name on his tongue. It’s startling to hear it said in your captor’s voice. Perhaps you should have held your tongue and let him continue insulting you. A name can be a dangerous thing, after all.

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t have one.”

“What?!” you balk. “You must have one! What am I supposed to call you?”

You run into something solid and warm. The heat of his breath brushes your skin again as he whispers teasingly into your ear. “You can always call me master.”

You try to shove his face away with no luck. He laughs at your efforts, but gives you space once more. “Not in a million years. What about…” You wrack your brain for any semblance of something he liked from what little you could piece together. “Silver? Or Gold, or something?”

He chuckles. “I’m a bit more precious than that.”

“Okay, fine, then how about, um, Jewel? Jewels are better than silver and gold, aren’t they?” You hear him sigh, long and drawn out. The clinking of coins follows his footsteps. You trail after. “Look, give me something to work with here!”

“Jewel is fine. I don’t need a mortal’s name anyway.”

“That’s the second time you’ve specifically called out mortals,” you point out. The airflow in the cave changes as you step from the grand treasure chamber (this guy has some weird hobbies) to the closed-in tunnels. You’re grateful when you hear him bypass the stairs. “What are you if not a mortal, too?”

“Like I said before, maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

You sigh. “Jewel, you are one strange guy.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @leiakitty

[astracora]

Turning Point - Part 1

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc (MC POV/Sylus-centric POV)

Warnings: Lots of hurt/tiny bit of comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability.

Word Count: 3517

Written: 3rd January 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. I find Sylus easier to write, but all LADs are present. Don't ask me if I'm working through some stuff... I can't say I'm not. This is Pre-Cat Curse. I'll try to do the more comfort, actual communication part sometime soon.

Now Playing: The Foundations of Decay, by My Chemical Romance

Masterlist AO3

Next ->

When you close your eyes it's all you can see. The metal bar through your shoulder. The debris crushing your arm.

You can't feel it anymore.

But you can see it.

You hate Mysts. You hate EVER. You hate that you fucked up and let your guard down. Falling for a trap you're not even sure was for you, or just some fucked up experiment they'd been carrying out with their new toys.

You hate that you woke up changed, you hate that when you'd seen hospital walls you'd expected to see Caleb there like he was throughout your teen years. Or Zayne, clipboard in hand, ready to lecture you on being more careful, on taking care of yourself.

You hate that Jenna sent you home, for the foreseeable future, to recover. To do your stupid physical therapy. To sit at home and stare at yourself in the mirror. Aches and pains and phantoms lurking over your limbs, your shoulder.

You hate having to lock Mephisto out, drawing your curtains. You hate pretending you're not in, whenever Xavier comes knocking. You hate switching off your phone so Rafayel can't contact you.

You hate being this weak, useless creature.

You hate the core in your chest.

You hate what made you like this.

You hate that your instinct is to run away and hide.

A wounded cat in an alleyway, lying down in a corner, hoping the heat of your fur doesn't fade.

Hoping you don't freeze to death where no one thinks to look for you.

You hate that even when you wish someone would find you, only one person ever made sure to look, and he's gone.

You feel like you did when you watched your home disappear into flames, you feel that horrible acrid disgust in your stomach. The feeling that if you could kill what made you feel like this, you'd be alright again. You'd be able to breathe again.

The feeling that dropped you into The Nest with no concern for yourself, just a goal in mind.

The feeling that put you into Sylus' lap, gun in hand, snarling.

You feel like you did when you were told by Dr Noah that there was no cure for what lurked in your heart, that it could kill you, that no one could tell you when.

The feeling that had you abandoning any vision of a future.

The feeling that sat you in front of Caleb, wounds bleeding over his hands, because then you felt something else.

You don't have the name for them, they have been constant companions throughout your life, but you don't even know their names. You're so very tired of them, though. Wishing that they would leave you be, to let something lighter and warmer settle where they once sat.

Choosing your family, however, is often difficult.

The room is dark around you, every curtain drawn, all the lights turned off. Huddling in the corner of your bedroom, blanket wrapped firmly over your body so you can't see. Can't look and see every mottled bruise, every uneven harsh scar, every bloody bandage that you can't bear to change.

The place your arm used to be.

If you look away, if you don't stare at it, if you focus really hard, you can feel it.

You can pretend…

Even if the pain bites at your shoulder.

Even when the medication you can't make yourself take without throwing up, stares at you across the room. Where you'd thrown it in your trembling hand. Limbs so weak, walking aches every step.

You'd fallen to the floor, curled up and stayed.

You think you should be crying, but you can't seem to feel anything other than those old feelings and the pain. Like they're keeping you tethered to this reality. Chains around you, digging into your throat, tearing at soft skin.

Part of you is aware you have to keep moving, if you don't take care of yourself… you'll see Caleb sooner than you should. That he'd be sad that you stopped trying. That moving forwards is important. That there's still good you can do, meaning to be found.

It's the last logical strain of your mind that reminds you people will eventually find you, if you fade to nothing here. That they'll be hurt.

Even worse if it's Tara… Zayne… Xavier… Rafayel… Sylus…

It's only a small voice, easily ignored, in favour of fighting against the chains around your neck. Trying to keep you here, in a world you don't want to be in. In a reality that keeps ripping at you.

So you shrink in on yourself, flinching when you try to tighten a hand you've lost around the soft wool of the blanket, and curl inwards.

It has to get better. Quieter.

It has to.

—-----

Sylus stands outside the apartment door, staring at it. His knocks have gone ignored, his messages unread. Mephisto hasn't been able to even spot a hair on your head. He's not used to not knowing where you are, to not being able to keep track of you. Even if you don't respond, he at least knows if you're safe.

You've made no indication that you don't want him around, ever since that moment you'd rushed across a crossing to demand he never disappear on you, you'd not pushed him away.

He can't think of anything he's done that will have changed that. At least, he's almost sure he hasn't… The idea that he has sinks into his gut, twisting and biting like an agitated snake.

If he's to be devoured by any snake, it needs to be you and your EVOL link.

He's staring at the handle, wondering whether to snap the thing, or break into your security system. There's other hunters in the apartment block, the longer he stands out here the bigger the risk.

Of course, if he's caught breaking in… that would be another thing.

Perhaps if your balcony is unlocked, he can use his EVOL to get to you that way.

Why did he never register himself into your security system before now?

"Oi."

He's surprised that someone could sneak up on him, he's less surprised when he sees the wanted Lemurian standing behind him. Turning, the bright eyed fish is staring, "You here for any particular reason, or are you staring at doors for fun?"

Sylus can read the wariness in his eyes, he knows of your companions, he's got a good database of information about them, this one is the one with the most amount of secrets. Even parts he can't dig up. There's a small flicker of recognition in the fish's eyes as he looks at him, an acknowledgment that means Sylus has been figured out.

Though he doesn't feel a threat from it. There's recognition and then there's being made. Whatever the fish wants, it's nothing to do with him. He wonders if you've talked about him at all.

He wants to test it. "Skye." Hand extended, "I'm looking for the little kitten who lives here."

There's another flicker, and this one he doesn't understand, but it softens the glare a little bit, "Rafayel. So you're that friend of Cuties. I'm here looking for them too." This time his glare turns into a frown, disgruntled, agitated.

There's a lot Sylus can read. The fish, Rafayel, is struggling to balance all the feelings he's drowning with.

"So, have they responded to you at all?"

"No."

The frown on Rafayel's face is familiar, Sylus has seen it in his mirror, after staring at all the unread messages, after finding Mephisto without information yet again.

It's been days, and he knows he can't give you space anymore. While he respects your boundaries, he knows there's always a very real risk you could disappear. It might not always be a conscious choice you make. He doesn't want you dying in an alley alone.

If you're going to die, you're going to die with him, in his arms, with company.

He imagines those around you, feel much the same.

