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tinalbion · 2 months

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'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.

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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.”

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tossawary · 9 months

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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... :("

#tossawary watching #btvs #smallville #tossawary dc #character death #clark kent

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cryptfile · 3 days

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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

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlet smut #logan x reader #logan xmen #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett #jimmy howlett #xmen smut #cryptfile // x-men #minors dni #minors do not interact #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett x vampire!reader #deadpool 3 #xmen days of future past #deadpool and wolverine

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permanentmess · 29 days

Note

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.

#cherik #cherik x reader #charles xavier x reader #erik lensherr x reader #xmen #xmen x reader

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racefortheironthrone · 10 months

Note

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.

#xmen #xmen meta #raven darkholme #kurt wagner #irene adler #xmen blue #nightcrawler #mystique #destiny #chris claremont #si spurrier #krakoa #retcons #xmen spoilers #hoxpox

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silverzoomies · 1 year

Text

Sunlight

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: shameless smut, fingering, kissing, first time, loss of virginity, female reader (sorry), mutant/clairvoyant reader, porn with (slight) plot, clunky writing

word count: 5,908

a/n: got a couple requests for a virgin/inexperienced reader. apologies if this one's kinda weird, idk !!! aaaaaaa !!

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You were surprised to find someone you clicked with, after dipping your toes into the metaphorical dating pool. He was an incredibly nice guy, who wasn't bothered by your lack of experience with relationships; nor did he mind your bizarre, clairvoyant mutation. With him, you began your first, serious relationship.

He seemed to respect that you were a bit...inexperienced. Being a virgin, you were fearful of sharing yourself intimately. And growing up, you always lived a fairly sheltered life. In fact, you were so withdrawn from all things sexual; you barely even masturbated much. Somehow, you never figured it out. Embarrassingly enough.

Despite this, your new boyfriend never pressured you. He waited patiently, and didn’t seem to mind doing so.

At the six month mark, you felt comfortable enough to take things a step further. For once in your life, finally, you were going to do it. To 'go all the way,' as they say. Just as you’d always imagined doing, in your lonesome, teenage years. Sex was one of the many experiences you felt you missed out on back then.

But out of nowhere…

He cut you off.

Your first boytoy (since however long, you couldn’t remember) gave you no word of warning. The only reason you discovered the truth behind why, was through your mutation. You came to his apartment for answers. And the moment your knuckles connected with his door, the unfortunate knowledge swarmed your mind. You saw everything.

He found someone else. A prettier girl he’d taken into his bed. She was more than willing to sleep with him. After only a few, short dates behind your back.

Your heart shattered to pieces.

Spending the day in a melancholy state; you went about your business as normal. During training with Charles and the other X-Men, you struggled to exercise your abilities. But Charles could tell something was keeping you distracted. Whether or not he looked inside your mind to see for himself, you didn’t know. But after offering his usual, warm-hearted reassurances; he let you off for the rest of the day.

Sometime at the end of the night, the X-Men returned from that day’s mission. And after everyone in the mansion had gone off to bed, Peter found you. He came speeding by with his goggles hanging from his fingers. And he clumsily slid to a stop behind the couch, his shoes skidding along the hardwood floor.

"You know Charles can't stand it when you scuff up his floor like that." You teased in gloomy montone.

You were curled up on the sofa, in one of the X-mansion lounges. A thin blanket covered your form, as you watched reruns of Fraggle Rock on TV. Of course, Peter instantly knew, the moment he laid his brown eyes on you. Something was wrong. He could always see through any smile you forced.

In mere seconds, you were surrounded by boatloads of your favorite snacks. Several stacks of books in various genres appeared on the coffee table before you. As well as a wide selection of VHS tapes and TV-show box sets. And without tearing your gaze from the TV, you laughed, shaking your head.

Peter sat at the opposite side of the couch, giving you your space. He leaned back against the armrest, with his legs stretched in front of him. And you adjusted in your spot, letting Peter rest his sock-clad feet in your lap. Gazing over his form, you stared blankly at the Alice Cooper shirt he wore. And for a moment, you wondered why Peter was always so nice to you.

He joked around with you for a short while. Doing his best to take your mind off your shitty ex-boyfriend.

And sure, spending time with one of your best pals gave you some sense of relief. Peter was a master at using his goofy charm and clever wit to cheer you up.

