#whether the mutant plot

[quibbs126]

You know, it’s funny how these two are both considered iconic versions of their series’ characters, meant to be cool and evil and intimidating

But in reality they’re kind of pathetic losers who can’t get over their exes and are way too obsessed with killing their rivals, to the point where it’s honestly detrimental to their causes

And they both came out around similar times too

[turtleblogatlast]

Hey haha what if the first place Leo got zapped to in the universe was a barren wasteland with low gravity that reminded him of the Prison Dimension? What if he didn’t know if he’d accidentally got sent back there somehow and panicked?

Then when he tries portaling again and lands somewhere else he’s relieved for all of two seconds before the reality of his situation hits him and he realizes he doesn’t know how to get back home? So essentially the worst thing about the Prison Dimension (his isolation) was happening again? Haha what then?

[bumpkinspice0]

Office Hours

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Mutant!FemReader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: A few months into working back at the mansion and Logan still can't keep his hands off you. A/N: This is vaguely tied to my other Logan fic "No One Knows…" but not at all required reading. All you need to really know is reader is a returning X-Man that can control Earth/ rocks and is codenamed Dozer (Short for Bulldozer) Warnings: S M U T, medium plot??? but mostly just porn, established relationship, under desk blowjobs, office sex, light dom/ sub, a single spank possessive Logan (Someone needs to put me down)

AO3 if you prefer to read there

Logan Masterlist

_______

The morning light pours in through the windows of your bedroom. Logan holds you close against him in bed while you, less than enthusiastically, try to squirm out of his grasp.

A few months back into your old life at X-mansion and you can confidently say it was the best decision you’d ever made in a long, long time. All the kids returned to a brand new environmental science teacher and a newly reconstructed mansion that somehow looked almost exactly the same— give or take a few changes to the gardens.

You’d missed this, you missed being part of the X team, whether it was as an X-Man or just a teacher. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were making a real tangible difference in people's lives. 

Yes, you desperately wanted to return to your roots and start over— but he was also a nice perk to all the chaos. 

Your relationship with Logan was just as new as your employment in Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. He reeled you in like a fish on a hook. Whatever the two of you had, it was nice. You think it had been a long time since he had something like this too. Someone to care for. Someone to please. 

Neither of you could keep your hands off each other. 

It was too early for ‘I love you’s’ or to declare something like moving in together, but he already spent most nights in your room as it was. If he didn’t spend the night he’d find you in the early morning just to hear you moan his name. That boy was determined never to let you sleep— not that you’re really complaining.

You’d never had a lover like Logan. Someone so… starved. He craved your touch, rambled on about your scent, and held you on the edge for what felt like hours. It was all new and some parts of it, admittedly, a little weird, but fuck was it exciting. 

You’d started a new life for yourself, more or less. Started over, more accurately. And he was there to soften all the blows. You hope you did the same for him. 

You can’t believe you thought he ever had ulterior motives about you when you came back. Once you found out you both had more similar pasts than you’d realized, you were sure the only thing he'd want was information from you. How glad you were to be wrong. 

Victims of the same cruelty but you were both different. You still had your memories. Your identity. He didn't. 

You vowed to help find out who he was, and that seemed to mean more to him than anything— but it was a slow process. Old information and long abandoned facilities. Still, you had each other through all of this and that helped the pain, just a little. Facing your demons together. 

Right now, however, Logan was your only tangible demon. He still had you trapped in bed and late for class. 

“Just a quickie,” he purrs, nibbling at your ear.  

“I have a class to teach in 20 minutes. You should have gotten here earlier,” You muster up any strength you have against him, “And it’s never quick with you.”

“Or you just don’t want it to be quick,” His mouth finds your bare shoulder, already marked with week's worth of love bites from him. You can’t deny the trill of excitement it sends through you.

This fucking man. 

You want to. Lord in heaven, you really, really want to. Sometimes this being a responsible mentor thing got in the way.

“Logan…” You push lightly against his chest. It’s not much of a protest, really. None of your weak-willed squirming was.

“Okay… okay,” His grip around your waist finally loosens and you reluctantly get out of bed. He gives your ass a playful spank as you do. 

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” You scold him with a smile as you dig through your dresser for anything that was clean. 

“Got a good reason to be,” He grins, resting his arms behind his head and stretching out over the bed. You can’t help the blush that creeps into your cheeks. Logan never missed an opportunity to compliment you. 

You, a little reluctantly, pull on a pair of jeans and one of his white shirts. Slowly but surely all your laundry was getting intermingled to the point of no return. That and you know he always liked when you wore something of his. You don’t think any of your own tee-shirts were clean anyway.

Yeah, it’s probably time to do laundry. 

You top it off with a loose black cardigan to seem somewhat teacherly. You gather your folders with today’s syllabus. You had three classes today. Logan usually had two— if you could you really call PE and survival basics a class. The kids usually just roped him and Kurt into playing flag football with them. It was adorable in its own Logany way.

“I’ll see you out there, Professor Logan,” you give him a peck on the forehead before shimming on your shoes. 

“God, don’t ever call me that again.” He chuckles, covering his face with his forearm.

“Would you prefer daddy?”

His hand immediately drops, “Don’t tempt me, darlin’.”

You’re at the door now, giving yourself one last moment to admire the perfect man sprawled out in your bed.

“Don’t sleep in too late,” you open the door. 

“See you out there, toots.”

______

There are only a few more warm days left in fall and you refuse to let them go to waste. You always liked holding classes outside anyway. This was Environmental Science after all. As an earthmover, it always felt natural. Feeling the actual ground under your feet made everything easier to teach in a way. 

You’re teaching the different types of erosion this week. The class is gathered on the grass on the edge of the pond as you hover different rocks around them. Examples of river-smoothed stones, bed clay, and a few from the Grand Canyon you’d brought in from your personal collection. 

You’d never thought of yourself as the best teacher but the kids seemed to at least enjoy the theatricality. You knew dirt. You knew the earth, and that seemed to be enough.

You hear the PE class run out onto the other side of the lawn, Logan dutifully following behind them. You don’t even need to look to feel his eyes on you. You're not sure if you're irritated by the distraction or think it’s a little cute he wants to be near you.

Well, if he’s going to distract you and your class, you might as well distract him. The kids had started a game of frisbee golf, something his full attention didn’t need to be on anyway.  Logan always joked he was just a glorified babysitter. You take off your cardigan when you feel a small gust of wind. His head immediately snaps your direction when you do. 

He’d told you before he liked the mix of your scents. The more animalistic part of him liked it anyway. He always seemed ashamed of it, despite your insistence you didn’t care. You could never truly understand, sure, but that didn’t change your feelings for him. Besides, you didn’t mind feeding the animal every once in a while. 

You’d reached the end of your class period and quickly dismissed your students, reminding them of the homework as they scurried back into the mansion. You remain outside, cleaning up the small mess your lesson had made. 

You still feel Logan’s eyes on you. You can’t help the excitement his gaze stirs in you. Logan did something to you no other man had ever done— he made you feel desirable in ways you’d never experienced. 

It was an incredible turn-on, to say the least.

You feel your panties slowly start to wetten. You see a shift in his posture in the distance. You smile, bending over to pick up the loose papers you’d left on a nearby bench. You pause there far longer than you needed to— just a small tease but you know it’s something that’ll drive you crazy. He always said he liked you in these jeans the most.

You feel his eyes burning into your back the entire walk to the mansion. You can’t help but smile.

______

You're leaning against the front of your desk, looking over tomorrow's lesson, when you hear his signature booming steps hurrying down the hallway. It’d been an hour since your last class ended. He enters the office, closing the door behind him immediately. 

“Professor Logan,” You greet him teasingly, leaning back against the desk. 

He says nothing as he stalks towards you with heavy steps, crashing his mouth into yours. You pull him in as he inserts his body between your legs. His mouth is hungry against yours— desperate even. His lips trail down to your jaw.

“You think you’re cute, huh? Prancing around in my clothes, showing off your ass, gettin’—”

“I’m very cute,” you giggle as he nips at you.

He growls, pulling you up to lead you back to the desk chair. He liked it when you sat on his lap. It was both of your lunch breaks. You’d always spend them together, though usually not in your shared office.

Charles required everyone to have office hours, even Logan. He fought it every step of the way until he finally relented to just sharing yours. He was almost never here. He didn’t have a reason to be— well unless you were there. His desk sits across from yours just as bare as the day it was put in. Yours, on the other hand, was quickly cluttering as the school year went on.

“Still worked up from this morning,” Logan admits as he nips at your lip, “Need you, sweet thing.”

Absolutely insatiable.

“Poor boy,” You tease, your hands slowly trailing down to his obnoxious belt buckle. “I’ll take care of you.”

You always liked to tease him more than you’d care to admit. He’d get so worked up over the smallest things. You were always happy to indulge him… every fucking time. 

You sink down to your knees, pulling his jeans with you. His cock bulges out against his boxers, already hard and waiting. You palm at him, giving him a rough squeeze through the fabric. He hums in approval. God, he always felt so good.

There’s almost a sigh of relief when you pull him free. You give him a few rough strokes before your tongue follows, trailing up from his base and swirling around his tip, pre cum already leaking free. His rough hands grip your hair as you lavish his cock with your tongue. 

You pause at the tip, placing a single feather light kiss before taking him completely into your mouth. He chokes out a strangled moan, doing his best to stay quiet. Luckily, the walls of the mansion were thick. 

The grip in your hair tightens as you find a rhythm. 

“T-that's it,” his voice is shaky, dripping with pleasure, “Just like that. Good girl.”

He always praised you. Whether giving or receiving, he always made sure you felt seen. 

A part of this excited you so much. It was scandalous, having him splayed out like this at your work desk, doing your best to suppress the moans that brew in your throat from the thrill of it all. You loved making him fall apart. This was just as much for him as it was for you. You were both having fun. Both acting like giddy, horny, little teenagers. 

His grip in your hair shifts, and you feel him tense under you. He can’t be close already? Before you have time to ask what’s going on you’re being shoved underneath your own desk. You want to scream what the absolute fuck?! before you hear the office door being clicked open.

“Logan?” It's Scott’s voice. 

“What?” Logan bites out, leaning over the front of the desk to conceale you completely. Thank god Charles always insisted on these massive solid oak desks.

“I’m just— You’re sitting at Dozer’s desk,” Scott stammers out. 

“Had something I needed,” he quickly lied. 

You’re cramped into a wooden box basically, one of the walls being made out of thick muscled legs with a heavy cock still hanging between them. You were playing a game with Logan, might as well make it more interesting. 

“Have you seen her?” Scott asks, “I needed—”

“No.” Logan only grits out, “She’s probably down in the—”

He cuts himself off the moment your hand grasps his cock again. You can’t help but smile when you run your tongue back up the velvet length. He can’t move his arms because that would expose you. He can’t move his legs because there’s not enough room with you between them. He’s stuck here while you torture him in the sweetest way possible. You don’t miss the way his cock jumps when you take him back into your mouth. 

“She’s where Logan?” Scott, blissfully unaware, prompts him.

“I don’t— I don’t fucking know,” You swear you can almost feel him shaking with the effort to keep his voice steady, “Why don’t you go fucking look for her then, huh?”

There isn’t as much room to move your head as you’d like, so you let your tongue and hands do most of the work. 

“Well, can I just get on her computer?” You hear Scott take a step closer. Oh no, “I just need a—”

“Piss off, Summers!” He practically growls it out. “You need her then go fucking find her.”

You hear Scott scoff as he takes a step back. To be fair, this was completely in character for the two of them. It was doubtful Scott suspected anything. You reach up and give Logan’s balls a gentle fondle while you worship his tip with your tongue as silently as you can.

Finally, you hear Scott retreat to the hallway. 

“I don’t know why she’s with you, Logan. I really don’t.” He spits before slamming the door behind him. 

Logan doesn’t waste a second once the door is closed again, pushing the chair back and grabbing your face roughly. His cock falls from your mouth with a wanton gasp. You must look like a mess but can’t bring yourself to care.

He just holds you there for a moment, your mouth just inches away from his cock. His eyes have glossed over with lust. He loved this, you know he fucking loved this because you did too. 

“You’re trouble,” he says, pulling you both to standing, “You’re so much fucking trouble.”

He turns you around and bends you over the desk immediately, a few pencil cups shaking with the force. He yanks down your jeans a little rougher than you’d like but you still kick them off the rest of the way. Your underwear still remained in place. He kicks your legs wider and trails a hand up your back, pressing his palm down between your shoulders. His other hand drips between your legs, a finger rubbing over your clothed pussy.

“Fucking soaked through already?” he purrs. “You get wet sucking my cock, baby?”

“Yes.” It practically comes out as a plea. Well, it’s only fair he’s toying with you now. Your legs are almost shaking in anticipation. 

You squirm as he starts to rub the damp fabric directly over your clit. His hand on your back presses you down harder, pinning you in place. He’s doing what you did to him— in his own way. Trapped at his mercy. 

He pushes your underwear to the side, two fingers running through your slick folds a few times before delving in. You bite your lip to suppress a moan, barely successful in silencing yourself. He curls his fingers, back and forth as he works his hand up and down. Anyone could walk in that door at any moment. Logan would stop if he heard anyone coming again—right?

“You know what you do to me?” His voice is ragged, almost pained, “Fuck, do you have any idea?”

His pace is speeding up and your restraint is slipping, but there’s nothing you can do to get out of this. And, fuck you don’t want him to stop either. You’re completely his right now. 

You finally let out a wail when rips his hand out of your cunt and slaps it across your ass. His touch stays there, gripping the stinging skin, sharp pain quickly melting to the pleasure that was racking your whole body. He takes his other hand off your back. You don’t move, your stomach stirring in anticipation.

It feels better than it should when his hard, massive cock runs over your soaked pussy. He’d dialed up all of your nerves to eleven. You involuntarily ach back into him like a fucking bitch in heat.

“Oh Christ, why are you with me…” he lines himself up, “That’s what Summers said, right? He doesn’t know why you’re with me?”

“Logan—” You attempt to speak up before the air in your lungs vanishes when he thrusts inside of you in one jarring motion. He stays there a good moment, grinding his hips into your ass, gathering himself. God, he was so fucking deep. He draws out and slams back in again. You hear the desk creaking in protest this time, several items falling off. 

He leans over you, hot tongue trailing up your spine before nuzzling his face in next to your ear. 

“I know why,” He starts to roll his hips against yours. His imposing body and magic dick were taking over every sense you had. God, you wish you could scream. “It’s because you know no one else can fuck you like I can. Can take care of you like I can.”

He nips at your ear as he finds a pace, tiny low grunts escaping in rhythm with his hips. This was just as much about dominating you as it was about being as close to you as humanly possible. Mixing your scents and desires together until the line is blurred between the two. Yes, Logan fucked you unlike anyone else had, and your certain better than anyone else ever could, but he also loved you harder than you ever knew possible. 

Loyal to a fault. It’s instincts, he always said. You always hated when he compared himself to an animal, but in a lot of ways it's just part of who he was. He seemed past trying to deny it and embrace it in his own way. Let the beast free, so to speak. 

“Tell me,” He growls into your ear, “Tell me who makes you feel this good.”

You struggled to form the single-word answer, but it eventually came out, whined and shaky. 

“Y-y-you,” you swear you’re drooling, “O-only you, b-baby. O-only—” You trail off, likely losing all brain function to the intoxicating filth of it all. 

“That’s right. T-that’s right,” he chants a few times like he’s fucking praising himself for it, “Only me. You’re all mine. I’m all yours.”

You’re not sure if it’s a gasp of surprise or pain that escapes you when he lifts you both. He holds you against him, still fucking you while you’re both standing. You’re forced to stand on your tiptoes, your hands grasping onto the forearm around your chest for any sense of balance. You weighed nothing to him. He’s still fucking you senseless. He’s holding you both up and still fucking you senseless.

You swear you go blind when his other hand snakes down to your clit. 

“Shoulda stayed in bed this morning,” His stubble rubs against your cheek, “Wouldn’t have to fuck you like this if we— shit— if we had time this morning.”

“L–Logan, I–I—” You start to warn him but can’t manage to get it all out. Nevertheless, you’re sure he knows. He always knows when you’re close. You feel it, the mounting pressure at your core. Sweet, precious relief. 

“I know, baby. I know.” 

It hits you like a train, hard and almost completely by surprise. The hand around your chest immediately comes up to clamp around your mouth. You scream against his palm while he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, practically using you like a goddamn sex toy at this point. 

He mutters out a string of curses while he attempts to maintain his equilibrium— and eventually fails. He collapses back into the chair behind him, dragging you with him. He almost slips out. Almost. He holds you close against his chest, hips completely still against your ass as he pulses rope after rope into you.

“Good girl, good girl,” you hear him muttering into your neck like a prayer. 

Your haggard moans into his hand eventually fade into one long heavy sigh, finally allowing yourself to relax against him. You feel his body unwind as well, his previously firm hand over your mouth coming to stroke your cheek. His lips lull around your neck, placing sloppy kiss after sloppy kiss wherever he could reach. He was always so gentle after sex. Those hands that were so rough just a moment ago gently glide over your skin. You always find comfort in their heft. 

“Do you think anyone heard us?” you finally ask, leaning your head back against his. 

“Fuck ‘em if they did,” he nuzzles himself right under your jaw. Close— he always had to be so close. 

“Charles is gonna fire us if he ever finds out,” you bring your hands up to your face, rubbing into your eyes just a little too hard.

“You can’t fire an X-Man.”

“Teachers, Logan, we’re teachers.” Ah good, the mortification was settling in just in time to ruin the moment. Fabulous. 

“Stop it,” you swear you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“He’s gonna read our minds and see what absolute animals we are and he’s gonna fire us.” The irony that you're saying this out loud while Logan is still fully inside you in your shared office is not lost on you. You feel his chest bouncing against your back, chuckling lightly at your dismay of your surely oncoming termination. You can’t help but laugh along with him, just a little. 

You eventually untangle your bodies and fish your pants off the floor. Maybe you had time for a shower before your next class. Christ, you need one. Logan wasn’t the only mutant with advanced senses in the school and the last thing you need is teenagers starting a rumor mill about two teachers fucking in their office. Still, when you look back at Logan you know you’d do it all over again regardless.

Whatever this was with him, whatever you’d started, you know you can’t stop it. The thought should terrify you, but for once you’re not afraid.

You reach out and grab his hand, “Wanna grab lunch?”

“Thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

[rosenclaws]

Cute || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: Sometimes dating Logan comes with its difficulties. Especially when you feel like you just can't compare.

warnings: fem!reader, insecurity, jean slander im sorry bby but ur a plot device for this fic.

wc: 2.4k

a/n: I'm gonna be so honest I had this idea last night and I thought it would be fun to write but I finished it and I really hate my writing for some reason this week so I'm not happy with it but I wanted to get something out so here it is ig 😭

You never should have eavesdropped. You didn't mean to. But you heard Logan and Jean talking and you just...you couldn't resist.

Logan. Well he was everything to you. You never dreamed of being the one to wake up next to him. To be the one who gets to kiss him, to call him yours. You pined after man for a long time. Ever since you stumbled your way to the mansion Logan had invaded your heart. Powers that felt like nothing compared to the omega level mutants just down the hall.

Super senses and magnetic sensitivity that could barely movie a fridge magnet. People could shapeshift, teleport, and turn to metal. Compared to them you were no one, just another mutant living at the mansion.

For years you watched him from afar, falling deeper in love with him every day. Despite being so private Logan was gossiped about fairly often. The kids were drawn to him and his protective nature. The stories spread until he was something of an urban legend walking among commoners.

He’s over 150 years old who knows what he’s done in all that time. Stories of his heroics, his dark moments, his triumphs and his devastating losses. You tried not to pay any mind to them but you just couldn’t help yourself. He is the Wolverine. He may not lead the X-Men or enjoy the spotlight but he is undeniably a legend.

Whether he wants to be or not.

He didn’t even know your name, or at least that’s what you thought. It was something out of a fairytale the first time you two truly talked. The mansion was on lockdown because of a blizzard but you needed to get stuff for the lab. It was urgent and it couldn't wait. You were going to go alone but Logan had stopped you before you could even take one step out of the doors.

"Now where do you think you're going?" You yelped at the sound of his voice. Your ears folded back as you spun to see Logan standing behind you.

"Out." You said shyly. This is the longest conversation you think you've had with him. Your eyes glanced up to meet his but you could only look for a second. He just made you so nervous.

"Out? In 10ft of snow? You're going to freeze your damn ass off sweetheart." He raised an eyebrow as he gestured to the heavy snowfall outside. You felt your face heat up at the nickname.

"I'll be fine, promise." You bundled your coat and headed down the driveway, your ears perked up as you heard a second set of footsteps behind you.

"Logan, I said I was fine." You stopped and stared at the white snow in front of you. His heavy footsteps caught up to yours as he stood in front of you. Snow fell on top of his poufy hair, a cigar sat in his mouth.

"I'm sure you can take care of yourself, but I won't let you. So this better be worth it." Without another word he turned and continued down the driveway, leaving you stunned and rushing to catch up to him.

How he knew you were leaving was a mystery, you never asked. But you keep that moment close to your heart. By the time you returned to the mansion you were covered in snow and your face was freezing but you didn't care. Not when Logan had given you his jacket half way through the trip.

As you shake the snow off your hair you see Logan watching you, he's stripped down to just a t-shirt and your eyes dart to his arms. He walks up to you, a small smirk on his lips as your heart stops in your chest. You could smell his cologne and it was utterly overwhelming.

"Cute." He hummed. He walked away, whistling lowly as he headed back to his room. Oh it just wasn't fair how easily he could turn to you to a puddle of mush.

Logan continued to flirt and find ways to be around you, to talk to you. Until he actually asked you out on a date. Taking you to a diner just outside of town and buying you a milkshake. A little old fashioned to the point you asked if he had done this back in the 50's too. He just rolled his eyes at you but you saw that little smile he tried to hide.

You could barely believe that the Wolverine wanted you and honestly neither could some of the other mansions residents. You tried to block them out as best as you could but your super hearing made it hard. But Logan could hear them too and he always did his best to soothe your worries. But sometimes the words buried themselves under your skin, wrapping around your heart and they just won't let go.

There's...one thing that has always bothered you, maybe it's why you let those words get to you so much. Logan loves you, he's said it before and you know it's hard for him to be open and vulnerable. You kiss, you hold hands, you do...other things behind closed doors. But there's one word that just seems to haunt you.

Cute.

Logan calls you cute all the time and you like when he does but that's all he calls you. Not beautiful, pretty, gorgeous, stunning. Just cute. Your quiet nature and shitty powers already make it hard for people to take you seriously sometimes and for Logan to just see you as cute, it hurt.

You're not a literal goddess like Ororo or stunning like Jean or beautiful like Marie. It was slowly killing you inside every time he called you that. But you kept it to yourself, you couldn't lose him. You loved him and you just had to believe he loved you too.

Which brings you to this stupid conversation with Jean. She was never your biggest fan and you think it has something to do with the fact that Logan used to chase after her. It was no secret that Logan had a thing for Jean since the day he showed up at the mansion. But that was years ago and he promised he was over it, that he's moved on.

So why is it so hard to see them together?

You really didn't mean to intrude, you were just looking for Logan. Your ears perking up when you heard his voice coming from the kitchen. As you neared closer you heard that he wasn't alone.

"You seem happier." Jeans voice was light but you could sense a hint of hostility as she talks.

You peaked into the kitchen and saw them together, alone. Logan was leaning against the counter with a root beer and Jean was next to him, a little too close for your liking. You should leave, you shouldn't listen this is an invasion of privacy. But your feet stayed rooted to the ground. Unmoving.

"I am." Logan says as he takes a sip of his drink.

"Look Logan, we're old friends right? So you can be honest with me." Jean places her hand on his wrist and he doesn't move.

"Are you sure about her? I mean the two of you together, it's a bit odd isn't it."

"Odd? The hell is that supposed to mean?" Logan narrows his eyes as he tries to understand what Jean was saying. She laughs and you feel your heart clench.

"She's like your pet Logan, cute but not very serious. She's not what you need." There's that damn word again. Cute. Her voice cruel and uncaring. As if she was just stating the obvious. And maybe she was. There's the knife, stabbing right into your heart.

"Be honest Logan, is she really what you want?" She asks. You wait for his response. You wait and wait. The knife twisting with each passing second. Shredding your heart to pieces as he stays quiet.

"Stay out of my head Jean." He growls, slamming the now empty bottle onto the counter.

Is that all he has to say? Really? The knife falls to the ground a bloody mess, leaving your heart completely and utterly broken. Suddenly the once comforting smell of his cologne is suffocating.

So you just run.

Run far away from the mansion, from Logan and Jean. From everybody. You just run and run until you can't anymore. You bury your face in your hands and let the tears fall. Tears of anger and hurt and sadness stream down your face. Who were you kidding? Logan is the guy of your dreams and now you're waking up. A pet. Is that really how everyone sees you? Some cute little thing to entertain Logan until he moves on to someone else? You don't know how long you're out in the small forest behind the mansion.

You slowly walk back, needing to just lock yourself in your room for the foreseeable future. The sun is gone and you've definitely missed dinner. There's a few lights left on by the time you reach the open clearing. Your arms are wrapped around your self as you keep your head low. You just feel purely defeated. You slip in the back door and up the stairs to your room. As you place your hand on your doorknob you hear a very angry Logan.

"Where the fuck have you been?!"

"Nowhere." You snap as you open your door and try to close it in his face. He slams his hand on the door to stop you. He follows you inside and slams the door shut.

"Nowhere? I looked everywhere for you. No one knew were you went. Do you know how worried I was?" He growls, the veins on his neck are bulging. You roll your eyes and it ticks Logan off even more.

"What the fuck has gotten into you?"

"Sorry is your little pet misbehaving?" You snap, your fist balling in anger as you finally face him. Logan's eyes widen when he sees the tears in your eyes.

"What?"

"I heard you and Jean in the kitchen Logan." You wipe your eyes as you slowly step closer to him. "She's just a pet, be serious Logan." You mock in anger.

"Trust me that's not the first time I've heard that before, but you." You shove his chest but he doesn't move, he's watching you. Stunned by the outburst.

"You just sat there and didn't say anything. Nothing Logan!" You shout, not caring who heard you. He grabs your wrists and pulls you close to him. He's never looked so serious before.

"Jean is full of shit and you know it sweetheart."

"Do I?" You rest your head against his chest. The anger slowly draining as defeat takes its place.

"Logan when was the last time you called me anything other than cute?" You ask. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

"Do you understand what hearing cute and only cute feels like? Is that really the only compliment you can think to give me? Do you not love me?" He lets go of your hands and you push him away.

You fall onto your bed and cry. Logan feels sick to his stomach. He didn't know its all bothered you so much, he thought he was doing alright protecting you. But he's failed you. He drops to his knees and tries to pull your hands away from your face.

"Sweetheart, of course I love you." He mumbles.

"I just feel so small sometimes. Standing next to you, being with you. Logan we were never meant to be together."