"Me too." This time he does hear the approach. Two sets of footsteps. When he turns, he picks out your hunter partner, and your doctor. The two look frazzled. Like they've run here.

The doctor wipes his forehead, as he looks over at Sylus and Rafayel, he doesn't have the same reaction to him that Rafayel did, but his sharp features are not welcoming. The hunter on the other hand, stops, hand flashing in light, and Sylus gets a jolt of 'danger', before it fades.

Bright blue eyes widen a little bit, and then the hand relaxes, looking at the little crow phone charm dangling from Sylus' phone that sits in his hand. Quiet. Lonely.

"Why are you here?" The edge doesn't leave the hunters voice, but the words are aimed specifically at Sylus.

He lets himself laugh, a huff of air, rather than any real humour, "Now, now Crown Prince. I'm not the enemy. I'm… a friend."

He watches the hand tense, light flickering again, blue sharpening into ice. Ah, Philos. Always did make the most easily tormented creatures.

"Crown Prince?" The doctor turns his head to the hunter, who huffs, turning his head away.

"We have more important things to think about now, don't we?" Sylus offers, somewhat a truce. If he can get to his kitten, he doesn't really care if he has to tolerate the prince. Or the fish… or the doctor with the pretty forest eyes.

There's bigger problems. The door.

The hunter wavers, looking at the door, protective, ready to fight if he has to. Sylus thinks he resembles a knight, more than a prince. Perhaps they all are in some way. Rushing to the door of their reckless little hunter.

"Are you-"

"Friends." Sylus interrupts the doctor, "Skye."

"Rafayel."

The prince stays quiet, introductions clearly done in the past.

The doctor nods, "Zayne, I've heard of you all. Very well." He indicates the files he's holding, "We have returned from the Association. They were injured in the line of duty, they were sent to a specialist, and have since returned and been taken off active duty until they have fully recovered."

Injured.

Taken off active duty.

Sylus tries to take the information in, but he gets distracted by the tense line of the doctor's jaw.

"You're angry."

The doctor blinks, turning his head away a little, "I don't know what you mean."

Rafayel peeks over, head tilted, "I'd be angry too, if as their doctor, cutie didn't come to me."

Ah, he watches Zayne glare at the fish, before he straightens himself out, so that's it. The doctor feels unwanted.

Helpless.

Sylus is familiar with the feeling, even if he hates it. He has to defeat it. He has to make sure this does not happen again.

"Well, best go greet kitten then."

He hears someone mutter, "Kitten?" behind him, but he's buoyed by the information that his kitten isn't just running away from him needlessly. You need help, you need support. You're hurt.

So he reaches over to the security lock on your door, and with his EVOL, crushes it inside out. Pushing the door open.

"Well shit." The fish speaks, "You really are him, huh?"

"The one and only, fish." Sylus shoots back, but doesn't stop. Pushing through the door and entering the apartment.

He makes a note to fix your door as soon as this is over.

It's no surprise Mephisto can't see you, the place is dark. His eyes flicker around the room, he hears the doctor knock into something, and the prince uses his EVOL to give them a floating star to illuminate.

Sylus feels like he should be making notes, these people are the closest people to his kitten, other than the other hunters you're closest to. Every bit of information he has about you, builds that puzzle up, but he notices blood on the floor.

Bandages torn and ripped.

Things knocked off sides, scattered to the floor.

"Cutie?" The fishes voice rises in concern, moving ahead of them, to walk over to the bedroom.

There's a twitch to Sylus' fingers that is unfamiliar. Fear making his EVOL flicker and flare, ready. He thinks it's close to fury.

Whoever did this, he'll find, and he'll make sure they can never do it again.

When they enter the bedroom, you're there. Curled on your side, blanket soaked through with sweat and blood. Eyes flickering around you weakly. Zayne stops walking, picking up a prosthetic from where it's been thrown across the room. Hands shaking as he turns it, then turns his gaze back to you.

Sylus is hard to throw off, he's not used to seeing you hurting. You have often hidden your wounds from him, he's always had to follow you, or chase you down to be there when you need a hand. You push him away if he gives you the choice, when it comes to support. You fiercely lick your own wounds, and pretend you're fine.

He remembers the snarl in your throat when you pressed a gun to his head, demanding absolution and justice for the death of those you cared about.

Despite his aching heart for the way you hissed 'Monster' at him, your fire was always delicious to taste. Even if it scorched his mouth.

You were never this. This small, shivering kitten, huddling further away from him when he steps forwards. A hurt, broken mewl out of your mouth.

The light flicks on, and you cry out, covering yourself fully with the blanket. Struggling in the process.

It gives him a chance to really take everything in, and he wishes the light had stayed off.

A bloody handprint is on the floor, before it drags away, like a claw. There are old bandages, caked in blood and dried up, around you. Medication packets thrown across the room. Your blanket is dirty and the smell indicates you haven't moved, or showered, or done anything but ache and bleed.

He wants to approach you, but the shivering… he looks at the doctor, "Do something." His voice isn't as hard as he wants it to be, it's fragile and… weak, and he doesn't want it to be weak. He needs to be strong, he has to be strong. You need him to be strong.

Zayne doesn't need urging, he approaches you carefully, a hand settles gently on your blanketed form. You jerk away, a dry sob ripping its way out of your misused voice.

"Darling. Come on, let me see."

Rafayel and Xavier hover on the edges. Sylus thinks he might look like them. Unsure, worried, trembling. Fear in their gut.

So this is what love can do, when it hurts.

You always bring new things into his life, he just wishes it was not at your expense.

At your pain.

Sylus grabs the prince's wrist, "Come."

Xavier tenses, but nods stiffly, following him. Rafayel looks at you, as Zayne coaxes you from the blanket to check on you, and though his feet struggle to move, he follows as well.

When he has led them into another room, he begins to pick things up off the floor. "Help me." He doesn't offer anything else, this is too much even for him. He doesn't want to open his feelings up to them, no matter how important they are to you. He needs to do something, though, and until he can get information out of you, he can't deal with who hurt you.

He can't do what he wants to do. Bleed, and rip, and tear, and destroy.

He can't burn whatever touched you.

Sylus is relieved when they follow him, the hunter knows where things are in your home. The fish busies himself with looking through your fridge for anything that past its best by date. He doesn't find anything, so orders from his phone.

They have to eat, he'd muttered to himself.

Sylus has never heard a siren's voice break before.

He wonders if you sound as beautiful when you cry, and let him hear.

The cleaning is methodical, though the scent of your blood doesn't ease away. He has to open a window, to air the place out, before it stops suffocating him. He's irritated by the hunger it incites in his stomach. Like he wants to bury his face into the bloody bandages and taste them.

A feeling of greed and hunger he doesn't seem able to fully get rid of. No matter how much he wants to need you in every other way than this.

When food arrives, Rafayel takes it into the kitchen, easing himself into cooking basic fish soup. The smell replaces the scent of blood, and Sylus can breathe easier.

While the fish and the prince are busy, and the worst of the mess is cleaned. Including broken shards of glass, and smashed photo frames. Sylus walks closer to the bedroom. He wants to just clean up the mess in there, so you can exist, and not see blood everywhere. Instead, he finds you, blanket pulled down, while the doctor wipes blood from around your shoulder.

His feet pause, and he meets your mismatched eyes. Scars ripping through the side of your face.

"Kitten." He exhales, and watches as you flinch, trying to bury yourself back in the blanket. The doctor takes your face in his hands, breathes with you, and soothes the hackles rising.

"It's alright."

"Don't look." You croak out, pleading at Sylus, both of them. Begging them not to see you.

He sighs, and he approaches, kneeling in front of you, hand reaching out to take your one. Soothing the flinch, the hair raising, with a steady pressure of his thumb against your skin. "Now kitten, I always want to look at you. You know that."

Your eyes glisten with tears, before you look back at Zayne, sniffling through the pain, "Hurts."