But your heart ached too deeply, and he knew. He could see it in your eyes, in the way you avoided his gaze.

“Hey, babe, look at me.” He threw you a nod of his head, insistent. And you cast a sorrowful glance in his direction, “Seriously, don’t sweat it over that guy. Yer wastin’ yer time. Dude doesn’t know he’s missin’ out on the coolest girl this side of the Mississippi!”

A force so faint it was barely noticeable, made itself known in the back of your mind. Clairvoyance strikes again. And in its metaphorical palms, it handed you a piece of knowledge you couldn’t make sense of. Something warm. Like shimmering, summer sunlight on your skin.

Unsure as to what it meant, you chose to ignore its warmth. Surely, it would come to you again later. As it always did.

Smiling sadly, you dropped your gaze to the Star Wars logo pattern on Peter’s socks. Absent-mindedly, you tugged on a loose piece of lint sticking from his foot.

“Thanks... I really do appreciate you sayin’ that, dude.” You shook your head, sighing again, “Guess he just got tired of waiting.”

“Waitin’ on what?” Peter asked with a brow raised.

You shot him a serious look. And Peter seemed to catch the hint then. He nodded his head in understanding.

“Ohhhh…the virg-...yeah. I kinda forgot about that, sorry.” He shrugged, chomping into a Hostess Ding Dong cake, “That’s really fuckin’ uncool of him, though. Dude’s a total dick! Not that you need me to tell you.”

You nodded, fixing your gaze to the flickering TV screen across from you. A cheesy, romantic 7-UP commercial played in low-resolution quality. And Peter repeated the commercial’s silly lines in a mocking tone, making you giggle.

Throwing your head back, you groaned.

“Today was gonna be the day, dude! I was ready! I was finally ready to open myself up like that to someone, and…” Your words trailed off into silence, as you were too embarrassed to continue. And you shook your head once more, “Uhm…so, I’m feelin’, like, totally discouraged now."

Peter sat up, pulling his legs from your lap. He scooted towards you on the couch. And as he did, you followed, inching yourself into his space. The blanket fell from your torso, and Peter moved close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

You felt it again then. Summertime warmth. Rays of light on your skin. A cozy sprinkle of something unknown in the back of your mind. Glimmering faintly, so indecipherable.

“Aw, what? All cuz ‘a that guy? Babe, you really don’t gotta-”

“No-uhm…I mean, I feel like-” You snorted, covering your face with a hand. And you bashfully laughed, “Not to sound dramatic? But it feels like it’s all over for me, Peter! I’m a grown adult! I still haven’t had my cherry popped! Did you know, I never even had my first kiss until my late twenties? Ain’t that, like, super embarrassing?” You groaned, running your hands through your hair.

Peter blew a raspberry, waving a hand at you dismissively.

“Whaaaaat?? Pfffbbt! Dude, that’s not-...lots ‘a people don’t get to bang ‘til they’re way past their prime ‘er whatever. It happens! People 're late bloomers! What’s the rush?” He snapped his fingers suddenly, “Hey, check it. Did you know, I didn’t lose my v-card ‘til I was like…what? Twenty four?”

You blinked, and Peter held a box of Ding Dongs in hand. Like magic, it seemed as though the treats appeared from nowhere. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he was a magician. Though, he probably grabbed it from the pile of snacks he left littered around you. You laughed, skeptical of his confession. And reaching forward, you slipped your hand inside the box for a chocolatey, snack cake.

“Oh, get the hell outta here! No way!” You giggled, gently slapping his chest with the back of your hand, “It took you that long? You? I don’t believe that for a second, Peter!”

“Hey, believe whatever you want!” He held up a hand in mock surrender, and set the box of snacks on the floor, “I was a total loser then, babe! Fuckin’ A, I’m still a loser! I’m just a loser people recognize on the street!” Peter chuckled, biting into another Ding Dong, “Look, my point is - you’ll get there someday! And fer what it’s worth?”

Peter placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. And you nibbled on your own chocolate, Hostess treat.

“The one who gets to share somethin’ like that with you? He’s the luckiest guy in this whole stinkin’ world!"

Warmth again.

Sunny yellow, blissful pink. The comforting sensation eased itself to the forefront of your mind. And though you still couldn't deduce where it was coming from, or what it meant...you found peace in it.

And a little something else.