"What are you talking about?" You finally lift your head up and Logan wastes no time in wiping away your tears. You are everything Logan wants. Meant to be together? He wants to be with you and that's good enough for him.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" "Yes, prettier than anyone else in the world." He says without missing a beat.

"So why have you never said anything?" Logan sighs as he rubs his thumb gently across your cheek.

You're everything to him. You were never a rebound or a pet, god he hates that word now. Logan...he's not the kind of man you'd ever look at and think cute or soft. He is definitely not the kind of man to be loved by you. You're so gentle and kind and so cute it makes his heart hurt. He's never experienced that before. He's not the guy who gets the pretty sweet girl. But then he was and shit, it feels good. So fuck the rumors and the gossip.

"Someone like you shouldn't be with someone like me, I'm not the hero people think I am. So when someone like you loves me, it's a little hard to believe sometimes." He tilts your head up to press a kiss to your lips.

"You're cute," He kisses your cheek softly.

"and pretty," Another kiss.

"and beautiful and gorgeous and so much more." You let out a small giggle as his bread scratches your face.

He nuzzles into you until you open yourself up. He wraps his arms around your waist and hoists you up off the bed. Spinning around until he's got you in his lap.

"Cute isn't an insult. Just seeing you smile makes me feel like a fucking teenager." Logan bumps his nose against yours.

"I didn't answer Jean because I didn't want to. It's no one else's damn business how I feel about you."

"You really think all that?" You say shyly, biting your lip as the doubt still creeps into your head. But Logan pushes it away with another searing kiss.

"Fuck yeah I do. You're everything I could ever want." He frowns as he notices the worry on your face. He would give anything to make it better.

"And more." He adds on. He sees the smile grow and he feels the weight lift off his chest.

"Come on, don't hide that pretty smile from me." He grabs your chin so he can get a better look at you.

He makes a silent promise to never let you feel like this again. Anger stirs inside but he keeps himself as calm as he can. If he had his way he'd rip into anyone who feels like spreading their stupid gossip. But for your sake he won't. But he makes no promises the next time he hears some punk kid open their damn mouth about HIS girl.

"I love you Logan." You hum as you duck your head to rest under his chin, wanting to be held by your boyfriend. His arms wrap around you, holding you close for as long as you need.

"I love you too sweetheart, my gorgeous girl."

[cryptfile]

Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches, [ logan howlett x vampire!reader au ]

summary — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper). 8k+

warnings — 18+ mdni, fem!reader implied, blood kink (keep in mind you’re a vampire! not twilight but more of a true blood kind?) downright filth im sorry, dead dove do not eat, smoker!reader, endless tension, manhandling, praise kink, kind of porn without plot (LIES CAUSE IT HAS ONE THO??) my boy's into paaaaaain can't help it it's canon, age-gap at first (reader is her 20's but again, vampire), public sex (it just happened), daily reminder to wrap it before you tap it, p in v, choking, filthy mouth, pet names.

side notes — thought this could take place after days of the future past? au cause why nottttt ,,currently on ovulation season so bare with me,,, been a little mia cause i’m surviving aka going through the worst semester of my life at uni? internships are breaking my ass currently so well, here i am just existing, also, english’s not my first language and everyday i’m grateful for it, so any mistakes i’m not sorry in advance lol i’m also too lazy to correct once published,, feel free to send more logan requests since i've basically been a slut for him for a while now (i'm rotting in hell).

He could swear the mansion got ten degrees hotter when you came in.

It’s inevitable. It’s this thing you carry, the way you move — Graceful, elegant, almost compelling as the air fills the room. It’s not public knowledge that you’re not a mutant itself, yet you’re presented like one, like you have healing factors and age painfully slow, but human after all, a subtle lie, one that can harm no one.

It’s safe to say you catch his attention in the most annoying way: How couldn’t you? All you do is this weird seduction he’s appealed to, whether you’re conscious or not it’s just captivating, an invisible force that even when you ignore it is there, there waiting for the perfect moment to flood every time you happen to be in the same room.

Captivating. That’s the word.

The room becomes smaller after, the air grows thicker, and it’s almost like a ticking bomb, the way you wouldn’t even look at his face while he’s noticeable pinning after Jean Grey, the mystery that surrounds you and he cannot seem to resolve no matter how much time he puts into it.

It’s like he's the plague. You don’t really try to exchange more than just a few words, only when it's needed and you cannot avoid him any longer, and he didn’t say anything at first, keeping his distance too cause he don’t see how you’d become friends, cause after all, what he could have in common with a girl that doesn't surpass the twenty years?

But soon he's upset about it, even when he doesn't really say anything out loud, it's a spike he cannot reach under his skin. You seem to become friends with anyone but him, mutant kids in your history lessons, the rest of the team, even the damn mailman when he delivered a package — You'd say hello like it's a long time lover or so, greeting people like they mean the world to you.

He has students now that are asking for a transfer from his class to yours cause it seems you're fun to be around, more like he is, and he fucking hates it.

It's fair to say it's been getting into his mind lately. That thing you do with your hair, twisting it in your index finger on a lock as you speak, the subtle red glow in your eyes he always catches by mistake, not enough fast to stop looking at you, pretending he didn't even see in your direction at first.

Tension. Logan just happens to hate tension.

In fact. He's almost sure your problem is personal, that you might hate him enough to act like he didn't exist at all, enough to avoid him like he was not there.

That's why it's just so weird.

When he finds himself walking down the hallway to the kitchen and he smells this cherry-scented aroma that settles under his nostrils, he changes the direction he's walking to, to instead, follow the path to the person that was silently smoking outside. Hiding. Maybe, a student he'll have to scold like the old man he was turning into.

No smoking in the mansion!

However, as the night is just settling, he doesn't recognize a little mutant, but instead happens to recognize you in the middle of the gardens of the mansion, close to the maze; escaping the comfort of the inside to enjoy a self-rolled cherry tobacco he has smelled before in the air. He's a victim mostly, cause his legs move on it's own as his mouth go dry, approaching you in silence.

"What do you want?" you ask when he's halfway there. And your tone is just cold as ever, not an ounce of feeling as he contemplates your side profile, the way the tobacco sticks out of your parted lips, seated on a bench hidden between bushes and trees — "Is Scott bitching about the smell going into the mansion already?"

No. He's not. But he doesn't have enough reasons to explain exactly why he's outside if you asked, why, all of sudden, he followed the scent of cherry knowing it was you the only one who carried a colts package in the pocket of every single jacket you wore, constantly asking Storm if she could hold on to the bag of filters for you while you rolled in the worst moments.

It's distracting, to say the least.

"Yeah," he quickly says, lying cause in reality he hasn't seen the guy in the whole day, yet it sounds like something he would say. "Do you happen to have another one of those to share?"

You don't talk much, hand reaching his as you offered him from your tobacco without a single word, the same that was placed between your lips and now was on his in what seemed to be something more intimate than what he'd like to admit, the cherry taste filling his lungs as they weirdly enough, shared a cig.

"Aren't you too young to be smoking?"

You laugh, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine cause he has never heard a sound quite like it, nothing that resembles that throaty, raspy sound that came out of your lips in amusement thanks to his words. He, out of all people, has never seen you like that — "And how old you think I am?"

He seems to think about it for a second, carefully picking his next words. Logan knows that women and their age are a tricky thing, you cannot say a number that's too compromising, nor act stupid and say something that's clearly not correct — "Not a day over twenty-two."

The answer pleases you, and he just knows he's wrong, but you don't seem bothered by it, instead, you nod pretending he's right, like he just got the answer right away.

He can see why everyone's switching classes now. Cheeky bastards.

"Twenty-two is not young at all, but i'm twenty-seven though," you say, and he scoffs at the statement, seeking for any change in your heartbeat, any sign of a lie. The strange thing happens when he cannot pick any heart at all, any sign of pulse.

"You are pretty young still," he says, against his age, you’re just starting out living—. "You don't look like you are twenty-seven at all."

"Cause I age slower than the rest," it's a practiced lie. One you know from repeating the same explanation over and over again, the priced answer of why you haven't changed a single bit in the past few years and made you a mutant — "I never looked my age."

Such a fucking liar. He doesn't need any heartbeats to confirm it cause deep down you are a terrible actress, he can see it so clear, how you're calculating every answer, thinking about the correct thing to say, the normal thing to say.

"Is that your thing?" he asks, playing pretend almost as bad as you do. Tilting his head to the side as he questions you — "Age slowly?"

"I have healing powers," you explain as he tossed you the joint once again. "My saliva kinds of help healing wounds. It's pretty boring."

"Boring" Logan repeats. The word itself sounds so damn fun in your lips it's contradicting. "That doesn’t sound really boring."

There's a moment of silence after that. Where you smoke in silence taking in the taste of the cherry, and he is having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that your lips also touched the side of the cigar he was smoking before, the plain lies you've been repeating over and over the last ten minutes.

It's almost infuriating. Makes his blood boil without question, he surely endures your treatment of silence, but being lied to? That's a whole different level.

“How old are you, kid?”

Your brows furrow in response, a clueless face. You are pulling out this show once again Logan don’t buy for a damn second. Something about the scrunch in your nose, the way you dismissed your own powers as if they weren’t enough. He knows it’s all a lie. He knows it even when he doesn’t really know you at all, when it’s the first time you’re truly speaking to him after your arrival to the mansion almost a year ago.

“How old you really are?”

You laugh at the question once again, and he just knows it, knows it when he sees you barely illuminated by the dim light of the moon, the act you always keep up, a web of tangled lies you have to be into— “Told you i'm twenty-seven already, didn't you hear?”

“Is it now?” he asks, amused by the sass, exhaling the smoke of the low-quality tobacco he doesn't understand why you're so invested in when passed it to him—. “Cause you don’t seem very convinced, it really sounds like bullshit to me.”

You're almost offended. By the look you give it's like the worst mistake he could ever make, yet you remain silent, not giving the satisfaction of an honest answer yet. Testing his patience like he did have one to begin with.

"Is that why I can’t hear your heartbeats, darlin'? Cause you age so slowly?”

The nickname scratches a part of your brain, and you hate him for it. The word rolls out of his tongue with an accent, smoking your cherry tobacco cause you happen to be nice.

“You can’t?” you’re good at faking it suddenly, at least, that's what he thinks when your brows furrow in alleged curiosity, stiffening your back, uncomfortable. “How weird.”

“Damn right it is” that's when you realize he knows you are lying. Even when you don’t talk much, even when you act all stiff and bothered when he’s close, he knows that you are fully invested in lying. In whatever twisted little lie you've planned, like it was your real life and not something you made up. “Are you going to tell me truth, then or do I have to find out? Does the professor know that you're lying?”

The smoke lingers in the air.

“How old are you?” he asks once again, demanding an honest answer this time — "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

You find his questions annoying, mostly cause he won't stop until he gets an answer, one that pleases him enough to leave you alone, the other part cause you happen to like the playful banter you two keep going, dangerously much. You don't hate attention it's clear, what you do hate it's the way he seemed to see pass the lie, to demand more even when he has no right to.

He enjoys being the one who's right though, Logan cannot help it. He's pleased to catch that look on your face who says everything but nothing at once, to have you where he wanted, almost at the edge of admitting a truth.

Is it payback because you've been stealing all of the little mutants from his class? He's jealous cause kids like being around you? It does not make much sense, but he is fully invested. Questioning all.

Even when you're outside, it seems like the air grows thicker. And Logan finds himself seeking for your breathing, cause he don't know nothing, nothing about you more than the fact you don't seem to have a heartbeat, or pulse and now, breathing.

“If you really are that eager to know, i'm a hundred and twenty-seven” the words float in the air for a while, and he's sure you're just messing with him, cause there's no way a pretty little face like yours had endured a century. “I've been alive for quite a while.”

He doesn't fully believe it first. Of course he doesn't. Logan's sure you're messing with him also, distracting him about your real age.

“And I supposed this do come from you slow aging powers” He tries to give you a point there, but it's difficult to be serious when you're just playing with him—. "How so?"

To be honest, you do have a little temper yourself, you've learned to stand up for yourself most of the time, so when you happen to notice he's teasing you, that he doesn't really believe you, you adopt this attitude of defense he notices as you shift over the wood you're seated in.

"No, it doesn't" you steal the joint from his hands to have a smoke yourself. "You really aren't as smart as I thought you were, huh?"

Do you happen to have a dead wish? His muscles tense beneath his shirt, and in contrast of his problem, you can hear it all. All the sounds his body makes when he's all bothered just by the beat of his heart, that annoying sound his bones make each time he moves.

"What are you?"

"That's it," the praising goes directly into his chest, the tone you use to tell him he's going in the right direction it feels just so right he forgets why he got mad in the first place—. "That's what you should be asking right there."

It's almost a shame having to admit he would also switch classes. That he would also go through all the paperwork himself without a second thought and that right there, is pathetic, but you're smiling at him as if you're encouraging the man to try harder, to find the answer himself, and fuck — He's old, too old, he's tired, he's in a bad mood as fucking usual, and he happens to dig a drink in the quiet of his own room, but he's pulled by something as equal as devastating as the gravity force, shoot towards you in pure need to have some answers even if he has to make you spit them.

"I find it strange, cause when you don't have a heartbeat, you aren't usually alive" Deep down he's fascinated, hazel eyes glues on your face trying to understand. He feels like he has it in the tip of his tongue waiting to leave his mouth as a catastrophic answer, but he doesn't find the right words.

"That's cause i'm not," you state it like it's something obvious. And just as he knows you're lying, this time, he knows you're telling the truth, blowing the smoke in his direction just to bother him — "Why do you think i'm teaching history after all huh?"

He hasn't seen it all, it seems.

Yeah.

He's losing it after that night.

It’s known that Logan has sleeping problems, but that night specifically he thinks about something else rather than what usually torments him, a truth he also has to keep a secret now that he's learned more about it.

See, Logan doesn't expect you to be really dead. Much less to hear what you are and have been hiding this whole time from the rest of the people in the mansion — He also learns that you feed on blood, that vampires are a common thing in the world and that he shouldn't, at least, be that surprised when he's a mutant in a world full of humans himself.

You are a folklore myth on small villages, stories in Rumania and horror character in films, so you don't blame him when as you spoke, he finally understands why you're so damn attractive, so damn seductive as you explained more about your way of living, some memories you've been keeping to yourself since being a vampire was so damn solitary, memories he listens to cause he knows what it's like, to be misunderstood, to be eternal, to be alone as well.

It makes the two of you grow closer by the next weeks. You now talked during broad daylight about random shit at first, about the war sometimes, about your condition as he refers to when people is around, eaves-dropping on what you two are talking so invested in. Friends.

Simple as that.

And it's safe to admit also that in the course of the next days, Logan Howlett is a fucking mess, and he knows it, but he won't do anything about it.

He won't flirt cause he knows you're a hell of a woman, in every good sense of the word, that he's way too damaged for a vampire even, for all kinds of people out there, and as much as he'd like to say anything, he values your attention, how you switched the attitude of acting like he didn't exist to be a friend, one that you came to share secrets with a cherry aroma glued in their skin.

It gets him insane, to the point he's no longer spending much time with Jean and people start to pick up on it as if he didn't have enough headaches already. He doesn't care. Shit you are not bothered by what people say, and to be honest, he cannot seem to care either.

At first, he's reluctant of keep on talking to you as normal as it is. He's not really invested in religious themes, but he sure admits you're a sin by all meanings, a religious experience of some kind if anyone asked him — He agrees with what he has heard also in the hallways. Innocent conversations of teens and their platonic crush on their teachers. You are pretty hot.

He's so interested in knowing more about you, about the nights you spend in Rumania, when you leave to Canada, the different lives you've lived across the years. He finds himself looking forward to share his stories too, weird enough, cause he's over two centuries himself and he just craves to talk about it with someone who also gets him in a deeper level, that weariness that fills your body when you age so long.

You got the best of immortality, and instead of feeling envious, Logan finds himself attracted to you so much like he's never been in his whole existence. Not at the point it happened with you at least.

By the end of the first month he knows your little treats. You use a lot of sunscreen, and avoid activities outside as much as you possibly can with those classic, tiny black sunglasses that hided you from the rays of the sun, always in the shadow so unapproachable; how you'd usually dismiss food offerings from anyone who's kind enough to even offer you something, and when you haven't fed well during the course of the week, you'd become the most maddening woman he'd ever met.

Maddening.

"What wrong with you, Leech?" Leech. You've been in such a bad mood lately that when he's seating next to you in another random smoking session outside, your fingers twitch, clearly pissed at the nickname after saying multiple times you don't like it.

"I'm not in the mood for plays now."

He can tell from before. When you talked to him that very morning and stared at the collar of his flannel for what it seemed a good, nice minute, he realizes the same moment that you were staring at that pulse point in his neck, where the flesh blood was pumping in his blood flow: You're hungry, as any living creature would be and at your own manner, in constant control as you fight the sense of hunger.

So instead, the mutant ask, like he always does when he’s curious about something that involves you:

"When did you last feed?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

That would explain it. You don't talk much about your meal plan, he knows the professor is in charge of all of that. You've told him about blood bags and hospitals, but he's not really aware of how constant you need to eat, how the blood supplies most of your energy, makes you stronger, gives you vitality, so Logan at first, don't really know what its like to not drink any blood in the course of two weeks.

"What happened with the blood bags from the Hospital?"

The mention of blood out loud seems to triggers you. A groan escaping your lips as you can swear you feel the taste in your mouth — "Don't know. Haven't seen a single one this week, Charles said something about next week, problems in the bank I guess."

You're clearly worked up. It's a new look he hasn't registered before, your hair is tangled in a less-composed look, and there's a slight shake in your hands as if you're going through withdrawal, deprived for what you needed the most.

"And animals?" he questions, trying to find a solution. “Can’t you eat a cat or something?”

"Like shit i'm going to feed from a fucking animal," you're almost immediately grossed out, scrunching your nose at the idea. "I can barely handle being so close to a damn human but animals? I'd rather fucking die this time for real, no waking up."

"That bad huh?" the mutant asks, taking a sip from the beer he sneaked outside, chucking lightly afterwards. "So you're a leech with elegant taste, huh? Of course you are."

"Clean blood is rare," you explain, rolling your eyes. It's inevitable. He knows you hate the nickname so much that he insists to keep on calling you that way just to get a reaction—. "Humans nowadays taste like dirt. They consume drugs among other substances, pills, food supplements, even damn vitamins, don’t get me started about blood diseases cause it gets me in a bad temper. Every single thing affects on your taste, even what you eat. It's all registered there. Clean, good blood is rare to find. Call me elegant, call me picky. It's a damn fact."

"And what about mutant blood?" he questions. And it seems like a mere phrase at first, one with no subtle tones, he’s usually curious about your nature so you don’t pay much attention as he spoke—. “You’re picky about mutants too?”

“No, i’ve never had a mutant before.” The truth is, you hate feeding from people, the act being something so intimate, so damn personal, you refrain yourself. Killing humans, picking a next victim to fed on, is considered now a treat you don't appreciate from your kind, making you steal from hospitals and any kind of blood bank before Charles offered you help. You haven't fed from a mutant, cause you avoided everyone equally, but you don't want to be rude about it. “You all smell different, but i’d be lying. Maybe yes, i’d be picky about it too, feeding is something intimate.”

It's an undeniable admission, and now that he's trying to be in your position, he would also be picky about someone's blood. Logan remains stoic cause he’s suddenly filled by the thought of something else, a glimpse of his own weird creativity he forces himself to push aside, to really suppress now that it's not the time or the moment.

“How do I smell?” It's too late to stop the words from coming out of his mouth when he asks her. And at first, is out of pure curiosity. He has never encountered a vampire in his life until you, let alone had someone talking about the subtle tastes of the blood being undead, so he doesn't want to let the opportunity slip — Of course he wants to know if an over two hundred mutant like himself would be as remotely good as a fresh, clean bag from the hospital.

"You stink like wet dog," he surely deserves it after all the times he’s been calling you a leech — "Like those cigars you tend to smoke, alcohol, and musk. It's similar as wood. That smell you got when you're in a forest and it's not raining but straight pouring."

"Is this a way of telling me i'd taste bad, peach?"

You make a mental note to let him know after you like peach way more than leech.

"If i'd found a human smelling like that, you won't be hearing from me anytime soon" you're just messing with him. A playful banter you enjoy more than ever, the distraction you needed to think in something else rather than the blood bags you craved so deeply — "Hell, i've would just walked the other way."

"So i'm taking you won't be feeding from me anytime soon."

It all takes a dark turn there. You're very aware of the tension the last month now that you talk to him in daily basis, but it’s just mere tension, nothing that ever goes beyond the limit. Logan has never said something to flirt with you despite the million chances he got, and he always remained like a friend, one that you enjoy spending time with now. Cannot be blamed when you're taken aback.

“Cat got your tongue, kiddo?” Man. You're about to whine about the name before you remember he is indeed, older than you are. Vampire or mutant.

"You want me to feed from you?"

He seems so willing when you ask. Even when you teased about his smell calling him a wet dog. He just seems so eager to let you just do it, try a mutant for the first time.

"Yeah," he dismisses it like it's not something so deep — "I doubt Charles is going to let you take a bite since you could clearly kill him, and I'm not sure the others would be pleased with the idea of you sinking your teeth in them, so yes. Me, leech."

Logan Howlett doesn't really smell bad. And you don't know why cause he has all the ingredients to fucking stink, yet, you'd call him interesting. That's what you thought when you find his pulse point again, the vein in his neck you looked earlier in the morning, thinking just as the same you were thinking now.

Of course you would feed from him. Is it a good thing to do? No, in any other circumstances you'd decline. He's your friend.

Now? You’re having a hard time.

"So I'm guessing that you're pleased with the idea, then," Real talk?, you just want to hear him say it. He doesn't talk much usually, but now that he's very vocal about what's on his mind, you have to take advantage of it—. "I'm not sure either. But I do think Storm may be interested too."

He seems content with the response, taking a long sip from his beer before adding — "Please, go and ask her so you're less annoying."

You're almost completely sure he doesn't find you annoying. You also don't care about Storm. And maybe he knows you're not going anywhere, that you're not moving.

"You really want me to bite you?"

"I dunno now, princess" he looks at you pleased now cause he got you where he wanted to, cause he managed to awake all the interest now that you're looking at him "Are you going to pull a Dracula on me?"

"No, i'm not going to suck you dry if that's what you're asking."

Logan chuckles. He's a damn masochist. It's been like that as long as he can remember. It may have to be with his healing powers cause he likes it more than usual, but the idea gets to his head soon enough, all falling so damn fast: Your breathing would be against his neck and he'd take the bite like a damn champ.

"Yeah I can handle you," he says, aroused. "You're not gonna hurt me if you take some blood. I'll be fine and you won't be a pain in the ass."

He acts so gruff about it but you hear the sound of his heartbeat already high enough to wake the entire mansion, his labored breathing since he suggested the idea himself. He digs it, strange enough. Thrives on the idea.

He's a grown man already, and he can take a little leech like yourself.

It's clear you're hungry, cause it doesn't take much for you to accept, nodding like you're defeated, like you just lost the war entirely, cause there's no many options here to take and even if it were, you are now interested in have him more than any other blood bag. In fact. To hell with the hospital.

"Okay."

It's a simple answer, and it sure works with him as you get close to him, the bench you always used to sit now seeming so small as you look around confirming you guys really are alone—. "You won't tell anyone?"

It's something stupid to ask, cause after all that time he has never said anything, keeping your secrets as if they were his own, saving you from weird questions people get sometimes as they didn't know much about you. He's clearly not going to say nothing at all.

"Are you going to stop whining for a second and just eat darlin'? Cause I might change my mind here."

He's feeling overload soon after.

You don’t need a formal invitation to lean closer to his neck.

There's no way to describe it also cause he has never seen something like that, never felt a similar sensation more than when he's fucking, the cold touch of your fingers in his chest, taunting the vein in his neck without a previous warning before leaning in even closer than before—. "Stay still" you demand, face close against his bare skin, only one goal in mind. "Don't move for a minute. Just-"

You cannot finish the sentence, and Logan can experience the sporadic pain of the bite first hand when your teeth finally sink in his neck, piercing the flesh so easily as you let the blood fill your mouth. He grunts at the sharp pain, his face contracting momentarily before it's replaced by a nice wave of pleasure, one that hits him right in the guts as he grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you against him, almost demanding you to be closer, to keep on taking what you want, what you've been craving for two weeks.

When did he turned into this perverted sick? Getting off by something so primal as the fact you're feasting on him.

The feeling of your lips and the clear suck you gave when feeding are sending him into a spiral, and to be honest, he didn't expect to be so devastated by you, by the way your fingers stay against his chest to prevent him from moving, pinning the mutant between the wood bench and yourself so he won’t move, won’t do anything unless you want him to,pressing on the wound to draw more blood out.

"You heal so damn fast," you complain, looking at the traces of your bite with an unpleased face as they disappeared on his skin as fast as you created them.

"Then bite me again. I don't care."

You chuckle before leaning once again, and you can feel how the air grows hotter than how it was usually, the shift on his breathing as you bite him again, pressing on the wounds once again just to suck.

And you’re hungry, it’s the whole deal. His taste differs from what you believe at first, a huge change from what humans taste like, from what you’re used to deal with in hospitals. There’s a subtle taste of alcohol yes, but it mixes good with the sweet taste of honey, the weird taste you cannot put into words. It must be a mutant thing for sure cause it’s thicker than usual, a mix of flavors that explode in your tongue.

The headache you suffered from the whole week seems to dissapear as you drink in, feeding the monster you responded to in your stomach, demanding you to make him bleed more, to satisfy yourself until you can’t have any more.

Logan, on the other hand, is really fighting against his very own war.

You’re already close enough, but he just wants you damn closer, as much as he possibly can. It’s clear that well, it hurts slightly, but he has endured much worse, means nothing when it’s the pleasure that comes with it who strikes on his body, the light sucking, the idea you’re full of his blood, that you are not on trouble as you were before thanks to him. All because of him.

He's not used to acts on his impulses, but he does it anyway.

"C'mere" he says in a strangled voice, Logan's having no trouble moving you around, grabbing you by the hips to make you straddle him, keeping you glued to his neck as he doesn't want to disturb you—. "You really are a pretty leech, huh?”

You hum against his skin, pleased at the contact, and when he realizes you’re not complaining about his actions, he let his fingers grip your tights, keeping you against him.

You can hear him making this sound, quite like a moan but not exactly when you’re licking the holes you left in his skin, he does heal fast and don’t need any of your help when you’re done, but you coat his skin with your saliva anyway just to speed up the process, cause you want to do it, looking down to him after to check if he’s pale or nearly dead. You never really know.

And Logan himself is just fine cause his fingers gather the blood under your lip when he takes the sight of you sitting in his lap as the pearly white rays of moonlight makes your skin shine, and he pushes them inside your mouth so you don't waste any drop of what it can be considered food.

"So what's the final verdict?" he asks as his hands are now grabbing your tights, there's something so intimate about the moment, so personal, hot as he presses his fingers against the flesh of your muscles, he understand what you said before—. "Do I taste like utter shit?"