The doctor nods, "I'll need to resuture some of your wounds, I brought my tools with me, but you will need to go back into the hospital for checkups." When you try to pull away, both he and Zayne keep a handle on you. So you can't escape, so you can't fall back. So you can't stumble.

"You also need to start your therapy, if you avoid it, you will struggle even more."

"No." You snap, biting at the bit. Sylus thinks if you had a dragon's teeth, you'd sharpen them against their flesh. "I don't want it, I don't need it."

"You do need it." The doctor's brow furrows, frustration coming through his face. At himself? At you? At this situation? Sylus' couldn't tell, maybe all of it. "You need to take care of yourself."

They're both surprised when you hiccup, when your sob lets itself out. When you fall forwards. He watches your shoulder flinch, and your hand pulls out of his to cover your face, and you shatter.

Sobbings, breaking, choking on air.

He isn't sure what he's supposed to do, but he doesn't get much time to think. You're pulled forward by the doctor, into both of their arms, due to how close they are. His arm hooks around you, balancing you, so they both can hold you. The smell of blood tickles his nose again, but this time, he buries his nose in your neck. You smell like they've pulled you back from decaying, and it hurts the heart he gave to you so many years ago.

Eventually you settle, breathing again for them, fingers trembling where your hand is trapped between their bodies.

When you pull away, tears have streaked down your face, smearing dirt across your cheeks. Zayne reaches his hand out to wipe away some of it, but he lets out a soft sigh, "We need to get you cleaned up so I can take care of you."

Your eyes downcast, staring at the floor. You look ashamed, and it bites at Sylus' heels, so he presses a kiss against your cheek. Which makes the look morph to shock. "We can get the fish if that helps, I'm sure he'll make sure you don't drown."

The nod is weak, tired and worn, even though he watches your eyes flicker to your wounds, to your shoulder, back to him. Like you're realising it means someone else seeing you.

He wishes you'd see yourself the way he sees you. The way he can tell the doctor sees you. The way he's sure the prince and the fish see you.

It's not enough to tell you, though, you have to learn it yourself. So he stands, stopping momentarily when your hand tightens against his shirt, eyes widening. He watches the scar tissue tug, he watches the hand tremble where its grasping him. So he puts his over it, "I'm not leaving, kitten. When you're clean, when you're stitched back up, we'll talk, and eat. Alright?"

Sylus feels the heat settle around his heart, like your hand is holding it, when you nod. A tiny bit of fire returning to you.

To the tenacious light of your eyes.

[jazzdalorian]

Kindred Souls (One-Shot)

pairing(s): Erik (Magneto) Lehnsherr x Telekinetic!Mutant!Female!Reader

warning(s): EXPLICIT SO MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, angst, SMUT, fluff, yearning, angst, fluff, p in v sex, reverence, and romance. Erik is rude as hell, but he warms up anyway. Oh yea, edging, too.

a/n: credit to my coworker for the title name, but i hope y’all enjoy this one! this would be my second fan fiction that i have ever written so please let me know if you have any tips & tricks or if you would like to see more! <3

word count: 4.1k

- - - - - - -

summary: In this story, Erik, struggling with Charles' death and his new role as X-Men leader, faces unresolved feelings for you. Your sudden return after ten years rekindles their deep connection, leading to a heartfelt confrontation about love and regret. The story ends with an intimate reunion that symbolizes healing and growth, as Erik seeks forgiveness and you offer unwavering support, setting the stage for a shared future.

- - - - - - -

It was evening in New York at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and the air was cool and crisp with a hint of winter. The mansion, usually bustling with activity, was eerily quiet since Charles' passing. Outside, the city slept in blissful ignorance of the heavy decisions weighing on Erik's shoulders.

The sky above the mansion was a deep shade of indigo, the street lamps casting a soft golden glow on the surrounding buildings. The bare trees rustled in the crisp breeze, their branches casting long, spindly shadows across the quiet grounds. The mansion itself was a grand, old-fashioned building, its windows dark and silent.

Before he died, Charles had left a will with a profound request: that if anything were to happen to him, Erik would take over as leader of the X-Men and continue their mission to create harmony between humans and mutants. Though Erik wasn't sure if he still believed in this vision, it was something he cared deeply about. Charles had been more than just a friend; he was like a brother. And it was Charles who had seen the depth of Erik's feelings for you.

You were the light that brightened Erik's life, and your absence has left a void that he struggles to fill. The pain of losing you lingers like a shadow, a constant reminder of what once was. He buries his emotions deep inside, masking them with a facade of strength and control, but they never truly go away.

Erik now goes by Magneto, embracing the name as a symbol of power and dominance. It shields him from the world and makes him feel invincible. But at the same time, it creates a barrier that prevents him from facing his own vulnerability. His helmet serves as both a shield from external noise and a cage that keeps him isolated from his own feelings.

- - - - - - -

Sitting in Charles' old wheelchair, its leather worn and creaky under his weight, Magneto stared at his helmet. The metallic surface reflected the dim light of the room as he let out a heavy sigh, conveying the weariness in his soul.

He reached out, his fingertips brushing the cool metal of the helmet. With a flick of his wrist, it rose into the air, spinning slowly before his eyes. The power coursed through him, as natural as breathing, yet it brought him no comfort.

"What would you do, old friend?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper in the empty room. The silence that answered was deafening.

He was facing a harsh reality: he had lost your love and with it, a part of himself. His determination to fight for mutant rights often felt hollow without you by his side. The X-Men, who had once seen him as an enemy, now looked to him for guidance with a mix of suspicion and hope. He couldn't blame them; his actions in the past had been driven by his own relentless pursuit of power and control.

Despite the mistrust and fractured mission, Erik clung to Charles' vision. Though it may have faded over time, he still believed that mutants deserved equality, respect, and a chance at peaceful coexistence with humanity. It was a dream that seemed just as distant as the warmth he once found in your embrace.

Leaning back in the wheelchair, Magneto tried to focus on plans for the X-Men, but his mind kept drifting back to you. The plans seemed insignificant compared to the memories of your laughter and touch. As he attempted to steer his thoughts back towards the future he was trying to build, the weight of his emotions bore down heavily on him. The road ahead felt isolating and uncertain, but for Charles, for the X-Men, and for the hope of a better world, he would continue forward - no matter how shattered his heart may feel.

The door creaked open and shut quietly as you stepped into the room. For a moment, everything seemed frozen in time. It had been ten years since you last laid eyes on each other, and seeing Erik in the dim light of the study felt almost surreal. Your heart raced with uncertainty as you questioned whether this moment was real or simply a figment of your imagination.

- - - - - - -

"Erik?" Your voice was a hesitant whisper filled with a mix of emotions - uncertainty, longing, and the weight of years apart.

Erik's head whipped around upon hearing his name, a flicker of disbelief flashing across his face. For a moment, he thought he must be dreaming, but as he turned to fully face you, the reality of your presence was undeniable. His expression hardened into a mask of controlled stoicism, a defense mechanism honed from years of guarding his heart.

"What are you doing here?" Erik's voice remained steady, but a hint of vulnerability seeped through. "I wanted to be alone, and you have no right to call me that." His frown deepened, his emotions threatening to break through the carefully crafted facade he tried so hard to maintain.

As you laid eyes on him, the tension between you seemed palpable, almost visible in the air. His rigid stance and guarded expression were like a shield, shielding him from the emotions that threatened to break through.

Erik's body language spoke volumes - his stiff posture, the slight tensing of his jaw, the way he avoided making direct eye contact. He seemed to be trying to hold his emotions in check, but his eyes betrayed him, revealing a mix of longing and pain.

"I heard about Charles," you said softly, your heart aching for him. "I came to see how you're doing. The X-Men are worried about you, and I know how much he meant to you..." Your eyes were filled with sadness as you spoke, reaching out for him despite his attempt to push you away. You wanted to offer comfort, but hesitated, unsure of how he would react.