Feeling your cheeks steadily burn, you swallowed nervously. Peter’s hand on your shoulder seemed hotter and weightier where it lay. And somewhere between your legs, a pleasant ache stirred to life. Causing you to instinctively squeeze your thighs together for relief.

“Y-You’re way too sweet to me, dude. Thank you!” You shook your head again. A sudden sense of mild frustration boiled in your blood, “If I can be honest? I’m, like, soooo tired of waiting! I wish I could just…get it over with! I know I shouldn’t want to, but…it’d be nice to stop wonderin’ about it all the time! Auuughh…”

“I get it, dude. I do! But, like, you really don’t want yer first time to be disappointing.” Peter said in a soft tone, swallowing down yet another cream-filled cake, “I know it sounds totally cliche. But you should wait fer the right person! Isn’t that wayyyy better than givin’ yerself to any ol’ creep?” He smiled sincerely, squeezing your shoulder a bit tighter, “And trust me. You’ll know the right person when you meet ‘em. I-it’s like…a feelin’ in yer gut.”

Peter paused then, stopping to nibble his lip in thought. And he awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Sorry, that sounds-...ahaha…that’s super cheesy, huh?”

“Not at all, actually!” You said, giving Peter a sweet grin. Scooting a smidge closer, you leaned your head on his shoulder, “I think that’s very nice of you to say, Peter. I mean, I know you’re right! I definitely want it to be with someone I trust. That’s for sure.”

A tiny splotch of cream decorated the corner of Peter's lips, and you brushed it away with a thumb. Without thinking, you sucked that thumb into your mouth, running your tongue over it. Sugary sweetness greeted your tastebuds. And Peter swallowed hard, raising a brow.

"Gross." He passively mumbled through a smile. And you giggled again.

Dreamy, summertime warmth swarmed to a blazing fire.

On a normal day, your clairvoyance allowed you to see clear images and concepts in your head. Anything to help you better understand those around you, as well as their intentions. A sixth sense, one might call it. But at this very moment, you could see only colors. Summery yellows and warm oranges, as well as lovey-dovey pinks. All mixing together on an emblematic painter's palette. Blurs of incoherent thought.

And in your body, surging through your veins; you felt heat heat heat.

Peter stifled a nervous cough, and tilted his head down. He rested his cheek against the soft locks of your hair. And you thought you heard him inhale, as though breathing in your scent. But perhaps, you only imagined him doing so.

“Don’t worry so much, though. You’ll find someone! Yer a total catch, babe! I don’t just think so. I know so.” Peter casually moved to wrap a strong arm around you, pulling you even closer into his body, “Ya just gotta be patient, is all! I know that sounds, like, majorly hypocritical comin' from me, but...”

Another pause, and Peter hesitated to continue.

“Until then? You have me. I’m here fer you, kay?” Peter nuzzled his nose into your hair, “Hurts me to see you like this. All sad ‘n stuff, cuz ‘a some dumbshit douchedick. Wish there was somethin’ I could do…”

Cozy, warm colors all collided in your mind, like cloudy nebulas merging into one. They formed a beautiful spectacle of vague, blurry images. Romantic in nature. Conjoined hands. Linked pinkies. Brushing lips. You sucked in a sudden, light breath. A feeling of foreign desire flickered in your lower belly.

Tilting your head up, you observed Peter's face.

Oh.

Had he…always looked so handsome? He was most definitely stunning like this. With his dark eyes heavy-lidded and exhausted, after a long day’s work. Silver stubble barely showed its presence across his sharp jawline. And his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Peter was in such close proximity, that you could feel every breath of air he took. Breaths smelling of sweet, sugary, snack cakes. And you wondered if his lips would taste as nice.

Feeling uncharacteristically bold, you reached up to gently grab his chin between your fingers. Peter’s stubble felt rough under your fingertips. And for some reason, the touch made your body burn even hotter. You brought Peter’s head down to meet his pretty, doe-eyed gaze. And coyly, you smiled.

“I have you, huh?” You playfully teased, “You’re not…suggesting anything by that, are you, Peter?”

Something shifted in his gaze.

A ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ sort of moment. And with that shift; sunlit warmth and romantic imagery shifted in your mind. Those summertime hues of yellow, orange, and pink became born anew. Blossoming to life, as deep purples and dark, lustful reds. Suddenly, that subtle spark of heat flickering in your core set itself ablaze. Your cunt reacted, tingling and dripping wet. A sensation so alien, you weren't even sure what to make of it.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.” Peter playfully shrugged, holding a mischievous gaze. His tone fell hushed as he spoke, an octave lower, “Who’s to say, huh?”

Biting your lower lip in conflicting thought, you slowly dragged your hand down from his chin. Your fingers trailed unesteady lines across Peter’s chest, feeling his toned body under your fingertips. Sucking in a breath, you felt your pussy flutter with a budding yearn for…him? Was it him your body wanted, and ached for so desperately?

And curiously, you wondered, was Peter the source of your clairvoyant confusion? No...he couldn't be...could he?

“For what it’s worth, Peter? If I trust anybody that much…I trust you.”

Peter kept his cheshire grin. He brought his hand up to pull yours from his chest, cradling it. His own hand dwarfed the size of yours by comparison, and Peter grazed a thumb gently into your skin.

“Do you?” He whispered, speaking in a more suggestive tone, “Y’know, babe…I could be wayyyy more than just a shoulder to cry on. If you catch my drift.” Peter pressed a delicate kiss to your knuckles, “I wouldn’t mind doin’ you a solid.” His voice fell more hushed, “And you know I’d take such good care of you, baby…”

Your eyes widened, making you appear all the more vulnerable and innocent. His sensual implication made you tremble with unfamilair need, and you reacted with an inaudible squeak.

“Y-You’d do that for-uhm…for me?” You stammered. A bit embarrassed by your own flourishing lust, you struggled to whisper, “P-Peter…would you-uh…would you…kiss me? I really want you to kiss me…"

Looking down into your pleading eyes with a half-lidded gaze, Peter taunted you in a teasing hum.

“I might…if you ask me nicely.”

His salacious tone could've softened you into putty, easily moldable in his vascular hands.

“Uhm-...would you kiss me, Peter? Pretty please?” You fluttered your lashes, pure innocence painted across your blushing features, “Pretty please with lots of snack cakes on top?”

Peter snickered, huffing soft breaths, ghosting your lips. A needle-fine hint of understanding peeked its way through his mischievous gaze. And despite his fast-paced nature, he took his time with you.

The moment his lips connected with yours, your mutation reacted.

Hazy images, misty with erotic lust, became slightly more crisp. Like opening one's eyes to the dim light of dawn, and sleepily rolling over to find a lover in bed. You saw again, conjoined hands in heated passion. Linked pinkies making private promises. Brushing lips followed by intertwining tongues. Faintly, you heard a distant whisper of...something. You weren't sure what. All you knew was that it hinted towards loving fondness, and sultry devotion.

Peter kissed you as gently as he possibly could, allowing you to take the reins completely. Never before, had you kissed anyone beyond a simple peck on the lips. And Peter knew.

But as sweltering, lecherous desire surged through your veins, you suddenly found your courage. Oh, you wanted Peter so badly, and to feel the touch of his masculine hands on you. You kissed him back with heated eagerness. Timid, cautious movements of your soft lips turned quick and heavy. As you let your tongue meet Peter’s in a warm, wet embrace. Mimicking those scandalous visions brought upon by your mutant gift.

And, thank heavens, he tasted just as sweet as you imagined.

He leaned further in with a hand to your chest, inching you slowly backwards on the couch. Peter pulled himself from your kiss for a few, short beats. And you chased after him, seeking the feel of his skillful tongue in your mouth again.

“Shhh. Hold on there, eager beaver-” He laughed, breathing a whisper into your lips, “Let’s take this slow, okay? Just tell me if you wanna stop, baby. Seriously.”

"Mmmm...don't stop. I never wanna stop." You hummed, pulling him back in. And he chuckled, huffing soft breaths from his nose.

Peter kissed you passionately for a few moments longer, letting you explore his body with your hands. He was careful not to touch you too intimately yet. Keeping his own hands on your face, Peter cradled your cheeks. But the longer he avoided trailing his fingers downward, the more you ached for his touch. Breathlessly, you pulled away. And you looked into Peter’s eyes, your own sparkling with lubricious intent.

“C-Can you please touch me, Peter?” You begged, your voice high-pitched and needy, “I don’t even know what’s goin’ on with me right now. But…I know I want your hands on me.”

