#i want my eriks to shine

[weirdcat1213]

honestly every fucking studio in the world should follow what orange does. Do they take +5 years on making a 12 episode anime? GOOD! cuz they fucking deliver and not only animation-wise. Their writing and directing team have time to actually get attached and care about the story, to think every scene by the millimeter. They take their time to let musicians compose what they think is the best score for their animes.

and most fucking importantly THEY DONT OVERWORK THEM TO DEATH

Animation is fucking hard but if every studio took the time and care like orange the industry would be so much better

"but they take too long" I hear you, houseki no kuni fan, and as a fellow fan, I can tell you QUALITY OVER QUANTITY!

capitalism has destroyed the industry so much because we rather have a long ass catalog of stuff we probably will never watch rather than wait for every fucking piece to be the best version of itself. I need you guys to open your eyes and think about our artistic legacy and how capitalism is making us leave a trail of corpses behind instead of completed pieces.

[bertoyana]

Erik, what are you doing?

X-MEN: DAYS OF THE FUTURE PAST (2014)

[dxddykenn]

I apologize in advance if this isn’t well written. I’m fairly new to writing and wanted to get this idea out of my head after watching The Strangers lol. This most likely will be done in two parts. Feel free to leave any feedback or suggestions - Naiya🤍

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Michael B. Jordan as Erik “Stranger 1”

Aaron Pierre as Terry “Stranger 2”

Method Man as Damon “Stranger 3”

Home. A place that is your sanctuary. Somewhere you can escape from all the problems of the outside world. A place that provides you with a feeling of warmth and a sense of safety. What happens when it isn’t?

It was a late Friday night, the crisp Autumn air blew the fallen leaves along the ground. Freshly showered and skin moisturized you were on the couch catching up on your latest reality show obsession. As you were getting up to refill your wine glass, a loud thud sounded throughout the house. Your movements stilled, waiting to hear the noise again.

*Thump Thump Thump* the noise sounded again coming from the front door.

You glanced up at the clock hung in the living room ‘11:45pm’… strange, you aren’t aware of anyone planning to stop by. Walking to the door you peek through the curtain of the sidelite. You were met with complete darkness aside from the light shining faintly from the driveway.

Opening the door you’re startled by a man standing just below where the porch light normally would shine down. He was dressed in a jacket, dark pants and boots, but you were unable to see his face.

“Can I help you?” you ask him.

“Is…Y/n home”. A chill runs through your body. “I’m sorry?” you question.

“Is…Y/n home” he repeats.

You look at him curiously “Who are you?” you ask.

In return he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he walks off towards the end of your driveway. Puzzled you reach up for your porch light, noticing that the bulb was slightly unscrewed. Tightening the bulb, you close the door behind you, wondering who the man was and where he came from.

Currently, you were in Georgia where you owned a vacation home that sat on a few acres of land. You were 24 years old studying to become an Optometrist. Between the never ending hours of studying, classes and life in general, you decided that you needed a mental break. Planning to stay for a few weeks you packed up and headed to Georgia. Only a very few people knew that you were leaving, which you preferred, allowing you to disconnect from reality for a little while.

Walking back towards the kitchen, you stop to set your alarm system “Better safe than sorry” you whisper to yourself.

Hours go by and you feel yourself slowly nodding off. Another episode of Reasonable Doubt playing in the background as your eyes grow heavier and heavier. Eventually you fall asleep, unbeknownst to the masked man standing behind the couch.

Three knocks jolt you awake. The man silently walking away, disappearing in the house.

Looking up at the clock again, it’s now 2 am. Getting up you cautiously walk to the front door. Peeking through the curtain of the sidelite you’re met with darkness again.

“What the fuck?” you say to yourself.

Quickly you disarm the alarm and snatch open the front door. Instantly your heart dropped, it was like the events from earlier were replaying all over. There the man was again. Still unable to see his face. Standing in the same spot as before. And the porch light out.

“Sir can I help?” you ask.

This time you notice the roughness of his voice as he repeats the same question “Is…Y/n home?”.

“Why do you keep asking that?!“ you snap.

Once again he just turns away and walks off. Slamming the door you rush back to the couch in search of your phone. Once in hand, you’re suddenly surrounded in absolute darkness.

“You can’t be serious”

Fumbling with your phone you turn on the flashlight, as your heart started to race. Slowly you walk towards the power box. It was located in a closet down the hallway just off of the kitchen. The light from your phone casting shadows along the wall as you moved. Your hand was out in front of you to ensure you didn’t knock into anything. Normally getting to the closet would have taken a few seconds but turned into minutes in your state of panic. Your hand grazes the doorknob rattling lowly. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you grip the knob.

“Finally” you say as you open the door.

As you direct the light into the closet it hits something. Frowning, you steady your hold on the phone so you could see clearly. The light lands on a pair of boots. Moving up it falls on a pair of dark pants, next a jacket. As the light goes up further it lands on a straw face you jump in fear, when you finally realize it was a scarecrow.

“Y/n get a hold of yourself” you chuckle as you run a hand down your face. Clicking the switches, the lights in the house turn back on. Turning off the flashlight, you close the door turning to walk back down the hall when you smack into something. Stumbling back you grab onto the wall steadying yourself.

“What the-” you mutter.

Inch by inch you look up. The boots. The pants. The jacket. Looking all the way up, you lock eyes with the man from earlier. A burlap sack with two eye holes and a simple smile drawn onto it now covered his head.

A sharp, piercing scream leaves your mouth as you trip over your feet, knocking over a table in the hall. Frantically you run as fast as you could, trying to get to the front door. Snatching it open you’re met with another man. This one wearing a dusty black suit, a doll face mask covered his face and a knife in hand. You staggered back as tears well in your eyes.

“No…No!” you scream as you run towards the garage.

You only make it a few steps when you encounter another man. Towering over you he looked at you wearing a skull mask. A long sleeved flannel shirt and overalls covered his body, carrying an axe.

It felt as if the world just stopped. There were now three men in your house. There was no where to run, no where to hide. You didn’t know where to go or how to get away.

Backing up you go to run when you were grabbed from behind. Instantly you start to kick and scream when you feel a prick in your neck, your vision slowly fading to black.

Groaning, your head feels heavy and your body sore as you wake up. Blinking your eyes you're in a room illuminated by a red light. As you try to move you, you notice that you were suspended off the ground, bound by your arms and legs. That's when you notice three sets of shoes in front of you. Glancing up all three men were standing in front of you, masks still on their faces.

Your body starts to tremble in fear.

The air felt thick and that time was stuck as they just watched you. Breathing. Not saying a word. Just standing there.

All you could do was cry, not understanding why this was happening to you. “Why are you doing this!” you scream out, your voice shaking. The man standing in the middle of the other two slowly leaned towards you. Your eyes locking onto his, he mutters “Because you were home”.

As if on queue all three remove their masks, your breath catching in your throat. All three were breath taking. It didn’t make sense, what did they want?

“I’m Terry” the man wearing the burlap sack introduced himself. “This is Damon” he points to the man who was wearing the dusty suit. “And he’s Erik” he points to the man to the right wearing the flannel shirt.

Confusion was written all over your face as you just stared at them. Damon and Erik chuckle.

“Don’t worry we don’t want to hurt you Y/n” he strokes your cheek. You jerk your face away causing him to chuckle, gripping your throat bringing you back to face him.

“If I were you I would listen” Erik chimes in.

Terry rubs his finger along your bottom lip before speaking “We have a long night ahead of us. You’re going to listen and do what we say if you want to make it to the morning” he smirks before roughly letting you go.

What were you going to do?

[mothgardens]

@tired-dragon22 ask and you shall receive :)

If you know me, no you don’t (I’m looking at u, T)

This is probably going to be a little messy and silly, but defo worth it.

To the people who think that Logan is a dominant, angry top… YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND HIM— this goes both ways because if you think that Wade is a submissive, whiny bottom you gotta be kidding.

These two characters are so complex and I am going to spend far to much time analyzing their psychosexual behavior, lets begin:

Logan, like most us know, is passed around like a blunt: Storm, Jean, Scott, Jean and Scott at the same time, Kurt, Storm, Kurt and Storm at the same time, Wade, some people ship him with Charles and Erik as well— point being, the man has some experience.

I know he wouldn’t run for one team (top or bottom), he is playing both fields. In my heart, he is a switch. But, that means he has multiple roles. To me, he is a power bottom MOST of the time, a service top, and on special occasions he can be a regular old bottom.

You have to really delve into the details of his character to see this how I do, and tbh idk if I will be able to explain it as well as I’d like.

Thinking about his character overall, he plays the “bad boy” who is mean and uncommitted, but that is not him. That is a mask to the world to hide his vulnerability.

This man is really just a soft, sad soldier. He has spent to much if his life grasping for stability and dignity. Everything he has ever done has been for some drop of control. But, he doesn’t like it.

He hates his anger, it’s exhausting. He hates fighting for everything he wants. He hates the constant tension and stress. He needs someone to take it away. Which leads me to our first role, Service Top.

He wants to serve. He wants to be told he is doing well (I will die on the hill of this mf having a praise kink). He doesn’t want to fight for control anymore. He hates having a constant guessing game; he would prefer to be told what to do. So, this is a perfect role for him. His partner has control, but he can still serve them. He can be their loyal dog. Do as they say, how they say it. He would get of to pleasing his partner. If they tell him “good job” then his heart is their’s.

I think the line between him being a power bottom or a traditional bottom is paper thin. He likes the lack of control, but he doesn’t like the guessing game. So, he gives suggestions, orders, or, primarily, bitches until his partner does what he wants. HE IS A BRAT, YOU CANNOT FIGHT ME ON THIS.

Simply, he needs to be taken care of. He takes care of so many people, he takes control of so many situations, he never catches a break. He just needs someone to gently lay him down and take the tension away.

I am foul, so one of my favorite traits about Logan is his animalistic tendencies. I believe they shine out during sex. Along the lines of him being a brat, sometimes he will just growl instead of actually bitching. Or he will whine instead of saying a word. I think he is incredibly verbal during sex, but his partner has to get him comfortable enough to quit biting back noises.

I’m not going to get into a lot of details, but just know: Logan is a bratty, feral power bottom who becomes a little mess OR he is a loyal dog service top who just wants to please.

That was my ted talk, amen.

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO ADD ON; im so happy i found the bottom logan community. He is so important to me.

(i can also make one of these about Wade)

[ddreamywitch]

Chapter Six - Wasteland, Baby!

knight!benjicot blackwood x princess!reader

word count: 6.6k

warnings: mentions of violence, arranged marriage

song: Wasteland, Baby! - Hozier

a/n: she juicyyy

“Rather small, isn’t it?” 

Benji snorts next to you, but you don’t find it humorous. 

The castle is small. Not even remotely comparable to what you are used to. 

Which you would not mind, if it didn’t showcase so blatantly how little your father cared about where he had sent you off to. 

Not remotely deserving of your status. 

You clutch the reins and nudge Fury forward, breaking from your cluster of company until you were the one leading them up to the gates. 

You don’t exactly do it to spite anyone. In fact, you’re not even sure if this is wrong. Traditionally your suitors would have to travel to you and not the other way around, but you figure being the first face seen would perhaps assert some kind of dominance that you so clearly lack otherwise. 

You try not to think of the fact that Benji had shared a bed with you last night. 

Not in a promiscuous fashion, at all, but because you were embarrassingly overwhelmed with the way your life was moving forward at the moment. 

Now you won’t really look at him again, and it pains you a little bit, but you had to at least somewhat have your head in the right place when meeting your future husband. 

The sun is shining today. Perhaps it’s a good sign. 

Somebody yells something, an introduction of some sort, trumpets sound out and the gate creaks open. 

It whirls up grey dust that stains the shiny black of your dress. 

Marion had snuck it in for you, you were certain, nobody else would have approved a mourning gown to meet your Lord Husband.

Sitting on your horse like this, you melt into one, colourwise. It makes you look taller, stronger, powerful.

You trot forward, across the small bridge and into the court of the castle. 

Lord Cathcart has his arms flung open, a wide grin on his face. You can’t bring yourself to return the small.

“Ah, the princess of the realm in my humble abode,” he greets you and finally as though saying your title reminded him, he bows. 

Briefly, not appropriately low enough. 

You nod at him, unwilling to get off your horse just yet. “Lord Cathcart.”

He makes a discarding hand gesture. “Please, call me Erik.” 

“Erik.”

He doesn’t look bad. Of course not, neither does his sister. They’re both bronze-haired beauties, not particularly the kind of beauty you cared for, but undeniably beautiful nonetheless. 

“I hope your travels were safe,” he continues. It is a painfully uncomfortable ordeal.

You glance at the castle residents, all lined up behind him, none of them moving and all of them staring at you as though you were perhaps a particularly interesting cow. 

Livestock is becoming increasingly relatable to you as time goes on. 

You haven’t answered yet. “Yes. No disturbances.” 

Erik stares at your dress but then decides he would not address it. 

Fury trudges forward until she is face to face with him, and you want to feel bad for the way he flinches at her height. 

“Well then,” he croaks out. Your eyes flit over to Benji, who unlike you, is not concealing his amusement at all. “I suppose you will want to get rest and settle down in your chambers.”

You nod. “Very much so, my lord.” 

Somebody is whispering something, eyes filled with curiosity and confusion.

You can’t blame them, the picture that is commonly painted of you — soft, sweet, kind — doesn’t exactly align with the entrance you’ve just made. 

It is quite foreign. To remain seated. To not do the polite thing. It isn’t as though you’re being rude or as though you’re obliged to appease these people. The only reason you’ve ever done it was to be nice and you really don’t have the energy to be nice today. 