"Well, i’d need another taste to have my final decision" he laughs, and he don't really laugh often so the unexpected sound sends a shiver down your spine now that you’ve heard the sound quite a while now—. "Not much, just a little."

“Have you fill then, peach” He encourages you. “I want you full so you don’t whine the rest of the week.”

You don’t have any heartbeat, but if you did, it would be ragging in your ears at his words. At the warmth he’s spreading like a disease on her body that, despite being dead and cold, you can feel more than ever.

“I like peach,” you admit, this time pressing a soft kiss before directly hurt him—. “Leech is annoying.”

He’s going to say something, tease you about it maybe but he’s interrupted by the nice feeling of what he considers are your fangs tearing his skin apart, familiarity hitting him all sudden as he moans, a rough sound that comes from the deep of his throat, hands coming down to squeeze your ass, making you gasp against his neck when you experience the aching need physically forming in his pants.

“Still,” you say, concentrated on not allowing the wounds to close. But at the lack of complaints on what he's doing, Logan’s hands kept wandering around, making you move against his now clearly stiffed cock—. “Fuck’s sake I said still.”

“Stop being a damn brat. You can eat while I move you,” he grunts annoyed, shoving you against him, the friction of his jeans against the thin fabric of your shorts is enough to keep you quiet: Feeding from a stranger and feeding from a person you’re attracted to are two different things, especially in the position you find yourself in. “You don’t have to do anything. Quit whining about it.”

In response, your fingers press against the wound, not caring if it hurts or if it bothers him, but just enough to get him to bleed more and prevent the cut from closing, lapping at the blood that gathered over his collarbone, staining his white tank before you could even avoid it.

Your fingers grab the fabric just to pull it slightly down so it won't bother you, and the deep sound his chest make when he mocks about your desperation is stuck on your brain for the next couple of minutes, indulging in his taste, shutting up the rest of the world.

A moan comes out of your lips, muffling it against his skin. You're too zoomed out to hear it, but he's on a hell of a ride too, moaning as he demands more. It's been a while since the last time you did something like that, combine the pleasure of something as primal as eating with a mundane activity like sex, so you kind of forgot how good it felt, blaming yourself from depriving from something so needed.

"Do you always get this turned on when someone bites you?"

"No" Logan answers as you finish. He's rock hard beneath you, and he lets you know it when he's controlling the movement of your hips, working you against him at a slow pace—. "See, the woman i'm trying to seduce don't usually bite me, nor make me their main dinner plate."

You whine at the friction.

He looks down to the cause of all his damn problems just to notice his pants being damped with nothing but a physical form of need, soothing the uncomfortable fabric of his blue jeans — "So wet for me already, you’re making a damn mess, do you always get this turned on when feeding?"

Cheeky bastard.

He's using your own words against you, and you cannot be less bothered as you laugh softly, licking your lips only cause you know there's dried blood in them, drowned in his smell, the honey taste that lingered in your mouth.

“No, I don’t.”

At the sight, Logan's hand grabs your jaw in a rough movement, making you look at him before making you kiss him, deepening the contact as fast as you give him the chance. His tongue is soon invading your bucal cavity as he takes control of it, slow, intense and needy, as if he was holding on so much time before giving in to his own desires.

It is something like that.

You don't need to breathe in daily basis, but there's a burning sensation in your chest of wanting, of infinite lust you've been also experiencing by yourself.

The old mutant can taste his own blood in your mouth, a metallic taste as he keeps on kissing you until your lips are pink and puffed. He has thought so much about it that now that he has the opportunity, he devours as if he's a starved man having his first meal in what seems are ages.

"You didn't tell me if I tasted bad."

You think about it for a second.

"I'm afraid you're a rare breed cause it doesn't make any sense" You don't need any help now moving, cause you're rolling your hips on top of him at your own pace, allowing him to use his hands for something else—. “You have all the ingredients to taste like shit, but it's nothing but the contrary, even better than the fucking blood bags.”

“Sounds like your going to make me your meal plan, darlin. I’m here offering you a hand and you just take everything,” — “Such a greedy little vampire.”

He doesn't seem to care though, same as before he's nothing but willing to let you take everything as much as he tries to bark about it. He's more worried about his hands now that they're sliding down your oversized shirt, tracing patterns over your stomach, his touch so hot against your usually cold temperature.

"Logan," you whine,— "Someone can see us out here."

"Now you care about that?" his hazel eyes are a shade darker when he speaks. "After you're nice and full of my blood?"

His hands are big enough to take your whole cunt, allowing his digits to roam over the fabric of your underwear, almost thanking you for using those loosened pajama shorts he has seen before that very night as he just takes the fabric and pull it to the side.

"Nobody is going to see us. It's late and everyone's sleeping, leech" he teases you, and you cannot bring yourself to care about the nickname at the feeling of his hand taunting you from over the fabric—. "If you can bite me here outside, you might as well take my cock here too."

You cannot battle against that. You're deep in whatever spell he puts you into, giving in to the attraction and the tension that now needs to be taken care of. Logan's fingers touch you in nothing but experience, cause he knows how to please after so much time alive, how much pressure he needs to apply to leave you plain dumb, pliable for him.

"D'you think I need to stretch you out before fucking you?" he asks against your neck after leaving a reasonable-sized hickey in the zone, he likes the idea of people finding out about what you've been doing with him the next morning. "Or you're a big girl and can take me all by yourself?"

He'd like to take your time with you. Thoroughly enjoy you as much as he wants to, let everyone know you're his now, that you're shuddering thanks to him only, but he's too needy for that, too deprived of you to take his time.

"I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours and talk to me," he demands, coming up to look at your face while torturing you, his index and middle finger rubbing your clit from over the underwear—. "I'm not properly touching you yet and you're losing it already, peach. C'mon, you can talk to me still."

"I can take you," you say in a strangled voice. "Please Logan, please."

It's the plea of your tone that gets him, the soft begging of an ache he can only soothe, your face while you ask for more, not aware of anything else but him.

"Please what?"

"Please just fuck me already," you ask in frustration—. "I just need you to fill me up for a damn while."

You are starting to love the sound of his laugh. The deep sound he makes when he’s really enjoying something, his voice in damn general.

"Be a good little vampire" He says in a gentle tone. Logan’s trying to be kind even when his touch is so rough. "Unbuckle my pants and take my cock out. My hands are busy now, and you can do it yourself."

He is busy indeed. Toying with your underwear being the only thing that’s keeping him from the direct contact, pushing the fabric against your hole as it works as a barrier, preventing his digits to fuck you as he’d like to. He’s busy keeping you in place, preventing you from downright melt as your hands came up to unbuckle his belt first, the sound of the metal as it moves filling the air for a couple of seconds before you put all your attention in the button of his jeans, the zipper coming down with the force you’re using.

“Yeah baby,” he praises—. “You’re doing so good, keep going.”

When you pull the fabric of his briefs down, he’s already leaking for you, pink head, slightly curved to the side, moaning, erratically how much he needs your hands on him, how you're wet and ready for his cock. You close your fist around him, stroking slowly as your hips lift up enough to position yourself on top of him.

He’s big. Damn fucking right he is, you’d expected it from before cause sometimes you swear you can see his full length in his jeans, but taking him in your hand is a struggle but itself.

“Are you going to take me yourself or do you need my help? I know you can.”

Despite his words, he does help. Grabbing the black fabric of your underwear to finally make it to the side, the tip of his dick pushing against your clit before he's the one to place it in your leaky hole, forcing himself slowly, giving you time to take him in, inch by inch.

“Good girl," he says, head rolling backwards for a brief moment as he experiences the warm sensation of your walls surrounding him, clenching against his cock as he keeps one hand on your hip, helping you as you lower yourself over him. "Let me look at you.”

His fingers grab your jaw, squeezing you as he makes you look back at him, pushing you once again as you holded a loud moan. He's stretching you at his need.

"One more time," he begs. "One more time and you got it, peach. You're almost there."

Jesus fuck. You can feel yourself getting dizzy. You've drank a lot of blood and you're now overwhelmed by this intense pleasure that formed in your lower stomach, gathering there and waiting for the perfect moment to explode—. "Fuck I-"

Logan's pampering you with kisses as a mere distraction, his lips travelling through your neck to your collarbone before you're finally seated on top of him, a muffled moan you need to shut filling the calm of the night.

"Fuck you're tight," he exhales, and he's lost in the sensation, the way your velvety walls welcome him inside. He stays still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, to make you the one who starts moving on top of him.

You can see his veins popping up. All over his chest and coming down to his shoulders and his arms, and god gracious — He smells so fucking good you’re tempted to ask if you can have a bite again.

The moment feels longer than usual, the seconds pass slowly as you stay there. Logan’s hands are just touching your skin from under your oversized t-shirt, taking in the low moans you gave him, the almost perceptible whispers as you get used to him, to his size.

He likes the intimacy of it, the bliss. Man you look so pretty in his lap when the light of the moon is stripping you all to his eyes, even if you’re fully dressed an he’s seated in a damn bench, he cannot enjoy it more, pulling you in for a needy kiss, one that is rougher than the first one and leads you to move inevitably.

His cock pushes past that nice spot inside, and the friction is enough to make you move again, rocking your hips at a slow pace for a few seconds. The sound of your moans is silenced by his demanding kisses, and now that he knows you can handle him, his grip on your hips turn more firm now, squeezing the skin there so he can control your speed, the rythm of your movements now faster than before.

“Shh, don’t whine” what he lacks of vocal usually, he pours it all in just fucking, talking you through it when he feels you’re being too loud—. “Do you want to wake the others? We can’t have them seeing you like this, all fed up and cock-drunk.”

“Let me bite you again,” you ask soon enough. And it takes a lot to do it, cause you’re doing it out of pure greed, cause you can’t have enough.

“Take whatever you want, leech, just don’t make me faint” he jokes, his panted breathing betraying him as he moans, incredibly interested in the idea—. “Want to be conscious when you cum all over my dick.”

Logan’s sure your eyes glisten in a red color as you lean over his neck. And this time is less affectionate, much less gentle as you finally bite him again, teeth piercing the flesh so easily his hips jolts against you in response of the sharp pain your fangs create, the warm sensation of his blood in contrast of your cold touch, tongue-licking all you get from him.

And fuck it feels good.

He shrudders beneath you, shaking his head just slightly at reflex of pain before continue working his way with you, placing his hand between your tights as he lets his fingers rub on your sensitive clit, just enough to make you bite on his neck harder, the lewd sounds of your cunt taking him between holded moans as you suck on his neck.

“That’s it taking me so good,” He praises — “You like that, princess? Like how you’re full of me?”

You hum against his skin. The blood coates your chin as it goes down through his chest, staining his white tank for a couple of seconds before the holes your teeth made finally closes on their own.

It’s pure ecstasy. He can feel it when you clenching around his cock, cheeks red from his blood going now through your system, his vitality, his energy.

You can feel him fucking everywhere. So when you kiss him it’s all teeth, bite and his blood.

The pleasure’s taking control of you now, and Logan’s dizzy from the blood loss, his body covered now in sweat as his words slur together, not threading any coherent thought.

“That’s it,” he says, making you bounce of his cock. “Gonna’ have you in my room then, all spread out f’me.”

His hand wrap around your neck tightly, keeping the direct contact as he chokes you. Shit. You don’t need to say a word. Logan already got you.

“James-” he’s too deep to question why you’re using that name with him. How you facade is crushing down now as you let go.

When your body trembles on top of him he’s already cumming too, the squeeze on his cock sufficent to fuck him up personally, his bruising grip on your hips shoving you as deep as he possibly can as his release hits him like a brick falling from the damn sky.

He lets you work for it, ride each second of your high, milk him dry as a white circle of his own cum mixed with your juices coated the base of his cock, his underwear now slick with your orgasm.

He’s struggling to breathe, to properly say something as you’re finally coming down from your peak, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“Did you called me James?” he questions, and you’re a damn bad liar, cause he knows imediately you’re hidding something cause of the look on your face—. “Do we know each other? From before.”

You don’t know how to respond at first, at least, cause you cannot lie in a position like that now.

“Well uh. It’s quite a long story here.”

Before you can continue he gets up, making you wrap your legs around his hips before stsrting to walk to the mansion.

“Logan-” you say in a strangled moan yourself, still sensitive as he’s balls-deep inside you.

“It will be less than two minutes, leech” he responds gruffily,— “Need to get you into my room so I can enjoy you the rest of the night, and you can tell me all of it.”

He don’t care if he’s bloody or a damn mess as he squeezes your ass climbing up the stairs, much less if anyone see the two of you in that state.

“I want to hear all the details, Cause I have a weird feeling that this has happened before.”

You cannot find a reasonable excuse to say no as the man’s already reaching the second floor.

Logan’s fucked after that night. When he learned about all that you were before, weirdly connected to you through the decades.

It must be the bite isn’t? Shit. He’s more in sync than ever now that you’ve been feeding from him a lot the last few weeks.

Ah. You fucking leech.

my masterlist

[tinalbion]

'𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐧' ||

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Logan Howlett/ The Wolverine x afab!Reader

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞! Minors, DO NOT interact! Smut with plot, afab!reader, mutant!reader, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, canon typical language, angst, feelings

𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 7k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Logan are taken to another timeline that you could possibly help save, but your deep-rooted love for him is the only thing keeping you going anymore, but he doesn't seem to feel that way at all. Could you get Logan to see reason why you're here with him, or will it fall on deaf ears?

As everyone has been inspired by that dang Honda scene from Deadpool and Wolverine, I was as well, and listening to 'Lies' by Trifonic really helped fuel the backstory between Logan and reader here.

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐓𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐃𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

____________________________________________

You weren’t sure how you ended up in a field, miles away from what you called your home, but the smell of smoke and fire woke you from your aching slumber. Whether it was the distant sounds of the fire crackling or the smell of it finally getting a rise out of you, you weren’t certain, but you wandered in a haze through the burnt grass fields. Your eyes were glued to the remnants of Xavier’s school for gifted people, your kind, mutants. The screams of sadness that wanted to come from deep within were stuck in your throat, your watery eyes stared at the scene as you looked around for any survivors, wondering if there were any. 

As much as it pained you considering how much blood you’ve already lost, you dug for hours and found things you wanted no part in finding, but there was that damn sliver of hope you clung to for whatever reason, and the one man you wished you could find wasn’t here… maybe he was safe. You wandered toward the front entrance of the mansion and fell to the ground, sobbing as you waited for anyone to help, or maybe you waited for a swift death to someone who would grant it to you. There was always the hatred for your kind, mutants, freaks, and there would always be that stupid luck someone would stumble upon you and put you out of your misery. 

But as luck would have it, a slightly buzzed Logan walked up to the entrance, seeing you on the ground sobbing, the flames behind you, and the destruction that lay behind you. He wasn’t sure what he was seeing at first, thinking that maybe the alcohol finally did hit him, especially since it took him ages to even get drunk in the first place. 

“Hey, that you…?” Logan asked gruffly as he stumbled toward you, seeing you coated in crimson.

You looked up, wide eyes filled with tears, and thinking you were seeing ghosts now. “L-Logan?” You asked, shaking. “Oh Gods, you’re alive?” You shot up to your feet and ran to him, stumbling into his broad chest as you sobbed heavily against him. 

He looked past you as one arm lazily wrapped around you, his eyes drinking in the reality he was seeing. “What the hell happened here…?” His voice was low, cracking, and he was unable to control his tone.

“Logan, the humans… they came and destroyed everyone… we thought we’d have it, but… I can’t find anyone alive. Logan… they’re all dead,” you said through sobs.

The world around him stopped and time was nothing to him anymore, the news of their deaths… all of them, it was impossible. There were so many mutant lives and so many powers that were practically unstoppable, and yet you stood here telling him no one survived, save for you. 

“How… how did you live?” He asked, his tone shifting from shocked to what you thought was defensive. 

Your eyes widened and began to shake as you thought he sounded… accusatory. “Logan, I didn’t do this-”

“I never said you did,” he replied quickly, trying to shut that thought down, but the damage was already starting.

“You pretty much did, but if you must know, my power… you know I can’t control it when I’m unconscious…” You said shamefully, rubbing your arm as you stepped back, but he pulled you toward him, his hand firm on your arm.

“Where were you?” You asked him, your eyes stared into his as he suddenly shifted, the entire mood was off, and he turned away from your gaze. “Logan, we called for you… what happened?”

“Don’t,” he said, more of a plead than a warning, “I ain’t accusing you of anything,” he assured you, but you were still so confused and scared, you weren’t sure what to make of everything just yet.

What would you think of him, what would you say when you found out he was too busy getting shitfaced at the bar, and not back at the mansion where he should have been? He seemed uneasy as his grip loosened from your arm, but he didn’t fully let go of you. You were the one part of this life, this world that wasn’t gone, and all he could do was stare at the flaming heap of rubble behind you.

Your relationship with Logan was one of complication, you knew that from the moment you two met, he was just a complicated man. One capable of loving too hard, hurting too strongly, and feeling rage more than anyone possibly could. But you loved him anyway, you just never managed to fully tell him that, even now you couldn’t find yourself muttering the words ‘I love you,’ and you figured you never would. He loved her, and only her. You would never compare in his eyes, and after a long time, you were content with that, because you would still be there for him despite the heartache you felt. 

You often felt the sharp sting of hurt, jealousy, and uselessness because all you could think was ‘I’m not her’, and it would quite possibly be your downfall. And you were still there for him, despite so many others telling you to give up. If you gave up, you’d be no better than those who’d given up on him in his past, and you could never bring yourself to do that. You were dedicated, if anything.

But here and now, as you sobbed against him as your blood slowly soaked back up into your body, gently healing your wounds, you could feel the sadness and the guilt that came with surviving. 

“I was…”

He didn’t have to say it, the smell of the booze on his breath finally hit you and you were disappointed in yourself for not realizing it sooner. You had tried to get him to stop, you really did, but the heartbreak was too much for him to handle, and it’s not like you could have stopped it anyway…

“No, I get it…” You sighed and looked back at the mansion as you pulled away from him, Logan felt the pain within the distance, but he didn’t comment on it. “I’m gonna… go and see what I can find, I don’t know…” You wiped more tears from your eyes and sighed. 

Logan watched as you walked off, back into the flaming rubble, unable to speak his mind, unable to apologize. If he was there, maybe he could have stopped it all, everyone would still be alive, and you’d all be a little happier. That was a lie, he knew that, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t hope. 

That day was the first day it all went even further downhill. 

You remained with Logan, glued to his side even though he remained inside the bar more than any other place, yet you felt you should be there for him even though there was that voice in the back of your mind saying he wasn’t there for you. For them. But what kind of person would you be if you abandoned him? You’d be just like the rest, and you refused to be them, so as much as it pained you to see him drink his life away, you stood by his side. You helped him, and became his caretaker, which was pathetic of you in the first place, but you still loved him, even after all of that. What became of the X-Men, well, all the humans hated you both for it, reminding you each day how much you both fucked up. 

But the day a man walked through that door, a loud-mouthed fool with no signs of shutting the hell up, grabbed Logan from his seat and told him he needed him. You were sitting in the back of the bar, watching Logan as you always had, but you ran to the red-clad man once he held his gun to his head. Logan just smiled and laughed, hoping he’d do it as if it would have mattered.

Right in front of you, Logan begged for death, seeing no real reason to be alive anymore. To say your heart ached was an understatement. The man fell back and as Deadpool was about to reach for him, you kicked his arm away from him, causing the gun to slip right out of his grasp.

“Look here, Angel face, you get mixed up with this and I’ll have to hurt you, I don’t wanna do-”

You kicked him again, this time in the face to shut him up, and he stumbled back, looking surprised, even through the mask. “How dare you! I am trying to save my world and I need that shithead’s help! I don’t have time to fight you.”

“Well you’re taking the ONE person I give a damn about, so you’re gonna have to go through me.”

“Look, whatever little love thing- AHH WHAT THE SHIT?!”

“I said leave him alone,” you warned. 

Your power was coming forth as you held out both your hands, manipulating the iron in his bloodstream, slowly pulling it from his body through his skin. It hurt a LOT but it wouldn’t kill him if you didn’t yank it all out at once.

“Shit STOP it, okay?! Lemme explain!”

You lowered your hands and allowed his blood to remain in his body, he sighed and leaned back into the barstool. “Jesus fuck, woman, give a guy a chance to talk!”

“That’s all you been doing, asshole! Then tried to kidnap my… friend, and I’m not letting him go.”

Deadpool explained what was going on, introduced himself, and said why he needed your Logan from this world, so you took a step back and eyed him curiously. But as soon as this man now known as Deadpool lifted Logan up, your hand grabbed his wrist and you shot him a warning glance. 

“Whatever you’re doing, I’m going with, and that’s not a question.”

“Ooh, and who the hell do you think you are? Rip off Magneto?” He asked with more excitement and playfulness than you expected. 

“That doesn’t matter, but you’re taking my friend, and I’m not letting you leave without me if he’s going, too.”

The bartender glared at you and waved dismissively. “She’s just as pathetic as he is, too, so take her if you’re takin’ the other one,” he sneered. 

You glared back at him and fought the urge to hurt him, but you looked up at Deadpool and continued to hold onto his arm. “Please, I’m not leaving him, and if you need an extra hand, so be it.”

“Well, whatever you say, princess, but try not to get in the way of Peanut’s big moment here, okay? We got a world to save.”

“Sounds fine by me,” you replied, just wanting to be near Logan no matter the cost.

You arrived in another world, or as Wade called it, a timeline, with Logan, but then immediately zapped into a place called the Void, which was already enough of a mindfuck for you to want to be far away from as you could, but you ended up in a small diner as Logan searched for food. Deadpool sat back and ate whatever he could find as you all took a moment to recuperate. You sat away from them both, suited up with your old clothes from your time in the mansion, it felt odd to be wearing it again, but you felt like you had a purpose again, and it seemed that Logan was doing fairly well despite the circumstances.

“Ya know, in my world, you were… you were well-regarded,” Deadpool said, trying to break the silence as per usual, and to try and ease the well-known angry Wolverine. 

“Yeah, well, not in mine,” he said gruffly, taking a drink from the rubbing alcohol bottle in his hand. 

You grimaced at the sight but kept your mouth shut, you were normally quiet so you wouldn’t ruin the moment by talking.  

“Yeah, they don’t like me much,” Deadpool said with a more gentle tone.

“Ya don’t say.”

“I wanted to be something, ya know… Shit, I wanted to be an Avenger.”

“Fuck the Avengers.”

Wade laughed and sighed. “Yeah, I didn’t make the cut though. Same with the X-Men. My girlfriend left me-” 

“You had a girlfriend?” Logan asked, shocked by this revelation.

Deadpool laughed. “Ooh yeah, Vanessa. Had a whole life planned. And I uh, well, I fucked that right up. But YOU, you were an X-Man, THE X-Man. The Wolverine. He’s a hero in my world…” Deadpool looked over at Logan, who sat away from the both of you and angrily stared off into the diner, trying not to listen, but Wade never would shut the hell up. 

“Yeah well, he ain’t shit in mine.” Logan stood up, whipped the can of alcohol into the kitchen area of the diner, then walked outside. 

Deadpool remained seated and looked over at you. “So what’s Wolvie’s problem, anyway?” 

“That’s a long story, Wade, I don’t think I can tell it…” You said softly, looking away from his gaze as you watched Logan from the window.

“You love him or somethin’?” He asked, his voice soft, showing a small moment of vulnerability. “That why you came to babysit pissed off Honey Badger?” 

This made your head turn to him and you looked almost perplexed, how had he known? Was it so obvious, written all over your face? Your cheeks felt warmer as you looked back through the window. “Doesn’t matter, not like he’d love me back. Just here to make sure he doesn’t die. And it’s not like I have shit to go back to, either.”

Wade regarded your answer and figured there wasn’t much to talk about after that, but he stood up and walked toward you, patted your shoulder, and ruffled your hair. “You’re too good for that guy, mutie, wait uh, what is your name?”

“Just call me Failure, everyone else does.”

Deadpool scoffed and shook his head. “Nahhh, you don’t look like one of those. Oh! What abouttttt Jamie Lee, suits you bein’ a babysitter and all-”

This made you scoff and you couldn’t help but shake your head. “Man, Logan is right, you never shut up, do you?” It was said more playfully, but you looked back at Logan, whose back was to you both. 

“Not one god damned bit, now anyway Baby Lee, let’s go and get that grumpy little man for you-”

You groaned and stood up to shove Deadpool out of the way, then walked off to get to him before Wade did, but he was fast. 

“Girlfriend material, comin’ through!” Wade called in a sing-song voice as you stomped toward Logan, who didn’t even turn to greet either of you. The merc walked up beside Logan and leaned on him playfully as you stood a few feet away to give him space. “Your girlfriend is worried about you, Peanut,” he hummed. “And not gonna lie, she puts up a hell of a fight, almost stopped me from yankin’ ya right into my little world-saving problem,” he said teasingly.

“She ain’t my girlfriend,” he grumbled and sulked off. Deadpool bound after him and you followed behind hesitantly. 

“Oh I know, she told me as much, but I dunno Wolvie, the way she almost pulled my blood from my body to save your ass means there’s something there, trust me. Nothing hotter than a dedicated woman who would pull my blood out to save your sorry drunk ass, and if you don’t want her, hell, I hope you consider sharing~”

“Shut the fuck up.” Logan stalked off ahead of you and you both followed after. 

The three of you somehow ended up finding a Deadpool variant, which ended up lending you his Honda Odessy, with which your Deadpool had an issue, but it ended up working out in the end as he trotted off, getting himself lost with yet another Deadpool variant: Dogpool. Logan had no intention of sticking around, so you followed obediently like you always did and figured you’d get to the borderlands and wait for Wade if need be.

The drive in the beginning was quiet and awkward as Logan drove, leaving you to stare out of the window in silence, wondering if you should have said anything to him. It occurred to you that you hadn’t gotten a moment alone with him since being whisked away here, and now that you’d been thinking about it, it was terrifying. 

Logan had been looking over at you every so often as you stared out the window, your eyes seeing the same scenery as you leaned your head against the window. He opened his mouth to speak and stopped several times, and you could feel that he was trying to get your attention. You turned toward him and looked into his eyes, catching his stare, but he pulled away and looked back in the direction he drove in. 

“What is it, Logan?” You asked him softly.

He cleared his throat and sighed. “I just wanna know why you’re here.”

This stung a little, thinking that he’d be better off without you, maybe? You huffed and didn’t meet his gaze. “I came because I felt I had to,” you replied shortly.

“That you had to?” He wanted you to clarify, of course, he did. 

“Yeah, I had to, because I didn’t wanna lose the only person I had left, okay?” You said with a bite to your words. “I didn’t want to hurt more than I already do. And despite you not being able to see it or maybe not caring, you’re all I have left, Logan.”