“Oh? Where do you want me to touch you, baby?” Peter asked, his tone hushed and teasing, “Here?” He lowered one of his hands to your neck, hot fingertips dragging across your skin.

You shuddered, feeling sparks pepper throughout your body. Shaking your head, you squeaked a disapproving sound.

“No? Awww…” Peter continued to taunt you, lowering those same fingertips to the valley between your breasts. Your top was low-cut, allowing him easy access, “Here?”

“Nooooooo~!” You giggled through a more desperate whine. In another fit of unexpected bravery, you grabbed both of Peter’s wrists. And you guided his hands under your shirt, letting his palms cup your breasts, “Here! Stop teasin’ me!”

“Wooooahhh-” Peter groaned, lifting your shirt up over your head, "Hell-o, mama..."

His half-lidded, dark gaze settled on your tits. Instead of unclasping your bra, he simply tugged it down. Letting his teeth sink into his lip, Peter reached out to palm your breasts again. Fondling the soft plush of them in his big hands. He brushed your nipples with his thumbs, pinching the hardened buds every few beats.

“Am I, like-...would it be weird to say yer tits are totally slammin’?” Peter mumbled, moving in to kiss you again.

You bashfully chuckled, shaking your head. Running your hands through his hair, you tugged gently on soft locks of silver.

The two of you made out on the couch, in the middle of the X-mansion, like a couple of troublesome teenagers. And the subconscious fear that someone could walk in at any moment, made you all the more lustfully excited. You moaned quietly into Peter’s hot mouth. Submitting to him entirely, you allowed his hands to explore every inch of your untouched, virgin body.

“This okay?” He politely asked, his fingers meeting the button of your shorts, “Just say the word if you want me to stop, 'kay?”

You nodded, a little too enthusiastic. And you spread your legs more open, allowing Peter to crawl further in between.

“I-I’m a little-uhm…nervous…” You whispered in a shy breath. And you braced your hands on Peter’s broad shoulders, “...but I trust you.” Peering up at him with a beady eyed, innocent gaze, you mumbled, “Make me feel good, Peter.”

His cock throbbed in his jeans, straining underneath the suffocating fabric. Peter helped shimmy your shorts down over your thighs, along with your delicate, lace panties. Bringing his hand down to your leaking pussy, he toyed with your clit under deft fingers.

Having your clit played with felt like an entirely new, alien sensation. Blissful tingles fired through your sensitive bud, causing a tightening tickle in your gut. You gasped, squirming under the skilled touch of Peter’s fingers. He circled your delicate, little clit in careful motions. With his brows furrowed, Peter watched you intently. As you reveled in a newfound feeling of euphoric pleasure.

His fingers inched down through your lips, and Peter braved a single finger into your virgin walls. Your cunt squeezed tightly around his one, lone digit. And as he fucked you with his finger, he leaned in to capture you in a sweet, soft kiss.

“Want me to take us somewhere else? Just real quick? I can take us somewhere more private.” Peter suggested, peppering your neck in hot, mouthy kisses. Keeping you somewhat distracted with his hushed words, Peter inched a second digit into your pussy. Stretching you just a smidge wider, “I know you probably don’t wanna risk anyone walkin’ in when-”

Rocking your hips greedily into his fingers, you shook your head. Your hands dug blunt nails into Peter’s shoulder blades over his t-shirt. And you softly whined, feeling your cunt clench tighter around his thick digits. Peter knit his brows together. He groaned under his breath, feeling the warm pulsation of your pussy against his skin.

“N-No! No, right here, please? Right now. I want you so bad, Peter, baby. We can just hide under the blanket! No one’ll see!” You insisted, keeping your voice quiet.

As you pleaded with Peter so desperately; you eagerly fucked your virgin pussy on his fingers.

Surprised by your boldness, Peter raised his brows. He smirked, dragging his lips teasingly across your jaw. When his lips met yours once more, he kissed you wet and rough. Peter moaned, letting his tongue swirl with yours in a thirst for your cute whines. His fingers fucked their way skillfully through your slick walls, stretching you open even further. Allowing your pussy to become accustomed to his intrusion.

“Yeah, baby? You want my dick that bad? Want me to fuck you right here, princess?” Peter moaned through a smirk, his teeth playfully nipping at your lip, “Yer kinda bad, aren’t you?”