“Lord Cathcart, I should inform you that her Highness’s horse Fury is unfortunately stubborn. The princess prefers to bring her to the stables herself,” Benji says. The sentence is shaped like a cautious reminder but his voice has an edge to it. You wonder now, whether the edge is natural. 

Lord Cathcart nods, eager, excited, like a dog who’s been shown a bone. 

“Where To then?” 

“Oh, of course!” There’s a strand of hair that bounces. Like a tail. Many dog similarities about the man. “My stable boy will lead the way.”

A young lad breaks from the row and bows to you before approaching. 

“Ma’am,” he mumbles. 

Ma’am? 

You open your mouth to correct him, but a loud smacking sound interrupts you. Your mouth falls agape in horror. Lord Cathcart had struck the boy.

“It is ‘your highness’, you fool,” he yells. Then he turns to you, wide-grinned once more, as though he had painted an entirely new painting in the blink of an eye. “Apologies, we aren’t quite used to such important visits here.”

You want to vomit. “Ser Benjicot and I will go ahead. The rest of you may wait.” You slide off Fury, grab her by the reins. “Come on, sweetling.” 

The boy mumbles his sorrows through welled-up tears as he scurries across the court toward the stables, you and your knight right behind.

Once you are out of sight, tucked away behind the oaken doors, you rest your hand on the boy’s shoulder and force him to face you. 

He’s perhaps three and ten moons, by the looks of it. He looks a bit like Tristan did at his age, but rougher around the edges than a young prince would be.

“You may call me anything you want,” you tell the boy. 

He looks up at you. “My apologies, my highness.” 

Benji chokes a laugh. You send him a warning look. 

“If you wish to call me so, you would have to say ‘your highness’,” you correct him. “But you mustn’t worry. If you wish, you can even call me by my name.”

The boy nods. “My apologies, again.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Matter of fact, he looks as though he’s waiting to find himself trapped somehow. 

You retract your hand and tilt your head. “How often does Lord Cathcart get violent?”

His eyes widen. “I don’t- His father before him– I don’t know, ma– uh, your highness.” 

When you look at Benji once more, as though he might have an explanation for this dilemma, he has a face like a knife ready to be swung. 

“Well, if I am to wed him, then things will have to change around here.”

Still, he doesn’t believe you but he doesn’t seem the type to disagree with you either and so you simply guide Fury to her resting place for the next few weeks. Or moons or years. 

She doesn’t seem all too pleased, a spoiled girl, used to palace stables and quality carrots reserved for her. 

“Marvellous first impression,” Benji huffs at you. 

“What, on my part?” 

He’s close to you suddenly and you wish that you didn’t enjoy it as much as you do. He somehow smells intriguing. “Obviously on your part. What kind of man strikes a child?”

You don’t unsaddle your horse, it is not your duty to do so but you rest your head against her side and sigh deeply. “Lord,” you sigh out and if it weren’t for the deeply rooted feeling of nothingness you would have probably cried. 

Benji rests a hand on your shoulder. He’s behind you, an arm’s length of distance and yet you suddenly are struck by the thought of how distant he actually is from you, how you had fallen asleep in his arms, likely even drooled on him in your sleep and yet he is still your knight. Nothing more, nothing less. Bound to you and not a friend. Or a lover. 

“I shall rest,” you cough up. “I shall rest,” you cough up. You cannot face him and you wonder if you could ever again do so, knowing who you were set to marry and knowing what might have happened in another life. You wish you had some sort of consolation. 

Like perhaps your betrothed might not be the kind of man to strike his servants, but you do not and so you wish to go to your chambers and stare at the ceiling for the next few hours.. 

When you emerge onto the court you do not bother to walk back to Lord Cathcart. 

"I shall see to it that I get my rest now, my lord. There will be room to talk another time." 

He is narrowing his eyes at you. Be that because he is suspicious of your behaviour or because he cannot see you well from where he is standing, but he hurries towards you on his slender limbs. "I will see you to your rooms, your highness. If you wish, we can have a bath drawn for you."

A bath was not a bad idea at all, you must smell of horse and sweat and uncomfortable humidity but for some reason you cannot fathom the thought of doing anything at all. 

"No thank you. I will bathe before supper has come and passed, but for now, my bones are too tired."

He pushes out his bottom lip in an odd childish manner, as though your rejection had hurt him in some way. Such a peculiar man. "Follow me," he says. "We have prepared your room the best way possible."

You nod and then glance at your entourage, still standing around, looking morbidly out of place. Capital men, your young new maid, none of them of high status and yet they are engulfed in a blanket of regality by comparison to the courtier's of Lord Cathcart. 

"Say, where will my people be staying? And my knight?"

Erik offers Benji a more than disapproving look. "Downstairs, where they are in the best position to protect you." 

A huff escapes you, at his disregard of rules. "Erik," it drags across your tongue like the bitterest of poisons. "My knight is to wait outside my door until nightfall where he is replaced with a member of the King's guard. Must I remind you of protocol, so early on in our courtship?"

"I have guards of my own, and you will be my wife soon. You are no longer in need of anyone else."

By god, you would have jumped at a chance like this, to be rid of your guards, the most luxurious prison of all, just a few moons ago. But now, as you stand there, you suddenly feel as though protection at all times is much more important than you had previously thought. 

"We are to be married, on that I agree, my lord, however, it is of the utmost importance that my dignity is not compromised beforehand. Therefore my guards will keep watch until God in heaven has blessed this arrangement."

You give him the most saccharine of smiles, so sweet it would make your teeth hurt. "I'm sure you understand."

He clears his throat and looks back and forth between Benji and you and then over at your father's men. Really, they are more Tristan's than the king's at this point. Loyal to you either way. 

Young Lord Cathcart shakes his head as though he is trying to get rid of something and then he grins his idiotic grin. "Why of course, your highness. I suppose it is better to be safe than sorry."

"I am certain you will have no trouble accommodating the lot of us. It is a small castle but it shall do."

You speak the tongue of the snake now. Never in your life have you made comments like this. Never had you been one to participate in the ill-speaking of others. 

You had listened to gossip, had grasped at the tiniest bits of information the loose tongue of any lady would give you and soaked it up to safely put away into a corner of your mind. Knowledge is power. 

Never in your life had you returned the favour to those who would gossip. Not one secret had fallen from your lips, not the slightest of jabs at whether somebody was getting quite rounded around the belly, or that they had worn the same dress on one too many occasions. 

It doesn't feel as good as you had imagined it to, to be a participant now. With how much people talk and talk and talk, you had figured it would be more fun being mean, but you cannot ignore the uneasy pit in your stomach. 

Lord Cathcart leads you to your chambers,, Tamsyn, your new maid hot on your heels, Benji to your right, your left arm looped through that of your betrothed and it feels as if you're walking toward your execution. 

Hours later, you find yourself bathed and dressed in the most god-forsaken gown you have ever put on your body. 

You are dressed as a peacock. 

And worse so, you are wearing an old dress of Lady Cathcart's. You know it because she had worn it to the very costume ball at which it had become blatantly obvious that sin was afoot between your father and her. 

Tamsyn is working hard at your face, perhaps she is hoping to take away from the fact that there are humongous feathers attached to your back. You wonder how much the dress must have cost just for it to be so desperately ugly that you want to scratch your eyes out upon seeing your reflection in the mirror. 

"Tamsyn?" You whisper. 

She croaks out a yes. Poor thing, so far from home, you think to yourself. 

"Have you ever heard anyone speak of Lord Cathcart?"

She pauses, cheeks cherub-red, powdered brush frozen in front of your face.

"What do you mean, princess?"

You shrug. "Just that young boy from earlier. Have you heard of such behaviour before we came here?"

Her expression is that of a trapped animal. "I do not know if what I hear is true, princess. People talk a lot at the capital." 

So she had. You wonder who else had heard of these matters and had not spoken up. People in power. Not your maid, but rather so the other Lords, the Barons, Dukes, Viscounts. Who had known what was happening and had let it happen? Who had known where they were sending you and had let you go? Has your father known? 

You can picture it. Your father, with his red face and his horrid slur, laying in the bed he had shared with your mother, Lady Cathcart there as they laugh about the mean joke they would impose on you. Oh what a joy to send your child away, your daughter who carries her mother's face, whose disdain for your actions you cannot escape. What fun, to have her marry so low, to have her be forgotten by history as an unimportant Lady married to a weak, little man. 

"Princess, may I speak freely?" Tamsyn says, no whispers. 

You look into her big brown eyes. "Always."

"Your father has made a mistake sending you away. The people of the city barely tolerate him these days. They starve while he feasts upon their animals. They like you. Perhaps even love you. Times are changing...," she trails off. "I fear if something is not done, the people might do it themselves."

A knock sounds through the room and you nearly jump out of your skin, haunted by her soft and tender voice and her harsh and haunting words. 

"Your highness, Lord Cathcart, wishes to see you," Benji says. "Are you decent?"

"NO!" you exclaim, louder than need-be. "He will see me once I make my way downstairs."

You think you hear a bit of a commotion on the other side but it quickly dispels.

Carefully you take Tamsyn's hand. "Whatever do you mean?"

She swallows thickly. Her moment's courage is gone. 

"It is not treason to warn me of things," you mumble. "I would not betray your trust."

She nods but she doesn't wish to speak further and you are concerned that if you push too hard now that she may never speak again.

Another knock. "What?" You yell out across the room, more than annoyed. 

With much care the door is opened and Benji walks in backwards, for modesty's sake. 

"I'm decent Ser Benjicot." 

He turns around and you wish you could wipe that expression of amusement right off his face. 

"What?" you repeat. 

He tilts his head. "Just here to report that Lord Cathcart has urged you to hurry up, as he would like to have dinner before sundown. Apparently the lighting is marvellous during." 

You take the powder from Tamsyn, any more and you might have looked like a jester, anyways. "Let us go then. If Lord Cathcart insists upon it then so be it."

As you get up you damn near fall over, dragged down by the weight of your dress. All the curses in the world, you mentally send to Lady Cathcart. 

"Do not say anything," you threaten your knight who has to fight his laughter harder by the second. 

To make matters worse, the Lord of the house had sent a tiara with equally oversized feathers attached to it for you to wear. 

You do not pride yourself in being fantastically tasteful like your sister Cordelia but you know for certain that you never could have come up with an atrocity of this scale in a million years. 

You loop your arm through Benji's, praying that you will not stumble down the stairs to your death. Or perhaps that might be a kind fate, rather than having to spend the remainder of your life attached to a spiteful gnome. 

But then, who would Benji have to offer his arm to? 

Surely somebody, you remind yourself. He is a renowned rebellious man. It would be a miracle had he never lain with a woman before. 

It crosses your mind that you have no reason to be thinking about this and so you push these thoughts back. 

The pair of you walk through weird and winding corridors, decorated with stuffed animals and you stare at them as they watch you pass them by. "Have you heard of any commotion back at the capital?" you whisper to your knight. 

He tenses beneath your touch. "Why do you ask?"

"Just— No reason. But I was thinking of my friends." You cough. They are not your friends, rather than simply people who you've offered your service to. "And they seemed so tense when I last saw them."

You don't need to look at him to know he is raising his eyebrow. "And when was that?" He asks with a tone of great authority for somebody of his rank.

"Before you were here. You know of my sole attempt, Ser Benjicot."

He takes a sharp turn to the left and you nearly trip. 

You had never been known to trip. It bothers you greatly, how swiftly things seemed to be changing at the moment.

Benji sighs. "Nobody is quite happy with how things have been going along in the kingdom. After the death of your mother and the removal of Ser Attenborough from the position of hand the smallfolk has been growing uneasy."

You glance over your shoulder. Is it dangerous to speak so freely in a foreign place? Likely. "Is there reason to fear?"

For my brother. My sister who is visiting. For Marion even. For all the people at court that aren't corrupted by their own wealth. 

Benji doesn't answer for a moment. "It is not yours to worry over such matters."

Of course. You scoff but you cannot be offended in truth, for you know that he is right. What would you even do? You held no true power, all you could do is warn Tristan and even so, what would you warn him about? Everyone knows of the dire situation in the kingdom. 

You take another turn and you are not sure you would be able to find your way through this castle by your lonesome, as topsy-turvy as it is. 

Finally you reach the grand hall and the sight before you is chilling. There are no guests at all. 

Erik is sitting at the head of the table, whispering to a priest. 

Servants stand in row along the cobbled and dark walls, statues or perhaps living dolls. 

A shudder runs down your spine. 

"Lord Cathcart," your voice chimes through the long room, reverberating from its hollowness. You've never particularly enjoyed hearing your own voice so intensely. 

His eyes shoot up and his teeth are bared. "Your highness! My, you look just marvellous. Peacock is certainly your colour."

If it is a joke you don't laugh. Your smile is meek and you make your way towards your seat to his right. The only other of the about twenty chairs that has a dinner set resting in front of this. 

Benji pulls your chair out for you and you squish the thick layers of dress down beneath the table. 

"You may be excused," Erik tells your knight. 

Your eyebrows raise. 

"Have we not discussed this earlier?"

Erik nods. "That is what the priest is here for. To protect your virtue."

Benji does not say anything at all, not an ounce of protest and you can already hear his footsteps retreating.

"What of intruders? Kidnappers? Enemies to the crown? My safety is just as important as my chastity," you plead, exasperated, desperate to not be left alone with these strange men. 

But you are waved off as you so often are.

The door opens and closes and you have to watch the closest thing to a friend you have here leave. 

The sting of betrayal surprises you. 

Lord Cathcart is delighted. "We have guards at all doors princess, you need not worry. I will protect you."

He couldn't protect you from a small dog, you are certain, but what use is protest? Somehow you will have to find a way to tolerate him. 

Your wine is poured and you take a gulp and are hit with an instant wave of regret. "What is this?"

"Our local wine, princess. Do you like it?"