Magneto scoffed at your concern, his face a blend of disbelief and anger. He couldn't help but wonder: Did you truly care about Charles, or was there another reason for your return? What was your true agenda? "Why are you really here?" His voice held a hint of frustration, but beneath it lay a vulnerability he could barely acknowledge.

You were taken aback by his coldness, but took a deep breath before responding. "I'm here for both you and the X-Men, Erik." You paused before correcting yourself, "Magneto." Lowering your gaze briefly before looking back up at him, you continued, "Just because we have history doesn't mean I don't still care about you."

“You walked away,” he spat, his words stinging like a whip. “And now you're not my responsibility anymore.” His tone was harsh and sharp, piercing through your heart, but you knew it was just a mask to hide the pain you had caused him. You could feel the hurt that lingered from your departure, and while you understood his anger, you couldn't help but wonder if he was also struggling with his own unresolved emotions. Was he trying to come to terms with why you had left? Beneath his calm facade, you sensed a tempest of emotions brewing, but you weren't sure if he was ready to confront them.

You took a hesitant step forward, drawn towards the comforting warmth of the fireplace near his desk. He watched you closely, tracking your every move. As you gazed into the crackling flames, you tried to gather your thoughts and find the right words to address the past.

Turning back to face him, your mouth opened and closed as you struggled to speak. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but you looked away, unwilling to show him your vulnerability. “I left because I wanted a future with you,” you said softly, barely above a whisper. “I wanted us to have a family together. But then things changed...you started hurting people, Erik. You scared me…” Your voice trailed off as you wrapped your arms around yourself, unable to contain the weight of your emotions any longer.

Erik's expression softened as he placed the helmet on the desk and stood up from Charles' wheelchair. He walked towards you with purpose, his footsteps slow and deliberate. Gently, he lifted your chin to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, liebling," he said, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability.

- - - - - - -

As tears slowly rolled down your cheeks, Erik tenderly brushed them away with a gentle touch. "I wish you had told me," he whispered regretfully. "But I understand now why you left. I thought I was doing what needed to be done..." His voice trailed off as he searched for answers and a connection that he believed was lost forever.

His hand moved to rest against your cheek, and you leaned into it, closing your eyes. Your heart skipped a beat at his presence. "I know...my love," you said softly, filled with tenderness.

Erik's eyes widened as the word "love" fell from your lips. It was a word he hadn't heard in years, and it brought back memories that still haunted him. He struggled to find the right words, his heart racing at the thought of finally admitting his feelings for you. He opened his mouth several times, but no sound came out. After a few moments of silence, he managed to choke out, "Why...now?" He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. "Why are you telling me this now?" Despite the distance and time that had passed since they were together, his love for you had never truly gone away. It had always been there, even amidst his strong dedication to mutant rights.

You were at a loss for words. Your mind was buzzing with thoughts, unsure of what words to form or if you should even say anything at all.

He cautiously stepped closer, closing the gap between you. His familiar scent enveloped you, reminding you of all the memories you had tried so hard to bury. Your heart raced as he reached out, his fingers barely grazing your arm.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he murmured roughly, overcome with emotion.

You fought back tears as best as you could. "I didn't think you'd want to," you whispered.

A shadow of pain passed over his face. "I've regretted that day for years," he admitted. "If I could go back..."

You shook your head, cutting him off. "We can't change the past, Erik. I couldn't stay away any longer," you confessed. "I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you focus on your mission. But then I realized..." You took a deep breath, trying to hold back your emotions. "I realized that life is too short and unpredictable, especially for people like us."

Erik winced at your words. He had been younger then, fueled by his intense hatred towards humanity and the injustices he had endured. He hadn't expected that hatred to overshadow his ability to love, and your words left him struggling to find a response.

You pleaded with him, desperate for a response. Your eyes scanned his face, hoping to catch a glimpse of what he truly felt. Suddenly, you noticed a change in his expression - a fleeting look of desire and vulnerability.

In a rush of emotion, Erik blurted out, "Will you stay with me?" His voice quivered with unspoken worries. "I can't handle losing you again, mein liebe."

You didn’t hesitate to agree to stay. The thought of being apart from him once more was unbearable; you had missed him desperately. Erik never truly believed that you would return to him. He thought you would want nothing to do with him after everything that had happened.

- - - - - - -

As soon as your words left your lips, his heart began to pound and his mind raced out of control. Memories of your love flooded his mind: the feel of your skin, the sound of your voice, the scent of your perfume. They overwhelmed him, filling the space between you with a powerful and bittersweet nostalgia.

Your voice trembled with emotion as you spoke again. "I will never leave you again," you said softly. "My love for you has never faltered. Even after all these years apart, I never moved on." Your words hit him hard, a gut-punch he wasn't expecting. His heart felt like it was about to burst from the intensity of emotions that surged through him. Hearing you declare your love once more was a truth he had struggled to accept himself. Deep down, he had never truly let go of his feelings for you.

He took a shaky breath and gently placed his hand on the back of your neck. You both closed your eyes as he pulled you in closer until your foreheads were touching. “I have never stopped loving you,” he whispered, barely above a murmur. “It was torture when you left…” He swallowed hard, trying to contain the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. All the years apart, battles fought, and loneliness endured came crashing down in that moment.

With a few calming breaths, you both opened your eyes and slowly pulled apart, the closeness still tangible. His gaze held yours, baring his heart in a raw, vulnerable state. "You were my everything," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I didn't realize until now how lost I was without you." He searched your face for any sign of the promised love, hoping against hope that this time would bring something different.

There was an invisible force between you, pulling you together with a magnetic power that could not be resisted. Your eyes remained locked on each other's lips, filled with anticipation and unspoken promises. Then, without hesitation, your lips met in a passionate embrace. As the kiss deepened, years of yearning finally gave way to the storm of emotions between you.

The initial touch of your lips sparked an electric current through him, nearly causing him to lose his balance. Guided by a tender yet commanding force, his hands firmly grasped your hips and drew you closer. A deep hum escaped him as each kiss reignited long-suppressed desires. Amidst the exchange of fervent kisses, you whispered how much you had missed him, soothing his aching heart with every word.

Erik felt another surge of longing as each kiss intensified their shared confessions, drawing them closer with every heated touch. The urgency in their kisses grew more insistent, begging for closeness as he pulled her tighter against him. Unable to wait any longer, he reluctantly broke the embrace and gazed at her pleadingly as she reached for him. In a raw and desperate voice, he whispered, "Please...I need you." There was no room for hesitation in his tone, only an overwhelming urgency that demanded immediate action.

- - - - - - -

As your eyes meet, a silent understanding passes between you. You use your powers to change the room, and the furniture rearranges itself as if by magic. The soft glow of the fireplace reflects off the cozy blankets and plush pillows, inviting you to indulge in the moment.

The room was quickly transformed into a warm and inviting space, the furniture moving under your careful control as you worked together. The blankets and pillows seemed to dance in the air, creating a cozy and intimate nook by the fireplace. The flickering flames cast a soft orange glow, adding to the romantic atmosphere.

Erik led you to a cozy nest of pillows and blankets near the flickering fire, gazing at you with a mix of longing and adoration. He guided you onto the soft surface with gentle movements, his eyes drinking in every curve and contour of your body as if he wanted to commit them to memory.

His thumb traced along your jawline, causing you to let out a gasp. The tension in your body only fueled Erik's desire for you. His hand ventured down your body and slipped into your pants, finding the heat and wetness waiting for him.

Your breath caught at his touch, and your body instinctively moved towards him. The intensity in Erik's eyes grew as he watched your reaction. With skillful precision, he brushed his fingers between the folds of your sex, hitting all the sensitive spots that sent waves of pleasure through you. Your body trembled beneath him as he continued to pleasure you.

Erik’s lips traced a path down your neck, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive skin. With his free hand, he worked on unbuttoning your shirt, revealing more of your flesh to his hungry gaze. As each button came undone, he placed soft kisses on the newly exposed skin, gradually making his way down your chest. Your breath hitched as he reached the swell of your breasts, teasingly brushing his hot mouth against the edge of your bra.