Blushing profusely, you found yourself at a loss for words. Peter laughed into your lips, his grin spreading wider. Adjusting positions, he moved to spoon you on the sofa. Peter concealed both your heated, lustful bodies under your blanket. A less than favorable attempt, since the flimsy thing barely kept the two of you covered. With your soft, round ass pressed against his crotch; Peter let his palms feel the smooth skin of your thighs. Dancing fingertips across every, etched-in stretch mark.

He fumbled with his belt, undoing his jeans and tugging them hastily down. Turning in your spot, you reached for Peter’s crotch. Brushing timid fingers over the bulge in his underwear, you pulled your lip between your teeth. A damp stain of precum peeked through the fabric, wetting your skin.

"Can I-...can I touch it?” You asked in a courteous, careful tone. And Peter's cock visibly twitched, pulsating under your bashful fingers.

Grinning confidently to himself, Peter pulled his heavy, leaking cock from its confines. Upon seeing such a girthy dick in person for the first time, your mouth instantly watered. Drool pooled over your tongue, and you swallowed it down. You awkwardly reached out to wrap a hand around the twitching length, giving his cock a cautious stroke.

Peter brought his hand up to yours, engulfing your fingers as he guided you. He helped you build the perfect amount of pressure, as well as the most ideal speed to stroke his cock. You followed his motions carefully, pleasuring him in the exact way he showed you. Careful not to squeeze too hard.

At least until he uttered the hushed, sinful words, "Harder, baby."

You followed suit, increasing pressure. Peter dropped his head, his forehead meeting your chin. Frazzled, silver hairs tickling your face. He groaned, his burning cock pulsating with soft vibrations in your hand. Precum wept from the tip. And Peter nudged his hips a little, coaxing his cock through the firm squeeze of your fist.

“Ohhh…just like that, babygirl.” He moaned, the corner of his lips quirking up in a grin, “Yer a fuckin’ natural.”

“I-It’s so big, Peter…” You whispered, skittish and embarrassed. Experimentally, you stroked his thick cock in a tighter grip, “I dunno if it’s gonna fit.”

Bringing his head up to meet you in a heated kiss, Peter growled a low sound.

“Mmmmm…we’ll make it work.” He hummed hotly into your lips, "I'll be so careful, I promise."

Nodding, you turned in your spot, letting Peter spoon you again. With your ass cheeks pressed against him, Peter directed his cock to your dripping entrance. Giving himself a few generous strokes, he pushed his smooth tip into your cunt. Peter alternated between glancing down, watching his cock slide inside you; and he checked your reaction for any obvious signs of pain.

“F-Fuck, you okay?” Peter asked quietly, squeezing his cock through your plush, wet walls. With a vunerable, little whimper; you nodded. And Peter let his lidded, dark eyes roll back, "Ohhhhhhhhhh - damn, that's tight."

Peter moved with a level of careful patience you never imagined he had.

Feeling a girthy cock force its length through your pussy was painful at first, and extremely unfamiliar. But as Peter edged in at a cautious, slow pace, careful not to hurt you; you felt your cunt adjust. Until you were so lubricious and wet, Peter’s entire length finally bottomed out deep inside you. The bulbous head of his dick brushed your cervix. At last, you were on cloud nine.

It was a sensation unlike any you’d ever experienced, one you could feel so deep in the pit of your stomach. A gnawing, carnal pleasure. Like electric shocks of static through your core.

Finally, Peter let himself fuck you. Thrusting into your unbearably tight cunt at a more consistent pace. He angled his movements in just the right way, allowing his hard length to collide with those most sensitive, squishy bits inside you. Your stomach tightened, and you felt your gummy walls suffocate Peter’s cock. Peter reached under the thin fabric of the blanket, his fingers finding your clit.

“P-Peter, oh my god!” You squeaked his name, “I-I feel so…oooooooh~” Instinctively rocking your ass into Peter’s thrusts, you moaned a little louder. Bracing a hand on the couch tightly, you dug your fingernails into the plush of it, “Oh fuck! Oh god! Y-You feel so good! Feels so good, but soooo - ah - so weird!”

Breaking your own train of thought to mewl another flurry of moans, you bounced your ass cheeks into Peter’s pelvis. Confused about your own needs, you couldn’t help but seek that tightening feeling deep in your core. You wanted to chase it like an addictive high. To get drunk on the sensation of a thick cock tearing through your innocent cunt.