You consider lying for a moment. "Do you perhaps have anything sweeter? Cider?" 

He claps and one of the frozen servants scurries quickly. Your chalice is replaced with a new one and the cider is only a tiny bit better. By god, you had not been aware just how spoiled you are. 

The priest lingers by the fireplace. An ugly man, undeniably. Small bird-like eyes and wormy, moist lips. He's watching you with the eyes of a predator. 

"Now, Princess," your betrothed says. "I am quite sorry for these circumstances,."

Your food is plated. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I am well aware that you must have expected a better match. Maybe even a love match."

The meat is cold in the middle. "I tried to not delude myself into thinking I would marry for love's sake."

He gives something of a look of consideration. “Still. Had we at least had the chance to know one another before being thrust into the other’s arms.”

He is not being thrust into anybody’s arms, you think to yourself. A husband is not the wife’s prisoner, it is the other way around. You don’t disagree with him, just keep chewing your hopeless, bland food.

“I am aware of my sister’s wrongdoings, princess.” 

His voice has lowered to a whisper now, as though he is afraid of the shame his sister might bring upon him. As though his housekeepers do not quiver before him.

“What wrongdoings? Meddling in politics which do not concern her? You must clarify, my lord,” you demand. 

The priest stares at you, unwavering.

Erik is uncomfortable. “No. I cannot. I do not know what she did, but I assure you she must have done something for you to be here now.”

“Where are your parents? Are they not concerned with their daughter’s actions?”

“They have long left the kingdom, as you surely know, princess.” There is a piece of lettuce stuck between his teeth. “They have no care for their children.”

“Well, at least we seem to have one thing in common.” Your voice drips with resignation.

He beams at you like an excited dog. “Yes!”

A bit absurd to get quite so excited about such a sombre fact.

“Lord Cathcart,” you say. You have to say this now. “I do hope we can find a way to make our marriage tolerable. But I must warn you that I will try to fight it until I am dragged down the altar. Once we are wed, I shall be an honourable, dutiful wife.”

There is a film of something strange across his face, the sheen of light disgust or aversion. 

“Princess, this is an agreed-upon arrangement.” 

You shrug. You wish you weren’t so scared. You wish your knight were here with you. “I am still the king’s daughter. I outrank you.”

Your heart is trembling with the fierceness of your words. You can't remember another time where you had spoken so frank.

But you had tripped today. It is due time you adapt to the world.

The air feels sharp. "Princess, you are my betrothed. There is no way out."

His knuckle blanch from how hard he grips the table. "I am sorry for the ordeal. But I will be your Lord Husband, you are not free to run your mouth like this." 

It flashes across your mind how Benji had respected you more after you had spoken your mind and how disgusted with you Erik seems. 

"I will not disrespect you in any regard. But if you are yourself sorry, why would you still agree?"

You know the answer. Wealth. The glory of marrying an Apricate girl. Proximity to the rulers. 

He doesn't speak these things. "I will work hard against your unhappiness. But to remove myself from this betrothal would be undignified."

Have you gone too far? Had you been too crass? You do not know these unfamiliar waters, you do not know how much is too much, you have always given too little. 

"I am sorry, my Lord. I do not mean to offend. I am simply-"

"Tired," he cuts you off. He rests his hand against yours. You wish you could remove it.. "How could I make you rest easier?"

Your gaze catches that off one of the paintings behind him. "Why do you lay hands on your people?"

He squeezes your hand and it feels like a threat but he catches himself. "For discipline."

"That is a foolish reason. Not even the king hurts his servants."

His beauty is so painfully tainted by the face he is making. "But this is the most efficient way. How else would they learn?"

The priest is still watching. Would a true man of god let this happen under his watch? 

"Is it not god that taught us to treat each other with kindness?"

It feels as though you are speaking to a child and he truly doesn't understand what you are trying to imply. 

But he gives in. 

"If this is what you wish for then fine. I shall follow your command," he says. 

You nod and take another sip. If you drink fast enough you might be able to interpret this as a win. 

And perhaps while you are at it, you might unburden yourself by the plague that your knight is.

Comparison is the thief of joy and the way you cannot help but see how much of a better man Benji is, in comparison to the wimpy Lord Cathcart.

You never should have let him comfort you. It is like a gate in your mind has been opened and cannot be closed. A flood of thoughts, all repeating the same face over and over again.

"Princess, I must inform you of something and I am doubtful that it will make you happy."

Your stomach twists. "What is it?" Another big sip.

"Well, once we are wed—" He pauses. Which we will be, is what he is trying to suppress but the warning look in his eyes says it for him anyways. "You will be assigned a new sworn protector."

You pray to god that he doesn't see the frown you immediately pull into your chalice. "Pardon?"

"You will be assigned a new protector. My family is close with House Bracken and has been for many years. I cannot have that unhinged young lad running around my castle."

Unhinged is a strong choice of word, coming from him. "He swore an oath. How would I dispose of him?"

"In the same way your last knight was disposed of. It is not a dishonourable thing, but merely a precaution. I do not wish to run into trouble."

"My knight was picked in very specific conditions. He is part of the peace treaty in the Riverlands. If he returns, trouble will surely be worse."

It is quite funny how suddenly the tides have changed. Just about one moon, or two ago you were beyond upset with Ser Benjicot Blackwood, and had prayed for a way to rid yourself of him. And now, you were fairly certain that if he left, you would be the most lonely person in the world.

He isn't even your friend. You are not even sure he doesn't still partly despise you but with Marion gone and your siblings gone and your work (if one can call it that) taken from you, you had to call him a friend. Otherwise you might fall into a pit of deep despair. 

Lord Cathcart had perhaps not considered the treaty. Or he hadn't considered that you might be aware of it. Either way he doesn't speak for a very long time and decides to aggressively cut his lamb up. 

"You must know, it is a liability to have Bloody Ben running around my home. I can't imagine why your father would ever have him assigned to you in the first place, but I surely do not want this."

You disregard your food entirely. "Well, if you wish for it, I do not hold any power over who is sworn to me. But you hold no power either. If we were wed perhaps it might change, but even still. The Blackwood boy was chosen by the king and plays an essential role in keeping peace in this glorious kingdom. The choice is with him and his counsel."

And as you speak you wonder if they might execute him. Where else would they put him? Surely Lady Cathcart would find a way to have your father listen to her brother's request. And then what? He isn't allowed to return to the Riverlands, but how could they ensure that he wouldn't? 

You must write to Tristan. Or perhaps Cordelia could offer him refuge in Arbormere. Without her husband''s knowledge.

It is becoming more noticeable by the second that this dress is not yours by the way parts of it dig into tender flesh. 

Erik clears his throat. 

And gets up.

You stare at him perplexed. 

"Your highness, my princess, the realm's delight. I do not wish to sadden you." He grips your hand again, both of them this time. "But I cannot have you talking in this unwomanly manner. Politics do not concern you. Discipline does not concern you. How I handle things is not your concern. Speak disrespectfully again and I assure you, I can be much unfriendlier."

You swallow thickly before you rip your hands out of his. "I am still the princess. Do not dare threaten me ever again."

Tears of anger betray your coldness and you get up with enough force to send the table wobbling, wine stains the cloth spread. 

"I bid you goodnight."

You turn to face the priest. "And you father."

He doesn't speak, still just quietly watching with bird eyes and nods. 

Apparently luck is on your side after all, and the Lord of the house does not attempt to follow you. 

You storm out of the room and do not slow down when Benji calls after you. He must have waited by the door. Has he heard your conversation?

"Do you even know where you are going?" 

You ignore him, hectically climbing the stairs with your stupid, stupid gown. 

Ser Corrigan nearly runs into you when you hurry around the corner but you ignore him too. 

Since you have no idea where you are going you decide to continue climbing the stairs. You can hear Benji tell Ser Corrigan that he has not a single clue what has gotten into you. 

You aren't even crying. You wish you were, you figure that would suit you more than an erratic outburst of anger. Maybe you are your father's daughter after all. 

Finally Benji catches up to you and you are once more reminded of how restricted you are even by something as minute as the clothes you wear. 

Forever the most privileged prisoner in the world.

"What on earth happened?" He asks, matching your speed as you keep going up and up and up.

"I cannot marry that man," you huff. This is surprisingly exhausting; your face feels like it's aglow from the heat. 

"Did he do something?" 

Did he? Not really. Can you even blame Erik for anything? He is doing what he has been taught his whole life, how he has seen women be treated by their husband's for forever. This is a tradition older than you or your mother or her mother before her. Generations of women who could do nothing but obey. Rage runs hot in your veins.,

"No," you say. "He did what was expected, I just figured I would—" Be successful in your rebellion. That if  you had never spoken ill or not done what was expected that would mean it would be more effective once you do. But it wasn't. Not at all. 

You can only place your hope with God now, and you have not done that in a very long time.

You reach the top of the stairs, the bell tower. Closer to the sky but not remotely a free bird.

With an exasperated sigh you lean against the wall, tilt your head to peek at the sun setting on the horizon, a fiery orange hue. The ridiculous feather tiara slips to the ground. 

The dining room must be looking marvellous about now, it being faced west-way and all. 

Benji also looks marvellous. Not nearly as out of breath as you, dressed in black leathers, his raven pin twinkling as his chest rises and falls.

"He wants to get rid of you," you tell him. 

He nods. "That makes sense."

"How does that make any sense? You are here based on a contract, a deal, an entire peace treaty. He cannot just rid you of me."

He smiles halfheartedly. "Rid you of me? I thought it would be the other way around. That you'd be glad to be rid of me."

There is not an ounce of energy left in you to take such jests. 

Benji is across from you. You are so high up, the tip of the tower. He feels too tall for the space. "I knew he was friends with the Bracken pack. I figured I'd run into some issues with that."

A strange sensation grows in your overwhelmed heart. "Why would you not tell me this?"

"You're so well-versed in gossip I thought you knew this."

You had known. But you had not realised that the bond between Bracken and Cathcart was strong enough to warrant such behaviour. 

"He is like my father," you whisper. "But worse in some ways." 

You consider it for a moment. "Better in others."

"So why are we up here? Are you planning to jump?"

You roll your eyes at him. "Idiot." 

He nudges his boot against the bottom frills of your dress., and they leave a small splotch of brown. Somehow he is never fully clean. There are always specks of mud trailing him. You don't know how he manages it.

"Am I too not know love, ever?"

He nudges you again. "You are loved by so many. I'm quite certain that you are one of the most loved people in the world."

"It isn't tangible love. The smallfolk think they like me but they don't know me and soon they will have forgotten me in favour of my father's shortcomings. My siblings love me. Marion perhaps. Ser Rodrick once, but he hasn't written me any letters." 

Benji sighs. "That is still more than what some people have in a lifetime."

There isn't a way to deny him because he is right. He has backed you into a corner with his words, but still he must be aware how none of that could make up for the marriage that was luring in your future. You do not even want to think of the consummation of it. 

Silence remains as it so frequently does between the two of you. 

He stretches his hand out toward you and you take it, not questioning why, as he pulls you forward, until your skirt wraps around both your legs. 

With gentle hands he does the same, wraps around you until you are engulfed in his arms, his scent, his warmth. 

Your head grows dizzy, as it rests against his shoulder.

"I am not familiar with the ways of the court," he whispers, his breath hot on the crown of your head. "But many noble women find a way to be with their husbands in a way that isn't too straining. Your sister seems content, doesn't she?"

"She wasn't always and she still is not. Her husband will not relent until he has an heir to take the throne. They get along fine but the bearing of children is laborious for her. My mother died when she had me." 

His hand draws a circle on your back and you hope he never stops doing it. 

"You're a witch. That won't happen to you."

You laugh but it is laced with venomous sarcasm. "I'm a terrible witch. I couldn't even say goodbye to my cauldron. Or my sick people."

He pulls away, yet just far enough for your noses to touch. "That was not your fault. And besides, you did try to leave the castle. You just weren't quite...tactical about it."

Your laugh dies in your throat when your eyes meet his. You're certain that nobody has ever quite looked at you like this. Least of all Benji. 

That legendary young man, with a supposed undying thirst for blood. And while you had seen him angered, the way he is looking at you now makes it hard to imagine that he had ever been anything but tender. 

The moment stretches out, up into the sky and across the two of you like the dome you are standing beneath. 

In hindsight you won't be sure how it happens but something pulls the two of you together and your lips meet. 

Your breath hitches, heart hammering the way Fury's hooves do when she gallops across a field and it is better than the rush of any wine you've ever had. 

Your head is screaming at you to put a stop to it, but you cannot bring yourself to, when every fibre in your being is yearning for more, your hands in his hair. It is foreign and odd but in a fantastical way.

And in the end, it is him who pulls away. 

"Oh," you breathe, chest rising unsteadily. 

The grin on his face is prideful. "Mhm. Oh."

A twig snaps in the court, but it does not matter. His lips are on yours again. 

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 1 ~ 42

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,810ish

Summary: The group heads to Paris, where the plan goes wrong.

Warning(s): a lot of movie dialogue, fights, Stryker

Notes: STRYKER LOOKS LIKE THE ORIGINS STRYKER NOT DAYS OF FUTURE PAST STRYKER. Also, I hope that this makes a lick of sense and isn't too choppy. Please let me know your thoughts.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

Logan sent you and Peter to get the car while Erik was told the reason that he had been broken out of the Pentagon. Once you returned with the car, everyone loaded up, and you headed to a private airport. A private airport was waiting on the runway when you arrived.

“Uh, do any of you know how to fly this thing?” you asked, eying the nice plane.

“I do,” Hank said, heading up the stairs. “I’ll get everything ready.”

You looked over at James. “This is our second flight in a day, and this is much longer. Are you sure you'll be okay?”