Logan’s jaw clenched as he listened to you, knowing you were right, you were both hurting and he had shoved your feelings aside to wallow in his own self-pity. He turned back toward the road, his hands gripping the wheel tight as he thought about it, about how you had been there for him all this time, despite the hurt and anger he felt and pushed onto you, there you were, never letting him down when he needed you. Even when he didn’t ask you for a single thing, you were always there, and looking back on it now, it fucking hurt. 

Someone so selfless like you… stuck with someone like him. He chuckled to himself and shook his head. “I’m a fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself. 

“You’re not,” you responded back immediately, always there to combat his self-depreciation. You really were an angel. 

“I am, wanna know why? Because I’m too fucking stupid to see that since day one, you were there, through all of it, through all my bullshit that I put you through… Even before that day…you were there Wade said something at that diner about you almost killing him just because he threatened to take me, and you insisted on going with me despite not knowing what the fuck we were getting ourselves into.”

You shifted in your seat uneasily, wondering what point he was trying to make. “It was nothing-”

“Don’t say that, you can’t just say that after everything you’ve done for me? Why, Star?” 

Star, the nickname he’d given you on your first day in the mansion, knowing very well how to tug at your heartstrings. You sighed as you turned toward him, wondering if now was the time, and there would never be a good time, you figured. “Logan, I don’t-”

“Don’t bullshit me,” he warned with that look, the look you knew too well when he was trying to be intimidating. “I wanna hear it, why are you here?”

“Because I fucking love you, okay?! Despite you loving Jean, loving a woman who didn’t love you back, loving someone so deeply, and having to take her away from you, from your friend Scott. It hurt you so much and you would have never looked at me twice anyway. But I stuck around because you were hurting and I cared, you were so kind to me and helped me even though I know you didn’t want to. You did it anyway. And I grew to love you. 

Then Jean was gone, and maybe I had a shot, but even then I was scared. Then the mansion… everyone died… and you fell further into yourself, Logan. You were so deep into your hurt that I was afraid you’d never come back. And yet, I stayed, what else would I do? Abandon you? Never, I’d hate myself for it. I tortured myself for years for you and I don’t even know why!”

The silence in the Honda only grew beside the gentle sounds of your sniffles, and you tried your best to cover those sounds as well as you stared out the window, wishing he'd just drive as fast as he could so you'd reach your destination and not have to continue this conversation. But to your dismay, the car skidded to a halt, and you both almost flew forward. You spun to look at him, to scold him for driving so carelessly, but the face he gave you was too heartbreaking.  

You hadn’t realized the loud tone in which you spoke, the tears that spilled down your face, or the way Logan was looking at you as if he could have walked off a cliff and would have been better for it.

Logan sighed and shook his head, trying to find the words, only to stumble over them and remain awkwardly silent.  His mouth opened to speak only to close, he was getting nowhere. “Why?” He finally asked. 

“Why what?” you asked with a sigh.

“You just couldn’t love someone who wasn’t a total fuck up, could you? Couldn’t have chosen better for yourself,” he grumbled as he leaned back in the seat, his hands still gripping the steering wheel. 

He looked away and swallowed hard. “Why me?” He asked. “There ain’t shit to love about me, kid, never was.”

“Yet you loved Jean, your love was unwavering despite her loving Scott,” you pointed out. “What does it matter why or who? My heart was yours and that’s that, Logan.”

“I wish I knew why I’d chosen you, but I couldn’t stop it, I tried. So many people saw it, you know, the way I looked at you. They all warned me, they told me not to even think about it. And stupid me, I waited for you! I was stupid enough to think you would realize that she wasn’t going to give you what you wanted and maybe, just maybe… I could.”

He sighed again, not daring to look at you right now so he could think, and the pain within him was welling up faster than ever. He ached for you, for the chances you could’ve had in life, but instead you chose him, the fucking Wolverine. He sat in complete silence, leaving you to sit there, lost in your own thoughts. 

“I’m sorry, forget I said any of this, Logan, I shouldn’t have come here… I’m.. Forget it.” You unclicked your seatbelt and slid from it, then opened the door, which made Logan being to panic. 

He’d sit idly by for too long, this complicated thing you had for him, the complicated mess he shared with Jean… But she wasn’t here anymore, you were, and you always had been. That meant something to him despite him not wanting to admit that. “Star, wait,” he said as he followed you from the car, whipping around to the other side to grab your arm.

You spun to look at him, your eyes red and bloodshot from the crying, and it had been ages since he truly looked at you. He grumbled at the sight of you, how truly tired you looked, and having to see how you looked at him stung. You still had that admiration, very little of it now, but it was there, along with exhaustion and hopelessness. You were a bundle of emotions and he felt it was all his fault. 

“Shit, I… I wish it wasn’t me you cared about, Star, you didn’t deserve any of this shit.”

“And neither did you, Logan,” you replied softly, staring at him with such vulnerability, giving him a soft smile. Your voice was so laced with pain that it almost made the man flinch. 

“You’re so damn stubborn,” he growled in annoyance.

You couldn’t help but scoff. “Wonder where I get that from,” I said with a small hint of playfulness. It was a vicious cycle of loving him, hating him, forgiving him. You knew it was wrong and toxic, but you never thought twice about it. 

“I can guess,” he mumbled with a sliver of that old sarcastic Logan shining through. “Listen, I’m… I’m sorry for all the shit I put you through, even the shit I didn’t know about,” he said, which was amazing to hear an apology come from him. “You love a broken old man who couldn’t even be there for his people, his friends, and you’re still here, you’re either just as stupid as I am or…”

“Or hopelessly in love with you,” you said softly, staring at him with tears threatening to fall again. 

Logan clenched his jaw, the gruff badass mask he wore slipping from him, revealing a hint of the same vulnerability you showed him. “You really think I deserve that after all that’s happened? How I dragged you down with me because of my fuck up? I’m not a good man.”

“I don’t care what you think you deserve, you do deserve happiness. Maybe if I wasn’t such a scared child all those years ago, you would have realized it sooner and none of this would have happened,” you explained. “You’ve been through shit not many would live through, and you didn’t deserve any of it, but you deserve to have someone love you without repercussions, without worry.”

Logan couldn’t help but flinch at your impassioned words, the sincerity and conviction in your voice was almost too much for him to bear. He wanted to argue, to protest, but there was a small part of him that knew you were right; that he had been through hell and back, and just maybe he did deserve something better than he thought.

Everyone saw him as an animal, the Wolverine, and he made sure to keep that reputation so no one could ever hurt him. But hurting you wasn’t what he wanted. You were here saying all of this to him, but no matter what happened, there would always be that little voice playing in the back of his mind telling him that someone like him could never have that life or that love.

You finally stepped toward him, ignoring the screaming in your mind as you pushed past that hesitancy, staring into his eyes as he continued to wear that scowl. But the closer you got, the more his features softened. “What you’ve been through Logan, it doesn’t define you, but what you’ve been through has driven you to become the man you are. We all have to live with mistakes we’ve made, and I’m tired of running from the good things, aren’t you?”

He looked down at you and clenched his jaw, staring into your eyes as he searched for anything to say to push you away, to show you he wasn’t deserving of this, but he fell short and remained silent. 

Your hand reached out and didn’t hesitate this time as you placed it on his arm, leaning closer toward him as you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes to reach, but you hadn’t expected Logan to greet you halfway. The fear in his eyes spoke volumes but so did his actions, and you couldn’t help but smile as your lips finally met.

The dreams you had of this day were nothing in comparison to the real dead, feeling his facial hair tickle your skin as you pulled him flush against you, your arms wrapped around his neck while your desperation and passion burst through. It started out gentle and sweet, but it grew hungrier while his large arms finally wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him effortlessly. When he pulled away, panting and breathless, you could see the inner turmoil he struggled with, but you’d be there to ground him. His eyes are hooded and glazed over with desire, and fear, but he can’t help but grin at the sight of you smiling up at him.

“You sure you ain’t makin’ a mistake?” He asked.

You just scoffed and pushed him against the car, surprising him with the amount of force you used. “I’ve thought of nothing but you for so long, Logan, I think we’re beyond making mistakes,” you explained as you pulled him back into a kiss. He was like putty in your hands the more you touched him through the outfit, always thinking he looked damn good in yellow and blue. 

Logan couldn’t hide the growing want he felt as he could feel your hands slowly feeling everywhere, but he needed to hold back or else he wasn’t sure what would happen. “You’re drivin’ me to a point I might lose control,” he pointed out, his breath becoming heavier with each finger you skated across his arms. 

“As if I don’t know the consequences,” you laughed and reached up to grab the collar of his suit, pulling him down further against your lips. “But you are wearing a bit too much right now for my taste, Logan,” you whispered, your nose gently touching his.

He was about to question you as to why you were wanting to do this now, but what kind of asshole would he be to push you away again, especially now that you both had this time to yourselves. Instead of pushing this away, he pushed you away from him and threw the back door to the Honda open, ushering you to remove your suit. Without question, you did as he asked and began to strip, watching the way he looked at you as you did so, but you made sure not to take up too much time. If you all made it out of here alive, maybe you could both take things slow for another round…

“Damn,” Logan breathed as he stared at you while you threw your suit off into the front seat, but you were greeted with Logan’s body pushing against yours as you lay pinned beneath him, halfway hanging out of the car. He saw the underwear you had on and his claws immediately came out with a sharp whoosh, but you placed your hand on his arm and shook your head.

“I need to wear these until we get the hell out of here. When we get back, you can shred all the ones I have,” you promised with a grin, and his claws immediately retracted. 

“Good point, but I’ll hold you to that promise,” he warned as his large hands slid up and cupped your breasts through your bra, his grip rough and possessive as he left your body on fire wherever he touched. 

Your heart was pounding as you finally had what you’d always dreamed of, and the sounds that spilled from your lips were melodious to the mutant, he wanted to hear you get louder, so he made sure to work through his unease and make sure you were crying out his name for all to hear in the Void. You bucked your hips upward as his fingers slipped under the hem of your panties, yanking them down without a second thought, and you released a strangled cry once his knuckle gently slid against your clit. You bit your lip, wanting to withhold anything, for now, not wanting Logan to know just how easy it would be to get you to crumble. Any touch he’d graced you with almost made your body tense, feeling lost in anything he’d give you. Even if he were to allow his hands to roam your body without fucking you, you’d probably come just like that. 

Logan picked up on this, smelling your arousal as you lay beneath him, his grip tightening on your hips as he stared at your face, already blissed out and wanton with need. “Fuck, you’re killin’ me, here,” he growled as he lowered his mouth to your belly, kissing it to try and curb the absolute feral need that bubbled within him. The simplest kiss and you moaned out his name, your hips bucking involuntarily at his touch. “Yeah, that’s it, fuckin’ say my name,” he commanded as he shifted above you, feeling his length pushing uncomfortably against his suit. “Fuck.”

He stepped back from you, releasing your body as you groaned from the lack of his touch, but your head snapped up to watch as he began to remove his suit this time. Carefully each piece came off, still wanting to keep the reminder of who he was before everything nice and neat, piling them into the front seat with yours. Logan fished himself from his underwear, revealing what you always thought would be impressive to be much more than that. His head dripped with pre-come as he stepped closer, and all you wanted was for him to be buried inside of you. 

You lick your lips as your mouth waters for him, but now isn’t the time to explore, you need him inside of you before anything else. “Logan, please,” you begged.

“Please what, sweetheart?” His voice was low, husky, dripping with animalistic lust. “You need to use your words.”

You made a face up at him, knowing he was enjoying teasing you like this, now knowing the hold he had on you as you stared up at him. “Logan, c’mon, I need you,” you whined. “Need to feel you so badly…” You pawed at his arms as he crawled on top of you, his snarky grin never once leaving his face. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispered low, and it left you in a puddle after hearing that. He smelled the strong scent of desire on you, it was impossible not to, so to get you prepped, he slid two large fingers inside of you, spreading your slick against your folds as you bucked your hips again, wanting more. With each pump of his fingers, your muscles tensed, your walls clenched with need around them as his pace was unwavering to get you ready to take him. 

You couldn’t control the shake that spread in your limbs or the desire that laced the sound of your moans, but you knew that you didn’t want to release yourself on his fingers, as pleasurable as it sounded. You pulled away from his mouth, leaning your forehead on his as you tried to speak. “Logan, please,” you begged again, knowing he was working you up. “I need you inside of me.”

This made a large smirk grow across his face as he slid his fingers out of you, watching as your body twitched from the loss, and he slid those soaked fingers into his mouth. Seeing him cleaning the coat of slick with his tongue was more erotic than you could have imagined, knowing all of the dirty thoughts you had about Logan over the time you’d known and wanted him could never live up to the real thing. His hands ran up your legs, skating across your calves as he yanked your body toward him with a swift pull, his eyes taking in the sight of your body beneath his, smiling when he saw your inner thighs completely dripping with need as his nostrils flared. 

“I’m gonna enjoy this…” he mumbled.

“Not as much as I will,” you said seriously, no playfulness in your tone, but a solid truth. 

Your legs spread for him without question as his hands assisted you, palms on your knees as he spread you far so he could slot himself between you, pushing his throbbing cock against your folds, smiling wide as you gasped and pushed yourself into him, allowing him to coat himself with your need. You no longer had to pretend your fingers were his, spreading you open as he was about to do, the real thing right above you as he guided himself inside. Logan didn’t give you a chance to adjust and instead, he sinks himself deep into your cunt with a hard thrust, knowing he’d get those pretty sounds out of you.

He was right. You cried out his name as your hands grabbed at his arms, trying to cling to something to keep you grounded. “Holy shit,” you said through gritted teeth, already shaking from the sheer force. 

The pace he was was hard and steady, not going too quick to make sure you both got what you wanted from this as his force rocked the car back and forth. Your cries and moans only fed his ego, wanting to give you exactly what you’d been dreaming of, although he figured getting fucked in the back of a car wasn’t exactly your first choice, he wouldn’t deny that it was the best time they’d get in case something did go wrong. One hand was beside your head, holding himself up while the other was gripping hard at the front seat, his fingers digging into the material as he was relentlessly pounding into you.

Your head rolls to the side, wanting to press your lips anywhere against his skin as you kiss his arm over and over, clinging to him while his entire body feels as if it surrounded you. You felt safe in this moment while he split you open, the sting of him stretching you for the first time while the coiling pleasure built within your stomach so quickly. You didn’t notice the shiver your kisses sent up Logan’s spine, but he made sure you knew how you were affecting him.

“You’re so damn tight,” he praised, lowering his mouth to yours for a sloppy, hungry kiss. 

You took his bottom lip between your teeth and teased him, wrapped your legs around him tighter as you arched your back, your body pressing flush against his as you moaned against his lips. The head of his cock is pushing so deep inside of you, bruising that soft spot to oblivion as your head falls back from the kiss, trying to use your words to the best of your abilities.

“Logan, I-I’m gonna come,” you whined as you tried your best to hold onto him, your mind going blank as you could only focus on the building pleasure and the tight wound feeling you felt in your belly. 

“Come then, sweetheart,” he instructed as he pressed his chest against yours, allowing his body to feel closer to you while he leaned his head against your shoulder, taking in your scent. “Need you to show me what I’ve been missin’ out on,” he said with a smirk. 

Your lips peppered his shoulder with kisses as he still mercilessly pounded into you, but the sudden feeling of your teeth sinking into his skin caused the man to let out an feral growl beside your ear as his pace was frantic and unrelenting. Your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders as you bit down hard as your cunt clenched around his pulsing cock, pulling him as deep as he could manage while you milked him as you came. 

Logan let out another growl, his breath heavy as he mumbled a string of curses beside your ear while his claws sprang out at the same time he’d come inside of you, piercing the back and the front seat of the Honda, one set incredibly close to your head, but you didn’t flinch whatsoever. You were so wrapped up in this, in him, and your high that he allowed you to ride that nothing else in the world mattered. He retracted his claws again as he sat back, kneeling on one leg as the other hung out of the car, and all he could do was stare down at you, his eyes raking over your figure as your chest rose and sank heavily, the little bruising he left across your skin. He matched the smile that you wore, and he almost felt slightly timid under the gaze you shot him, one so filled with adoration and love, feelings he didn’t deserve from someone like you.

He reluctantly pulled from you, getting one more sweet sound from your lips as he stuffed himself back into his underwear, then sat in the backseat and pulled your legs onto his lap. “I hope that was worth the wait,” he mumbled softly as he gently placed his hand on your thigh, feeling the pads of his fingertips glide against the softness.

“Even better, you’ve exceeded expectations,” you said softly followed by a small laugh, your arm placed over your head as you looked up at him. “I hope this means you’ll consider my offer from earlier, you know, when we get back.”

He let out a low sigh and stared at you, trying to read your expression. “You still think this ain’t a mistake?” He asked you, his voice low and deep with a hint of hope. He was afraid to push this any further in case you came to your senses and wanted something better for yourself.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly as you pushed yourself up, smiling wide at the man who had your heart for years, your palm resting gently against his cheek. “I meant every word I said today, Logan, and if you still need convincing, I’ll remind you every damn day that I’m not going anywhere. I love you.” You pushed yourself up, nuzzling your face against the crook of his neck, showing him that hint of softness that he deeply craved. 

He sighed as he slipped an arm around you, holding your naked form against him as he relaxed beneath your touch. “Then I guess I have a lot of time to make up for,” he said with a smirk.

You nodded and shot him a similar smile. “Guess you do.”

“Let me start right now,” he purred against your hair, taking in your scent as he pushed you back against the seat, hovering his body above yours. “I’m not wantin’ to stop just yet.”   

[lostinlovingrevery]

Whistleblower

Weapon X! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: This is really different from what I usually write but I had this idea and I wanted to get it out there. I MAY make a smutty alt of this lol...

Plot: You're a doctor recruited to work at the research base Lake Alkali, where you eventually become the whistleblower on the immoral experiments used on mutants held inside, one particular man being the reason you finally spilled the secrets....

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood, mentions of experiments, descriptions that could be a lil disturbing? reader get attacked (not by Logan teehee), reader is a mutant but no powers mentioned, reader feels bad for Logan lol, more of a plot based fic with some future romance implied?

Word Count: 4k+!

Fingers tapped rhythmically against a stack of papers. Jazz played in the background. A hot cup of tea, slowly cooling off as it becomes forgotten. 

You were sitting in your shabby little broom closet of an office. A ceiling light flickers above you. Filing cabinets stuffed full of documents and manilla folders lined the walls. A laptop sat on your desk, open to an email that you have typed out, attached to the email was files, and pictures.

Lots of pictures.

You looked up, at a shitty motivational picture of a person looking at a landscape of a mountain, and a quote plastered in bold text at the bottom, 

“AN IDEA WITHOUT ACTION IS NOTHING”

You had an idea. 

Whether you were brave enough to take action is the issue.

You’re a doctor. A scientist. Majored in medicine, and went back to grad school for biology, and even dabbled in some psychology. Your name was… controversial. Your studies and research revolved around mutants, and supported mutants. You have been torn down by other scientists, doctors, and even colleagues for your work. You didn’t care.

 A few years later your work got noticed by some higher-up government officials.  Another scientist by the name of William Stryker recruited you into his mission. A top secret base located at the beautiful and scenic lake Alkali. You were told that you would be helping the future of mutants and humans alike.

That was a fucking lie.

Initially, you didn’t know anything. You were moved onto the base, given your own personal quarters, something with a bedroom and bathroom and a space big enough to be a living area. You were given small amounts of clearance. You had weekends off. It was a 1 year contract.

 Your job at first was to check the physicals and health statuses of soldiers, give out flu shots, and occasionally run a physical on a “volunteer” for the experiment programs they ran in the base, experiments you didn’t have clearance on. You didn’t think anything of it at first, everything you saw seemed clean, and people were treated with respect. Time went on and suppose they began to trust your persons, so you moved up the ladder and took part in studies that were more your style. That’s when you began to feel like something was wrong.

Some of the research didn’t feel…ethical. It felt that the mutants were being treated like..animals. They talked about them like animals. At face level, the people who came in were volunteers- participating in studies in the name of science, sometimes a monetary reward was offered. Then you would notice that said volunteers never officially left. 

It was when you did some snooping around that you discovered some horrific truths. You found files, pictures, classified things that weren’t meant for your eyes. You were caught- of course you were caught. This was a top secret government research base. There were eyes everywhere. 

You were taken to Stryker, who gave you a firm lecture- as if he was scolding a child. He then asked you if you were still wanting to stay a part of the research team. He had noticed your wonderful work ethic, and your bright mind. Thought you’d do great to help out. He also implied your inevitable murder if you were to say no.

You said yes.

Not because of the bullshit excuse of “This is for the best of humanity and mutant-kind”. To perform immoral and cruel experiments on mutants in the name of discovery and America. Fuck that. You were smart, you had ambition. You also had empathy and a moral compass, unlike these arrogant pricks. 

They didn’t know you were a mutant too- at least, they never implied they did. Not that it matters. You were raised to be accepting of everyone, to treat people with kindness, to lend a hand. That’s why you became a doctor. You were half tempted to use your powers to create a rebellion, take the place out. There were too many people though, all prepared, they had weapons and tools meant for controlling mutants and subduing them. It would be over before it started. You weren’t exactly a fighter, even though your powers were strong, but you were clever.

You reread the email you have written out for the millionth time. You used a fake email. You had multiple VPNs and several other spyware you installed in an attempt to hide where the email came from. Honestly, though, it probably wouldn’t matter. They’ll know it’s you the second you hit send. They’ll come in, knock you out, and use you for their sick experiments too. 

Perhaps though, if this email goes to the person you’re hoping it does. Maybe it won’t take so long. It won’t be so bad.

You agreed to stay for a reason. For information. For evidence. You had to be careful of your reactions, of your words. They watched your every move. Looking for signs of any infractions against them. It took time but you earned the trust of the staff and the mutants. 

You were kind, you provided comfort to them. You whispered promises that you will help them and that they will be free. All the while you took discreet photos and made copies of files and reports secretly. You’ve been storing them in the vent next to you; you made a secret compartment inside so that when the head of security comes in for their monthly inspections they never find anything. Chief Hanlon. That guy is a huge dick. 

You thought back to the faces you’ve come to know. People with tortured eyes and permanent scars. It tugged at your heart. You felt guilty, for ever taking part in something like this, for ever agreeing to come to this hellish place.

The next face you think of is what pushes you to hit send. 

“Weapon X-” 

Dr. Stryker was walking you down a long, poorly lit, concrete corridor, guarded by men in military gear, holding assault rifles- all of them eyeing you suspiciously. Stryker was walking with a cocky smile and a swagger. It was 2 weeks ago, before you had been pushed to finally compile your evidence and find someone who could help you.

“My biggest achievement in my career.” He continues. You both stopped at the end of the corridor, and he punched a code into the keypad. The metal doors open, and you step into a large room. Surrounded by large machinery, scientists, and guarded personnel, sat a huge glass tube, filled with some kind of substance, and a man who sat suspended inside it. He motioned to the tube, almost like he was presenting it grandly to you. “My pride and joy.” 

It made you sick to your stomach at the sight. He was suspended in the tube- floating in the clear liquid-like substance. He had no clothing on, and you could make out the tense muscles of his body. Despite his burly appearance, he looked unhealthy- his skin was pale, his hair grown out, wild and untamed, from his head, down to his chin, his beard scruffy and long as well. Even his stomach seemed sunken in. 

Are they even feeding him?

 The metal wires that were attached to his skin went in various places, his arms, his chest, his legs, and his head. The Holter monitor at the bottom that sat in front of you reads his heart rate; It was faster than it should be for an average person. You made out dog tags around his neck- the only article of clothing on him. There was a large oxygen mask, covering his nose and mouth. 

His eyes were open- and staring at you. 

“A soldier I met in Vietnam. He’s a mutant- obviously, claw-like appendages that protrude from his fist.” Stryker explains. “He has an extraordinary ability to heal. He can recover from anything- bullets, stabbings, broken bones. He has heightened senses, incredible strength, and a fierce rage, making him the strongest weapon in the world.” He says proudly. “A few years ago, I convinced him to partake in an experiment that bound adamantium metal to his bones. He’s indestructible.” 

You swallowed, not taking your eyes off of him. This poor man, what must he feel? How much pain is he in?

“The machine keeps his body supported and alive, but the substance- something I invented- keeps him frozen in place, which is why the machine is needed. He wouldn’t be able to breathe, no heartbeat or anything. He’s come back from death plenty of times, we’ve researched that- but we rather not risk fully killing him, y’know?” Stryker laughs. You grimaced at him, your eyes turning to look at the man, examining his body - that’s when you saw the twitch of his pinky. 

Didn’t Stryker say he was frozen in place?

“What’s his name?”

“Name?” Stryker says, a bit surprised at your question. “Logan.” 

You were glad to have a name for the face. Calling him Weapon X, felt nothing but wrong.

“What is his…purpose?” You ask, tearing your eyes away, not mentioning the twitch. You knew what Stryker would say. 

“We use him to carry out missions that cannot be failed,” Stryker says. “He’s nearly impossible to control, hence why we keep him in this- and when we send him out, he’s equipped with a helmet that helps us keep track of his whereabouts and sends signals to tell him what to do.”

“Mind control?” You asked. You use him to kill people.

“Kinda.” He says, turning to the computer and typing in a few things. “Your job here will be just to monitor his vitals. We noticed spikes in heart rates and blood pressure lately. Rare moments, but something we’d like to keep an eye on. If it gets worse, you’ll be tasked to come up with a solution. He’s too valuable to lose.” 

You nodded. You could still feel Logan staring at you. 

After Stryker finished explaining everything, you were sent back to your day. Logan's face lingered in your head. The way his eyes stared at you. What was he thinking?

It was that night you began looking for help. Your mind would wrack through people you have met through your years when you remembered someone- someone from when you were in college. A kind man, who approached you regarding your paper of mutant psychology. A paper you wrote in research regarding how mutant lifestyles can be affected by their powers. It was widely controversial, considering mutants weren’t- and still aren’t- quite accepted in your society. Your peers and professors had tried to sway you from writing it, but you refused, not caring about the consequences. Mutants were forever treated as evil people, the news constantly reported the “bad” mutants. Nevermind the fact that there were still plenty out there, living normal lives. 

The man wanted to know more about you, your paper, and what you wanted to do after college. He confided in you that he had a school for mutants and invited you to come see it. At the time, you were too busy- but you always kept his card. You didn’t know how or why- but something about him told you that maybe he could help. You prayed to whatever God was out there, that this man, 

Charles Xavier

Could help you, Logan, and the others who were trapped here. 

After that, you spent the next week discreetly putting together everything to send to Charles. Anxiety wracked your head. What if he can’t help, what if he doesn’t help? Maybe he confided in his secret school of mutants, but what if he was just like Stryker and it was all a sham? 

You were doing your usual responsibilities when you went to check on Logan. It was two weeks ago today that you were in charge of monitoring his health. Your intuition told you that his spiked heart rates, the twitch of his pinky, and the way his eyes watched your movements- even though he shouldn’t be able to move at all, were not a coincidence or a sign of a failing health state. 

It was just you and a few guards that were stationed at the door.  You were observing the latest changes over the last 24 hours. The two guards were silent, and then one of them started talking, bringing up some workplace gossip.