"Erik, please," you whimpered, arching into his touch.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Tell me what you want, love," he murmured against your skin.

"I want you," you gasped. "All of you."

With a growl, Erik captured your lips again in a searing kiss. His hands made quick work of the rest of your clothing, leaving you bare beneath him. You tugged at his shirt impatiently, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

Erik let out a soft chuckle as he pulled away, discarding his clothes before settling back above you. Your eyes drank in the sight of his toned body as he positioned himself back into place. One hand stayed close to your head while the other made its way down to your center. As he began to gently massage small circles on your most sensitive spot, your muscles tensed and your breath hitched in your throat.

He craved your scent, wanting to lose himself in it completely. He wanted to savor every bit of you.

Suddenly, he slid his middle and ring fingers between your folds, causing you to cry out in shock. As he started to move in and out of you, you couldn't help but whisper his name like a holy chant. "Erik," you moaned, cherishing the way his name felt on your lips.

Erik's smirk only widened as he continued to tease you with his fingers. "Liebling, if you keep calling my name like that, I don't know if I can hold back much longer," he playfully warned.

His fingers slipped into you at a frustratingly slow pace and you could feel yourself reaching the brink of pleasure. "Please, Erik... faster..." you pleaded, desperate for him to pick up the pace. He obliged, finding that perfect spot inside of you that sent waves of ecstasy through your body. The books on the bookshelf started to topple as your telekinetic powers reacted to the overwhelming sensation. Erik clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"I'm close," you whimpered, but Erik shook his head.

"Not yet... not until I say so," he said with a teasing tone. This only made you groan in frustration, your hips moving in rhythm with his fingers in a desperate attempt to reach your climax. But just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, he pulled his fingers out.

You let out a whimper at the loss of his touch. Erik chuckled softly and positioned himself between your legs, pumping himself a few times before rubbing his cock against your folds, teasing you even further.

"Stop teasing me," you pouted, your frustration palpable. You wanted to smack him for holding back your release and taunting you with his erection.

After some playful teasing, he entered you, emitting a deep groan as he felt the warmth radiating from you. He waited for you to adjust to his size before moving again.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders. "Yes," you gasped. "Please..."

Erik started to move at a gentle pace, each thrust bringing waves of pleasure. You arched your back, matching his movements. His lips found their way to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your sensitive skin.

As passion overtook both of you, the tempo increased gradually. The air was filled with soft moans and gasps as Erik's strong arms held you close, driving deeper into your body. You ran your fingers through his hair, overwhelmed by the intense sensations.

"Erik," you cried out as waves of ecstasy began to build inside you. Your body trembled under his urgent movements as he buried his face in your neck, sending shivers down your spine with his hot breath.

"You feel amazing," he groaned, his voice thick with desire.

Your fingers dug into his broad shoulders as the intensity grew, and Erik's lips found your neck, leaving hot kisses along your sensitive skin. You arched your back against his solid chest, unable to hold back your pleasure any longer.

"Oh god, Erik," you moaned desperately.

He responded by increasing his pace, driving you both closer to the edge. The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself on the brink of release.

Erik's ragged breathing and urgent movements pushed you over the edge. "Come for me," he growled in your ear, his desire evident in his husky voice.

Those words were all it took for you to tumble into mind-blowing ecstasy. Erik followed moments later, whispering your name as he found his own release.

You clung to each other, riding out the waves of pleasure together.

His hand moved to your clit, gently rubbing it in slow circles that made you arch your hips up in delight. "E-erik!," you gasped, unable to contain yourself. He silenced you with a tender shush and continued peppering kisses along your neck, marking you as his own.

The pleasure was reaching an overwhelming level, rendering you speechless as your brows furrowed in sheer ecstasy. He wanted to prolong your orgasm, drawing out every moment of bliss. Suddenly, without warning, a surge of release overcame you and you gasped for breath. Erik smirked, pleased with the outcome of his actions. He withdrew from you, leaving a mix of his cum and your juices scattered around.

"Good girl," he whispers, kissing your forehead. As Erik shifts to the side, you snuggle against his chest and feel the quick thumping of his heart. His arms wrap around you, keeping you warm and secure as your breath slows back to a steady rhythm. A sense of deep satisfaction washes over you as you revel in the peaceful aftermath.

For a long while, you lay together in contented silence, basking in the afterglow. Erik's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as you nestled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. The crackling fire cast a warm glow over your entwined bodies.

"I've missed this," Erik murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Missed you."

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, seeing a vulnerability there that he rarely showed. "I've missed you too," you whispered. "More than you know."

His arms tightened around you. "I was a fool to let you go," he said, voice thick with emotion. "I won't make

The room was bathed in a warm glow from the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the repositioned furniture. The blankets and pillows seemed to float effortlessly through the air, creating a cozy and inviting space.

As your eyes meet, a silent understanding passes between you. You use your powers to change the room, and the furniture rearranges itself as if by magic. The soft glow of the fireplace reflects off the cozy blankets and plush pillows, inviting you to indulge in the moment.

The room was quickly transformed into a warm and inviting space, the furniture moving under your careful control as you worked together. The blankets and pillows seemed to dance in the air, creating a cozy and intimate nook by the fireplace. The flickering flames cast a soft orange glow, adding to the romantic atmosphere.

- - - - - - -

Erik led you to a cozy nest of pillows and blankets near the flickering fire, gazing at you with a mix of longing and adoration. He guided you onto the soft surface with gentle movements, his eyes drinking in every curve and contour of your body as if he wanted to commit them to memory.

His thumb traced along your jawline, causing you to let out a moan. The tension in your body only fueled Erik's desire for you. His hand ventured down your body and slipped into your pants, finding the heat and wetness waiting for him.

Your breath caught at his touch, and your body instinctively moved towards him. The intensity in Erik's eyes grew as he watched your reaction. With skillful precision, he brushed his fingers between the folds of your sex, hitting all the sensitive spots that sent waves of pleasure through you. Your body trembled beneath him as he continued to pleasure you.

Erik’s lips traced a path down your neck, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive skin. With his free hand, he worked on unbuttoning your shirt, revealing more of your flesh to his hungry gaze. As each button came undone, he placed soft kisses on the newly exposed skin, gradually making his way down your chest. Your breath hitched as he reached the swell of your breasts, teasingly brushing his hot mouth against the edge of your bra.

"Erik, please," you whimpered, arching into his touch.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Tell me what you want, love," he murmured against your skin.

"I want you," you gasped. "All of you."

With a growl, Erik captured your lips again in a searing kiss. His hands made quick work of the rest of your clothing, leaving you bare beneath him. You tugged at his shirt impatiently, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

Erik let out a soft chuckle as he pulled away, discarding his clothes before settling back above you. Your eyes drank in the sight of his toned body as he positioned himself back into place. One hand stayed close to your head while the other made its way down to your center. As he began to gently massage small circles on your most sensitive spot, your muscles tensed and your breath hitched in your throat.

He craved your scent, wanting to lose himself in it completely. He wanted to savor every bit of you.

Suddenly, he slid his middle and ring fingers between your folds, causing you to cry out in shock. As he started to move in and out of you, you couldn't help but whisper his name like a holy chant. "Erik," you moaned, cherishing the way his name felt on your lips.

Erik's smirk only widened as he continued to tease you with his fingers. "Liebling, if you keep calling my name like that, I don't know if I can hold back much longer," he playfully warned.

His fingers slipped into you at a frustratingly slow pace and you could feel yourself reaching the brink of pleasure. "Please, Erik... faster..." you pleaded, desperate for him to pick up the pace. He obliged, finding that perfect spot inside of you that sent waves of ecstasy through your body. The books on the bookshelf started to topple as your telekinetic powers reacted to the overwhelming sensation. Erik clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"I'm close," you whimpered, but Erik shook his head.