Logan could have melted at the concern shining through in your eyes. “You’ll sit with me?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll be just fine, sweetheart.”

Keeping his eyes locked on yours, Logan slowly reached forward and took your hand. Your breath caught at the feeling of your hand in his. He had held your hand before, but something was different about this. Logan gave your hand a light squeeze before guiding you up the steps and onto the private plane. As much as Logan wanted to sit beside you and hold you tight, he knew that he was already pressing too much. He led you to a seat and then sat across from you with a small table between.

Erik entered the plane soon after and reached for the newspaper that rested on the small table between you and Logan. Logan quickly pinned the newspaper to the table with his claws.

“Imagine if they were metal,” Erik scoffed, walking to one of the back seats.

Logan bit down a remark as he pulled out a cigar. He went to light it, but you quickly killed the flame from his lighter. 

“Are you really going to do that while we all sit in this cramped plane?” You asked, exasperated. 

“What? It’s not illegal yet,” Logan retorted.

Your brows creased together. “You make it sound like someday it will be.”

“Uh, well, yeah, because of people like you who don't like the smell.”

“Right.”

“So you really won’t let me light it?”

“Not a chance, James.”

His lips tugged into a small smile, barely there, as he put the lighter and cigar back in his pocket. “Then how am I going to survive this flight?”

“Here,” you reached your hand across the table and wiggled your fingers. “Take it.”

Logan didn't waste a second in placing his hand in yours. At the same time, Charles entered the plane and went to the back to sit down. Hank got the plane in the air, causing Logan to grip your hand tighter. The silence in the plane was almost suffocating as Charles glared at Erik.

“How did you lose them?” Erik asked Charles. 

“The treatment for my spine affects my DNA,” Charles explained.

“You sacrificed your powers so you could walk?!”

“I sacrificed my powers so I could sleep.” Charles shook his head. “What do you know about it?”

"I've lost my fair share.”

Charles let out a cold laugh. “Dry your eyes, Erik. It doesn't justify what you’ve done.”

“You have no idea what I've done.”

"I know you took the things that meant the most to me."

“Well, maybe you should have fought harder for them."

Charles and Erik stood up to be face-to-face. "If you want a fight, Erik, I will give you a fight!"

"Sit down!” Logan demanded.

“Let him come," Erik responded.

Charles seized Erik by the front of his shirt. "You abandoned me!” He exclaimed. “You took her away, and you abandoned me!”

“Angel. Azazel. Emma. Banshee,” Erik grew angrier with each name, his powers beginning to control the plane. “Mutant brothers and sisters, all dead! Countless others experimented on, butchered!” 

Erik's powers rattled the plane and set it on a downward trajectory. The force caught you off guard, sending you flying sideways out of your seat. Logan's grip on your hand was the only thing to keep you from hitting your head. With a groan, Logan pulled you into his lap. 

“Hold on to me,” Logan mumbled. 

Your arms slipped around his neck as he held tightly to the table to keep you both in place. You tried to remain calm at how it felt to be in his lap and this close. You took a deep breath to keep your heart and powers at bay.

"Where were you, Charles?!” Erik continued. Charles was holding onto the ceiling and a seat to try and not fly around.

“Erik!” Hank shouted as he tried to regain control of the plane. 

”We were supposed to protect them! Where were you when your own people needed you?! Hiding! You and Hank! Pretending to be something you're not! You abandoned us all!”

“ERIK!”

Erik relinquished control of the plane. “You abandoned us all.” 

Both Charles and Erik were panting as they stared each other down. Unable to take it anymore, Charles went up and took the pilot seat next to Hank. Logan’s hands came up to cup your face, his eyes frantically scanning for any sign of injury.

“I'm okay," you told him, grabbing his wrists and giving them a little squeeze.

“You sure?" He still was looking you over.

“Yes. Are you okay?”

Logan’s eyes finally met yours. “Yeah. Just great.”

You nodded, not believing him. “I’m going to use the restroom.” You pushed off of him and slipped into the nearby restroom.

Logan sighed, fixing his position in his seat. “So, you were always an asshole."

Erik scoffed. “I take it we're best buddies in the future,” he turned and responded.

Logan chuckled. “I spent a lot of years trying to bring you down, bub.”

“How does that work out for you?”

“You’re like me. You’re a survivor.” Logan looked around at the mess left due to Charles and Erik's argument. “Do you wanna pick all that shit up?"

The conversation died down, silence filling the plane. Including you, frozen in the restroom as you overheard their conversation. The future? Is that why James was acting so strange? But then... why—how did he look the same? Was this all a trap? This was a conversation you needed to have with James alone and not in the middle of the air with strangers. Except, these people didn't seem like strangers to him. Taking a deep breath, you needed to bury down the fear and anxiety that was bubbling up inside of you. You slipped out of the restroom and sat back in your seat.

Logan knew you too well. The second his eyes fell on you, he knew something was wrong. His brows pinched together as he leaned forward, trying to catch your eye, but he could tell you were avoiding it.

“Sweetheart, what's wrong?” He whispered.

The question was something you noted. The two of you had known each other for less than a year, and he was asking like he knew you like the back of your hand.

“I’m fine," you replied. “Just tired.” You moved to curl up in the chair. 

“Y/N—“

“I’m fine, James," you snapped. "Let me get some rest."

Logan watched as you curled up and closed your eyes. An anxious knot formed in his stomach. He was going to lose you at this rate, and he didn't even know how to fix it without completely making it worse. As soon as he could tell that you were asleep, he pulled off his leather jacket, stood up, and carefully placed it on top of you. Logan couldn't control himself as he leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of your head. Tears threatened to overtake his eyes as he thought that this could be the last gentle moment he had with you. He needed to savor it.

“You love her,” Erik stated quietly from where he was sitting.

Logan grunted in response as he sat back down. “In the future, she's my wife.”

“Is she waiting with the future versions of Charles and I?”

“She died. The Sentinels killed her right before I was sent back here.”

“Makes more sense now. You're not doing this for anyone else. You're doing this for her."

“Everything I will ever do is for her.”

~~~

You were thankful to wake up almost in Paris. Though the woodsy smell of James' cigars instantly overtook your senses. His leather jacket was draped over you. Glancing over at him, you saw him awake, staring out the window. You sat up, pulling the jacket off of you.

“Sleep well?” he asked, looking at you.

“Fine,” you replied. “For a chair.” You reached over and handed him the jacket. “Thanks."

“Any time.”

~~~

Your anxiety was growing with each second. Logan could sense it. But each time he tried to move closer to help you out, you moved away. That’s how you ended up sitting between Charles and Hank in the back seat while Logan drove and Erik sat in the passenger seat. The five of you hurried through the building once you arrived there. Flames flickered at your fingertips as you tried to calm down.

When you arrived at the meeting room, the blue woman you assumed was Raven was on the large table, aiming a gun at the smaller man in the corner. Your eyes moved, finding the still-conscious man on the ground near you. You stumbled back.

“Stryker," you gasped.

“Raven,” Erik called, causing Raven to pause and ignore what was going on with you.

Stryker smirked and quickly pulled out a contraption, shooting you with it. You screamed out as you began to be electrocuted. Logan roared, stepping forward as you writhed in pain. But suddenly, his mind grew hazy, and he stumbled back. Erik quickly took out Stryker and disarmed Raven. Logan’s breaths were coming short and desperate as he slid down the wall. The memories of what Stryker did to the two of you–his past, your future–played out in his mind. Logan couldn’t control it as his claws pushed through his knuckles. He could feel the tug to return to his own time, but he needed to fight. He needed to complete the mission. He needed to get to you. But for a moment, Logan’s 2023 conscience slipped away.

You stayed on the ground, the commotion around you becoming a blur as you whimpered in pain. Between both of you panicking, you and Logan missed Erik trying to kill Raven, and Raven escaped from the window.

“Where am I?" Logan panted, standing up.

“Huh?” Charles barely registered the question.

“How the hell did I get here?” 

“What? You came to us."

“Who are you?”

“Charles.” Logan gripped his shoulder tightly. “Charles Xavier!”

“I don’t know you.”

“Huh?” Hank, in his Beast form, stood up behind Charles.

“What the hell is that? And where's... Y/N? Where’s Y/N?"

“She’s over there.” 

As Logan rushed over to your side, Charles urged Hank to go stop Erik from hurting Raven.

“Y/N,” Logan pulled you into his arms.

“James?” you muttered.

Logan noticed Stryker unconscious beside you. “No. We need to get out of here.” He hoisted you up in his arms and glared at Charles. “Did you lead us here? To this trap?"

“What? No!" Charles exclaimed. “You're Logan, that's Y/N. I'm Charles Xavier. You spent the last couple of days with me and my friends.”

“Why?” Logan groaned as his head pounded. With a blink, Logan panted, and his 2023 consciousness was back. “Professor?”

“What happened to you?”

Logan looked down at you and then over at Stryker. He wanted to kill him, but he couldn't risk the timeline as much as he was already risking. “That man will cause a lot of pain to me and Y/N.”

“James,” you cried in his arms.

Logan tightened his grip around you and shushed you. “I've got you, sweetheart. You're safe now… I have you.” He quickly looked around. “Where’s Raven?"

“Gone."

“What?" Sirens began blaring in the distance, coming closer.

“We have to get out of here.”

Logan, still holding you tightly to his chest, followed Charles out of the building and through the panicking streets. The three of you met up with Hank and headed back to the airport. As soon as you were on the plane, you peeled yourself from Logan and curled up on a chair in the corner. 

“Y/N—"

“Don’t,” you rasped, trying to hold back the onslaught of emotions. You looked up at him, tears gathering in your eyes. “I… I don't even know what to say to you."

He sat down across from you. “I’m sorry—"

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am."

"No, I don't. We’ve barely known each other for a year, and I chose to run away with you with the promise that you'd protect me. But days ago, we woke up, and you weren't the same person. You’re talking weird—in the past tense. This mission isn't adding up. Then Stryker… we walked right into a trap. So, you are not my James. Who are you?”

“I... I can’t… I can’t tell you.”

"Then I'm gone as soon as this plane lands.”

“No, please." His hands grasped yours like his life depended on it. "Please, don’t leave. I’ll do anything.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

Logan sighed. “I am your James. This is his body, but my conscience… my conscience was sent back from fifty years in the future.”

“The future?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because a war is coming. A war that destroys the world... destroys my world. But I can stop it. Well, I thought I could.”

“I need something more. What you are saying could all be a lie."

Logan sighed, thinking of something that would get you to believe him. “The night you found out about your mutation. Your father killed your mother. He believed you and her were monsters. You killed him and—"

“Enough," you yanked your hands out of Logan's grip. “I believe you.”

“Are you… are you going to leave?"

You stayed quiet for a moment, studying his eyes. You knew that if you truly wanted to, Logan would let you walk away. But you could tell that it would break his heart. There was something he was still keeping from you, something that was his true motive for doing this. You weren’t going to pressure him, though. It was a secret he obviously held too close to his heart to share.

“I don’t know," you whispered. “I need some space.”

“Okay,” he nodded, standing up. “Just... let me know if you need anything.” 