“Hey, y’know, me and Miranda, we got a date Saturday night.” 

“Shit, she said yes to your dumbass?” 

“Man fuck you.” 

They were talking, and distracted. You turned to scowl at them, which they didn’t notice, both facing each other wrapped up in their own conversation. You looked back at the monitor, tapping your fingers on the table when you noticed movement. Your eyes glanced upwards, and you noticed the twitch of his toe. You looked farther up and his eyes were staring down at you. 

You looked back at the guards. Hesitating before silently standing up and moving closer to the tube. Your hand went up to the glass and gently pressed. You looked back at the guards once more, still gossiping and distracted. You looked up at Logan. Staring right into his eyes, and you mouthed to him, 

“I’ll get you out of here”

You’re not even sure if he would have understood you, if he could lipread. The others say his mind was too far gone to understand what’s going on around him, and the helmet is what gives him directions. They called him an animal.

“He’s a man. Not an animal.” You corrected them. They simply stared at you. You could feel their silent judgments. Has everyone lost their humanity here? How could you look at him and not see a person?

The way his eyes moved- staring at you, you felt there was something there, someone there. He was thinking. He was observing. You wanted him to know you were on his side. 

You had no other choice at this point. You were at your wit's end. Who cares about your safety, your own life if you get caught. These people deserved better. 

Now back in your office, you sent the email. Hopefully, Charles is good about checking his email- that he knew what to do, or you and everyone else here is fucked. You went to bed that night, unable to sleep, Logan’s eyes tearing through your mind. 

You walk on eggshells for three days, waiting for the moment someone confronts you, for them to break into your room and stick a bag over your head and throw you into a jail cell where you get to await whatever Stryker thinks you’ll be good for. 

You were starting to wonder if anything was going to happen, while you were sitting at your desk once again in your little office. Filling out various medical files- one on a woman who had snow-like powers. Stryker had ideas to use her against hot and dry environments, turn them frigid cold, in order to incapacitate enemies who were prepared for hot weather. At one point you believed this research wasn’t about warfare, or violence. You thought you would be helping mutants, understanding what made you, you. How you managed to let the wool go over your eyes you didn’t know. 

The blare of the alarm startled you out of your thoughts. Announcements of guards and soldiers to get into position, alerts of intruders coming to the base. 

You thought you were going to puke. 

You got up from your chair, unsure of what to do. Another announcement told staff to stay where they were. You tapped your fingers on the desk behind you as your brain wracked for ideas, should you go out and see what’s happening? Who were these intruders? 

Maybe it had something to do with the whistleblower email you sent several days ago.

You could hear footsteps of soldiers running down the hall past your door. 

What if this is my chance?

You could help them escape the mutants. The soldiers, the security, they were distracted by whoever was attacking - people you hoped were on your side. You knew the codes, you could fight a little bit yourself- even if it wasn’t your preference. You grabbed your lab coat off your chair, making sure your badge was still attached for access, throwing it on and you opened the door, peeking out into the hallway- empty.

Your heels clacked on the floor as you ran down the maze like hallways that you’ve become familiar with the last 6 months towards the elevators. The lights shut off suddenly, leaving you in darkness until emergency lights kicked on. The alarms were off now. The only thing you could hear was faint gunshots happening thankfully far away from you. 

You could barely see, the red lights of the elevators and stairway signs led you to the direction you wanted to be in. You carefully walked towards them, your heels clicking against the tiled floor as you went to the stairway door, pushing it open. 

Soft orange glow lit up the otherwise dark and very cold stairway. You could hear more gunfire. You turned to look back at the hall you came from, searching for any signs of people that may have been around, before going into the stairway, and climbing down the stairs.

With the power off, the captive mutants are likely escaping themselves already, which may explain the occasional gunfire. People fighting back you can only assume. If they’re fighting, you’re going to fight with them. 

You carefully made your way down the stairs, cautious to not trip due to the lack of lighting. You reached the floor that would lead you to the captive mutants. Your mind wandered to Logan. He was a few floors down. Maybe you can help him too?

You chose to go farther down the stairs. You had to do something. How could you not? 

You reached the floor you wanted to reach, and carefully pushed the door open, peeking out into the hall. Only small red emergency lights lit the dark empty halls, but they provided enough light for you to make out multiple bodies strewn across the floor. They were still, unmoving, and against your better judgment, you moved inside into the hall, checking one of the bodies.

It was one of the soldiers that usually stood guard in Logan's room. You kneeled down to check his pulse. No pulse.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, as you carefully walked down the hall, checking each body for pulses. You may have thought everyone who worked here was scum - but you were still a doctor and if there was something you could do, you would do it. 

After the 5th body you could confirm was dead, you quickly walked down the hall to Logan’s room. The door was wide open - and you could see from where you were, the tube that kept Logan immobile and suspended was broken apart. The substance that kept him frozen was leaking into a large puddle on the ground- where you could barely make out several more bodies on the floor. 

He was free

Judging by the state of the soldiers, you’re not sure if that’ll be a good thing for you. 

You took a couple of steps back, only to feel a hand on your shoulder, swinging you around- you felt a sharp punch to your face, knocking you harshly to the ground. Pain radiated from your nose down to your jaw, and you felt blood trickling down your nose over your lip as you brought a hand up to it. Looking up fearfully, you recognized him, the chief of security.

“You bitch.” He hissed, fists clenched at his side. “You fucking did this didn’t you? I told Stryker you couldn’t be trusted. I should have put a bullet in your head when I caught you sneaking around the first time.”

“No-!” You yelped as he reached down, hand against your throat and pinning you to the floor, your head banging against the concrete making you yelp in pain. You clawed at his arm, kicking your legs in an attempt to get free as you felt his fingers tighten against your throat. You looked up at your attacker, his eyes furrowed, as he gritted his teeth, squeezing your throat tighter as you began to gasp for air- your chest growing tight.

In a flash, you heard a scream, and something warm and wet splatter on your. His hand was gone, and you watched in horror as he was lifted into the air, sharp metal points sticking out through his chest, and you saw Logan, holding him up in the air- a sharp snarl escaping him.

You heard a snikt! And you crawled away as the chief's body fell to the ground. Your heart pounding out of your chest, tears fell down your face, as a shaky breath escaped you- looking up at the towering and terrifying presence that now stood above you.

The red light illuminated him, making him look almost devilish. He was hunched, hands in fists, covered in blood, completely naked. There were a few wires hanging haphazardly from his arms and legs - and the helmet, the one you assumed is the one they use to control him. 

They’re not controlling him now, are they?

You waited, waited for him to kill you next. Surely he will?

He straightened himself, a scowl on his face as his nostrils flared, his chest heaving with deep breaths. He stared into your eyes. You swallowed, and pushed yourself up from the ground. Your body was shaking, and you stepped forward towards him, over the body of Hanlon. 

“Logan?” You said his name, your voice hoarse, and cracked. He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. You blinked a few times, and you reached your hands up, they’re shaky and unsteady, but you reached towards him- to the helmet.

He flinched back a moment, before stopping, letting you do whatever you were going to do. His eyes unceasing their hard stare, his nostrils flaring with every breath- making you nervous that those famous claws you’ve heard about - and just seen in action are going to make their appearance and turn you into a shish kebab. 

He didn’t do anything, and you finally made contact with the cold metal. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, as your fingers found bolts and clips, undoing each one until the helmet came loose from his skull. 

You saw relief flood his eyes, his hands reaching up as you slowly moved yours back, returning them to your side shaky as ever, as he pulled the helmet off and dropped it to the ground. 

He blinked a few times, looking around, a small breath of relief escaping him before looking at you again. 

You both stood there, unsure what to do next.

1 Year Later

Your fingers nervously tapped along the files in your lap. Your leg crossed over the other as you sat on the very uncomfortable chair provided to you while you waited. You laid your hands flat across the folder, as anxiety twisted in your gut. 

“Nervous?” 

The voice drew you out of your anxious thoughts as you looked up and smiled.

Logan stood there in front of you, clean, healthy, happy. He wore a clean dress suit, his hair slicked back, and his beard trimmed. He gave you a thin lipped smile, his eyes regarding you with softness. 

It had been a long year to get to where he was, with you there to support him as best as you could.  

It was Charles Xavier's people who came and caused chaos at the base. A group called the X-men, a group of talented and powerful mutants who work in the name of helping mutants- which is right up your alley. You- nor Logan didn’t join right away, but accepted Charles' invitation to stay at his school, alongside other mutants who were rescued, in order to wait for the dust to settle. 

The dust was finally settling. Stryker and his men were on trial before congress. You were the piece to finally put things to rest. The evidence you compiled, the things you witnessed. You were about to go before congress, and speak on the behalf of mutants that had become victims to Stryker. 

You stood up from your chair, hugging your files to your chest. “A little bit.”

“Don’t be, you’ll do great.” He says. “You always stood your ground about things like this. Just cause it’s a bunch of assholes in Washington don’t make it any different.”  

You got to know Logan, who he was. He became someone you admired like no other. He rose up from the trauma and pain he suffered in Alkali, refusing to let it harden him. He was still a bit rough around the edges- but for you he was soft. 

During his time in Lake Alkali, he was waiting for a chance to escape. The scientist said he couldn’t think clearly but it was far from the truth. The only time he went into an animalistic haze was when the helmet was on- it blocked his vision and his senses, made his brain fuzzy. 

When the X-men breached the dam, they were about to let Logan out to wreak havoc on the intruders. They put the helmet on him and he managed to keep himself together that time- escaping and slaughtering guards along the way. It was hard, it set his teeth on edge, it made him confused, unsure of what he was doing.

It was you that kept him from losing himself again. He heard your heartbeat, and your cry when Hanlon punched you. You removing the helmet was the final step for his freedom.

“I just hope it’s enough. You know politicians, how they are. You saw how they treated Jean.” You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing.

“You’ll convince them bub.  Quite worrying.” He says. His hand reached out, placing over your arm, his thumb running across your skin in a soothing motion. You nodded, attempting to let his reassurance calm your nerves. “After this, we’ll get some lunch, yeah?” 

You smiled and nodded, Logan paused, observing you before he stepped closer. It made your breath hitch, his proximity to you, your nerves becoming more worried about him now, instead of the trial. Lately, you and Logan's friendship that has formed over the last year has felt to be turning into something more. You weren’t quite sure what yet, and Logan didn’t seem to know either. 

You had an idea though.

The door behind you opened. 

“Ma’am? They’re ready for you.” A young man greets you and you nodded, looking back at Logan. He smiled supportively, and you quickly leaned up to kiss his cheek, before turning to walk into the room. 

“Wish me luck.” You called after you, before the door shut behind you, leaving Logan alone in the hall, as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, thinking about how nice your lips felt on his cheek.

You were led to a desk, where the young man- you believed to be an intern pulled the chair out for you allowing you to sit. You quietly thanked him, smoothing your skirt out and setting the papers you were holding on the desk, you looked up and stared at a room full of men in suits. 

“You are here today to present evidence before congress against Dr. William Stryker, as well as numerous other names in this trial. Do you have that evidence before you?” 

You opened one of the files, and one of the first things you see is a picture of Logan. Weapon X. It made you sick to remember him like that. You looked up, lips pulled tight, eyes filled with determination.

“Yes.”

[tossawary]

There is something so funny to me about "Monster of the Week" format sci-fi and fantasy shows that are stuck in one location, especially when the supernatural is hidden from general society for whatever reason and that location is just not big enough to even have a hope of properly covering any of this stuff up. Like, if weird shit is regularly going down in one corner of New York City, then some people in that neighborhood are still going to notice that something is up, but you can handwave some of the usual "why does anyone with any ability to move still live here?!" due to the fact that it's a big, anonymous city where a lot of people don't really know any of their neighbors very well.

But with smaller towns? Whatever this town may have been originally crafted to be gets transformed and/or retconned by the wild stuff that happens over the course of the show. Sometimes this is purposefully done by the writers and sometimes not! The plot changes the location as much as it does the characters, whether you like it or not!

(I don't mean to say that big cities in sci-fi and fantasy cannot be similarly transformed. The NYC of comic book universes very much becomes a different place with teenage mutant ninja turtles running around fighting demons and people from space. And it's hard to beat what Gotham City has going on! And weird shit does absolutely happen in small towns too! I just think this genre effect is even more pronounced and maybe funnier in smaller towns where these things are supposedly "a secret".)

Sunnydale, California, in "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" becomes this place where half of the town have to know about the supernatural or are supernatural themselves. Too much has happened on this show! The Hellmouth has changed this place into something that is now in many ways just pretending to be "A Normal Town". And it gets so amusingly ridiculous that the show acknowledges it by making jokes and going with this flow.

People in Metropolis in "Smallville" must think that Smallville, Kansas, is the Secret Meth Lab Central of small towns or something with the way that buildings are blowing up and people get killed every few months. The quaint name of this town is doing SO MUCH heavy lifting for its reputation here. Clark Kent says that he's from Smallville in this universe and some people go, "Ha, a real farm boy, huh? Hope you're not finding the big city too tough for you!" and other people must immediately go, "Oh, shit. You've definitely seen a murder victim before." And Clark can only be like, "...Yeah... :("

[permanentmess]

may i request a cherik x mutant! reader? idk abt plot but i really need some fluff

a/n: i wasn’t sure whether to make this platonic or romantic, so i made it ambiguous! I also based this on the premise of brooklyn nine nine season 1, episode 3. reader has powers involving electricity and the year is after 1981

also sorry this took so long, i finished up my last week of work, went to disneyland, and then moved in for my senior year of college! and i apologize for this being short, i wasn't sure what to write :)

title: slump

word count: 424

summary: you're struggling with your powers, so charles and erik provide the comfort you need