"Not yet... not until I say so," he said with a teasing tone. This only made you groan in frustration, your hips moving in rhythm with his fingers in a desperate attempt to reach your climax. But just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, he pulled his fingers out.

You let out a whimper at the loss of his touch. Erik chuckled softly and positioned himself between your legs, pumping himself a few times before rubbing his cock against your folds, teasing you even further.

"Stop teasing me," you pouted, your frustration palpable. You wanted to smack him for holding back your release and taunting you with his erection.

After some playful teasing, he entered you, emitting a deep groan as he felt the warmth radiating from you. He waited for you to adjust to his size before moving again.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders. "Yes," you gasped. "Please..."

Erik started to move at a gentle pace, each thrust bringing waves of pleasure. You arched your back, matching his movements. His lips found their way to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your sensitive skin.

As passion overtook both of you, the tempo increased gradually. The air was filled with soft moans and gasps as Erik's strong arms held you close, driving deeper into your body. You ran your fingers through his hair, overwhelmed by the intense sensations.

"Erik," you cried out as waves of ecstasy began to build inside you. Your body trembled under his urgent movements as he buried his face in your neck, sending shivers down your spine with his hot breath.

"You feel amazing," he groaned, his voice thick with desire.

Your fingers dug into his broad shoulders as the intensity grew, and Erik's lips found your neck, leaving hot kisses along your sensitive skin. You arched your back against his solid chest, unable to hold back your pleasure any longer.

"Oh god, Erik," you moaned desperately.

He responded by increasing his pace, driving you both closer to the edge. The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself on the brink of release.

Erik's ragged breathing and urgent movements pushed you over the edge. "Come for me," he growled in your ear, his desire evident in his husky voice.

Those words were all it took for you to tumble into mind-blowing ecstasy. Erik followed moments later, whispering your name as he found his own release.

You clung to each other, riding out the waves of pleasure together.

His hand moved to your clit, gently rubbing it in slow circles that made you arch your hips up in delight. "E-erik!," you gasped, unable to contain yourself. He silenced you with a tender shush and continued peppering kisses along your neck, marking you as his own.

The pleasure was reaching an overwhelming level, rendering you speechless as your brows furrowed in sheer ecstasy. He wanted to prolong your orgasm, drawing out every moment of bliss. Suddenly, without warning, a surge of release overcame you and you gasped for breath. Erik smirked, pleased with the outcome of his actions. He withdrew from you, leaving a mix of his cum and your juices scattered around.

"Good girl," he whispers, kissing your forehead. As Erik shifts to the side, you snuggle against his chest and feel the quick thumping of his heart. His arms wrap around you, keeping you warm and secure as your breath slows back to a steady rhythm. A sense of deep satisfaction washes over you as you revel in the peaceful aftermath.

- - - - - - -

For a long while, you lay together in contented silence, basking in the afterglow. Erik's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as you nestled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. The crackling fire cast a warm glow over your entwined bodies.

"I've missed this," Erik murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Missed you."

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, seeing a vulnerability there that he rarely showed. "I've missed you too," you whispered. "More than you know."

His arms tightened around you. "I was a fool to let you go," he said, voice thick with emotion. "I won't make that mistake again."

"We both made mistakes," you replied gently. "But we're here now. That's what matters."

Erik nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. His fingers continued to trace lazy patterns on your skin as you lay nestled against him. The crackling fire cast flickering shadows across the room, enveloping you both in warmth and intimacy.

"What happens now?" you asked softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Erik was quiet for a moment, his hand stilling on your back. "I don't know," he admitted. "Charles left me with an enormous responsibility. The X-Men, the school... it's all in my hands now." His voice held a note of uncertainty you'd rarely heard from him before.

You propped yourself up on an elbow to look at him. "You don't have to do it alone," you said. "I'm here. And the X-Men - they may not trust you fully yet, but they'll support you. It's what Charles would have wanted."

Erik's eyes searched yours, a mix of emotions playing across his face. "You're right," he said softly. "Charles always believed in the power of unity, even when I couldn't see it." He paused, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "But can you forgive me for the things I've done? The pain I've caused?"

You leaned into his touch, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. "I forgave you a long time ago, Erik," you whispered. "The question is, can you forgive yourself?"

He closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. When he opened them again, there was a determination there that you recognized. "I want to try," he said. "For Charles. For the X-Men. For us."

You smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Then that's where we'll start.”

- - - - - - -

glossary: liebling = darling, mein liebe = my darling

[fatcatlittlebox]

It’s fascinating that TROP has shown Galadriel's instincts and intuition to consistently be sound and accurate. Time and time again, her insights bear out in reality.

She knew Sauron was alive

She knew his mark had greater significance

She knew where his shadow was rising

She sensed that Halbrand was not who he said he was (from the very beginning in fact)

She knew Elrond had gone to Cirdan

She knew the Three Rings would save the elves

She knew that Sauron wanted Adar to attack Eregion.

So why would that intuition fail her when it comes to Sauron? Not just that she knows his mind, his schemes and his malice but also when he was earnest, when he was broken and when they felt “it” fighting side by side. Something within him rang true and clear to Galadriel. Something she couldn’t deny. As this post by @cloudinthesky444 describes, their connection, as effortless and spontaneous as it was, possessed a rightness to it. She felt its authenticity. At one point, she trusted him, respected him and may have even loved him. I don't think that was a blind spot. I don't think she could have even allowed herself to feel love for him if that rightness had not been there. That sense of completion and of being seen and understood. It enticed not just her vanity and her pride, but her fea. His music and hers, not in cacophony but in harmony. Remember, she held the palantir. It showed her visions of Numenor's end. But it never revealed or hinted at the potential dark Maia that was standing right there as her ally. I think it was because Halbrand's regression to Sauron was not yet fated to happen. That path was still undefined. Even though Halbrand was a disguise, it was not an illusion. There was such a small window but I believe that Gal's intuition was always on point. Halbrand was devoted to her. Sauron believed in her as she did him. Galadriel once had aspirations of reclaiming Middle Earth from the darkness with Halbrand at her side. She wasn't foolish to believe so. If her instincts had allowed her to aspire to such dreams, then I think there was a real possibility of that future, however fleeting. Now that door is shut, but there were seeds of a hopeful future and they were planted with love and in good faith. I believe that as the story moves forward, their bond will bear fruit. Something beautiful and good will be borne of it, specifically from that small moment of time -- when Galadriel loved him and aspired to redeem them both. I think Galadriel's instincts and good faith will be repaid and she will be vindicated again.

[misty-slays-blog]

I have some meta and Sauron psychology I cooked up last night and wrote down.

This idea of Sauron’s “perfect world” and his attachment to key figures like Adar, Celebrimbor, and Galadriel reflects his narcissistic obsession with control, admiration, and possession. In his mind, these people are essential to building his vision of a world that embodies his ideals of order, beauty, and power. In true narcissist fashion, he sees their rejection not as a failure of his vision or his methods, but as their failure to understand or appreciate what he is offering:

Adar as his lieutenant: Adar's refusal to submit to Sauron was surely shocking to him. Sauron must have seen Adar as the perfect lieutenant: someone with a shared dark past, capable of helping him enforce order. When Adar betrayed him, Sauron would have interpreted it as a personal affront, not as a clash of ideology. His need to have Adar by his side wasn't just about utility; it was about validation, 'cause it would have proven that even a former servant of Morgoth could see the brilliance of Sauron’s design. Adar's rebellion challenges Sauron’s perception of his infallibility, making him angrier and more driven to prove that he was right, that Adar made a mistake.