You watched as Logan walked to the opposite side of the plane. His shoulders were slumped forward. He was sad, more sad than you had ever seen. It made you want to wrap him up and hold him close, but you couldn’t. Not when everything was so messed up right now.

~~~

Logan had never felt so anxious before. He didn't know what you would choose. To stay with him and give him a chance to make things right, or to walk away and possibly ruin any future with him. A part of him finally breathed when the plane landed, and you got into the car with the others. Logan could breathe a little bit more when you walked into the mansion with them.

Charles grunted, collapsing to his knees in the entryway of the mansion.

"What happened?” Logan asked, rushing to Charles' side with Hank.

“Come on,” Hank muttered, holding Charles up.

“Why can't he walk?" You asked.

“He needs his treatment," Hank responded.

“Hank, I can hear them," Charles complained in pain as Hank moved him to sit up against the wall.

“I know. It's okay."

“Can you make it stop?"

“I'll get them.” Hank rushed off.

Charles’ hands went to both sides of his head as he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a groan.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Logan said. "Pull yourself together."

“James!” You exclaimed.

“It's not over yet."

Panting, Charles opened his eyes and looked into Logan's. "You don't believe that," he retorted.

“How do you know that?”

“As these go,” Charles motioned to his legs. “This…” he touched the side of his head, "comes back. They all come back.”

“Look, I’m… I’m still here…” He glanced your way as you crouched next to Charles. “And she’s still out there. We need your help, Charles. Not like this. I need you. We can’t find Raven. Not without your powers.”

Hank's quick footsteps cut in as he joined you beside Charles. "I added a little extra because you missed a dose,” he stated.

Logan watched as Charles took the syringe. “Charles.” 

The man placed it against his arm and caught Logan’s gaze again. Then he looked to you. In the brief moments that Charles had regained his powers, he had seen you in Logan’s mind. The future you. Just glimpses. He could feel the love that Logan had for you. The respect and admiration and the fear that he may never see you again. With a huff, Charles set the syringe down.

“Uh, Hank, do me a favor,” Charles said, catching his breath. "Would you help me to my study, please?”

“Come on, I got you," Hank helped Charles up.

“I can help,” you offered, coming to his other side.

The three of you headed to the study with Logan following. Hank stopped at a chair near a closet, where you helped Charles into the chair. Hank opened the closet, revealing a wheelchair.

"Are you sure about this?” Hank asked.

“Absolutely not,” responded Charles.

You helped Charles get settled into the wheelchair. Logan and Hank quietly conversed behind you. Charles caught your chin, gently forcing you to look at him.

“You are the most important thing to him," Charles whispered. “He is doing this for you.” You inhaled sharply, taking in Charles' words. “Give him a chance… These may be his last moments with you. Let him have them, no matter what happens.”

“We should head downstairs,” Hank said before you could say anything to Charles.

Charles led the way, controlling his own wheelchair over to the elevator. Logan lingered behind you, wanting to make sure he knew where you were going so that you couldn't slip away without him knowing. You gasped when you arrived downstairs, where it was all sleek, silver metal. You followed Charles down the long hallway to the door at the very end.

“When was the last time you were down here?" asked Logan.

“The last time we went looking for students," Hank answered.

“A lifetime ago,” Charles corrected.

Charles stopped in front of the door. The hole in the door lit up, shining in Charles’ eyes.

“Welcome, Professor," an automated female voice greeted before the door slid open, revealing a large sphere room.

The four of you headed down the walkway to the end. Hank immediately began turning knobs on the control panel as you looked around.

“Raven’s wounds,” Hank stated. “She won't be moving fast.”

Charles picked up the helmet and blew the dust off of it. “These are muscles I haven't stretched in a long time,” he said before slipping the helmet off. He gasped as the room turned into a red-and-white map.

“Wow,” you gasped. "What is this?”

Charles gasped and groaned under the pressure of it all. As he started to scream, the dials on the control panel began exploding. Logan quickly covered you as pieces of glass went flying everywhere. 

“Charles!" Hank exclaimed as Charles tore off the helmet. “It’s all right. Are you all right?”

Logan gently grabbed your face, checking you over for injuries. “You hurt?” he asked.

“I’m fine, Jam—Logan. I’m fine," you replied.

His heart cracked a little. “Please, don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Call me Logan.”

“But everyone else—"

“There will be a time and a place for you to call me Logan. I’m still your James right now. Okay? I need to be your James."

“Okay.”

“I’ll go check the generator,” Hank said, pulling you and Logan from your own little world. He quickly left.

“It's not the machinery, is it?" Logan questioned.

“I can't do this,” Charles shook his head. “My mind—“

“Yes, you can.”

“No. It won't take it.”

“You’re just a little rusty."

“You don't understand. It's not a question of being rusty. I can flip the switches. I can turn the knobs. But my power comes from here." He pointed to his head. “It comes from…” His hand shook above his heart. "And it's broken. I feel like one of my students. Helpless.” Charles turned his wheelchair around and started heading back down the walkway. “It was a mistake coming down here. It was a mistake freeing Erik. This whole thing has been one bloody mistake. I’m sorry, Logan, but they sent back the wrong man."

“You're right.” Charles stopped. “I am. Actually, it was supposed to be you. But I was the only one who could physically make the trip. And, uh,” Logan glanced your way, “And I don’t know how long I've got here. But I do know that a long time ago—actually, a long time from now, I was your most helpless student.” Logan leaned down, gripping the armrests of the chair and getting in Charles' face. “And you unlocked my mind. You showed me what I was. You showed me what I could be. I don't know how to do that for you. You're right. I don't. But I know someone who might. Look into my mind.”

“You saw what I did to Cerebro. You don't want me inside your head."

“There's no damage you can do that hasn't already been done, trust me… Come on.” 

Charles placed his hands on either side of Logan's face while you waited with bated breath. Images of Logan’s life—his most painful moments and you, his happiest, filtered through. 

“You poor, poor man,” Charles gasped as your final death played before him.

“It wasn't all that bad,” Logan said, shooting you a smirk. "Look past me."

“No, I don't want your suffering. I don't want your future!"

“Look past my future. Look for your future… That’s it… That's it... That's it." 

You watched as a tear streamed down Charles' face as he concentrated harder. It took a few silent moments, but eventually, Charles pulled away from Logan. The lights in the hallway flickered on.

“Find what you were looking for?” Logan wondered, a knowing look on his face.

“The powers back on," Hank stated, coming back.

“Yes,” Charles said, looking at Logan, who gave him a small smile. "Yes, it is.”

Charles looked in Cerebro while Logan looked at you. You gave him a small smile, which instantly had Logan’s eyes lighting up. You knew that Logan had to finish this mission, and you'd be by his side until the end.

next chapter >

[wisteriaiswriting]

Reyna, Sova, Fade and Breach getting proposed to.

ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕒𝕝

Words: 951

You had gone to Brimstone with the request of a week off, as you and your partner, Reyna or as you call her by Zyanya, were going back to Mexico. She was ecstatic to return, you were as well but you had another idea in mind. And the locals were more than willing to help.

The first day was spent browsing some jewelry stores before commissioning a place, specifically for a ring. The metal was the best gold they had, with shining magenta stones placed in it.

For the next few days while the ring was being completed you let her show you around, not surprisingly all the locals loved you. At some point they started guiding you both towards the area’s centre, with everyone surrounding it. So she got rightfully suspicious.

“What have you done?”

“Zyanya, I think everyone can agree with me here,” Taking a deep breath before you continued, grabbing the ring to show her. “You’ve changed my life, and everyone’s for the better, and I’m hoping you’re willing to do it for the rest of my life?”

It was almost laughable at how you looked right now, but not maliciously.

“Of course, Estimado.”

Letting you place the ring on her finger before pulling you close for a kiss. Hearing everyone cheer for the two of you.

***

Estimado - dear

The room was filled with conversation and the crackling of the fire. Sasha sat next to his Babuska while you were on her other side, this was a night she would love to have again. Soon enough he noticed how fidgety you were slowly becoming.

“Голубь, are you alright?”

Taking a deep breath as you stood up, reaching into your pocket to pull out the box.

“Sasha, ты выйдешь за меня?”

The other two paused, his Babuska wasn’t surprised, she was waiting for his response. Relaxing as he started laughing, reaching around into his back pocket. Only to pull out… another box.

“Y/N, it seems you’ve gotten quicker.” Covering the space inbetween you two in a few steps, “But yes, I’ll spend the rest of my life with you.”

***

Голубь - Dove

ты выйдешь за меня? - will you marry me?

She never thought about marriage.

It was generally hard to think about it when almost every thought was a nightmare, but that's all you were thinking about. Hazal was the only girl you want to spend the rest of your life with, unable to imagine yourself with anyone else.

With hope in your mind you brought the rings, one with a light blue gem, representing her right eye colour. You could, and have spent hours staring into her own eyes, and you’d never get tired of it. The other one held a [colour] gem, matching your own. Keeping them safe in your pocket until the right time, which came soon enough.

You were still awake until the late of night, unable to sleep knowing what you were planning. Hazal on the other hand fell asleep easily enough, staying asleep was the difficult part. At one point she gave up opting to lay on your stomach while on her phone, talking about anything that came to mind.

Reaching over to the bedside table, grabbing the two rings.

“What happened this time?”

She sighed before responding.

“They went after you, I don’t know what they did but…” Hearing her voice crack broke your heart, pulling her closer. “You didn’t return.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Curious, she looked up, eyes meeting yours before moving to the rings. “Please Hazal, let me into your mind and do whatever I can to help.”

Her eyes teared up slightly before she blinked, moving up to pull you into a harsh kiss. Showing you how she felt at that moment, mumbling something before going in for another kiss.

“I won’t let them touch you, benim rüyam.”

***

benim rüyam - my dream

Marriage wasn’t something Erik thought about often, maybe once or twice in his younger years. Ever since he started dating you though, those thoughts have skyrocketed. It wouldn’t be your normal wedding due to… ya know, everything really.

Luckily enough for him you have also been thinking about marriage. For anyone else you would’ve spent a good chunk of your paycheck on a ring, but this is Erik you’re talking about. He doesn’t care for expensive rings, so something personal is what you are looking for.

So you went to one of his closest friends about this, Raze. She was ecstatic to take part in this, starting on it instantly. She had finished within the day, pushing aside any other projects to complete this one. Handing them and a necklace over to you she shoved you out of the room, following you all the way to the gym.

Which is where you found him, Skye and deadlock. The latter two were across the room, while Breach had just grabbed his bag to leave. All three of them paused and looked over to the now open door.

“Babe!”

“Erik, I have something to ask you.”

“Did I do something?”

Silently laughing at him before pulling the rings from behind your back. Looking at him as you opened your hand.

“Erik Torsten, will you marry me?”

The room went silent, you held your breath. His eyes went wide while his mouth opened, his arms moved slightly before pausing.

“YES!”

In seconds he had dropped his bag, moved over to you and threw you up into the air before catching you. Holding you close as your arms wrapped around his neck, careful to not drop the rings. Leaning back just enough to clasp the necklace onto him, Erik placing you down soon after.

He took your ring and ever so carefully, placing it on your finger. Beaming when he succeeded.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

How about something for a verse we havent had in a while (if you want to of course, otherwise something for Erik?) Uhhhh maybe something for secret!reader jason verse?? Or whatever you have inspiration for :)

This is what I can see in my head so... here we go.

You knew the dance. The steps were simple. They move forward and you move back. If you toe the line and keep your head down, no one looks at you. If you can keep from being perceived, you're safe.

But you see everything.

As soon as you touch an object, you can know what has happened to it or will happen to it. Gloves help. Sleeves help.

But... it's a crime family. They use you to touch things. To know if the glass will break. If a gun will misfire. If a guy will rat them out to the cops.

Keeping your arms around yourself is safest. Rubbing the patches on your denim jacket. The ones you stole laughing with your friends, the sun shining on your face as you ran up the sidewalk. It's not real, the pictures- and as long as you don't look forward; to know what else happens it's okay.

Because what happens later- that... well. If you look too far forward you're dead.

___________________

Pages turned to ash in the flames curling like rose petals. And you fed more pages into the grate one by one, ignoring the brooding man behind you and the smell of cigar smoke.

"You good, kid?"

"Just cleaning house," you answer, not turning. Ignoring the feel of the flames as you picked up the notebooks to tear them apart. Behind you, you could hear him take a seat and rolled your eyes.

"Gettin' late-"

"Figured if I did this earlier Jubilee and Kitty would be down here tryin' to make s'mores on it," you snort. "Didn't really want to have to explain THAT."

"Fair enough," Logan said.

You could feel him sizing you up. And you knew he had... questions. How a professor that was in the same class as Scott and Jean know how to pick locks and hotwire cars? Why's Charles seem to defer to you when it came to things that were 'criminal' in nature? And how the living hell did you become a teacher with a rap sheet? But you don't know if you have the patience to answer right now.

Writing was supposed to be theraputic. To give you a place to get it all out. Storm told you to just write it all out but... it felt too much like having a written confession. Like it was just all laid out for the cops and waiting.

So you fed the last of the pages to the flames and watched them catch. And that was... Somehow more satisfying.

"Love notes?" Logan scoffed, teasing.

"Sure," you shrug, carefully scooping up scraps of paper from the spirals and the metal that wouldn't burn into the wastebasket.

"It's either that or bad poetry-"

"Not really a poem kind of girl, Logan," you tell him, getting to your feet. "Tequilla is good or it isn't- why do I need to 60 words to say it?"

Logan took a drag on his cigar and regarded you, smirking, "Sometimes it's really fucking good tequila."

[faellain]

The Accidental Baby Trap Incident

Summary: About four years after the events of First Class, Erik arrives at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters with two little twins who he didn't know existed. Thinking he doesn't know what to do, he runs to Charles, not knowing the state his old friend is in.

Snippet 5

[prev] [next]

charles goes back to avoiding him while he weans himself off the shots. raven is clearly annoyed with erik, but she knows he didn't want to do this to her. to either of them. neither does she take a shine to the kids but kids were never exactly raven's speciality.