warnings: none! just fluff. mild angst for plot reasons but is resolved

GIF NOT MINE

~~~

“Darling, I think you’re in a slump,” Charles says as he watches you fail to produce even a spark.

Erik nods in agreement, watching you sit down against the wall, taking a drink of water. “Take the week off and relax.” 

You vigorously shake your head. “I’m not in a slump, I swear. I just didn’t sleep well last night.” You’re lying through your teeth, causing both of them to give you a look. 

You decide to stand up again, focusing on producing sparks from your fingers and aiming them at the wall. A few shoot out, but stop just as soon. “Ugh, what is happening?” 

“Darling, I want you to take the week off, please,” Charles insists, and you begin to profusely refuse when the light above you breaks. 

“Alright fine, I’m in a slump.” 

~~ 

You’re resting on the couch in the lounge, a cup of peppermint tea in your hand. The TV is playing some old movie that you’re half paying attention to, so when Charles and Erik come in, you immediately turn your head to the sound. 

They come to sit on either side of you, and you decide to take the comfort they provide. You rest your head on Erik’s shoulder, reaching for Charles’ hand. ‘Thank you,’ you tell Charles in your head and he responds back with a gentle ‘Of course.’ 

“What are we watching?” Erik asks, finally resting his head on top of yours. 

“I don’t know, it was on. I was just relaxing.” Him and Charles hum in unison at the answer. “You can switch it to whatever you want.” 

Charles switches the stations with his powers until he lands on a channel playing Indiana Jones. You squeeze his hand as a gesture of thanks. 

It’s silent for a while, casually enjoying the movie. Occasionally other teachers will come on through the lounge, but for the most part it is peaceful. 

“I think you should try to use your powers again,” Charles says, and you’re confused. It has only been 5 days since you started your break. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive, darling,” he insists, letting go of your hand. You sit up and see Erik nodding in agreement. “Just do something small.” 

You’re nervous but you decide to try and turn off the TV. You focus on the energy inside the TV and see it click off immediately. Your mouth slightly opens in shock before a wide grin spreads across your face. “Holy shit, I did it!” 

You pull each of the men into a hug and turn the TV back off, messing with the lights in the room. 

In amongst your joy and trials, the men share a look, smiling just as wide at your enthusiasm. 

[quirkwizard]

Mutant Mayhem: A Critique on the Mutant Sub-Arc

Normally, I start this off with some kind of intro to establish what I'm talking about, but I'm not going to lie: I think this might be the worst thing to come out of the main storyline. This may be a surprise to long-time followers of the blog. My dislike of Stars and Stripes and her arc has been well documented, with me calling it the worst part of MHA. As much as I dislike a lot of elements of the Stars and Stripes Arc, I can at least understand what Hori was going for, and it's pretty easy to ignore in the grand scheme of things. With this? I can't understand this.

So I want to put two disclaimers here. First off, I am not an expert on politics, sociology, or anything related to that in any way. I do not know how the events in the manga reflect real world issues, both in Japan specifically and the world at large. What I am is a writer. I am someone who analyzes stories for fun. This is going to be a critique of how the story handles the plot purely from a writing perspective. It will not be a critique of whether it is realistic or comparable to real world events. I'm sure there are other people far more equipped to handle talking about this.

Second off, for the sake of this, I'm ignoring a lot of the character work with Spinner. I actually think that's some strong stuff here. It just happens to be stuck in the middle of an arc that I don't feel uses that well. I know that isn't nearly as important as the first disclaimer, but I like it a lot and I want to give this arc flowers where I can. So, without further ado, let us get into this.

The Major Players

To be frank, Shoji and Koda feel out of place here. Do not get me wrong. I like them both, Shoji especially, but it does not feel like either of them has any place leading an arc. He's such a background character, even among the ranks of 1-A. And Koda is even worse in terms of relevance. Shoji and Koda don't have any real arcs of their own or connections to Spinner to make this feel warranted, let alone satisfying. At least, not that'd tie them into this part of the story. Koda is a kid who was shy that wanted to find his voice and gain more confidence. Shoji, the leading man of this whole arc has... nothing. He was just a quiet, minimalist who helped out where he could.

On the other end of things, there is Spinner. For the whole of this arc, Spinner is reduced a brainly functional monster. Yeah, that's great for his character, but it hurts the rest of the arc and the point it is trying to make. Because the guy who is supposed to be leading this part of the story has been reduced to a drooling moron who can barely string a sentence together. When he does talk, all he can say is that he doesn't even care what his own allies are doing. It makes it come across that Spinner doesn't have any real place in his own arc. It ends up hurting the manga and the story it is trying to tell by actively robbing the key player of his agency.

And then we have the spider guy. I'm not even going to bother remembering his name. We don't know anything about him or why he's doing this. He's only really here to spout out exposition about the discrimination of the Mutants and what they have gone through. So do we get someone who is passionate about fighting for this cause? No, not really. He makes it clear to the audience that this is not his main goal. All he is there to do to keep the revolution going for the sake of All For One. He's not the kind of figurehead that this arc needs. Someone who can act as the passionate mouthpiece to really push what the Mutants want and need. He just ends up being some other stooge that quickly gets defeated without much thought.

So right off the bat, it doesn't feel like these characters have any strong ties or arcs to work with here. It feels like we're dealing with the leftovers. Like all the other characters were busy somewhere else, but needed something Spinner for his story and to get Kurogiri. Shoji and Koda are the only ones left with any kind of panel time, and now he had to throw some stuff together about how there was all this prejudice against Mutants. Because that is all you have to tie them all them together. Okay, sure, maybe the characters aren't really that good for this kind of story line. But maybe the actual writing and build up to make this part of the story will make this arc feel satisfying, right?

The Setup?

Right off the bat, I don't think that this plot line is that well established. Looking back at the series, what examples do we have of Mutant discrimination within the main manga? Maybe a few small moments. A comment about how big the doors are at UA as opposed to other places. Which can imply that other buildings aren't as accommodating for those, but it's never really explored that much beyond that one comment. Gang Orca is a Mutant and is said to be one of the most villainous-looking heroes. Yet I feel like that's a pretty forgettable fact about how minor of a character he is and how aggressive he tends to act around people. If anything, that feels like a bigger contributor to why people see him as a villain. 

A few insults based on how a character looks. Namely, Shoto to the dog Chief of Police, Dabi to Spinner during the car chase to get Overhaul, and Pony to Shoji during the Joint Training Arc. However, none of these are given real focus. They are all either played off like any other insult or even a joke, in the case of Dabi and Spinner. Do you see what I'm getting at? For all the focus it gets as an end-game issue, there really isn't a lot of focus put on it with the story or characters. It's all a bunch of smaller moments. Smaller moments that are few and far between and aren't given any kind of real gravity for when they do happen. There isn't anything that stands out to me that makes me think that Mutants are facing any kind of discrimination in the modern day.

And before any of you say anything, yes, there are more notable examples of problems like this in the Vigilantes spin-off. The most obvious one is Kirihito Kamachi. He has the body of a giant praying mantis. He has difficulty living and interacting with others because of how monstrous he is, such as finding a place that can accommodate him. That is a great exmaple... that is not in the main manga. As good as Vigilantes is, it's still ultimately supplementary material. To me, you shouldn't have to rely on supplementary material to support your main story. Because most people aren't going to be reading it. At least, not many people do from what I have seen. Within the main manga, there are only two major examples I can think of. 

The first is the Creature Rejection Clan. A group of people solely dedicated to the exclusion of Mutants on the basis of blood purity. Which certainly sounds bad. The story says they used to be a thing back when the first Quirks came about. Yet they are barely even an organization in the modern times. They are treated instead as a long-dead relic, who are so weak and fractured as to be a joke. The second is the attack on the giant fox woman, which has so many extraneous factors involved that I hesitate to count it. Such as the fact it was done by a bunch of people without any kind of real racial motivation behind it and it was a random attack by scared people during a total societal collapse. So while it was part of the world, it seemed more in the background. Something that happened before with some lingering wounds. A problem with the world that should be dealt with, but not something that is that prevalent.

The Mutant's Madness

We then cut to the current storyline and... we have a horde of thousands upon thousands of Mutants all marching on the hospital with Kurogiri inside of it. All of these Mutants were so disgruntled about the world as is, that they formed a mob of this size. We're told that Spinner was regularly attacked and sprayed with bug spray. We get mentions of these massive hate crimes against Mutants that were never mentioned before. We then get flashbacks to Shoji's history. About how he was beaten and heavily scarred by people that attacked him as child. This is something that happened whenever he interacted with any other people. Hori: Where on Earth did any of this come from?

I want you to think about all the examples I picked out. I did not intentionally cherry-pick those. I tried my best to find all the notable examples of this before the arc. Would any of you assume that would be how Mutants were treated in the setting? I certainly wouldn't. I don't think I'd ever reach the conclusion that the story did. That, not even ten years ago, there were mass killings and public attacks on small children. This took such a drastic turn that I get whiplash just thinking about it. Was this ever implied or set up before? I feel like this kind of violence would have been shown or mentioned until now, but no. This is the first time we've heard about it on this scale.

And introducing a problem this big this late into the story, in the very arc it is relevant in, is sloppy writing to say the least. Realistically, this should be something that affects a large portion of the world and even members of our cast. You would think that if stuff like that was happening, we'd see way more examples of this in the story. Characters like Tokoyami, Sero, Tsuyu, and Mina. All of which could have been used to explore this more, but they have never been mentioned. Could you imagine if we only got passing mentions of what was going on with Himiko? And, outside of her obsession with blood, we never fully understood why she was that way. Only to find out there are thousands of other kids that go through exactly what she did and no one ever talked about it?

And why is that? Why is it never seen or mentioned? Hori tells us it's because the cities aren't as bad. It's out in the country where it's really bad. What?! What kind of explanation is that? Let's ignore the fact that it doesn't make any sense. If you have that kind of acceptable violence even out in the sticks, there would have to be some kind of sign of it in the major cities. The fact of the matter is that this is such a lazy excuse. Geez, Hori, if that was the case, maybe you should have shown us something outside the city then. Maybe then you could have built up this plot point more if you wanted it to be such a major focus of the arc. Why even go to this level of extreme with it? Especially since this level of violence the Mutants undergo suffocates the message so much.

The Mangled Message

My issue with the violence is that it is crippling the narrative the story wants to go for. Having it be this level of violence justifies the Mutants in their revolt. Shoji's whole point is not letting your hatred win and how you need to rise above what people think of you. A good sentiment on paper. If you want to talk about the kind of harm extremists can do to a message and progress as a whole, that is totally fine. Or maybe you could go with how people can be caught up in something that doesn't have their real interests at heart. There are a lot of ways you could go about this kind of message.

But that kind of talk doesn't exactly fly when your lives and wellbeing are in active danger. The Mutants aren't getting side-eyed by some old dude on a porch. They're running from hate mobs out for blood. Hate mobs are so wild and vindictive they will openly attack children on sight with zero moral compunctions about them. Which, yes, is the extreme, but the rest of what we learn doesn't make it seem like it's that far of an extreme. This kind of writing not only makes it jarring with what we have been shown, but it puts the Mutants as a whole in such a terrible position in this world. I can't exactly blame them for fighting back, even if it's aimed in the wrong direction.

When I'm writing this, I keep thinking back to that one line from Shoji. "Spinner, you're about to put us back thirty years." I get what the story is trying to say with that, but it feels so wrong here. Sure Shoji, you can try and be the model citizen that wants to bridge the gap between people. Not stooping to their level and all that. Yet trying to moralize people who feel actively threatened by the world at large doesn't come across the way you think it does. It comes across as tone-deaf and preachy even in the best light. And that's not the kind of thing you want to say about the guy who is supposed to be in the right. It's this weird moralizing that makes this sub-arc so hard to read and enjoy.

What makes it worse is that the crowd feels like such a mindless mob. One that only stopped because they realized they were attacking a hospital. What on Earth did you think you were doing here? Volunteer work? I get that the point is that Shoji's speech and the heroics of everyday people is what stopped them, but come on. It feels like Hori needed to put them in a much worse position morally to make the violence stop. That doesn't really acknowledge the problems that they are going through in a reasonable way. Why not make them stop because they feel like their leader is nothing more than a violent thug? Or the revelation that they are fighting for just to be used by All For One? Not because he cares about them, but because he just wants to build chaos?

This entire issue just feels so bizarre and poorly thought out on so many fronts. It makes me wonder why we're even getting this kind of arc in the first place. On the surface, it fits in with the other villains. Which I get is the point of the villains. They are people with genuine grievances towards society, but go too far with what they will do to get what they want. But at least it felt like the villains were exceptional extremes of the system who were hurting more than they helped. Their issues were a product of the system, but were far more personal. This seems like it's something far more widespread. Something so ingrained in the world that goes beyond any one person. So it feels at odds with how the rest of the villains and issues are set up.

And to be clear: I'm not saying this because I don't think MHA should cover these topics. In a series talking about the issues of society and how people need to work together to make things better, bigotry in any fashion could be something you could easily cover. If anything, I think that MHA Is uniquely suited to talk about this. It's certainly more appropriate to cover it here than other series that try to use its supernatural elements to talk about bigotry. And yes, that includes the X-Men. But to talk about these issues, you need to lay the groundwork. You need to tackle it with some tact. You need to know what you are doing. And Hori clearly doesn't know what he's doing here.

The Rewrite

Now, how would I fix this? This is kind of an awkward position for me to be in. Because I don't think you can fix this arc in and of itself. It's built around a foundation that is shaky at best. I honestly think you'd need a whole other mini-arc just to set this issue up and establish this as an issue for Shoji. At very least, you'd have to put a lot more of a focus on Spinner as a real character. So I think that the best answer is to just rewrite it from scratch.

For starters, you change the people that are attacking the hospital. The horde is not all Mutants. They are instead all followers of the League itself. They are just like Spinner was back when he was following the image of Stain. They are people who think they understand what the League is fighting for or are merely fighting back for their own personal vendettas. They are all people who felt small and hurt. It is effectively an army of Spinners. At least, as he was early on in the manga. And these aren't anywhere near as bad as they are in canon. It can be for whatever ill-thought-out reason there is. Spinner is still leading the charge, still full of Quirks. And while his change in form would tie into his other story, I'm going to try and make it relevant to the rest of the arc.

And you may be wondering how this ties back to Shoji? It doesn't. Again, I like Shoji, but he does not need to play such as a major part of the final arc focused on him. So I suggest we get another student to replace him. Specifically, Iida. Why put Iida here? To be perfectly frank, I think Iida was wasted in this arc. He doesn't have any real ending for the arc we've seen and doesn't add much to the part of the story he is in. All he's used for is a glorified taxi for Shoto to get to his arc. I do have an idea about him and why I am putting him here, but I'd be lying if I said my personal feelings on Iida this arc aren't part of my decisions.

To start things off, I would make it clear that this is one of the last functional hospitals in the country. This place is integral to treating the most seriously injured and sick. Trying to move any of the patients would likely kill them, including Kurogiri. The heroes wouldn't want to use it as a battleground, but feel forced to because such a valuable target is there with Kurogiri. So the heroes organize a force to help defend the hospital, for which Iida volunteers. And when asked about it, Iida says he wants to protect it because it's about his brother. Both that is what Tensei would do and all he can think about is his brother laying in that same hospital.

And this is where their dynamic would come in. Spinner and Iida are comparable in how they both looked up to a person in their life and how much that warped their perspective. After encountering Stain, both of them changed. Iida strived more to emulate and honor his brother rather than idolize him. He wanted to be the one to build up the rest of his classmates and become a proper hero that can save people. Spinner went from being a fanboy to an idol himself, but a false one. He got the power he wanted, but an empty in the process, with everyone else ascribing things to his actions rather than having any real will of his own.

I'm doing this because, in a series all about inherited wills and legacy, I think that you could do something focusing on inheriting the wrong ideas from someone. That is brought up a few times throughout the series, but I think that some part of the finale could focus on it. It's how your actions have meaning and those actions can spread out to people who look up to you and trust you. These are the roles that Iida and Spinner fulfill. It ties back to what the Mutant Sub-Arc was trying to bring up about how this group of people is being used and radicalized for All For One's cause and not their own, but in a way that doesn't tie it to all the baggage of discrimination and bigotry. 

Iida can talk about how the crowd is misguided. That the League and All For One aren't on their side. Nobody in the crowd cares though. They rather shout about their grievances. About why they are fighting this war in the first place. They all look up to Stain and Spinner as their revolutionaries. They all turned to Spinner looking for his wise words. This is the part where he says he doesn't care. He can give a similar speech as he did in canon, but it can be more to emphasize his own past as opposed to Iida. How Iida is where he is, because he was born lucky with a wealthy family and a strong Quirk.  I think that this would be a lot more personal to Spinner. His whole perspective and life has changed so much that Stain, the man that inspired him, is barely even an afterthought. 

This would be encouraged by a man on a roof seeing it all: Trumpet. Now, I am replacing the spider guy with Trumpet for a few reasons. One is that he's already an established character, and he already has ties to Spinner. Second is that his power of "Incite" could do a lot to explain how the crowd is fighting so well. Finally, I think that it could reflect how All For One is using these people. They aren't here to lead a revolution, but to cause chaos. And I think that works better with a figure like Trumpet. The second a new regime seems to be rolling in, he immediately switches sides to working with All For One. He isn't as staunch MLA follower as people thought he was and merely attached himself to it because it was a means of power. It feels more fitting for someone like him to talk about how he doesn't really believe in this kind of stuff than someone who should be affected by the issue they are fighting for.

So the battle rages on between the two groups. You could also throw in some of the students to help fight with Iida. To me, you could put any of the other students here if you want. Maybe you could have some moment for Jiro or Koda here. They'd be able to use the power of their Quirks to help drown out Trumpet and all of his rhetoric. Maybe you could have people like Sero and Ojiro work as the counterpoint. They don't have great Quirks, but they were still able to make it into the Heroics Course in spite of that fact. Their roles don't matter as much to me as the main conflict between Spinner and Iida. Iida tries to fight back as hard as he can, but, ironically, Spinner's ability to jump and climb between walls makes it hard for Iida to attack him.

That is when the crowd starts closing. The doctors are doing their stand to make sure no one can get in and hurt the patients. This makes the crowd hesitate some. At that moment, Iida gets an order. To stop the crowd no matter what it takes and save the doctors. Even if it means he has to kill Spinner. Everyone thinks that Iida is going to violently charge at and destroy the crowd. But no. Iida doesn't do that. Instead, he uses his immense speed to rescue everyone in the hospital. He is going at such high speeds that he is able to save everyone before they can die and move them to another location away from the fighting. All except Kurogiri, who is under such heavy defense that Iida could not reach him. Everyone is shocked and amazed at this, including Iida, who never thought he'd be able to pull off such a move.

After it's all done, Iida is spent. He used Recipro Burst too much and is now unable to move. Yet he still stands, begging the crowd to not attack the hospital. This is where Iida's arc ends. He gets to be a true hero, focusing on saving others rather than trying to hurt them, and making another speech to stop a raging crowd. The doctors can be out there as well, as I do think that bit is important to the greater themes of the series. And it does work for a moment. Spinner does not care though. He still moves forward. And then suddenly stops in his tracks. Only to reveal Stain had used "Bloodcurdle" on him, leaping from on high to stop the assault on the hospital. 

Yeah, I'm throwing Stain in here too. I've always disliked how Stain's death was handled. I don't mind him dying, just how it was done. Not only did it feel totally pointless, barely adding anything to the final fight with All For One, it felt so inconclusive to his character. There's more that could be done. We have already got the conclusion to All Might and Stain's connections at the statue, so having him die with Toshonori doesn't really fit. To me, Iida and Spinner have some of the strongest connections to Stain. Because they were the ones who were most changed by interacting with him and his legacy as a villain. So I believe that adding him here will add more to the arc and his own character.

This is a point where Stain takes Spinner to task about everything he's done so far. About how this was not his dream and not his goal. That was to flush out all the fake heroes. Not to hurt people who "didn't deserve it". By killing Iida and attacking his hospital, they are all corrupting his mission. This really puts a stop to the crowd. This is their idol, the one who started their revolution. And now he's talking about how their work makes them sick. So now he stands against them. To protect Iida and the hospital. You could even call back to his infamous speech, a dreadful aura falling over the whole Quirk. Yet Spinner starts to move again much sooner, either from losing so much blood from "Scalemail" or having a Type-O blood type, and the Quirk stops affecting him.

He charges up to Iida, ready to cleave him in half. Only for Stain to block the attack to save Iida, dying in the process as his body gets stuck on Spinner's weapon. Only to be tossed aside without a care as Spinner makes his way to the hospital. In this way, it acknowledges the growth of Iida into a "true hero" in the eyes of Stain. It's between these three elements that the crowd stops. The heroic moment of Iida, the death of Stain, and the obvious indifference of Spinner are all what led to them realizing that this cause may not be worth fighting for and stopping the charge. I think that would be a lot more point of a moment. Because now we get the culmination of Iida's character, the ironic death of a major villain, and the final tragic note of Spinner as a character.

And I think having it be this way could make it more fitting for where the two end up. We see Iida start to work closely with Uraraka when helping out the children. Maybe Iida could be working with other kids that are in trouble. He can be the guy who is trying to help out his community and lead like example. Just like what his brother was doing before him. Meanwhile, it could help recontextualize Spinner's ending. I've already talked about this in my rewrite of the ending before, but I think this could add a nice way to present Spinner's book. That he wants to tell the truth of the League and have them be remembered, but not in a way that will radicalize people like him in the future. 

Now, is this a deviation from the main story and what this sub-arc was going for? Yeah, but I don't think that you are losing much by changing the players and context. Here, you can still have the misguided rioters that have close ties to Spinner, but without a lot of the sloppy writing surrounding the Mutant storyline. It also can give more meat to two major characters that felt shafted by the final storyline. Iida get's recognized as a true hero, finally living up goal he had since he fought Stain. Stain himself dies an ironic, but fitting death. He dies at the hands of a follower who idolized him, but did so saving a kid he said was a false hero. Overall, I believe this does more justice to the characters and the story.

[rei-ismyname]

What would Cyclops do?

I wonder if Marvel will ever live down teasing some mysterious unforgivable atrocity done by Cyclops for a year only to reveal it was... altering a Terrigen Cloud, and it wasn't even him. Ironically, he almost certainly would do it; it's just not that big a deal at all. I was pretty excited before the reveal, like shit yeah they actually pulled the trigger. I should have known, because they'd been trying for years.

Don't get me wrong, I love seeing this angsty white boy suffer, but what an anticlimax. It's really funny to me that Marvel spent about a decade trying to villainise the dude and failed pretty miserably. Young Scott's misery worked at first for shocking acts like killing Xavier, less so by the time of Death of X. Indeed, it was an important plot point that Hank and Logan were incredibly biased if not straight up lying. The teen O5 bailed for a reason.

Amadeus Cho referring to him as 'young Hitler' was not just a miss but flat out ridiculous. Impossible to take seriously. Specifically arguing over 'evil' in warped hypothetical moral relativism. Nobody here blinks at that analogy either; highly educated and experienced supers just acting like idiots. The moral judgement stands, accepted by Scott himself, with the decision being whether they should condemn the teen based on his future self's actions. Maybe that's part of it. Scott Summers takes criticism quite seriously and generally listens to his friends. His guilt over killing Xavier especially meant he never really advocated for himself.

Obviously there's some subjectivity in play with that but I feel like the dude was vindicated for the shit people were actually mad about. Hope/Phoenix, the Terrigen Cloud, X-Force to a degree, trashing The Avengers, uh, rescuing mutants from SHIELD/cops, etc. Even the impetus for Schism - using children in battle - made sense only if you forget what genre it is and ignore the context. It almost feels like everyone else went crazy for a decade or so. Here's Storm on some 'not all mutants' shit, said while cowering in Limbo a few months before going to war with the Inhumans.

Magik - you were there too, lol. You were on team 'fix the Terrigen Cloud.' Dunking on IvX is low-hanging fruit of course but I do wonder what it is that brings Marvel back to this dry well over and over. Even right now there's shades of past pariah Cyclops in how characters react to him. Rogue has chilled out a bit now but the tension is still there. One of many off aspects of Chuck Hunt was Scott Summers generally being less popular than Charles Xavier, which sounds crazy. Honestly, I wish they'd actually make him do something worth complaining about.

[shantechni]

Finally watched tmnt 2012 for myself and yeah, the things people criticized about it aren’t nearly as bad as I was expecting. These boys are delightful. Also love how Raph is super straightforward with what he thinks while guarding his heart and Donnie is the opposite; heart on his sleeve but often struggles to voice his thoughts in an assertive manner

WE STAY WINNING Y'ALL, THE '12 SERIES KEEPS BEATING THE ALLEGATIONS

Fr, there are so many things that get taken out of context or purposefully blown out of proportion and it's not even funny😭Some may want to argue that [insert favorite iteration] gets unfairly criticized the most, but I still see people pouring gasoline over the '12 series like it burglarized their home, killed their whole family in cold blood, and emptied their pantry in the same night. Rise and Mutant Mayhem are still relatively fresh to the public eye, but the '12 series is 12 years old, pls let it go omg—

The '12 boys are so delightful, so funny, so loving, so lacking in social skills, and I adore them all. If it weren't for the whole ninja and turtle bit, they'd just be your average gang of siblings who will fling each other around when one of them eats the last slice of pizza, but will always be there to pick each other up off the ground when one of them is in trouble.

Also I love your description of the difference between Raph and Donnie; it's so simple yet it easily tells someone everything they need to know about how they behave.

Raph is the most guarded of them all, but he's also the most honest. He has his issues when it comes to trusting anyone and everyone, but we all know his trust issues aren't just him being antisocial or introverted. He has real concerns about who him or his brothers are befriending and whether or not their so called friends are ready to stab them in the back. Sadly, the one time he decides to not let his trust issues get in the way of befriending someone, it leads to the planet getting eradicated and sends the gang on a months long mission to prevent a repeat of the same tragedy.

And Donnie on the opposite side has no problem opening his heart up to those around him, but he sometimes doesn't know how to go about expressing himself or his thoughts in a healthy manner. Rather than conversing with Splinter or his brothers about his concerns with April never forgiving them for Kirby getting mutated, he vents his frustrations to Timothy and unintentionally gives rise to Mutagen Man obsessing with April and her broken friendship with the turtles.

Heck, specific plots aside, we can clearly observe their juxtaposed behaviors and draw a conclusion from there. Whereas Donnie will work himself up over whatever is worrying him in the moment and agonize over approaching his obstacles properly, Raph will find a straightforward answer to his problems that'll oftentimes either end with him throwing fists or completely ostracizing himself from the problem.

[racefortheironthrone]

What did you think of X-Men Blue Origins?

(I may turn this into a People's History of the Marvel Universe later today, so keep an eye on this space.)

X-Men Blue: Origins and the Power of the Additive Retcon

(WARNING: heavy spoilers under the cut)

Introduction

If you've been a long-time X-Men reader, or you're a listener of Jay & Miles or Cerebrocast or any number of other LGBT+ X-Men podcasts, you probably know the story about how Chris Claremont wrote Mystique and Destiny as a lesbian couple, but had to use obscure verbiage and subtextual coding to get past Jim Shooter's blanket ban on LGBT+ characters in the Marvel Universe.

Likewise, you're probably also familiar with the story that, when Chris Claremont came up with the idea that Raven Darkholme and Kurt Wagner were related (a plot point set up all the way back in Uncanny X-Men #142), he intended that Mystique was Nightcrawler's father, having used her shapeshifting powers to take on a male body and impregnate (her one true love) Irene. This would have moved far beyond subtext - but it proved to be a bridge too far for Marvel editorial, and Claremont was never able to get it past S&P.

This lacuna in the backstories of Kurt and Raven - who was Kurt's father? - would remain one of the enduring mysteries of the X-Men mythos...and if there's one thing that comic writers like, it's filling in these gaps with a retcon.

Enter the Draco

Before I get into the most infamous story in all of X-Men history, I want to talk about retcons a bit. As I've written before:

"As long as there have been comic books, there have been retcons. For all that they have acquired a bad reputation, retcons can be an incredibly useful tool in comics writing and shouldn’t be dismissed out of hand. Done right, retcons can add an enormous amount of depth and breadth to a character, making their worlds far richer than they were before. Instead, I would argue that retcons should be judged on the basis of whether they’re additive (bringing something new to the character by showing us a previously unknown aspect of their lives we never knew existed before) or subtractive (taking away something from the character that had previously been an important part of their identity), and how well those changes suit the character."

For a good example of an additive retcon, I would point to Chris Claremont re-writing Magneto's entire personality by revealing that he was a Jewish survivor of the Holocaust. As I have argued at some length, this transformed Magneto from a Doctor Doom knockoff into a complex and sympathetic character who could now work as a villain, anti-villain, anti-hero, or hero depending on the needs of the story.

For a good example of a subtractive retcon, I would point to...the Draco. If you're not familiar with this story, the TLDR is that it was revealed that Kurt's father was Azazel - an evil ancient mutant with the same powers and the same appearance (albeit color-shifted) as Kurt, who claims to be the devil and is part of a tribe of demonic-looking mutants who were banished to the Brimstone Dimension, and who fathered Nightcrawler as part of a plot to end this banishment.

I don't want to belabor Chuck Austen, because I think that Connor Goldsmith is right about his run actually being a camp cult classic in retrospect. However, I think we both agree that the Draco was a misfire, because of how the retcon undermined Kurt's entire thematic purpose as established in Giant-Size X-Men that Nightcrawler was actually a noble and arguably saintly man who suffered from unjust prejudice due to the random accident that his mutation made him appear to be a demon, and because of how the retcon undermined the centrality of Mystique and Destiny's relationship.

X-Men Blue Origins