Celebrimbor as his colleague/friend: Sauron clearly admired Celebrimbor’s craft, and he sought to cultivate a partnership. He wanted Celebrimbor to mirror his own love for creation and control through the crafting of the Rings. When Celebrimbor resisted Sauron’s manipulation, it likely baffled Sauron because he saw them as kindred spirits: two craftsmen who could shape the future together. To Sauron, their shared intellect and skill should have been enough to bond them, but when Celebrimbor sees through Sauron’s deception and refuses to join him, Sauron’s reaction was fury masked by a lot of gaslighting. He saw Celebrimbor’s refusal as a betrayal of the very gifts that made him special, leading Sauron to feel that Celebrimbor failed him, not the other way around.

Galadriel as his queen/wife: Galadriel holds the most unique and intimate place in Sauron’s vision. His admiration for her power and beauty drives his obsessive desire to make her his queen. But her rejection cuts the deepest, because it's not just a political or practical refusal, it’s personal. Galadriel represents the one person Sauron views as capable of standing beside him as an equal (or almost-equal) sharing in the rule of his "perfect" world. When she refuses, it shatters his idealized vision of their potential, yet he cannot let go of her. Her refusal challenges his self-image in a way that none of the others can. Sauron’s narcissistic reaction naturally leads him to blame her for not seeing the opportunity he’s offering, fueling his descent into anger and obsession. Her rejection forces him to tighten his grip on control, but his need for her acceptance continues to haunt him.

In all three relationships, Sauron’s possessive attachment reveals a key aspect of his psychology: his need for admiration and validation, not just dominance. He sees these individuals as necessary parts of his design because they reflect parts of himself — craftsmanship, power, leadership, beauty — that he values most. When they reject him, it not only enrages him but also destabilizes his sense of superiority. Narcissists often believe that their vision is the only one that matters, and when others fail to fall in line, it becomes their fault, never his.

This unhinged reaction to rejection also makes him more dangerous, as he becomes willing to destroy what he once admired. It’s not that he wants to, but his need to preserve his self-image and punish those who oppose him drives him to extremes. In Galadriel’s case, this dynamic could become particularly poignant because her rejection is so deeply intertwined with his feelings of love and obsession.

[forlorn-crows]

How about Mountrain dry humping in the new uniforms bc Mountain can't get enough of how the bodysuit fits Rain and Rain can't stop staring at Mountain's tits 😌

i'll have you all know miasma said it was okay that i didn't write dry humping i want you ALL TO KNOW--

anyways. it's rain's turn to go crazy over mountain. specifically that broad, big, chest of his hnnghhfd

Rain pushes Mountain into the back closet of the rehearsal room, bullying him into the dark corner behind the shelves of mis-managed cords and dusty pedals. Mountain hits his back against the wall with an amused oof. Rain presses close, hands already running up and down his body. 

“Rain, what—”

“Can’t stop looking at you,” the water ghoul breathes. “Have you seen yourself in this?”

Mountain huffs a laugh. “Briefly. Could ask you the same question, darling.” He runs his hands over the veil covering Rain’s inky hair, brushing against the metal collar and smoothing down his side. 

Rain makes a noise at the back of his throat. Pressing even closer. His hands grope at his chest, his shoulders. “Your chest, Mount,” he whines. Needy. Even in the dim of the closet, Mountain can see how big his pupils have blown. “Look so fucking good.”

Rain latches onto the spot just below his ear, craning over the bulk of both of their metallic accessories to suck at his skin. Mountain sighs at the insistence of his mouth, and his head thumps back against the closet wall. The water ghoul’s hand runs over the gems of the body suit, feeling over the soft swell of his winter stomach, grabbing at the fullness of his pecs over the garment. It’s no secret his body has been bulking up recently—in more ways than one—but Mountain can’t say he’s tired of the way it drives Rain crazy. 

“You think so, tadpole?” he hums, carefully unclasping Rain’s neckpiece. Knuckles brushing over his cool, bare neck as he slides it off and places it on the shelf next to them. 

Rain just shivers. Groans at the way Mountain’s arm is defined by such skin tight fabric. “Yes,” he whines. “Lemme touch you.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, of course, tugging down the hidden zipper until it meets the stop just above his groin. Rain groans louder at the skin he exposes. Mountain hadn’t had the thought to wear an undershirt (though he certainly will in the future), and it’s all to Rain’s benefit as he shoves his face into the tuft of hair on his chest. 

“Look at you,” the water ghoul rasps. He sticks his hands inside the suit and gropes at him. “Look at you.”

Mountain gasps as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, the sensation of it going straight to his dick. He has no choice but to cradle the back of Rain’s head, fingers gripping at the fabric of the veil, as the water ghoul licks and sucks and damn near drags his face all smush-cheeked down his chest. 

His breath hitches as Rain noses through his happy trail, the water ghoul’s hands kneading at the tops of his thighs. His costume is starting to get tight, not helped by the fact that Rain looks like some unholy vision kneeling in front of him or that Rain’s pawing at him like he’ll die in the next minute if he doesn’t get a taste of him.

“Getting me all excited, darling,” Mountain rumbles. His cock throbs where it’s hard beneath the zipper. “You gonna make me feel good?”

“Want it,” Rain nods. Fingers already fumbling to find a way to pull him out. His brow furrows as he pulls at Mountain’s boxers, trying to slide them down inside the body suit. “Please.”

Mountain hisses as Rain tries to wrap his hand around him. “Hah—here, let me–oh–help, let me help.”

He shrugs the costume further off his shoulders, working the fabric down enough to get some slack in the gusset. Rain whimpers at the wider vee shape of skin it reveals, accentuating the width of his chest in the contrast of black against warm, sandy brown. 

Mountain adjusts his hips then, pressing up against Rain’s fingers still petting in his underwear. “Go on, tadpole.”

Rain wastes no time in pulling his cock up past the zipper, moaning loudly and unabashed when he can finally hold it properly. 

“So handsome. So fucking big,” he whines, diving in to lick lavishly at the head.

Mountain groans and lets his head fall back against the wall once more. “Fuck, yeah. Just like that.” 

Rain laps at any part of his cock that he can reach. Devoted to his task, eyes fluttering when Mountain’s scent flares sweet and musky. “Want it in my mouth,” he mumbles, lips wrapping around the widest part just to suckle a moment. 

“Rain,” Mountain chokes.

The water ghoul pulls off with a purposeful pop. “Fuck my face,” he says raggedly, looking up at Mountain with wet, parted lips. He swallows. Gasps like he’s taken a large drink. “Let me feel it. Down my throat. And hold the back of my head.” He grabs Mountain’s hands, putting them behind his head until his fingers find purchase in the veil’s fabric. “Make me . . .” he swallows again. “Make me take it.”

“Belial, Rain—” His hands tighten ever so in the veil, and Rain makes an undignified noise.

“Make me take it,” Rain repeats, mouthing along the underside of Mountain’s (now leaking) cock, “and let me . . .” He shudders, looking over Mountain’s stomach, up to his chest. Head twitching to the side with a whimper as he watches him take a long breath himself. Chest rising, falling. The action makes Rain’s mouth water. He licks his lips. “. . . watch.”

[quintessenceofdust88]

perfect (it's not all it's cracked up to be)

Hello everyone! I promised you guys that the sequel for this prompt would be up by the weekend, right? Turns out I only sorta lied cause it's still Monday hehe. I hope you enjoy it!

You can read it on AO3 if you'd prefer! ❤️

When Tommy wakes up, it’s like his body is on fire and freezing at the same time; half of his body feels numb, and the other half is hurting like never before. Huh, maybe his father had a point and all queer freaks end up in hell. Then again, considering one of his last deeds on Earth was walking out on sunshine itself, maybe it’s not about his queerness after all; it’s about Tommy himself. 

He hears a heart monitor at his side, and that gives him pause; he doesn’t think the afterlife bothers with medical devices, so… So maybe he’s alive? If only opening his eyes didn’t feel like it would hurt so much, Tommy could try and find out (not that he knows what hell looks like; it could be like a hospital room, for all he knows). He tries it anyway, letting out a grunt as it, indeed, hurts like a bitch. 