on the third day of charles flushing out the drug, erik finds him leaning on the outside rail, staring at the satelite dish. erik lifts his hand, moving it towards them, memories of his mother and their menorah and of charles bringing that memory back dancing in his mind. charles jolts when it moves but then turns to see erik. after a moment, he turns back, but does not tell him to leave.

erik stands next to him, staring at the satelite. silence hangs over them like dark clouds before a storm. did charles really hate him? did he really hate charles? when he was worried about his children, charles was where he had turned. yet, he felt stung- betrayed by charles saying they did not want the same thing. by charles' dedication to a coexistance that could never be.

"we'll never be those men again," charles says.

"pardon?"

"we'll never be them again," charles repeats, his voice wistful, "i will never be the charles xavier who pulled you out of the water. you will never be the erik lehnsherr who could not move a satelite dish."

"we are those men," erik tells him, not fully understanding.

"no. those men died on a beach in cuba," charles all but whispers, his voice shaking, "erik died the moment you put on that helmet. charles died when you left him on that beach."

erik frowned, his nose wrinkling in disgust, "so it's all my fault then?"

"yes," charles replies, quick and firm, his once piercing azure eyes still dull and tired. he hasn't been sleeping.

"fuck you," erik snaps, "i gave you the chance to stay at my side. you told me no. you said we didn't want the same thing."

"we don't," charles tells him, "my erik did. but you do not. you tried to kill my erik so often. the minute you found a way to shut me out of his mind, you took it. and you made him a monster."

"i am not a monster," he growls, taking charles by the shirt with one hand, "i didn't come out here to fight with you."

"i loved you so much," charles says, voice so gentle that it hurts, "but it was never going to be enough. your hate will always be so much stronger than anything else in your heart."

erik wants to scream until his throat is raw. part of him wants to hurl charles into the satelite dish. his teeth click as they grit togther inside his clenched jaw. his hand shoves charles back as he shakes his head, disgusted with him.

"you are so self-righteous," erik sneers, "you always have been. it is why raven left. it is why i left. you think you are some beacon of morality and peace, but you're just a man. and you've become a pathetic one at that."

charles laughs, hollow and broken, "maybe so. it's nothing i don't already know."

erik did not expect charles to agree. an arguement would have felt good. instead, charles rolls over like a tired hound dog. there is no bite in him, no spark of hope and kindness.

i did that, erik thinks and wishes that charles could hear him.

"did what?" asks charles, fingers rubbing his temples in hypnotic circles.

erik whips his head up to look at him. instead of trying to press, charles is walking away, rubbing the side of his head fiercely as a headache comes on. he mutters something about not wanting to know. instead of letting the other man be, erik follows him his pace brisk.

"you need to sit down," he says.

"you need to leave me be."

"charles-"

charles glares at him, anger taking over him, "you do not get to pretend you care about me!"

as he storms over the threshold with thundering steps, charles gasps, hand flying to the base of his spine. his legs give out. erik sees him falling and rushes forward, grabbing him before he can hit that hardwood floor. he all but flies toward the wall, hitting his own back so he can sink them both down, cradling charles in his arms.

"i- i can't do it," charles whispers, voice shaking before he shouts, "HANK! i can't do it. ask your diamond friend, erik. i can't do it."

"charles, breathe, tell me what's wrong," erk says, moving to cup charles' face.

charles laughs bitterly, his cracking pale lips shaking, his hand riddled with tremors as he touches his leg, "as these go," he moves his trembling hand to his temple, "this comes back. as i said."

all this over his powers. this was the result they wanted. raven had come here so charles could use cerebro and his familiarity with sean, but there was nothing stopping them from having azazel teleport emma in. it would have been faster than flushing the drug out of charles' system. had erik and raven not bothered to think of it because charles was already there or had they made a silent agreement to get charles back to the way he was.

but he had never been like this. from erik's arms, he calls for hank again. the young scientist runs by the top of the stairs, looks down at charles and shoots off. no doubt he was willing to give in to the demands of a charles clearly in pain. erik is tempted to as well. a shaky breath all but plows through charles' body, lifting his hands to cover his ears.

"they all come back," he whispers, wincing as he pressed against erik.

charles starts wrestling with his shirt, trying to roll up the sleeve. ever since he had arrived, even when they had kissed, erik had not seen charles' arms. at his vein there is a dark pock-mark. purple and red petals blossom around it, but it churns erik's stomach. he presses his arms around charles, keeping him from doing any more.

"don't stop me," charles hisses, begging, "i can't do this. i can't hear them all. it's too much."

erik cups charles' cheek, pressing their foreheads together. such tenderness feels foreign to him now, yet it's so easy to remember holding charles like this. it's even easier to imagine they're on a beach in cuba, erik about to make the biggest mistake of his life. leaving charles behind should have never been an option.

"focus on me," he tells him, "you can do that. find my mind. only feel my thoughts."

"i- i will never go back inside that head again," spits charles, though he does not push away.

i love you, erik all but screams, knowing now that charles has to be able to hear him. he lights his thoughts up like a beacon, trying to blare them loudly. charles goes remarkably still in his arms.

happy memories- of the road trip. of that first kiss. of dancing. of channukah. of the satelite. of doing missions together. all of it love. all of it their story. erik came here because no matter how many allies he has, charles is his friend. his lover. his other half.

they had been made for each other. erik truly, deeply, madly believed that, even now. even after everything.

a hiccup escapes charles' lips, mind prodding at the recent memory of their angry kiss. there had been no danger. just a frustrated erik who was struggling to pretend that was was between them was dead. charles reaches up, his hands clinging to erik's arms like a life line, letting himself be bathed in the noise of erik's thoughts.

of erik's love for him.

"i- but- " charles tries to garble out but fails.

i have loved you from the moment you told me i was not alone, erik explains, nuzzling charles' hair, even though it was stringy and tinged with sweat. it was still part of charles, his beautiful perfect charles.

every pained gasp made erik's heart wrench. as much as he wanted to blame moira, this was hardly her fault. by god, did he want it to be her fault. yet, she had only done it to stop him. he had only been careless a moment.

charles was shaky as he cups erik's cheek, smiling at him. he says no words, but shakes his head. erik wishes he was a telepath, not for the first time. charles is painfully cryptic. still, he gasps again as hank rounds the corner.

"raven is keeping the kids from seeing. i've got some serum with a little bit extra if he wants it."

erik looks down at charles, "do you? we can get emma."

that is the last thing he wants. but charles is clearly in pain, he is fighting his very nature. suffering is not something erik likes to see in charles' face. yet, the other slowly shakes his head no.

"erik, carry me to the study, please."

without question, erik slides his arm beneath charles' knees, hoisting him up as he stands. charles arms come to rest at either side of his neck. erik presses his nosebridge to the side of charles' temple. all three are silent as they go to the study. charles lets out a breathless chuckle- he hasn't been in here since erik's arrival. erik knows because he dusts and cleans in here often enough.

memories float along which make charles, still tired, still unsure lean against erik's shoulder slightly. their heartbeats thud in tandem. all erik does is adjust his hold, securing charles closer.

hank opens the door to a closet. there are plenty of things in there, but erik has never opened it. curiousity nearly got the better of him several time since he could feel a magnetic pull in there, but he was trying to avoid losing the tenative acceptance he and his children had. even if he did prefer to argue with charles.

inside, sits a sleek wheelchair. its not the rickety thing that erik is used to seeing. much of it is polished wood with built-in gray cushions for charles' comfort. yet erik can feel it. metal lines the wheels, the brakes. despite everything, charles designed this wheelchair so erik could one day push him in it.

i had always hoped you'd come back, a soft, tired voice prods into erik's mind.

you fool, he replies, what if i had used it to kidnap you?

unaware of their conversation, hank shakes his head, "are you sure about this?"

charles shakes his head, "absolutely not."

all three of them head downstairs to cerebro, erik pushing charles along with a light curl of his fingers. he can feel charles' focus playing with the edges of his mind, still using him to keep from hearing every voice his powers let him all at once. good. it means that charles is exercising his ability to control his powers.

erik had not seen this completed cerebro. he had helped build the skeleton of it when they were training for cuba, but he never saw it finished. a blue 'x' scans charles' eye before an automated voice welcomes him inside. he watches charles' jaw clench with apprehension.

i'm here with you, he reminds him, softly. is it as much of a comfort as he hopes?

[hennyjwrites]

HennyJ’s Baes: “You can’t handle this.”

Angel:

Angel was a pussy eating god. He had never met a pussy he couldn't eat for hours without drowning. Until he met you. Your hands were pulling at his hair as he raised panting. His beard was covered in your wetness, making it shine in certain spots. He looked from your smirk back to your pussy as he panted. His beard was covered in your wetness. “Fuck.” he whispered loud enough for you to hear. You giggled at his reaction to the ocean you had between your legs. “Told you, you couldn't handle it.” You laughed. Angel brought his finger downs to rub at your clit, making you wetter. Angel groaned as he got back down on his stomach to be face to face with your pussy letting you get your laughs in before he licked up your slit again and closed his mouth around your clit. He sucked harshly making you cry and grab onto his hair. He was trying to prove a point to you as he slid two of his fingers into you. He was trying to prove that he could handle it. You came with a loud moan as the gush of wetness flowed into his mouth. Angel brought his head up panting, with his beard soaked. He looked at your shaking form and smiled. “Since I can't handle this pussy, maybe I need to practice more.” With that, he dove back in still destined to prove you even more wrong.

Rio:

“What happened to all that mouth ma?” Rio asked. His voice was deep and slow as he thrust his fingers deep inside you. He was laid next to you with your legs spread over his. You couldn't speak as he hit that special spot inside you making your legs shake. You were so close and he could tell by the way you clenched around his long fingers. “Talk to me mama, lemme know who can handle this pussy?” He whispered in your ear. He was making you regret your words before you ended like this. Telling him that he couldn't handle your pussy was like challenging his manhood and he was working hard to prove his point. Your pussy fluttered around his fingers as you came around him, throwing your head back and arching your back upwards. “You can handle it, baby.” You moaned out quietly as your orgasm felt never-ending because he kept the steady pace going inside you. “I can handle it?” he clarified, slamming his finger directly into your spot. His voice was still the same as he looked down at the cream coating his fingers. “Yessss.” You drew out, legs shaking as he was bringing you to the edge again. You came again, legs shaking in overstimulation as you closed your legs. “Rio I can't.” You told him looking at his face. He smirked at you. “Nah I need to make sure I can handle this, open your legs darling”

Miguel:

Miguel knew from the moment he met you, you were gonna be trouble. He just didn’t know your pussy would cause him so much distress. “Cmere, my love I just want to talk to her.” Miguel begged, pulling you closer to the bed and of course you let him. He didn’t waste any time as he pulled your panties off, watching the wetness from your pussy leave a trail. “Oh you missed papi didn’t you?” He spoke directly to your pussy before attacking her with his mouth. Your back arched as you slightly giggled from the shock of his mouth. He sucked and licked like his life depended on it. He pulled away, smirking already. “She tried to keep you away, but she knows she can’t resist me either.” He spoke to her again. “Miguel, it's only been 12 hours.” You whined at the contact of his tongue swiveling your clit. He pulled away looking at you. “Longest 12 hours of my life.”

Erik:

“Fuck!” Erik hissed, pulling out of you again. He watched his nut mix in with your wetness and leak out of you. You smiled to yourself. You made him nut under 5 minutes. “Erik it’s ok baby.” You consoled him. “You just can’t handle all this.” You smirked in a condescending voice, already knowing how this was gonna end. Eriks eyes snapped to yours. You had him fucked up. He wasn’t finna go out as a minute man. “Shut the fuck up.” He spoke, pulling you to the edge of the bed. Erik was already hard as he guided himself back into your pussy. You were already making it hard for him. Pussy was so fucking wet and it gripped him like some tongs. Erik didn’t waste any time and thrusted into you hard, making you lose your breath. “Think I can’t handle all this thick shit. Girl Imma show you.” He whispered as he put one leg up in the beg, and grabbed the back of your hair, wrapping it around his hand. One leg up, one hand on the frontal and boom! A few more thrust, hard and good thrust, had you nutting all over his dick. You tried to pull away but Erik pulled you back. “Nah, bring that ass back.”

[meowr4wr]

Symphonies Beneath the Flames (pt. 1)

┏━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┓

POTO! Jason x Reader

┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛

➸ a/n: hi everyone!! this story is gonna be a multiple part series! (not really sure how long but wtv..) its my first time writing an x reader, any type of fanfic really. i’d really appreciate feedback or any suggestions to this story. i only watched the 2004 poto and researched on wiki pages..otherwise i hope you enjoy!! the story will start out a bit slow (to build up the plot) i want to develop their relationship at a steady pace. but lmk if i might be too slow or something haha! i was inspired by this blurb to write this :3

➸ based off poto, fluff?, angst, obsession, love, k1lling, all blades jason (cause hell yeah), one-sided love?, reader has curly hair, slowburnish, WIP (i’ll try my best!!)

➸ 700 words (srry for the short chapter ;;)

☼☽⋆｡°✧ ✧⋆°｡☾☼

“𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥
𝐈 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐞'𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫
𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐬 𝐈 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦
𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞”

☼☽⋆｡°✧ ✧⋆°｡☾☼

The angel of music would bring you nothing but the joy and passion of the opera, father said. That the angel will always protect you.

“The angel visited musicians, whispering divine melodies into their dreams.” he would always say, playing the violin as you hummed along. these heart-warming moments with your father made you gleam with joy each time.

He wasn’t wrong at all, even after his death. It seemed as if the angel of music finally came to you. He was your lighthouse whenever you succumbed into darkness every night.

His voice called your name throughout those lonely nights, providing you comfort. Even the nights where he taught you how to sing, made you forget the desolate days.

There was something odd, yet intriguing about the flames near your father’s candle. Perhaps it was the flames of the candles who finally showed you your angel.