This brings us to the Krakoan era. In HOXPOX and X-Men and Inferno, Jonathan Hickman had made Mystique and Destiny a crucial part of the story in a way that they hadn't been in decades: they were the great nemeses of Moira X, they were the force that threatened to burn Krakoa to the ground by revealing the devil's bargain that Xavier had struck with Sinister (and Moira), they were the lens through which the potential futures of Krakoa were explored, and they ultimately reshaped the Quiet Council and the Five in incredibly consequential ways.

This throughline was furthered after Hickman's departure, with Kieron Gillen exploring the backstories of Mystique and Destiny in Immortal X-Men and Sins of Sinister, and both Gillen and Si Spurrier exploring their relationship with Nightcrawler in AXE Judgement Day, Sins of Sinister, Way of X, Legion of X, Nightcrawlers, and Sons of X. One of the threads that wove through the interconnected fabric of these books was an increasing closeness between Kurt and Irene that needed an explanation. Many long-time readers began to anticipate that a retcon about Kurt's parentage was coming - and then we got X-Men Blue: Origins.

In this one issue, Si Spurrier had the difficult assignment of figuring out a way to "fix" the Draco and restore Claremont's intended backstory in a way that was surgical and elegant, that served the character arcs of Kurt, Raven, and Irene, and that dealt with complicated issues of trans and nonbinary representation, lesbian representation, disability representation, and the protean nature of the mutant metaphor. Thanks to help from Charlie Jane Anders and Steve Foxe, I think Spurrier succeeded tremendously.

I don't want to go through the issue beat-by-beat, because you should all read it, but the major retcon is that Mystique turns out to be a near-Omega level shapeshifter, who can rewrite themselves on a molecular level. Raven transformed into a male body and impregnated Irene, using bits of Azazel and many other men's DNA as her "pigments." In addition to being a deeply felt desire on both their parts to have a family together, this was part of Irene's plan to save them both (and the entire world) from Azazel's schemes, a plan that required them to abandon Kurt as a scapegoat-savior (a la Robert Graves' King Jesus), and to have Xavier wipe both their memories.

Now, I'm not the right person to write about what this story means on a representational level; I'll leave it to my LGBT+ colleagues on the Cerebrocast discord and elsewhere to discuss the personal resonances the story had for them.

What I will say, however, is that I thought this issue threaded the needle of all of these competing imperatives very deftly. It "fixed" the Draco without completely negating it, it really deepened and complicated the characters and relationships of both Raven and Irene (by showing that, in a lot of ways, Destiny is the more ruthless and manipulative of the two), and it honored Kurt's core identity as a man of hope and compassion (even if it did put him in a rather thankless ingénue role for much of the book).

It is the very acme of an additive retcon; nothing was lost, everything was gained.

I still think the baby Nightcrawler is just a bad bit, but then again I don't really vibe with Spurrier's comedic stylings.

[pandalandalopalis]

Devil May Cry Wolf - Matt Murdock x Mutant Reader [Chapter Eighteen]

Masterlist Previous Chapter

Story Synopsis: The first time you jumped, it was 2014 and you were nine years old. You were in the back of your parents’ car — then you were in New York, standing on the street … and it was 1992.

The second time you jumped, it was 1998 and you were fifteen years old. You were heading back home to Saint Agnes after school had ended — and then you were knee-deep in snow, in Russia, in 1970. Outside a Red Room facility.

The third time you jumped, you were twenty-five and had spent ten years training as a Red Room agent. Ten years training your body to use your mutation. Jumping in space was easy — jumping in time was not. But you did it. After ten years, you did it. Now you have to live with the trauma.

Five years later, killing is still the only thing you know how to do, and the only thing you do best. In 2016, a vigilante named Daredevil stops you from killing a man who attacked you. He tells you that you can do better. You think maybe he’s right. But in 2017, Matt Murdock is in the darkest place in his life. When you show up to save him, he’s not exactly grateful. And when he finds out that you’re the best friend he grew up with in Saint Agnes that disappeared almost 20 years ago — things get even more complicated.

You’ll have to drag Matt out of the dark while being jaw-deep in it yourself. And you’ll have to try your best to do better — when Matt is trying his best to do worse.

Chapter Synopsis: The Avengers ask you to go undercover. Matt finally questions why you’re still with the Avengers when you’re no longer planning on killing Bucky.

Part 2 - Chapter Eighteen: Miss Congeniality A/N: Hey it turns out I have no idea how to write normal-length chapters anymore I just keep on talking until suddenly I’m in an 11k word fucking swamp Editing this felt like smashing my face against a brick wall 👍 Happy Daredevil Born Again Day!!!!!!!!!! A/N 2: I think in comic canon Steve and Clint speak Russian but just for plot sake let’s pretend the only Avengers who speak Russian are Bucky and Natasha.

You had a briefing meeting with the Avengers this morning, which was not unusual — but what was unusual was the tenseness of the room when you entered. 

The meeting table consisted of Fury, Steve, Bucky, and Clint. It was normal to have a mission that didn’t involve all the members of the team — different missions required different skills and sometimes multiple missions transpired at a time. Whether you tagged along on these missions depended on level of danger and security clearance. Some missions you flew in the jet with them and then waited for them to come back; others you stayed at the Tower and patched them up there. You were aware that Natasha was on a solo mission at the moment; Thor was on Asgard; and perhaps Tony and Bruce just weren’t needed for whatever this mission briefing was about.

The tenseness in the room was coming from Steve, who had his arms crossed and looked very unhappy. His eyes raised when you entered, and he gave you a tight smile.

“Please sit, Y/N,” Fury offered.

You got the feeling that a discussion had taken place before you got there. “I’m sorry, am I late? The notification said 9:15am.”

“No, you’re right on time,” Fury said. “But it just so happens that this briefing has to do with you.”

You willed your expression to remain calm. There was no way they could have found out the truth. You had covered all your tracks. You had been careful getting into this job, scrubbing your public background; you hadn’t made any slip-ups— This couldn’t be about that. There was no way. No way.

“Legally, I have to remind you that your job here is as the Avengers’ medic and you are not obligated to do anything further than that job description,” Fury began.

What the fuck? “Right. . .” you agreed, wanting him to get to the point.

Fury opened the folder in front of him and spun it around so you could see it. There was a picture of a man, clearly taken from far away. “You see this guy? He’s an underground arm’s dealer who we suspect has ties to Hydra. We need someone to go undercover and pose as a buyer who can get him to admit his less than savoury affiliations so we can arrest him.”

You internally loosed a breath of relief. It’s just a fucking sting operation. 

Wait. But what the fuck does that have to do with me?

“Right,” you said again. “That’s, uh, what is that, a ‘sting’ operation, right? They do that in cop shows.” Psh. Like you’d ever seen a procedural cop drama before. Although Foggy got you to watch some episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and that one was pretty good.

“The problem is, we need someone that he doesn’t know,” Fury continued.

Ah. That’s what this was about. “You want me to go undercover,” you concluded.

“You don’t have to,” Steve interjected. 

“That’s up to her,” Fury said.

Steve’s voice was firm as he continued, “She doesn’t need to be involved in this. She’s still recovering from what happened to her.”

Oh. That’s why he was so unhappy. He was thinking of when you were kidnapped and tortured.

Aw. That’s kind of sweet.

“And the three of you will be there to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Fury directed to Steve, Bucky, and Clint as if they’d already had this conversation and this was an exhausted reminder. He turned back to you. “No mission is without risks, and you are an untrained civilian. But I can’t understate the importance of this mission. If this guy is who we think he is, and we do, then we’ll be taking out a major player in Hydra’s operation. I can’t tell you anymore than that, but know that if we can arrest this guy, we’ll be saving a lot of people.”

“It doesn’t need to be her,” came Steve’s annoyed voice.

“It’ll be difficult to get anyone else on such short notice,” Fury said. “We have a small window of opportunity. Y/N, like I said before, you’re not obligated to do this, and it won’t affect your job if you say no. But. . .”

“Can I have some time to think about it?” Truthfully, you were giddy. A sting operation sounded really fun. Despite many of the Red Room’s more unsavoury missions, you did like going undercover. It was fun to play pretend. To trick people. But here you weren’t Y/N the ex-Red Room agent. You were Y/N the medic who had no formal undercover training. So you had to pretend like you needed time to think it over.

Steve nodded. “You can have as much time as you need.”

“You can have twelve hours,” Fury corrected. “Take the day off. Think it through.��

You nodded and stood.

Leaving the room, you noticed Steve catching up with you, and you paused walking down the hall. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You brought forth a mix of complicated feelings onto your face. “It does sound kind of scary.”

He nodded. “This kind of work isn’t easy.”

“But . . . you’ll be there, right?” you asked. “If something goes wrong. . .”

Steve rested his hands on your shoulders and looked you in the eyes. “If you do decide you want to do this, we won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

‘We’. The ‘we’ included Bucky Barnes.

The Winter Soldier.

Only bad things happened when he would come to the Red Room. 

Something . . . annoyed twinged in you. Crawled in your skin. 

The Doc’s words echoed in your mind: “You don’t like that the Avengers trust him to be in their group. How do you reconcile that with Steve’s ‘unshakeable morals’?”

You pushed at the memory. Tried to ignore it. 

You made yourself smile at Steve. “If you’re there, then I think it’ll be okay.”

Steve returned your smile, though still tinged with concern. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I’m sure.”

As it turned out, you were a quick study on the blind hand-to-hand combat.

Matt was a good teacher, and over time he got you to understand what it meant to fight with your body and not your eyes. 

And today, for the first time since you started, you won the fight.

You were sweating and exhausted but you kept it up, found the energy to keep going and concentrate and anticipate his moves the way you would if you could see them. It wasn’t perfect, and you still got hit a lot, but finally, finally , you managed to get Matt pinned in a Half Nelson — your body was under his with your legs wrapped around his waist and you had his head and one of his arms trapped in the hold. You kept the hold tight, not worried about hurting him (you wouldn’t want him to go easy on you, either), and after a few agonizing moments of keeping him pinned like that, he finally tapped out.

You let go with a rushed exhale. You both laid there for a moment, breathing laboured, Matt a heavy but not uncomfortable weight on top of you.

“Not bad,” came Matt’s voice.

“Not bad? Fuck you.”

You heard him chuckle, then felt his arm reach up and pull the blindfold off your eyes. Hallelujah, your sight had returned.

You remained lying on the mat, catching your breath, as Matt got up and off of you. After a moment, he came back into your line of sight and handed you a water bottle, which you took gratefully.

“You’re getting better,” Matt said as you drank. You handed him back the water bottle, and he took a swig himself. “What about trying blind teleporting?”

“Slow down there, cowboy,” you replied, unsure about the suggestion. 

“You’re a fast learner, Y/N. You pick things up like that.” He snapped his fingers. “You could do it if you tried; I know you could. And the way you incorporate teleporting into your fighting, it’s all instinct; all body. Everything we’ve been doing. Am I wrong?”

You had to be a fast learner. Learning quickly and your teleportation skill, those were the things that kept you alive. You were fifteen when you ended up at the Red Room — much older than they liked. The teleporting made you interesting enough to keep; and being a fast learner made you good enough to find your place there. They wouldn’t have just let you go if you were untrainable — they would have killed you. 

And so this new training, what you’d been doing with Matt. . . Since getting sober, it had been raising more of that fight-or-flight survival mode within you. More than once, you had to pause what you were doing to fight through a panic attack, which Matt patiently helped you through every time. Because with every wrong move, your body felt the memory, the sting of metal across your cheek. The threat of death that hung over your head should you make a mistake. 

The Winter Soldier was not as forgiving an instructor as Matt was. 

But . . . there was something about Matt’s encouragement that gave you . . . drive? Hope? It made you want to fight against the fear and keep going. If he believed in you . . . maybe you could believe in you, too.

Eugh. Cheesy.

He was also right. Teleporting large distances required concentration but you did learn to teleport on instinct in close-quarters hand-to-hand combat. Your body knew when to disappear and where to reappear the same way it knew when and where to land a punch or a kick. If you could fight on muscle memory alone, maybe you could do it with teleportation, too.

“Fine. Next time.” You took the water bottle back from his hand and took a large drink. Then, “Fury asked me to go on an undercover mission and I said yes.”

Panic rose sharply in Matt, like a knee-jerk reaction he couldn’t control. “ What? You’re a civilian, why the hell would they ask you to do that?” He thought of her, tortured and bloody in that abandoned parking lot, there because the Avengers didn’t have enough safeguards to protect her. 

There was something pleased in you over Matt’s worried reaction. You held up your hands, giving him a half-amused look. “Okay, breathe, and remember that I’m not actually a civilian. I would be fine. That being said . . . I could use Daredevil’s help on this. I’d like to keep my cover as a civilian and if things get sticky then I’d like you there to watch my back.”

Matt nodded, not hesitating to say, “Of course.” It would make him feel better if he was there, anyway. Not that he didn’t trust the Avengers to keep her safe, but it was easier to be reassured if he had control over the outcome. That being said, he wondered why she was asking for back-up in the first place. Wasn’t the Avenger she was dating going to be watching her back? “But isn’t Steve going to be there?”

Y/N gave a half-sigh. “I like Steve. He’s kind and honest. And also a great kisser. I have no doubt that he will do everything in his power to keep me safe. . . . But I’m also a realist. I don’t like taking chances. And you are still the only person I trust to keep me safe.”

Matt felt honoured every time she reaffirmed her trust in him, knowing how deeply it meant to her. But at the same time . . . something about it made him feel sad. That it was only him she trusted. “Y’know, I’m flattered every time you tell me that, but . . . shouldn’t that change at some point? Expand your circle of trust? If you could call one person a circle.”

She huffed. “Oh don’t you worry, that is a reoccurring conversation in the ole therapist’s office.”

He gave her a smile. There was some relief in that knowledge, at least. “Well, good.” Maybe the Doc could convince her that trusting people could be a good thing. “So. When and where do you need Daredevil?”

They prepped you as best they could without Natasha (the undercover expert, trained in the same place you were) there to give you pointers. Stay calm. We’ll be speaking to you through the comm in your ear. Touch your mouth if you need help with what to say next. We’ll be listening and watching the whole time. If you don’t think you can do it and want to end the conversation, thank him for hosting you and get up to leave. We’ll pull you out if there’s resistance. Remember that you’re a buyer — as far as he knows, he has no reason to hurt you. 

You were given some information and talking points to try to suss out his identity as Hydra, but other than that, you weren’t given much. They told you his alias was Alexander Smith, but couldn’t give you his real name for security reasons. 

They allowed you to pick an outfit you would be comfortable in, with the instructions that the dress code was business formal. So you chose a black dress that in the front appeared rather conservative, but was backless — you knew it would be sultry enough to catch the attention of any man and lower his guard.

The four of you (you, Steve, Bucky, Clint), were sitting in the sleek car with blacked-out windows as it pulled up to the meeting spot. You feigned nervous energy as the car came to a stop.

“Do you need me to go over it with you again, one more time?” Steve asked.

You took his hand in yours and shook your head, as if you were putting on a brave front. “I can do this.”

“Remember, we’ll be listening the whole time, and we have access to the security cameras so we’ll always have eyes on you,” Clint reassured you.

You gave him a nod. Then you squeezed Steve’s hand, kissed his cheek, and got out of the car.

As soon as you were out of sight of the Avengers, your expression dropped. This was what you were made to do.

Time to go to work.

You gave the security guards your alias (“Anastasia Lockhart”), and they led you inside. It was a fancy restaurant with many rich patrons enjoying their food as you were escorted by. You were not sat at any table in the restaurant itself, oh no. You were taken past the kitchens, to a secluded room at the very back, where you knew no restaurant goers would be able to hear any meeting mishaps. Like gunshots or screaming.

You knew Daredevil would already be in the building, listening for you and following your progress to the backroom. He’d be somewhere nearby, overhearing the conversation and ready to step in on a moment’s notice.

The man sitting at the table stood when you entered the room. “Ah, Miss Lockhart. Welcome.”

His face was familiar to you.

It nagged on the edge of your eidetic memory. You could usually place faces so easily, but for some reason you couldn’t place this one.

Putting a pin in that for now, you turned your back to Smith and took off your wrap, letting him get an eyeful of your bare back. You handed your wrap to an attendant, then turned back as Smith approached. 

You could see from the look in his eyes that the backless dress had the intended effect. He kissed your hand to greet you, then put a hand on your bare back and gestured to the table. “Please, sit.”

You approached the table and he pulled back the chair for you and pushed it in once you sat down. 

Dark crimson filling your glass caught your eye, the waiter pouring a glass of wine for you. With some effort, you peeled your eyes away and kept your hands very still on the table. 

Smith headed back to his seat at the other end. “[Maybe if I’m lucky she’ll let me fuck her after I close this deal],” he directed to the man standing at his right. “[Did you see her back? I’d pay her to let me come on that.]”

It wasn’t the vulgar words that bothered you — it wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard a hundred times before. 

It was the language.

Russian.

Outwardly, your expression never changed. But inside, you were being bombarded by memories — The ten years you lived where you only spoke Russian, the language of the Red Room. In your mind, Russian and the Red Room were one and the same. You couldn’t hear it without thinking of the other. That language could never be untangled from the horrors you suffered.

Your hand twitched to take the wine and down it. To calm down a little.

Hidden in the other room, Matt could hear Y/N’s heartbeat picking up. He couldn’t tell if it was the Russian that was bothering her or what they were saying — Unfortunately for Matt, he still didn’t speak asshole.

Hidden in the other, other room, Bucky grimaced at Smith’s derogatory words. He was thankful that Y/N didn’t speak Russian, because she didn’t deserve to be spoken about that way.

But Bucky was here to translate, and so Steve looked to him and asked, “What did he say?”

Bucky just gave his friend an uncomfortable look. “You really don’t want to know.”

Steve’s lips pressed in a tight line as he understood what Bucky was getting at. He looked back at the screen, tenser than he was before.

Your fingers traced the stem of the wine glass. Then you took a breath, slid your hand away, and said, “I’m sorry I don’t speak Russian. Although I hear Russia is beautiful this time of year. I regret I’ve never been.”

His eyes looked you up and down as he brought his wine glass to his lips. You clocked his age somewhere in his sixties. “Maybe one day I will take you.”

You gave him a coy smile. “Perhaps I would like that.” On to business. “So. You’re a salesman. Sell me something.” The way you spoke, your tone made it sound like you were asking him to go to bed with you.

“Oh come now. The night is young! I’d rather speak of other things first.” Now his tone was— You get the gist.

“I came here for a reason you know.” Your tone remained light and seductive, but firm. Like a game of push and pull. You were good at reading people — you had to be for your job. Former job. It was life or death. And this was the kind of man who liked being pushed. The kind of man who wanted a challenge. 

“You haven’t even touched your wine yet,” he pointed out. “Please; you’ll insult this poor man’s pride. I bring only the best and most expensive for my beautiful clients. At least a sip, hm?”

Matt’s hands tightened into fists. He was aware of the precarious situation Y/N was in — this guy was dangerous. And it was never a good idea to anger a dangerous man.

But . . . she had made so much progress. Matt knew what Y/N’s sobriety had done for her — and although the past two months had been really fucking difficult, Y/N had been more alive and herself lately than he’d seen. . . 

Since she disappeared. And maybe she wasn’t . . . happy, yet, but she was getting there.

And this one moment could undo all of that progress.

“Just take a sip, it’s okay,” you heard Clint’s voice in your ear. “He wouldn’t poison a potential client. Bad for business.”

You could take a sip. Just a sip. That wouldn’t be so bad, right? Just one sip. One little, little sip. You’d earned it, right? Two months of sobriety deserved a celebration. And you don’t want to piss off the scary Hydra arms dealer, right? Go on. 

Take a sip.

You picked up the glass of wine. Held the stem between your fingers, allowed the bowl to rest on your palm. Swirled the deep red inside. Once. Twice. Took a deep inhale. You were never a wine connoisseur so you couldn’t say what notes you were smelling, but it smelled good. Really good.

Then you took the glass of wine, and poured it out onto the floor next to you.

A look of shock crossed Smith’s face. You brought the wine glass back to sit on the table, then neatly folded your hands into your lap. “I don’t drink when I’m discussing business.”

Drinking the wine wouldn’t make you a challenge. If you wanted this sting to work, you needed to be a challenge.

There was a thick tension in the room, like the men around Smith and the waiters were holding their breath. Fearful of what would come next. 

Then he laughed. “I like you. You don’t let a man push you around. I prefer that in a woman.”

Translation: I like breaking my women in.

Hearing the wine spill onto the floor, Matt smiled to himself.

Good girl.

Steve exhaled sharply. That was a risky move that Y/N pulled off. He’d be proud if he wasn’t so tense.

“That was definitely one of the most insane things I’ve ever seen,” Clint commented. “But I respect the hell out of it.”

Steve felt Bucky’s hand on his shoulder. “She’s good at this,” he said, like a reassurance.

Steve nodded, his eyes glued to the screen. To Y/N. “Let’s hope she can keep being good at this.”

Smith snapped and gestured to one of his men. “Bring her the catalogue.”

A book was placed in front of you. You opened it to find pages of weapons and weapons and even more weapons. Now you were getting somewhere.

Smith leaned back as you perused. Turned to make another snide comment to his men. “[She looks just like a ballerina I used to know in Moskva].”

Your whole body locked up.

Ten years of Red Room training kept any expression off your face. You knew how to keep your appearance calm while everything screamed on the inside.

Slowly, you looked up.

You understood why he looked familiar now.

Alexei.

You couldn’t place him before because his face had aged too much. But you could see it now. The resemblance to the young man you knew.

The young KGB agent you knew.

1975. Twenty years old. KGB liked pairing Red Room agents with their own officers. They made for an effective team. 

First time you were spending hours of one on one time with someone who wasn’t another Widow, Madam Ilyukhina, the Winter Soldier, or a mark. 

You had five years of Red Room training then but you were still young and stupid. Alexei was dangerous. His special skill was torture. But he was nice to you. He saved you from one or two close calls. He had your back.

He was handsome.

And you were chasing a high you’d not had since you got to the Red Room: the ability to make your own choices. To choose who had access to your body. To choose who could touch you and kiss you. Sex had never felt like that before. As something to be enjoyed rather than as a tool to be used. 

And the other thing.

“Did you love him?”

“ Fuck. God, no. I may have been wrong about him but I wasn’t that wrong. For that I think I would have killed him.”

Alexei was not Russo. It was not just sex for you.

But he betrayed you.

You should have seen it coming. But you were young and naive and blinded by love and the taste of freedom. The thought that you could get out, the two of you, and live some kind of happily ever after with the parts of your soul you still had left.

He was not your Prince Charming. He was a KGB agent. He worked for the Russian government. He worked for the Red Room. 

But what did kindness taste like to someone who had only known blood in their mouth for the past five years? You couldn’t taste the danger. You should have known better, but there was sweet in the bitter and you’d been starving for it for so long.

You had asked him to run away with you and he turned you into the Red Room.

It took everything you had in this moment to remember the promise you’d made to Matt, to yourself — the reason you didn’t kill anymore. It would be so easy. It would be so easy to teleport over to him and stick a knife in his neck. So so easy. 

Y/N’s heart rate spiked up, hard. Matt couldn’t understand the Russian but whatever Smith said hit something deep in her.

Matt prepared himself for a fight. If things were about to get dicey, he’d be ready.

You struggled harder to compartmentalize without the alcohol. Without the drugs. The promise you made was there, pushing, reminding, but fuck you wished there was a caveat. An asterisk. An addendum, an exception — no killing except for him . No killing except for this man who betrayed and broke your trust worse than Billy Russo. Who stole your one chance at freedom and threw you back into the shackles of the Red Room. 

The torture had been so bad. When you got back.

However.

You knew the one person you wanted to be your exception, and it wasn’t Alexei Matorin.

It was always in the back of your thoughts, ever since you got sober. That maybe you could change your mind. That maybe you could still kill him and move on with your life.

Bucky.

“Matt would forgive you. But would you forgive yourself?”

You didn’t have an answer for that yet. But now was not the time to make that choice.

Alexei Matorin was sitting in front of you, and you had a mission to fulfill for the Avengers. 

Or you were going to kill him. Hm.

The memories were flaring vivid and unsuppressed and he was right there — right here, right within arms length, and you never got your chance at revenge before. 

Kill him; don’t kill him; kill him; don’t kill him; this is like the most fucked up version of ‘He loves me he loves me not’ I’ve ever played.

For now, at least, it was outside of everyone’s best interests to make a scene. Maybe you could fulfill the Avengers’ mission and still kill-him-not-kill-him.

You returned your attention to the catalogue of weapons. “These are impressive,” you conceded, like you weren’t talking about his weapons. “But.” You leaned back in your chair, leveling his gaze with your own. “I was hoping for something a little more . . . advanced than this.”

“I promise you, Malishka, these are the most advanced on the market,” Alexei said with a hand over his heart. 

Baby girl. The Russian term turned your stomach, too many bad memories associated with it to count — but you refused to let it distract you. “Ah, but I heard a rumour,” you continued. “That you have tech. From Dr Arnim Zola.” 

Alexei’s friendly expression faded. “And where did you hear such a rumour?”

You didn’t answer his question. “Is it true?”

“If it was, I’d be a very rich man indeed.”

You didn’t blink. “Aren’t you? Alexe-ander?” You pushed the pronunciation of the first half of his alias name, beginning with just a hint of Russian accent and ending with your regular American accent. 

He stood suddenly. Walked to your side of the table. Towered over you.

Maybe the name was pushing it too far.

“[Do you know something you shouldn’t, Malishka?]” Alexei asked you in Russian.

You gave him no indication that you understood what he said. “Is that Russian for, ‘Yes, of course, Pretty Face, I’ll give you anything you want?” you asked sweetly, keeping up the ruse.

Alexei was unamused. “[Kill her.]”

Your expression did not change. You knew this was a test — he wanted to know if you spoke Russian. If you were a bigger threat than he first observed. If you really spoke Russian, and if you were really stupid, you’d flinch at his command and move to protect yourself.

You did speak Russian but you were not stupid. You blinked at him like you still didn’t understand, then gave an annoyed sigh. “Look, if you don’t want to sell me the Hydra tech, there are others I can buy it from.” You stood, one hand still resting on the table. It was inches from the steak knife. Your fingers itched to move, but you kept them still. “Though I’m sure they won’t be as sweet to me as you are.” You gave him that flirtatious smile once again.

Finally, his suspicious look melted. “Perhaps I could make an exception. If you made it worth my while, of course.”

The insinuation was clear. You laid a hand on his chest. “I’m sure we could come to some kind of agreement.”

“Sergei,” he said with a snap of his fingers, “bring Miss Lockhart the red catalogue.”

Finally. Now you were getting somewhere.

“[Kill her.]”

Bucky stood in an immediate panic as he watched the screen, the Russian crystal clear in his ears. 

“We have to get her out, now — Now!”

You were seconds away from the Hydra weapons catalogue being placed in your hands — when suddenly Steve, Bucky, and Clint burst into the room with their weapons up.

Alexei’s arm snatched around your waist, pulling your back to his chest. You felt him dig painfully deep in your ear, pulling out the comm.

“Suka,” he hissed. Not the first time someone called you a bitch in Russian. Alexei threw the comm on the ground and stepped on it.

The next second, sharp metal pressed to your neck under your jaw. The fucking steak knife.

“Put your weapons down,” Alexei said slowly. “Or I’ll spill her blood all over this floor.”

You knew he’d do it. You’d seen him do it many times.

Steve, expression tight, waved his hand and Bucky and Clint lowered their weapons. “You can go. Just don’t hurt her.”

Alexei slowly moved backwards, keeping you bound to him. Back and back, you passed his goons who all had their guns out, now. Further, you went through the door at the back of the room, where even more goons were assembling in the hallway behind.

Matt, you’ve got your goddamn work cut out for you.

The door closed with Steve’s face being the last thing you saw — And then all the lights went out.

Very suddenly there was another presence in front of you — you felt the knife leave your neck, felt Alexei get knocked back behind you as you were snatched into the arms of the other.

The grooves of the suit were familiar under your hands as you steadied yourself on Matt’s shoulders, his hands secure on your waist.

“My hero~” you crooned with a smile you knew he could sense.

You could hear the shouting of the blinded, disoriented men around you. “Are you going to help or are you just going to stand and look pretty?” Matt asked.

“You don’t know what I look like,” you teased. “Maybe I’ll stand and look ugly.”

“I know what you look like,” he threw back. “I can hear the accelerated heartbeat of every man that can see you.”

This promoted a strangely satisfied feeling in your chest. “Well maybe I’m just that ugly.”

You suddenly felt Matt’s arms band around your middle and bring you flush against him, picking you up and moving you to his other side where your back pressed against the wall. A few months of blind combat training told you he just narrowly saved you from a goon slashing blindly in the dark. 

Matt was so close to you in the dark that his breath fanned your face when he spoke. “In thirty seconds the back-up lights are going to turn on,” he said. “If you’re going to disappear, you better do it now.”

You nodded, and let yourself vanish.

By the time you returned after swapping your undercover look for fighting clothes and the wolf mask, the hallway was bathed in red backup lights and the fighting was in full swing. 

You teleported to Daredevil’s back, offering support as he was fighting off at least fifteen guys on his own.

“Didn’t think you could fight in the dress, huh?” Matt teased as you were busy smashing your elbow into a goon’s face. Matt parried himself and gave a goon a sharp right hook. “Y’know, you once said you could fight me in just your heels.”

“You want me to fight you naked in heels? Bring back the black suit, Mr Practicality.”

You disarmed one of the men and smashed the gun into his face — but movement at the end of the hall caught your attention.

Alexei.

You are not getting away this time, fuckface.

You teleported to him and slammed your body into his, knocking him to the ground. Surprise and the blow disoriented him — he reached for the gun at his belt but you easily kicked it out of his hand. 

Alexei was once a skilled KGB agent. Fighter. Torturer. But he was no longer as young as he once was, and you had only gotten stronger since the last time you saw him.

You kneeled on his chest and hit him. 

Over. 

And over. 

And over. 

And over.

And over.

The blood on Alexei’s face looked almost black under the red light.

You’d always thought he bled that colour, anyway.

“[Did you miss me, Alexei?]” you asked him in Russian, pressing one of your knives against his throat. “[Because I missed you. So much.]”

Even under the red light, you could see the gears turning in his mind. He watched you teleport. You doubted he knew anyone else who could do that. It was your most prized skill in the Red Room. 

His eyes were wide and his mouth was full of blood and disbelief. “[Little Wolf?]”

You pressed the knife harder against his throat, drawing blood. “[You left me in the Red Room to die. Did you think I would not come for you?]”

And you relished the fear in his eyes.

It was Y/N speaking in Russian that caught Matt’s attention. He’d sensed her go after Smith, expected her to rough him up a bit (or a lot), and then tie him up for the Avengers. But she wasn’t. 

Matt couldn’t understand what she was saying but he could understand everything else — Her heart hammering against her ribcage, her hissed words, the tension in her body, and the knife against Smith’s throat.

There was something very personal about this.

Was she— 

Was she about to cross that line?

You wanted to. You wanted to more than anything else here, in this moment, right here, with Alexei underneath you, with your knife right where you wanted it, where you only needed to press a little harder and it could be done with. You could finally be done with him. Show him that there were consequences for hurting you. And let him rot in Hell where he belonged.

But.

Your hand stayed frozen in place. Kept the knife at his throat but not in his throat. 

It was Matt’s words that echoed in your mind.

You shouldn’t have to give up a part of your soul for him.

You were angrier that you had ever felt and you were that hot, burning pyre again, destroying and purifying everything in your path and you wanted this chapter of your life over and done with and you wanted him dead and he deserved to be dead and buried and rotting—

But you did not deserve to lose more pieces of your soul. 

You wouldn’t let him take another piece.

So as much as you wanted to, you wouldn’t kill him.

But you would make him suffer.