“Oh my God, you’re awake!” A voice says to his right side, and yeah, now Tommy’s pretty sure he’s not in hell. Evan Buckley doesn’t belong in hell, not even as part of Tommy’s eternal torture. 

As his vision clears, Tommy sees Evan is on a chair by his side, and he looks… Rough. There’s stubble covering his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. He’s looking at Tommy with despair clearly written in his permanently wet eyes, as if he’s afraid Tommy will disappear if he looks away. And to Tommy, it’s still instinct to comfort Evan, to try and find something to say that’ll make him feel better.

“You found your present” He says dumbly, his eyes not leaving the burgundy hoodie that’s so beautifully wrapped around Evan’s frame, making him look as cozy and adorable as Tommy expected. And, well. It might not have been the smartest thing to say, but he supposes there’s a lot of morphine going through his body right now. 

“Well, yeah, after you told my sister where it was as your helicopter crashed? After you wished me Merry Christmas and Happy New Year as your parting words?! It wasn’t so difficult” He answers with a somewhat hysterical chuckle. “What the hell, Tommy?! You’re too much of a coward to actually let yourself be loved and see a future with me, but not to send a farewell message to me through dispatch?! You’re unbelievable!”

“Buck…” He starts, but it’s clear he won’t get to say anything this time. For one, his brain is still working a little too slow to translate thoughts into words. Evan seems to notice it, and lets out a defeated sigh. 

“We… We’ll talk later, ok? Let’s get a doctor to check on you first. Sorry, that should have been the first thing I did” He says grumpily, and presses the button by Tommy’s bed. 

From them on, it’s a flutter of doctors and nurses, and Tommy learns the extent of the damage: a broken femur, at least five crushed ribs and a small concussion, not to mention the thousand bruises that turned his whole left side black and blue; he hasn’t looked at a mirror yet, but it can’t be pretty. 

“Yeah, well, you should’ve seen the other guy, doc” He attempts to joke, and Evan’s scoff and the doctor’s exasperated look make it clear it wasn’t his best attempt. “So, let’s talk business, doc. Will I fly again?” Tommy asks, because that’s the question that matters the most. 

He realizes with a treacherous skip to his heart that Evan looks as interested in the answer as Tommy himself. During the whole time the doctor is talking to him about treatments and physical therapy and his perspective to get back to work, he stays by his side, nodding attentively at everything the doctor says (as if he’ll be involved in your treatment, a hopeful part of his brain that should have quieted down weeks ago supplies, and Tommy does his best not to listen to it, because it’ll hurt so bad when it’s not the case). 

When the doctor makes it clear that Tommy will not go back to the air for at least six months, Evan squeezes his hand and gives him a look of solidarity that goes a long way to make it not feel like the end of the world. And when the nurse comes to up Tommy’s dosage of morphine and redress his wounds, he doesn’t let go of his hand. Tommy wants to say something, anything, but he’s received a lot of information and the morphine running through his veins makes it difficult to put his thoughts into words. But he doesn’t want to fall asleep; he doesn’t want to let Evan go. 

“Sleep, Tommy” Evan tells him in a firm tone. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Then we’ll talk”

It sounds too good to be true; Tommy refuses to believe it. Evan would have every right to leave him to fend for himself; he wouldn’t blame him in the slightest. He closes his eyes, fully expecting to find an empty room when he wakes up.

But contrary to all expectations, when Tommy opens his eyes again, feeling slightly more like a person and less like a shapeless bruise, is to find Evan in the same chair, only with the black hoodie this time, and a cup of coffee in his hand. 

He’s impossibly handsome in black, Tommy thinks dazedly, taking advantage of the fact Evan’s looking down at his phone to take a good look at him. There are dark circles under his eyes, and Tommy wonders if he’s been home at all. 

His heart does another one of those treacherous leaps, and Tommy is having a hard time keeping the hope from bubbling in his chest. Because if this man saw Tommy at his worst, physically and (especially) emotionally, and was willing to stay this long by his side, who’s to say he won’t stay longer? He was willing to; Tommy was the one who fled, thinking it was about the excitement of a new relationship, but staying by his side after a helicopter crash is something entirely different. Who’s to say he won’t just… stay?

Tommy has to be brave; hell, he’s been brave before, on that glorious night where he took a leap of faith and placed a kiss to the man who had maimed his best friend for Tommy’s attention. Evan had been brave, if a little misguided, when he invited Tommy to move in with him. He owes him some bravery right now. If nothing else, he owes him some honesty after everything.

“You were right” He blurts out, and Evan looks up from his phone, staring at him with widened blue eyes. 

“H-hey, you’re up! Do… Do you need anything? I can call the nurse…” He trails off when Tommy’s hand, the one which is less covered in scrapes and bruises, reaches out to lightly touch his.

“I just need you to listen to me. You… you were right, Evan. I was a coward. I am a coward. I… I don’t know how to be loved. I never was” He admits it, and hates himself for choking up as he says it. This isn’t a pity party; he’s just stating a fact: the sky is blue, alcohol is flammable, Thomas Kinard was never loved. He hates how it makes Evan’s whole demeanor soften, because Tommy doesn’t deserve it. 

“Then let me love you” Evan whispers, taking Tommy’s hand in both of his. “Let me teach you how it feels. It’s… It’s not like I’m an expert at it, ok? I… I haven’t always been loved either. But… but I love you. You broke my fucking heart, Tommy, and I still love you. Do… do you love me?”

“With all of my heart” Tommy whispers back, and he can’t keep a tear from running down his face. Hell, he almost died, he’s allowed to be emotional. “T-that’s why I had to leave, Evan. If… If you didn’t love me back… If you found out I wasn’t perfect…”

“I know you’re not perfect, Tommy. But guess what? I love you anyway, you idiot” He says, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s forehead, another to the tip of his nose, and a very tender one to his lips. “You… You always wanted me to see you as perfect. You barely let me in all the time we were together. But I saw it anyway, Tommy, and I still wanted you. I still want you”

“I… I was so afraid of being hurt that I didn’t think I’d be hurting you” Tommy admits with a sigh. “A-actually I didn’t think you’d be hurt. I… I thought you’d be okay. I’m sorry, Evan”

“Well, I wasn’t okay. Just ask all of my friends and the thousand loaves of bread in their pantries” He says with a chuckle, and then looks Tommy deeply in the eyes. “Next time, talk to me instead of doing a dramatic exit. And don’t wait till you almost die to let me know where my Christmas presents are”

Tommy chuckles, and squeezes Evan’s hand. He wishes he could sit up and kiss him within an inch of his life, but it  sounds a little out of his physical abilities right now. He’ll content himself, with a peck on the lips before Evan sits back down, still holding Tommy’s hand in his. 

“I promise Christmas will be perfect” He says, and Evan shakes his head.

“I don’t need perfect, Tommy. I just need you”

–

And Christmas is not perfect. Tommy’s still mostly on bed rest and his leg’s still in a cast. Buck’s staying at his place for now to help him around, but they decided to leave any serious conversations about moving in to after New Year’s. They haven’t really decorated (Tommy was too depressed to bother, and Buck didn’t really have the time between his shifts and taking care of Tommy) and their plans for the day mostly consist in staying in bed and alternating between cheesy rom-coms and documentaries. 

It’s not perfect. They are not perfect. But they’re together, and Tommy finds himself thanking any deity out there for his accident. That it brought Evan back to him, and more importantly, him back to Evan. 

Buck’s wearing his new burgundy hoodie, and he gives Tommy the airplane model that he stubbornly kept in the hood of the Jeep all this time. They assemble it together, and it’s not the best, because Tommy’s hands are still a little sore and Buck’s not very good at the whole arts and crafts thing, but Tommy puts in his nightstand with adoration anyway. 

And if there’s no tree, no Christmas dinner, no cheesy sweaters, well. They can always make up for it next Christmas.

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