The fire shone with passion each time you practiced, the heat merely just centimeters away from your fingertips. Always shining brightly, as if it was your audience that clapped for you after your performance. How beautiful your angel of music really was.

The dreams of those beautiful flames, eloping you gently yet filled with so much passion. Its embers were so pure, filled with nothing but amity and warmth.

Your first lesson with your angel started unexpectedly. From singing to yourself in the dimly lit chapel as you grieved your father, that was when you heard his voice clearly.

He whispered your name, commanding yet tender. “Your voice is beautiful, my dear. Do not fear; as I am your Angel of Music. Let me guide you as you’re destined for greatness.”

You looked around to see if anybody was there, but it was only you in the room. Even from the shadows that crept up behind you, nobody was there. “..Where are you? Are you—real?” Your voice was hesitant, worry furrowed your brows.

“..I am the flame that burns, dear. The fire that will keep you warmth and bring you the light you deserve. I only seek to help you become a magnificent soprano.” His voice was genuine, making your heart swell with hope. Perhaps your father sent him to you in a way to stop the tears flowing from your eyes.

And so, he had helped fulfill his promise. Many lessons had passed and so has your sadness. Being with him helped you process your grief. With his help, your voice had improved.

“Breathe deeply, feel the hymn through your soul.” He spoke to you one night, your eyes fixated on the blooming candelabra.

And so you did, letting your soprano fill the chapel. You placed a hand on your heart, feeling the melody from within flourish as you sung. Compared from your first lesson from your early days at the Palais Garnier, your operatic voice has become more confident.

Your angel hummed in approval, saying your name in praise. He congratulates you in how far you’ve come. “Your father would be proud. He watches you from above as I guide you from here below.”

You softly smiled, feeling proud of yourself and hopeful. “You’ve taught me so much, my angel. I owe everything to you.” You felt grateful that your father sent this angel. He was so understanding and kind, slowly yet surely always leading you to becoming who you are today.

“You owe me nothing,” he replied, his voice more softer. “It is myself who is unworthy of you.” You heard his sigh, feeling his vulnerability slip from the walls he held up.

“I find that hard to believe. You’re nothing but brilliant in my eyes. A genius, truly.” You lightly chuckled, hoping that your words would bring him comfort. It was nice having these rare conversations with your angel. Sometimes he felt real.

You sensed his vulnerability fade away, his voice hopeful. “It is my duty to show you how special your gift is. You’re perfect, I assure you.” He lightly chuckled, his voice echoing through the empty chapel.

His voice was rich and sweet, even without singing. You wondered if all angels sounded this philharmonic. His compliments felt like butterflies on your skin, so gentle. It made you happier in his presence.

“I hope for the day that I will see your face, angel. That way I can properly thank you for all that you’ve done.” You say, fidgeting with your hands.

He stayed quiet for a few moments, his voice a bittersweet. “..You think of me so highly.” He says your name in a gentle manner. “I only hope that your words will live up to that promise.” He clears his throat, feeling as if he revealed too much.

“We can continue our lesson another time, but otherwise you are ready. Your magnificent performance will nonetheless make you a star.” He says, his voice fading away as he departs.

His words hung over you as the flame before you flickered, signaling his departure. Maybe he is right, your eagerness bringing a soft smile to lips. You only hope that he would always be by your side if you ever became worthy.

—

Jason would never let you know the truth. He didn’t want you to run away from his true self in fear, so he kept his distance and let you think that he was an angel. In reality, all he wants is you. Soon, he says to himself. Soon.

☼☽⋆｡°✧ ✧⋆°｡☾☼

pt. 2 a/n: btw srry for the late chapter! i’ve been studying for my finals this week & juggling a few things in my personal life. see u soon!

taglist (comment if you’d like to be added!): @deimks

[potol0ver]

Can you write an Erik x GN reader fic where the reader has frequent nightmares, and Erik comforts them?

Omg yes- fluff time ✨

Am I writing for this ask months after it was submitted- yes, yes I am- sue me

But seriously sorry for the wait a lot of irl stuff was happening.

Tags; just soft sweet heart Erik and mentions of nightmares.

It was the dead of night and you should be sleeping, but all you could do is lay there staring at whatever is in front of you. It was another night that a nightmare caused you to wake up prematurely from sleep. What was it now? Fifth, sixth, time this week?

You didn’t remember and didn’t care to. You just want a good night sleep, and apparently that’s to much to ask for. Sitting up and tossing your legs over the side of your bed you rub your eyes. Stretching a little you prepare to descend to your lover, if you’re going to be awake at this ungodly hour you might at well spend it with him.

Grabbing a small candle and putting on a pair of slippers you find the nearest catacombs entrance and walk down into the labyrinth. Some may say it’s foolish to walk in the catacombs without a map, but you have visited Erik enough times to memorize the pathway to his home. It was truly second nature.

As you got closer to him, you could hear music echoing on the walls. You chuckle to yourself, “of course he’s composing.” You say to yourself teasing him lovingly. He truly adored his music, but he adored you more. So when Erik realized you we’re walking to him, a smile graced his features.

“Mon amour!” Erik said sighing happily and walked up to you from his place at his organ. It was obvious when he was love stricken, he had a big smile and eyes that went half lidded yet still had a slight shine in them. You swear if he had a tail like a dog it’d be wagging uncontrollably at this moment.

“Hi my love,” your voice drenched in fatigue, “how are you tonight?” You say smiling up at him.

He takes the candle out of your hand and takes in his, kissing the back of it softly. “Perfect now that’s you’re by my side, but I have to ask, why are you done here at this hour? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

His worry and sweet words make you swoon for him, remembering how in the first place you came to love this brilliant mind. “I had another nightmare.”

“Another?” The smile he had got replaced by a frown. “That’s the fifth night this week.” Erik’s voice filled with worry as he pulls you closer to him, he holds your waist gently and kisses the top of your head. “What can I do mon amor? Do you want to talk about them? I promise nothing shall harm you while I’m here.”

“Im afraid I’m to tired to speak about my nightmares, but trust me my love I know I’m safe with you.” Happy he brought you so close to him, you lay your head against his chest, arms wrapping around his torso. “Please for a moment just hold me.”

More than happy to do as you said, he gently brought you over to his bed and held you. Arms wrapped around each other, soothing one another with your presence, it felt heavenly. After a while of comfortable silence Erik speaks, “If there is anything else I can do for you mon ange, tell me, I won’t hesitate to do it.” His hand gently petting the back of your head makes you melt into him more.

A grin tugs at your lips “I’m not sure, I love your touch, but your music also comforts me.” You could hear Erik’s heartbeat go faster, you didn’t need to see his face to know he’s flustered by your words and actions.

“Well…” he pauses thinking for a moment, eyes looking around trying to figure something out. “How about I play some music for you, you can sleep here in my bed- if you wish of course.” He became shy at the thought of you sleeping in his bed like it’s the first time you’ve done it. In reality you have slept in his bed as much as you’ve slept in your own.

You smile up at him and nod, “that sounds perfect, thank you my love.” You say relieved you’ll finally sleep soundly, giving Erik a peck on the cheek. His face immediately grew warm as a small grin showed. He might be the ‘scary’ and infamous Opera Ghost, but he truly was so smitten with you he acts like a love sick school girl.

Giggling quietly with a grin, you raise up from him so he could get up. Sad you had to let him go you plopped down on his bed, making yourself comfortable. Unlike your own bed his seems to feel like sleep itself is cradling you, if his bed was actually this good is debatable. It could just feel that way to you because it was his and had his scent.

Once you hear him playing his music, you couldn’t possibly stay awake now. You could feel your body relax against the bed, warm from the cool air around you. Letting his music lull you to sleep, you slept soundly with happy dreams that’s night.

[olsenmyolsen]

Chapter Ten: Pie Baking While Hungover

The Farmer's Daughter - (A WandaNat Story)

Master list . Tag list: @xenaizogie

Summary: Wanda talks to Kate about her feelings before she talks to Natasha. But why is Natasha packing her bag?

Word Count: 3.1K

Content: Hurt Natasha, Hurt Wanda, Feelings, Mentions of Yelena, Kissing

The sun shined brightly on Wanda as she exited Natasha's place on the farm.

She put her left hand over her face to cover her eyes. Way out in the distance, she saw Natasha speaking with Erik while riding the new horse Butterball.

Immediately, Wanda felt a pit grow in her stomach.

Yet, she trekked on and started walking in Natsaha's direction, except as she closed the distance, she slowed down in front of her parent's house. Parked in the dirt next to Natasha's bike was an expensive-looking black car.

A car that should not be here.

It was Kate Bishop's. This was the car Natasha drove Wanda home in last night.

Wanda darted her green orbs from the black car to Natasha. The redhead locked eyes with Wanda for a second before turning away.

Wanda's slim smile was gone just as quick.

A reminder that she yelled at an undeserving Natasha last night.

Wanda took a few steps towards Natasha again before she froze and turned around. Her body and mind wanted two different things, and yet she couldn't commit to either.

So Wanda walked through the open door to her parent's house. Her home. "Mama?" Wanda called out as she heard the sound of talking in the kitchen. "In here, meine Tochter." (my daughter)

Wanda understood little German, but her father and mother still used it occasionally. Along with Sokovian from their short time there.

Wanda walked further into the house before stopping in the doorway to the kitchen. Kate was preparing food with Wanda's mother. "Oh, honey!" Magda rounded the kitchen island and raised her hands to her daughter's face. Holding it with love and care.

Wanda looked towards Kate, who looked down at the ingredients in front of her before turning around. Giving them as much privacy as possible.

"Are you feeling better?" Wanda tilted her head slightly. Wondering how much her mother knew. "Natasha mentioned you weren't feeling well," Magda said it as her hands left her daughter's face with a soft but knowing look.

Wanda closed her eyes and thought before opening them and giving her mom a knowing look back. "Verletzt." (Hurt) She replied. Magda gave her daughter a frown before leaning in and hugging her.

"We can talk later." Wanda nodded to her mother's words before clearing her throat. "What are you doing, Mama?" Wanda asked as Magda let her go and turned around. "Kate is helping me make pies with our early harvest."

Kate, hearing her name, perked up and turned back around.

Wanda's eyes caught the silver chain that dipped behind Kate's apron—another reminder.

"Do you want help?" Wanda nervously asked. Magda looked up with flour on her hands. "Only if you want, dear." Wanda's face turned to Kate as Magda turned her back to the two.

Kate made a join us gesture with her head. Wanda nodded back ever so slightly and walked over to the sink to wash her hands.

Wanda pulled out a freshly baked pie from the oven two hours later. "Oh my gosh, I have to get a picture of this!" Wanda squealed as she threw off the oven mitt and reached for her phone.

Kate couldn't keep track of how many pictures Wanda took.

"It looks great, Wanda." Magda gave her daughter a side hug as she wore a proud smile. "Thanks, Mama," Wanda said quietly as her mom backed away and removed her apron. "We'll let it cool, and it'll be for dessert tonight. So no touching girls!" Magda gave a playful glare before glancing out the window at Erik and Natasha. "I'm going to let your father know not to eat yet, or so help me!"

Kate laughed as Wanda's mother went out the backdoor from the kitchen.

It was now just Wanda and Kate, and the awkward silence was suffocating. "I-.." Wanda articulated as she moved away from the oven and took off her apron as well. Kate kept hers on. She liked it. "I don't mean to sound rude..."

"But?" Kate watched as Wanda took a seat at the dining room table. Kate slowly followed suit. "But..." Wanda paused. "What are you still doing here?"

Kate answered honestly and without hesitation. "Natasha asked me to stay."

Ouch.

"Oh," Wanda said as Kate looked at her. "Nice to see you are doing better," Kate said as she leaned back into the wooden chair. She was being nice and didn't want to pressure Wanda into talking about anything she didn't want to talk about. "Thanks." Wanda swallowed her mixed feelings at the moment and looked down at the hardwood floors.

Wanda lifted her gaze once more. "Thank you for helping me last night." Kate slightly smirked. "You were being kind to someone who probably didn't deserve it," Wanda said before letting out a breath and leaning back in her chair. "I... I don't know what Natasha told you, but I said some pretty regrettable things."

Kate nodded. "So you remember?" Kate questioned. Wanda nodded back. "It all came back to me this morning." A pause. "I shouldn't have assumed anything about you and Natasha. That was dumb of me." Wanda spoke fast and felt embarrassed as her mind replayed the shouting match she had with Natasha.

"We all do dumb things every once in a while," Kate said with forgiveness. "Also, for the record, I did have fun with you and your friends last night. That Darcy is hilarious." Wanda smiled. "Yeah, she's great."

Silence slowly built up again before Kate broke it.

"Just so you know, whatever you say stays between us." Wanda looked over Kate's sharp face. "In case you wanted to talk about Natasha..." Wanda slightly leaned forward in her chair and rested her hands on the table. "No pressure," Kate said with a smile before getting up and taking off the borrowed apron, placing it on a hook by the backdoor.

Wanda watched as Kate turned back around. Kate's hands were in her hair as she was putting it up into a ponytail.

It suited her.

Wanda's eyes dipped down to the silver.

"Can I ask you something?" Wanda spoke to Kate, who nodded as she stood near the dining room table. "It's not about Natasha." She warned Kate. "Okay." Kate was intrigued as she pulled out a different chair and sat down, smiling.

Wanda took a moment to figure out her words. "Wh-what was Yelena like?" She gradually asked. Kate's demeanor shifted as she looked away.

Kate thought about the love of her life every day.

Kate held her hands together and rubbed one thumb over the other. "Sh-she was one of a kind." Kate softened as she smiled wide. Her eyes looking off into the distance. "Yelena had a way of making everyone in the room disappear when she looked at you. She made you feel seen. And God, her voice..."

Wanda smiled and thought of another person who had a similar effect. Kate looked at Wanda and knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Yelena was rigid but kind. Sometimes too stupid for her own good." Kate chuckled as she remembered something. "Natasha would kill me if she heard me telling this." Wanda's pearly whites came out. "There was this time..." Kate sniffled as she laughed.

Wanda noticed and slightly tilted her head but listened.

"This time when our asshole of a drill instructor, Zemo, was trying to separate the strong from the soft." Kate rolled her eyes. "The drill instructor pulled out a grenade and threw it into the middle of us, no warning, no pin."

Wanda quietly gasped.

"I was standing next to Yelena. And I didn't know her at the time, ya know, we were all new and in basic training." Kate pauses as she clears her throat. "The grenade hits the grass near my feet, and before I can even think about my next move, I get pushed several feet away. I end up tumbling and falling on my ass. But when I look up, Yelena is on top of the grenade." Kate exhales. "It didn't go off. It was a dummy."