Bucky, Steve, and Clint finally burst through the doors in the hallway after taking down the men in the small dining room— And there was a man in the hallway who seemed to be fighting Smith’s goons and doing a good job of it.

Not any man, Bucky realized as the three of them began helping take the goons down — Daredevil. He was surprised to see the vigilante again, here of all places, but that was lower on the list of priorities than finding Y/N and making sure she was okay.

Bucky’s eyes scanned the hallway, looking for Y/N, looking for Smith—

And a terrible yowling filled all their ears, coming from the back, as a second vigilante figure with a wolf mask began stabbing her knife into Smith’s eyes.

Bucky watched her as she finished, methodically wiping the blood from her knife and replacing it in her sheath. And next—

She suddenly disappeared and reappeared before his eyes, joining the four of them in the fighting. 

And watching her fight. . .

He knew that fighting style anywhere. 

He’d seen it in Nat.

In his own memories.

Widow.

By the time all the men were either unconscious or groaning in pain, the power system in the building had finally rebooted and the lights were back on.

You stalked back to Alexei, where he was still shouting and crying over the bloody mess that was once his eyes. He wasn’t dead, but . . . you found there was something so much more satisfying about this. His blood on your hands, the eyes you had taken, the prison he’d rot in until his natural death — It was better than ending it quick. Let him suffer long and painfully until the true end.

“Y/N — Where is she?” Captain America asked Daredevil.

“Don’t worry; she’s safe,” Matt answered, then continued with the lie, “I hid her in a storage room down the hall. She’s uninjured.” He tilted his head as he listened to Y/N tie up Smith and then drag his body over to the Avengers.

She didn’t kill him. He didn’t know who this person was to her, but he felt proud of her for not doing it. To continue to uphold the promise she made to him.

“Thank you, for helping,” Steve said. “But . . . what are you doing here?”

“We’re here on our own business,” Daredevil answered vaguely. “We’d been tracking this guy for a while. I didn’t know Y/N was going to be here.”

“You brought a Widow here?” said the archer Matt hadn’t met before. He wasn’t one of the Avengers that was there when Y/N was kidnapped. Hawkeye, Matt remembered. Clint Barton. Y/N mentioned him before. He was close with Natasha Romanoff, so it made sense that he recognized a Widow’s fighting style. “Widows are not good company to keep.”

Anger itched within Matt. He gave Hawkeye a tight smile and kept his voice cold. “Pot. Kettle.”

“Natasha has proven herself to SHIELD and to us,” Hawkeye replied with arms crossed. “She’s reformed.” He gestured to Y/N. “I don’t know this person.”

“You don’t have to know her. I do.”

Hawkeye gestured to Smith, tied up and bleeding on the floor in front of them. “She stabbed out his eyes!” 

“Maybe he deserved it.” The approval and satisfaction was clear in Matt’s voice. “Look, we’re done here, so it really doesn’t matter what you think.”

But Hawkeye wasn’t letting up. “It matters because you brought a Black Widow assassin to help save our friend. I don’t trust a Widow with that, not one that Natasha hasn’t vetted first.”

“I told you, we didn’t come here to save your medic, we came here on our own business,” Matt continued to lie.

Hawkeye shook his head. “Pretty big coincidence you show up twice to help her. Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care what you believe. And for the record, this Widow saved your friend’s life. You should thank her.”

As you stood there and took all of this, let Matt defend you, you grew angrier.

And angrier.

Trust? He wanted to talk about trust? Look who was standing right next to him. Look who they were fucking trusting. Your skin was crawling. How was this fair? 

(You didn’t get to kill Alexei. And although you were ultimately happy with your decision, there was still a lot of unspent rage within you. Retribution with nowhere to put it. You tore out Alexei’s eyes and that was good, that felt good and bloody and angry but it wasn’t enough. And now? Now you had to stand in front of the Avengers, in front of the Winter Soldier, and listen to them talk about not trusting you?)

“Could have done without the mutilation,” Bucky said under his breath. He was honestly sympathetic to her. He could relate to being raised and honed as a weapon — and then getting out. But it wasn’t without its adjustment periods. Learning how much violence was socially acceptable was one of those adjustments. 

He felt the attention shift to him and his comment.

Bucky sighed. “Look, I would have liked to have stabbed his eyes out myself,” he admitted, thinking of Y/N, thinking of the dirty words Smith said about her and the knife he pressed to her neck, “but that’s just not how things are done here.”

Something snapped in you. “[I didn’t kill him; that’s good enough],” you seethed to him in Russian.

He blinked at you, like he didn’t expect you to speak, or he didn’t expect you to address him in Russian. “[There’s due process here. That’s how justice is served.]”

“Justice?” The word shocked you enough to switch back to English. You barked a laugh, something that was not funny or amused. It was dark. Heavy. A cold frustration seeped into your bones. “Justice. Trust. You want to talk about trust? How about the Avengers trusting Hydra’s attack dog not to bite them or anyone else?” (You were trusting that your tone was different enough from your fakey medic voice that none of the Avengers recognized it. Or maybe, you simply didn’t care.)

Steve moved between you and Bucky, taking a step toward you. “Bucky was brainwashed by Hydra. None of what he did was his fault.”

Hot hot rage burned up and up and up— Hot and uncomfortable, like a broken furnace you couldn’t turn off. Tears ran down your face behind your mask. “Yeah?” How ignorant. How dismissive. Was he there for any of it? Did he deal with bruises and broken bones and scars that wouldn’t go away? Felt the hauntings of the mindless, emotionless monster who stalked the corner of the room? Felt the fear? The terror that only a child could feel? A snarl entered your voice in a way you’d never spoken to Steve before. “Tell that to all the little girls he hurt in the Red Room.”

A heavy silence followed your words. Then, “What are you talking about?”

You teleported past Steve so you could face Bucky again, so you could point your finger in his chest and make him get it. “ You should watch your back.” There was so much malice in your tone, like saliva dripping from the maw of a snarling wolf. “Because so many of those little girls you beat and you broke are not little girls anymore. They’re highly trained and out for blood and they don’t care if you’ve been absolved for the things you’ve done.”

Bucky stared at the Widow with wide eyes. 

He searched his memories.

And he came up with things he wished he could forget. He wished he could forget yet knew he could not allow himself to.

He knew she wasn’t lying. Not only from his own memories, but by the anger — the pain in her voice.

Little girls.

Something was very very broken inside him.

You felt Steve grab your arm and rip your attention back to him.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning,” you growled. “You’re lucky I made a promise not to kill anymore. Or I would have put him down myself.” And then, because you knew Matt wouldn’t understand, you added, “[Maybe I still will.]”

“I’m sorry.”

You slowly looked back to Bucky. He looked. . .

The Winter Soldier never showed any emotion. 

But Bucky, he looked. . .

His eyes. . . 

(Sad. Guilty. Broken.)

(His eyes had tears in them.)

A symphony of cognitive dissonance rang through your head but you refused, you refused to feel . . . to feel . . . anything, any sympathy or empathy or . . . or . . . No. There was too much fear and pain and anger — He had hurt you, and when you looked at him all you could see was everything the Red Room had done to you, everything that— All of it— And one little apology wasn’t going to—

You could still feel the bruises. Still taste the metal. No. No. “Tell it to your God. You won’t find any forgiveness here.”

You turned and walked away, walked down the hallway and through the next door, and you could feel Matt on your heels but you just kept walking, until you were out of sight and out of mind of the Avengers and him.

Why did the Avengers blindly trust him? Call him friend? Let him go on missions with them? Why wasn’t he punished for what he did? Why did Steve protect him? Wasn’t he good? Wasn’t he kind and pure and a better man than you believed even existed— Why was he doing this? Didn’t he care? About you, about anyone else that the Winter Soldier had hurt?

IT WASN’T FAIR

COULDN’T THEY SEE IT?

HOW COULD THEY LOOK PAST ALL OF IT?

LIKE IT DIDN’T MATTER?

LIKE NONE OF IT—

ANY OF IT—

ALL THAT YOU—

EVERYTHING THAT YOU—

THE PAIN AND THE BLOOD AND EVERYTHING ELSE—

HOW COULD THEY JUST PRETEND LIKE NONE OF IT MATTERED

HOW COULD THEY

HOW COULD THEY?!

You screamed and slammed your fist into the wall, all your frustration and anger oozing out of everything and turning the world red and you just needed to hurt something—

But that something was only you as the contact spiked sharp pain through your hand. You hissed and took it back, cradling it as you leaned against the wall and breathed.

And breathed.

Matt stood by, waiting. He knew Y/N was an explosive pyre right now, he knew because he’d felt it for himself too many times before. He’d give her a moment if she needed it. And he’d step in once she needed him, too.

But she didn’t ask him for comfort. “Go home.” Matt recognized the post-anger coldness in her voice. Had used that tone himself. “I have to go back as the civilian or they’ll wonder where I am.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea right now?”

“If I don’t go back now, then—”

“Why go back at all?” Matt interrupted her, incredulous. He didn’t bother masking his frustration with her this time. He needed answers and she was just going to have to take it. “Why are you doing this? You’re not doing it to kill Bucky Barnes anymore, and I don’t believe that you’re doing it just because you’re bored.”

You knew Matt was getting at something that you hadn’t quite reconciled with even yourself yet. 

You were tired.

“I don’t have an answer for you right now. I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

You didn’t give Matt a chance to respond to you as you disappeared. Got yourself dressed back up. Headed back to that hallway. 

You didn’t bother to mask the tears or the vacant expression on your face as you found your way back to the Avengers. 

Steve rushed to you when he spotted you. He checked you over for injuries, then brought you into his arms.

And as you stared over his shoulder, your empty look was reflected in Bucky’s eyes.

When Matt didn’t hear from Y/N after the mission, he left her a voicemail inviting her to go out with him and Foggy and Karen after work the next night. He worried about her throughout the work day, and was just finishing at his desk when Y/N finally showed.

He felt relief for a moment, but confusion the next — His head tilted as he took in her attire. She seemed somewhat overdressed for going to Josie’s with friends.

“I appreciate the invite, Murdock, but I’m gonna have to rain-check you,” Y/N said, with a sort of forced casualness. “I’ve got a date with the Captain.”

Frustration flared within him. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Matt sensed Karen and Foggy exchange looks. “We’re gonna wait outside,” Foggy said, and the two headed out.

Y/N crossed her arms. “I never kid about going on dates with hot people.”

“Yesterday you were in an argument with him.” He couldn’t believe she was going on a date with him only a day after she’d yelled at him, her heart beating loudly in her chest, tears running down her face, the anger practically spilling out of every part of her. Going on a date with him like it never even happened.

“No, the Wolf of Hell’s Kitchen was in an argument with him. You should understand, you practically invented compartmentalization.”

Matt stood from his desk to walk over to her. To speak to her face-to-face and give her a reality check. 

It was concern that was at the forefront, but . . . there was also . . . an anger there, sitting on Matt’s chest. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge. It was ugly. Unfair.

Possessive.

So he ignored it, refused to reflect on it, and continued with what really mattered. “His best friend is the man who hurt you. Who you were planning on killing. Tell me how this makes sense.”

You felt yourself getting worked up again. You knew coming here that Matt wouldn’t approve but you needed him to understand. Needed him to look at it from your perspective. “He’s good, Matt,” you said. “Like genuinely good and kind. And safe. Do you know how rare that is? Do you know how many men out there are like that? They aren’t.” You took a breath, the anger starting to spill out again. You needed him to understand. You needed someone to understand. So you would give him an example. “Do you know who it is that we fought last night? I knew him. We used to run missions for the Red Room together. I used to watch him torture people. Strip skin off their bodies. And still I thought I could trust him. Hell, I let him fuck me — I didn’t have a lot of choices in the Red Room but that one was mine. I thought I was in love with him. I wanted to run away with him. I asked him to. And do you know what he did? He turned me in to the Red Room as soon as the mission was over. ‘Cause he was a fucking KGB agent and I was an idiot for trusting him. And after everything—”

Here your voice broke. Here the emotion, the everything that was not anger, creeped in and you could not stop it. Could not stop your eidetic memory from bringing everything to the forefront.

The red room.

“After all that I—” you tried again, but your voice cut out. Your breath came out as unstable as your mind, and you scrambled to shove the pieces of yourself back together in something that at least resembled a person. “I just need this one thing. This one thing in my life that is unstained with blood. And maybe even I don’t get it.” A small laugh left your mouth, though none of this was funny. “Maybe even I don’t know why I’m doing this.” 

That was the real confession. Did you even know what you were doing with your life now? Did you even know how to live a real life after the Red Room? Maybe not. Maybe you were trying. Maybe you were doing a bad job of it.

You were just trying to keep yourself alive.

“But I know that I like him,” you continued. “He’s nice.” The word hurt. It hurt because so much of your life had not been synonymous with it. “Maybe that’s just what I need right now.”

It felt empty to hear. Every time a reminder of what Y/N had been through came up, it brought such a hollowness to Matt’s chest.

No wonder she’d almost killed Smith that night. Matt would have put him in a coma himself if he knew. Would have broken all 206 bones in his body, one by one. Would have brought him closer to death than any other lowlife he’d ever beaten. Within an inch of his life was too good for him — He’d give him half an inch. A quarter. An eighth. For hurting Y/N, he’d make suffering an art.

And now Smith had Y/N believing that Steve was her only chance at a safe relationship. Not a good relationship, not a healthy or satisfying relationship, but a safe one. The goddamn bare fucking minimum.

And although Matt still thought that all of this was a terrible idea, that dating Steve was going to end badly when he didn’t know the real Y/N and she once planned to kill his best friend and his best friend was someone who would always be around and someone who hurt Y/N and who she hated in ways that were irreconcilable with Steve’s own feelings— Despite all of that, Matt could understand her wanting . . . some peace. Wanting someone she knew wasn’t going to hurt her. Wanting someone that maybe she could one day trust.

And although Matt didn’t think it was a good idea, he also knew that Y/N was healing from unspeakable acts of violence. Healing from so many horrible things that even he didn’t know about. 

And there were much, much worse ways she could cope than dating Captain America.

Hands on his hips, Matt finally sighed, long and slow. “Okay.”

You couldn’t stifle the small gasping sob that left your mouth. You wished you didn’t have to be sober for this. You hated feeling like this — like everything was so open and raw. Like you were one flash of traumatic memory away from crying at any moment.

You harshly rubbed the tears from your eyes and your face and regretted it the next second. “I know you can’t see it, but you ruined my makeup.” You tried to make your tone light, but your voice just sounded sad. “I can’t be late. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Matt’s jaw worked, but he didn’t say anything else other than, “Yeah.”

It twinged something hurtful in you. That part of you that cared too damn much about what Matt thought. “We’re okay, right?”

Matt’s hands left his hips and his expression softened.

She thought he was mad at her.

Maybe he was, a little. Mad, that is, but not at her, not really. He was just . . . frustrated. Because he was concerned. 

(Still he refused to acknowledge the ugly feeling sitting on his chest.

Refused to acknowledge why it was there.

And why it was making him feel so. . .

Angry. In a different kind of way.)

But hearing her ask if they were okay, like she didn’t know the answer. . . With all that she’d been through . . . maybe he needed to stow the anger for once. 

This was not about him.

“Yeah,” he replied, in a gentler tone than before. “We’re okay.”

Your eyes caught on the red bruise on his cheekbone, just under his glasses. You thought of how you asked for his help and he gave it without hesitation.

Without thinking, you reached up and touched his face, gently running your fingers over the bruise on his cheek. 

“Thank you for being there,” you said, your voice a little bit quieter than it was before.

His own hand reached out and cupped your face, his thumb catching a stray tear as it brushed over your cheek. “Of course.” 

When was the last time someone had brushed your tears away for you? You couldn’t remember.

Oh, but it was him, wasn’t it? Matt, a lifetime ago.

And now, here he was, a lifetime and too many horrors to count later. Still his hand wiping away your tears. Lingering longer than necessary. Thumb stroking over your cheek a second time.

Again, you were struck by the sensation that touch was different now that you were sober. Or maybe it was just that it had been too long since you were held gently. Carefully. By someone who didn’t want to break you.

Someone who doesn’t want to break you is waiting for you right now.

You slowly lowered your hand and Matt followed suit. “I have to—”

“Yeah.”

You fought through the strange discomfort you were suddenly feeling and asked, “You’re still going to be my date to Tony’s party, right?”

He gave you a small smile. “I did promise. And you held up your end of the deal.”

Right. Being sober. That deal felt like a thousand years ago, now. You’d almost forgotten that’s why you decided to do this. Get sober. Be sober.

Suffer through it to get . . . I don’t know. Better? Is it better?

Then Matt added, “I’m proud of you for not taking that drink.”

You closed your eyes. You could still see the glass of wine in front of you, the clear excuse you had to drink it. “I wanted to,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he said quietly back.

When you opened your eyes again, you didn’t see him but rather all that you had still not told him. All that he could not understand because you had not told him. And you felt the wall rising between you and him and you’d pulled so many of them down for him already but this one, this wall, you didn’t have the strength to take apart yet. 

There were too many handprints on the inside.

Matt knew she was wrestling with something. The ends to the sentences she could not finish. 

And after everything— 

After all that I—

He wanted to know. He wanted to know everything but he knew that she needed time. Time to sort through fifteen years of horrors he couldn’t even imagine.

Finally, she said, “So I’ll see you at Josie’s tomorrow?”

He gave her a gentle smile, even though he could feel the tightness in it. There was still so much left unsaid. Still so much about this whole situation with Steve Rogers and the Avengers that he disapproved of. And he didn’t know how to make her see that it would end messy. That she would hurt more than it was worth. “I’ll kick your ass in pool.”

And he could hear the hollowness in her voice as she replied, “You wish.”

Your date with Steve was fine. If he noticed you were in a mood, he didn’t say anything about it. After all, you'd just been through an ordeal on the mission; not being at 100% made sense from his perspective.

After, you went to your apartment, and you called Karen to come over.

For once, you just wanted to talk to someone other than Matt. Your argument with him had ended and you’d assured that things were okay between you two, but there was still so much . . . anger there. Anger you didn’t know what to do with. Matt was your best friend, your family — but you could tell he wasn’t getting it. And you didn’t know how to make him get it without. . .

Telling him everything. Everything he didn’t know about the Red Room. 

You just weren’t ready.

You weren’t ready for him to know that part yet.

When Karen showed up, you invited her in and sat on the bed of your studio apartment with a groan.

“Matt and I had an argument.”

She sat down next to you with a look that said she figured. “Mm. That’s why he’s been grumpy.”

Looks like you weren’t the only one who did a bad job at burying the anger. “He doesn’t like that I’m dating Steve Rogers.”

She hummed and said nothing more, like she was waiting for you to explain. 

“He thinks it’s a bad idea,” you continued, “because of the whole, y’know, lying to the Avengers about my entire identity thing, but— He just . . . he doesn’t understand. Steve is the first real good guy that I have ever met. That just doesn’t happen. It’s like a miracle, y’know?” You paused, taking a breath. “There was a guy we dealt with yesterday. Me and Matt. He was from my past. A . . . well, for lack of a better term, ex . He was a KGB agent.” Karen’s eyes grew wide, but she said nothing. “Which about sums up my dating history. And it ended. . .” 

You could still feel the high pressure, ice cold water pounding at your bare body, the torture you endured for attempting to defect.

“It ended,” you finished, letting Karen fill in the gaps for herself. “I can’t let myself trust someone like that again. I need Matt to understand that, I need—” You rubbed your eyes, feeling very very tired all of the sudden. “I need a fucking drink. I need a fucking Percocet.”

There was silence for what felt like a long time.

“Y’know, I had this boyfriend when I was nineteen.”

You took your hands from your face and looked at Karen when she spoke.

“I was in a really shitty place in my life,” she continued. “My mom was gone and the only thing we had left of her was this crappy diner that was going belly-up in a dead-end town that I couldn’t leave because it meant leaving her behind. So I was . . . making a lot of bad decisions back then. The guy I dated was a coke-dealer. My life then felt so fucking unlivable but when I was high, or when I was drunk, it was bearable.”

You didn’t just understand — you’d lived it for yourself.

She went on, “I was so far gone. And I was so angry. I was okay with destroying pieces of myself but I didn’t realize the way it was hurting the people around me. My brother. . .” her voice caught in her throat, like the emotion was finally catching up with her, but she pushed forward, “. . .he tried to help me. Tried to get me to stop with the drug dealing and the shitty boyfriend and so he burned the shitty boyfriend’s trailer and the shitty boyfriend tried to kill him. But it wasn’t the shitty boyfriend who killed him. It was me. Because I was driving drunk and coked out of my mind and I crashed the car with both of us in it.”

She took a moment and you let her, let her have all the silence she needed. All the time in the world. 

“I stopped with the drugs after that. Tried not to drink as much. Because I can’t ever take it back.” She scrubbed a stray tear from her cheek. “But shit. Sometimes I just want to go back. To being numb. To spending hours where I don’t have to think about . . . all of it.” She turned and looked at you. Really looked at you. “So I get it. I really get it.”

You held her eyes, knowing too goddamn intimately exactly what she was talking about. “I’m really sorry, Karen.”

She took a breath and wiped her nose. Then said, “But I also think there’s such a thing as over-correcting. Being too careful. I get wanting to go for the good guy. Hell, I think part of the reason I liked Matt was because he was good. He was a lawyer. He defended people who needed help. Maybe the blind thing made him seem harmless — that’s probably a bad thing to say, but. . . But I was wrong. I mean, Matt is good, but . . . it was complicated between us. He wasn’t exactly the person I thought he was, and— Ugh.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “This is not the point I’m trying to make. I’m not trying to say that all men are secretly bad, though I get feeling that way. What I’m trying to say is . . . maybe knowing that someone isn’t going to hurt you isn’t the only thing you want out of a relationship.”

You were quiet, letting her words sink in.

You could make it more than that.

If Steve Rogers was your only shot, your only shot to be with someone who believed you were good and kind and harmless, to be with someone safe, then you could make it more than that. You could make it work.

So instead you simply said, “You’re a good friend, Karen.”

She gave you a smile. Even dimmed, it was radiant as always. You took a moment to study her face, her eyes, her beautiful strawberry-blonde hair.

“. . .Are you sure you’re straight?”

The question seemed to catch her off guard and she laughed through her nose. “Unfortunately, yes.”

You laid back on the bed with a dramatic sigh. “This would be so much easier if you weren’t straight.”

Karen laughed again. “Why? Because you’d date me instead?”

“Yes, obviously.”

She breathed another light laugh through her nose and shook her head. There was silence for a moment, and you watched some gears turning behind Karen’s eyes. “Do you think that maybe Matt doesn’t want you dating Steve because he. . .” 

You lifted your body to rest on your elbows, raising your eyebrows at her and waiting for her to finish her sentence.

But she bailed on whatever she was going to say and shook her head instead. “Never mind.”

You sat up fully. “Because he what?”

Because maybe he’s jealous, was what Karen wanted to say. Because you two smile at each other like there’s no one else. Because it’s so painfully obvious even though clearly you two haven’t figured it out yet.

But she knew she couldn’t say that. It wasn’t her place to interfere in their relationship.

So instead, she landed on, “I just think Matt is worried about you.”

Y/N sighed, fortunately buying it. She rubbed her eyes. “Yeah. I know.” After a moment, she raised her head again. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

Karen smiled at her and nodded. “Yes, I would like that.”

Next Chapter

Tag List: @stupidiout100 @coff3e-and-biscuits @caswinchester2000 @waywardsister1111 @ummvengers @asongofmarvelanddc @1971marauders @krazy-katt-lady @flowercrowns3438 @takethee @lov3vivian @burn-crash-rqmance @readers-posts @badbishsblog

[thesoftboiledegg]

Nothing could have prepared me for the plot of "Wet Kuat Amortican Summer." The title reveal made it look like a mindblowers episode. The cold open looked like the setup for standard Summer and Morty shenanigans. Turns out, we were in for a "Taken"/"Total Recall" mashup parody--and since I've never seen "Total Recall," I had to pause the episode to learn what a Kuato is.

I guess this "Unmortricken" scene wasn't just a gag; it was foreshadowing.

It never fails: when Beth, Space Beth or Summer enter the room, the word "no" leaves Rick's vocabulary. He might sigh, roll his eyes, demand favors or pretend that he has better things to do, but outright refuse? Whether Summer's demanding gadgets or Beth's probing him with tongs, Rick always gives in.

He bickers with Summer, but he also approves her choice of gadget, trusts her with important tasks and eggs her on when she teases Morty. He trusts her instincts in the fight between Morty and the Kuato on the boat and believes her when she relays Morty's thoughts.

Like grandfather, like granddaughter: Rick beats up a bunch of guys for information only to run into Summer doing the same thing on Morty's behalf. He never has to worry about her.

They have a blast working together, too. Rick banters with her, shows off his tools, announces that he wants to kick down a door (bad idea) and flat-out says "I treat you like an equal because I respect you." We knew that, but it's rewarding to see Rick say it outright. He's starting to realize that it's OK to tell people that he cares.

Likewise, Rick's trauma is changing. He's showing "normal" signs of depression, i.e. drinking until he falls asleep on the couch. That's still unhealthy, but since past meltdowns involves murderous sci-fi rampages, maybe he's remembering what it's like to feel human.

I was a little disappointed that the story sidelined Morty again. Still, he took charge when he had the chance, even as a weird mutant larva. The series tends to forget that Morty and Summer are teenagers, so I've enjoyed revisiting their high school and seeing characters that had disappeared a few seasons ago.

Summer's a delight to watch because she's unstoppable. She jumps into wacky situations and rolls with whatever life throws at her. Rick doesn't just respect her--I think that he wants to be like her.

She's tough, curious and resourceful, always up for an adventure and trying new technological enhancements. But unlike Rick, she doesn't let self-pity consume her. Sometimes, she cries, breaks down and throws a fit, but she always gets up and moves on.

I mean, could you imagine Summer drinking until she falls asleep on the couch for years, not just for a couple of days after a break-up? Or ranting that she hates herself? Summer's not a victim. She's a survivor.

Rick could learn from that. In fact, maybe he should sit her down and ask her how she does it. Summer never misses a chance to flaunt her traits--and she doesn't even need that attribute slider. Anyone who can't see what makes Summer great is missing out!

[the-tmnt-ficfinder]

🐢TMNT Fanfic Appraisal Masterpost🐢

✨Link to Fanfics List Masterpost at the bottom, or here!✨

PFP Credit: @shyalia

Hello, and greetings to all those who have stumbled upon my little blog! For anyone wondering, this Masterpost holds all the information you may need to navigate this blog! If you've been here before, here's a fun little To-Do list I've complied to help you all see the going on's of this blog!! Such as the amounts of fanfics in my inbox, or the list of fics to be chosen at random to have their chapters rated individually. Along with that, the to-do list has every single important link collected in one place!!

💚The TMNT FicFinder To-Do List💚

💚The TMNT FicFinder Kofi Page Masterpost💚 (Tumblr Masterpost listing Kofi Proof Reading services, beta reading and fanfic annotations, and Fanfic Comms)

Now, to better explain, this blog was created with a few purposes in mind: to let Ao3 creators know that they're appreciated, to help readers find cool fanfics, and to let readers know what they're getting into with a fanfic i.e. like the tags on Ao3 but more in depth.

This blog mostly focuses on Rottmnt fanfics, 2012 fanfics, Mutant Mayhem/Tottmnt fanfics, and crossover fanfics between any of those iterations. I haven't seen the other TMNT shows and/or comics yet, which is why I won't be accepting fanfiction of them. The genre of the fanfics on this blog will usually be dramatic with lots of hurt/angst along with comfort/fluff, (as that's what we all love lol) and there will be NO T*CEST tolerated on this blog whatsoever!!! I will not rate a t*cest fic, read a t*cest fic or even look at one. I'll also be avoiding Oc x canon fanfics, and fanfics where the OC is an MC (Main Character). If you're worried about violence levels, and/or triggers, I will be rating them for each chapter so you can be prepared!!

Disclaimer!! I can refuse to add fics to the list!! While the possibility of that happening is quite low, it may happen. Particularly to fanfics that go against the stated rules, unfinished/abandoned fanfics with a low chapter count, fanfics with a high typo count (and I mean like, really high) and romance fanfics that I find unappealing.

In the event of this happening, if the fanfic in question has been sent to me, I will not delete the ask. I will answer it, along with an explanation as to why it will not be getting added to the list, and recommend it to those who may enjoy it.

What are the Ratings, and what do they mean?

Each fanfic will receive an overall rating consisting of these ten topics, rated 1-5 with heart emojis (For example; 💛💛💛🖤🖤). The rating is similar to a movie rating, letting you know what to expect. Along with each fanfic receiving a rating, each chapter within the fanfic will receive an individual rating. The ratings are;

Plot

Suspense/Mystery

Angst/Hurt

Fluff/Comfort

Emotions Conveyed

Drama/Tension Level

Triggers

Legibility (Reading)

Legibility (Audio)

Length

Now, what do these even mean?

Plot: Plot refers to how heavy the story line is. A higher rating equals a more intense plot with heavy intricate story lines.

Suspense/Mystery: This one refers to how suspenseful the story will be, or how much mystery it will contain. A high rating indicates high suspense and/or mystery and a low rating means low suspense and/or mystery.

Angst/Hurt: This refers to how intense the angst and/or hurt will be in the story. Some stories are high angst, and others low. This one pairs along with fluff/comfort.

Fluff/Comfort: This one refers to how much fluff/comfort the story has. This one pairs with angst/hurt, as some stories are high angst, low comfort, or vice versa.

Emotions Conveyed: This one refers to whether or not the emotions in the fanfic will affect your own emotions. Some writers are incredibly talented, and their chapters will make you get all up in your head, making you smile, frown, laugh, and even cry. This rating is to show how intensely the story will connect to your own emotions.

Drama/Tension Level: This one refers to how much tension will be in the story. Is it a relaxing read? Or will you constantly be on the edge of your seat, biting your nails? A high rating implies high tension which equals a more stressful read. A lower rating implies the opposite.

Triggers: Triggers are something we see often in fanfics, especially since we writers like writing about the most twisted stuff lol. This rating refers to how many triggers the story will have.

Legibility (Reading): This rating refers whether or not the story is easier to read rather than to listen to. Some stories are designed to be read only, as they have special effects, special words, and/or pictures. This rating is designed to you know if it would be better to read the story, or listen to it. This rating goes along with Legibility (Audio).

Legibility (Audio): This rating refers to whether or not the story is easier to read rather than listen to. Some stories, due to the formatting can be quite fun to listen to, especially if the story contains difficult to pronounce or difficult to read words. This rating goes along with Legibility (Reading). A high audio and reading rating, means that the story is fun to listen to, and read. A high reading, but a low audio rating means that its better to read rather than to listen, story quality may be lost in audio form.

Length: This refers to how long the story is, and how much time it may take to read it. We all have busy lives, and sometimes it can be hard to make time for reading, especially if we don't want to pause reading a chapter once we start. This rating is designed to let you know how long the story is, and how much time it'll take to read. A high rating mean a long chapter and a long time, while a low rating means the opposite. The ratings for this one, are a little more specific that the others. First of all, there's Story length, then there's Chapter length. I'll give the following example;

Story Length Length of Fanfic: 1k-15k+ words 💛🖤🖤🖤🖤 Length of Fanfic: 15.5k-50k+ words 💛💛🖤🖤🖤 Length of Fanfic: 50.5k-100k+ words 💛💛💛🖤🖤 Length of Fanfic: 200k-300k+ words 💛💛💛💛🖤 Length of Fanfic: 400k-500k+ words 💛💛💛💛💛

Chapter Length 1-10 minutes long: 💛🖤🖤🖤🖤 11-20 minutes long: 💛💛🖤🖤🖤 21-40 minutes long: 💛💛💛🖤🖤 41-60 minutes long: 💛💛💛💛🖤 1 hour or longer: 💛💛💛💛💛

As I am a very quick reader, I will be basing the chapter length times off of how long it takes to listen to in audio book form for a more accurate reading.

Now that you know what the ratings mean, and you're familiar with how my blog works, I encourage you to find a fic to read!! Or, if you have a fic you love, and you don't see it in my list, send it to me in an ask, and I'll add it to my list of fanfics to appraise!! The same goes for the opposite! Creators, if I appraise one of your fics, and it makes you uncomfortable, let me know, and I'll take it down. We got only good vibes here on this blog, I promise!!

To anyone who has a fanfic in my list, if you've got an event or a big update pertaining to your fanfic posted on your blog (i.e, art contests, hiatus, huge life updates that impact the fanfic, fic updates after a year of silence, or fic updates in general), tag me! Tag me, and I'll reblog it, advertise it, promote it, and all the good things!!

🐢TMNT Fanfic List Masterpost🐢