Wanda swallows as she can barely believe the story.

"Did the instructor know?" She asks. Kate shrugs. "Yelled at us that it would've been a teaching moment regardless and moved on." Kate pauses. "They weren't stationed at that base long after that."

"Yelena pushed you," Wanda states. Kate nods. "After the drill instructor chewed us out, Yelena, this beautiful brute of a blonde, came over to me and looked down. She stuck out her hand and said, "Isn't a pretty girl like you gonna thank me?" It was cheesy and stupid, but I melted, and Yelena had me from that moment on."

Kate smiled as she wiped a stray tear away. Wanda went to say something, but Kate stopped her. "It's alright," Kate said. "She still has me."

Wanda's heart ached for Kate and couldn't imagine the pure heartbreak Kate and Natasha have had to endure. On top of that, Wanda once again remembered the moment she had screamed at Natasha last night.

God, she was a drunk idiot.

Kate sniffled as Wanda broke the silence building on this new friendship. "I like Natasha..." Wanda finally uttered those words.

Kate smiled and shook her head. "Yeah, no shit." She chuckled, making Wanda blush with mild embarrassment. Kate straightened up and looked at Wanda directly. "You're going have to talk to her."

The brunette agreed. "Yeah, but-" Wanda's sentence died as Wanda's parents came in through the backdoor.

Magda fanned herself as Erik took his hat off and smelled the freshly baked dessert in the air. "I can't believe you work in that heat," Magda said dramatically as she grabbed water from the fridge. Her eyes glancing over to Wanda and Kate.

Kate looked over at Wanda before standing up and facing Magda and Erik. "I must thank you again for letting me stay over." Magada waved her off. Kate laughed. "Before I leave, I was wondering if it'd be alright if I showered?" Magda quickly nodded. "Of course! Our home is always open. First door on the left upstairs." Kate smiled as Erik agreed with his wife.

Kate thanked them and turned to pass Wanda. "She's alone. Go to her." She whispered before heading upstairs. Wanda heard the words and looked towards her father, who was cooling off. "Papa, where is Natasha? Is she with Butterball or the cattle?"

Magda gave a look at Wanda's lack of subtly in the moment.

Erik shook his head, unaware of everything going on around him. "She woke up early and got everything taken care of. So, I think she went to pack."

"P-pack?" Wanda asked as her anxiety began to spike.

Erik nodded as Magda came and wrapped an arm around his back. "Hi, Detka." He turned and said to his wife before the next thing he heard was the front door closing.

Wanda ran like hell to the tiny house. This definitely wasn't helping her hangover, but right now, she didn't care.

An out of breath Wanda stopped on the small steps to Natasha's. She thought about barging right in but decided against it as she knocked- no pounded on the door.

Natasha rapidly opened the door and greeted Wanda with worried eyes before they faded and changed to ones of gloom. "Wanda..." Natasha said as she held onto the door.

Wanda caught her breath and stared at Natasha's beauty. Natasha was doing the same as well before they both ended up in the exact place, each other's eyes. "You're leaving?" Wanda's lips pouted as she spoke.

Natasha saw the honest sadness on Wanda's face.

"I'm going away for the weekend."

"Where?" Wanda asked, forcing Natasha to sigh. She was getting sucked in, and she couldn't do that right now. "Wanda... what do you want?"

Wanda heard the tone and took a second.

"Can I come in?" She kindly asked. Everything was telling Natasha no, but she opened the door wider, allowing Wanda to walk in.

Wanda ran a hand through her hair as she stood in the room where she had woken up. She kept her back to Natasha until she heard the door click close.

Wanda was anxious and afraid.

She turned around as Natasha stayed at the door—distance between them. Wanda swallowed. "I k-know there aren't enough words for how I acted last night but I want you to know I am sorry." Wanda kept darting her eyes as she spoke.

Natasha stayed quiet before she walked away from the door to her bag on the bed. She resumed packing. "So you remember everything from last night?"

Wanda wanted to lie but couldn't.

"Yes."

Natasha stopped packing and turned her head to Wanda. "I appreciate the apology, but you didn't have to." Wanda kept her green eyes forward. "I just hope you know how wrong your words were."

Wanda nods. "I do." She pauses. "You asked me if I wanted you to leave me last night, but I told you to stay." Wanda walked closer to Natasha. The redhead's breath froze. Wanda's right hand landed on Romanoff's bag. "Please stay," Wanda begged.

Natasha watched her own hand move closer to Wanda's until their fingers touched. Both fighting the itch for more.

Natasha drug her eyes to Wanda's face.

"We both don't know what we want..." Natasha said as she pulled her hand back. Natasha still remembers the previous night and how Wanda cried as she was fighting her own feelings.

Natasha had been fighting them since Wanda stepped out of that Jeep about two weeks ago.

Wanda remained quiet.

"I'm going to Kate's," Natasha said as she turned and grabbed a shirt Wanda gave her, stuffing it into her bag.

"Why?" Wanda asked. Natasha stopped packing again and turned to face Wanda. She was feeling overwhelmed. "Because..." Natasha took a breath. "Because I shouldn't even want you! I came here for a job and housing and for the first time in a long time to do something for myself." Natasha swallows as she steps closer to Wanda.

She raises her hands up to Wanda's arms and holds her. The roughness of her fingertips run over the smoothness of Wanda.

Wanda loves Natasha's touch.

"And all I can think about is you. I didn't want to, but I can't stop." Wanda's body grows warm as she looks from Natasha's words to her eyes. "It's all you," Natasha says as Wanda leans closer.

Natasha's hands fall from Wanda's arms to her sides. Wanda places her hands on Natasha's hips.

The redhead shudders.

"Wanda..." Natasha's eyes fall from Wanda's eyes to her lips and back. She leans in closer.

"We can't." Wanda looks up as Natasha doesn't move back. "I know what I want, Nat."

Natasha slightly smirks at the nickname before shaking her head and pulling back. Much to both their disappointments. "You gave me reasons why I shouldn't be with you last night."

Wanda feels like this is a low blow and a false reason.

"Natasha, I was drunk," Wanda says as Natasha removes her hands from the brunette.

"Exactly. You were drunk-"

"But I'm not now! I know what I want now!" Wanda shouts.

Natasha swallows a lump in her throat.

"But you still had those thoughts! The audacity to say those things. I mean fuck Wanda, it's not like they were downright awful, but they still hurt." Natasha grows faint. "They hurt because it left me confused."

"Confused?" Wanda quietly speaks up.

"Confused about what we are."

Silence.

Wanda remembers Natasha asking that very thing before she threw up last night. Wanda takes another small step and reaches for Natasha's right hand. Taking it into her own and forcing the redhead, who sniffles, to look at her.

"I think about you a lot. More than a lot." Wanda chuckles a little bit. "I'm sorry again for what I said, but you don't have to run or try to protect yourself. I'm here."

Wanda licks her lips.

"I like you, Natasha."

Natasha listens to the words, and yeah, she knows what packing a bag looks like. But she's not running, she's giving herself time and space to really think about what kind of future she wants.

But is is right? Is it wrong? To fast? To slow?

She'd be lying if she said that thinking about the future wasn't scary because she doesn't know what she'd do if one day Wanda wasn't with her.

But that's the thing about taking a risk. Sometimes, you just have to jump on that grenade.

Natasha looked over Wanda's face before removing her hand from Wanda's. Wanda hated it and tried to stop Natasha from doing it, but just before she could speak up, Natasha's hands found themselves on Wanda's cheeks.

In an instant, Natasha pulled Wanda in and planted her tender lips onto Wanda's pink ones.

It was delicate and better than either one of them could've imagined. Wanda tasted like cherries, and God, did Natasha love cherries.

One kiss turned into Wanda's hands, finding Natasha's hips and pulling her closer, molding the two together. Natasha caught her breath as she softly bit Wanda's lower lip. Taking it into her own mouth.

Delicate was turning into lust.

"Nat.." Wanda moaned as Natasha kissed her again before Natasha grabbed her chin and tilted it to the side. She kissed Wanda's cheek before slowing down, but much to Wanda's displeasure but, Natasha didn't want to take this jump just yet.

So, as both women caught their breath, Natasha moved her hands down to Wanda's, and her lips found the redhead's left ear. "Your smile is infectious," Natasha whispered. "Since the day I met you, I've been trying not to get caught up in you, Wanda." Wanda smiled into Natasha's shoulder. "And I'm sorry if I made you feel unseen or not like enough like last night. That wasn't my intention. I just wasn't sure... I like you, Wanda. I really do."

Wanda lifted her head and smiled as Natasha did the same.

But Wanda saw a flicker on Natasha's face.

"You're still gonna go?" She pouted. "Just give me the weekend," Natasha asked.

Wanda felt like it was unfair and she wouldn't be wrong. Even Natasha felt guilt in her heart.

And even after their kiss and the admission of feelings, Natasha was still scared and anxious about what the future could hold. Wanda's drunken words also got to her more than she confessed before.

"When I come back, we can talk about ourselves."

"So you are coming back?" Wanda asked. Natasha nodded. "Of course." The corners of her lips turned upwards after Wanda's.

"Of course," Wanda repeated.

dividers by @/benkeibear

[300yearschallenge]

"Are you sure we should be doing this?"

Charles Elias, Alfred and some of the village boys were stood in front of the cow pen belonging to Farmer Erik.

Out of all the cows in his herd he had one who he practically adored, and everyone in the village knew about it.

"Ah, relax," Alfred said with a smile, "It'll be funny. We'll just lead his precious cow away for a bit and let him panic a little before he finds it again."

Charles Elias looked from Alfred back to the cow and sighed.

She was a beautiful cow, to be sure, with dark brown spots and a gentle temperament to match. As if sensing his thoughts she turned and looked at him with her big, wet, brown eyes and let out a low 'moo'.

Charles Elias quickly averted his gaze.

"Let's just do this already." One of the boys opened the gate to the pen carefully and wrapped a rope around the cow.

For a moment she didn't make any move to follow him, but a tug on the rope was all the encouragement she needed to sleepily follow the boys as they shut the gate behind them and snuck off into the night.

"See?" Alfred smiled as the boys walked, some of them letting out relieved chuckles. "Nothing to worry abou--"

The cow suddenly let out a loud moo and pulled on the rope, looking back to her herd who was watching her go and responding to her cries.

A light flickered on in the Farmer Erik's house.

"Quick!" The boy holding the rope said. "Catch!" And threw it into Charles Elias' hands.

"Wait, what do you want me to--"

"Stay with the cow," Alfred said, "Don't worry, you'll be just fine."

Before Charles Elias could respond him and the rest of the boys gave a quick wave and ran off, Charles Elias with a mildly upset cow and a fast approaching farmer.

"Wha--" Charles Elias stared after them. "Wait! Come back!!"

The door to the farmer's home opened and shut with a bang, the distant light of a lantern shining out across the grass.

"Who's there?" Farmer Erik shouted. "You best not have hurt my cows!"

The cow let out an eager moo as she recognised the sound of her owner and Charles Elias grimaced, unable to think, unable to move.

All he could do was watch as the light of the lantern grew closer and closer, and wait for Farmer Erik's rage to reach him.

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3

[sweet-self-indulgence]

Could u do 66 on the list comparison for each boy

66) Have they ever been caught in the act? What would be their reaction if they were?

eh heh heh I like this one 3>:]

So I do think that demons would have different attitudes towards sex. When you're an incubus everyone knows how you're getting your energy so being coy isn't really an option. That being said, it's still considered private and ammunition you don't want your brothers to have to tease you with *cough handlebars cough*

James and Damien are the most private. James would only mess around in common spaces when he's confident they won't be interrupted. Damien wouldn't be able to relax if he felt like other's are around (why do you think he kept the hot springs to himself lol).

Sam and Matthew are very spontaneous and have gotten caught before. Sam would be embarrassed but cover it with with anger, "Get out of here and mind you fucking business!" Matthew would be too embarrassed to continue. He covers his bright-red face with his hands and whines to, "leave us alooooone!"

Erik gets a bit of a thrill from being sexual in public. In his eyes it's a great compliment show off your lover. He would be sensitive to how his SO feels about it, of course, but he's pretty unfazed. "Erik, what the fuck are you doing out here?!" (the backyard) "Showing my princess how she shines brighter than all the stars~" *cue eye-rolling*

[crucifiedbymypriestess]

Hey, it's me again! As you know, I was excited to write Dark!Charles, and these are some quotes from before he drown in the darkness of his conscience, he is fr fr an absolute lost cause.

None of those works are published yet, but it'll be on AO3 soon. I'm also will posting about other cherik FICS.

Once again, forgive my English, I also translated it with Google this time. Feel free to correct any grammar/language misspells.

With a broken heart and a recent abandonment, Charles is tempted to be no longer fearing his own telepathy.

Some quotes:

"I keep asking myself if there is something about me that makes everyone abandon me. If my love, my emotions and my words always show that I'm so desperate, that my mind wants to grab his, dig in my nails and turn them both completely into one, because only then my love could be understood."

"...But I liked it. I liked that because only then I can feel a pain so deep, that I certainly call it mine, and only mine.

Only in that way I can feel my heart being only mine, my mind only listening to me, and for a brief moment I only..."

"It hurted me, but he left as if nothing had happened, with his figure upright. I remember crying and complaining about the sharp, dull pain in my back.

My mind was desperately trying to reach his, but his direction was empty and quiet. But my projections never stopped, they were transmitted loud and clear only to Erik. Just...

Please, Erik, turn around, please look at me. Don't go, Erik, please. I love you, I love you, I'm sorry. Please don't abandon me, I can resist more, I will never complain, but stay.

Erik disappeared leaving a trail of red smoke like everyone else next to him, but my heart felt that Erik turned into ashes until his body mixed with the sand of the beach in Cuba."

"Maybe if I resist, in the end there may be a reward for me, a little more and maybe something will shine in front of my eyes.

Enduring so much pain, I can't give up now, just a little more and in the morning I will have a happy ending, and I will only be able to hear myself, and I will feel my own hands, I will feel my own skin, I will be loved and kissed, and I will like it, I will. . I will love, and it will tickle me, I am so sure. Just a bit more of waiting."

"I hate him.

Why it has be so difficult? I'm tired, and I really wonder if this is really necessary, if the times I see the love of my life again, it will be to be judged and led into a fight that I don't want.

Maybe it's best for us to say our goodbyes and bury our love, stay with our good memories..."

"Help your people, Charles. If you owe anyone anything, it's us. You can't keep defending humans, Charles! They plan to exterminate us!

I don't want to be anyone's hero, Erik. I... I'm serious, I'm tired."

"I don't owe anything to you, or anyone else, Erik. Why is so difficult to understand that for once I would like to be the one who can choose himself? Are you going to steal my life and the decisions in it like you stole my sister?"

"I never asked about this, I don't want it. I don't want to be the one, to rescue anyone, please, just... everyone go on their own."

And that's all, lol. Me on my way to give old men abandonment issues. Still not satisfied with the writing, but I'm getting better time to time, I'm getting there!