“AH!” You whined a little too loudly, “P-Peter, it f-feels like you’re gonna break me!”

Peter plunged his hot length deeper inside your pussy, fucking you harder and faster with every passing moment. Keeping his fingers occupied with your clit, he rubbed quick, but light circles into the bud. Maybe adding a little, subtle vibration here or there. Just to tease. And you squealed, covering your mouth with a hand to conceal your desperate noises.

“Ohhhhhh, babygirl, you gotta be quiet, okay?” Peter whispered, his voice breaking into a choked moan, “Fuuuuuuuuuck! Yer so fuckin’ wet. Takin’ me so easy.”

Overwhelmed by the pleasure Peter gifted you, your eyes pooled with heavy tears. They spilled over in glistening streaks down your burning, scarlet cheeks. Thick drool dripped from your tongue, dribbling down your chin as your jaw went slack. Your pussy followed suit, weeping hot slick with every thrust of Peter’s cock.

His nonstop stimulation to your sensitive clit made you feel on the verge of bursting. An explosion of ecstasy waiting just beyond the horizon of your first, carnal fucking.

“F-Feel like I’m-” You cried, squealing little moans through your tears, “O-Oh! W-What the fuck? P-Peter, I feel like I’m gonna leak all over you! I’m sorry! I-I’m so sorry!”

“No no no no no, princess. Yer doin’ so fuckin’ good. Yer gonna cum, baby. Just – ohmygod – let it happen. Let it go, baby.” Peter groaned, fucking your innocent, little pussy at a less forgiving, more relentless pace, “Cum fer me, please.”

“OoooooooohHHMYGOD!” You bit your lip with a bruising force to keep yourself quiet. Your body trembled, uncontrollably shaking as you unraveled on Peter’s cock, “Peter, your cock feels too big! Too big, it’s breaking me! Fuck! FUCK!”

Something brand new, scorching hot and lustfully exotic ripped through your body. With a sensation unforgiving and so intense; you came. Spraying your succulent nectar all over Peter’s cock, you drenched him in a fierce gush of ecstasy. In that instant, you broke free from the shackles of innocence.

And he felt every last, filthy, wet moment of it.

“Sh-Shit! Yeah???” Peter cursed, dropping his sharp nose into your neck. He whispered hotly, “God, I can feel you fuckin’ cum, babygirl. Feels fuckin’ outrageous. So tight. Soooo fuckin’ tight-” Squeezing his eyes shut, Peter threw his head back with a deep, choked groan, “F-FUCK! Can I cum inside you? Huh? Wanna cum inside this cute, little pussy. Please please please please please-”

Nodding frantically, you shifted in your spot. And you pulled Peter down for a messy, clumsy kiss.

“Whatever you want! Please!” You begged.

Enthusiastically meeting each of Peter’s rough thrusts, you fucked yourself hard on his cock.

Mindlessly drunk on the unyielding allure of your pussy, Peter lost all control of his actions. He drilled his cock inside you at a pace so beyond humanly fast. Sending you on a collision course towards complete submission. After a few more chaotic thrusts, he spilled his thick heat deep into your needy pussy.

Peter buried his nose in your neck again, mumbling soft praises into your skin.

“L-Love you so much. Love you. Love you. Love you. Never gonna let anybody hurt you again. Yer mine. All mine. My good girl. Sooooo fuckin’ good.” Peter senselessly muttered in a speedy flurry of words, spilling the last of his hot cum inside you.

A flash of scorching light burst within your mind. Every intimate vision you'd seen before, along with each, summery sensation...became suddenly clear. Crisp and bright, like sunlight through a glassy window. In that instant, at last, you knew. Clairvoyance had been trying to pass you the secret, forbidden knowledge that Peter cared for you. On a deeper, much more intimate level than buddy-buddy friendship.

And your stomach erupted in gleeful butterflies.

Coming down from his rapturous high, Peter slowly raised his head. He threw you a cheeky grin, giggling and looking into your eyes through his own, lazy gaze. He appeared completely unaware of the fact that he'd just confessed his most personal feelings.

Romantic feelings. For you. Holy shit.

“Y-You okay? That feel good ‘er what?” He hummed, leaning in to kiss you passionately, “You were so fuckin’ amazing, babe. Sure yer okay? No pain ‘er anything?”

Uncertain, overwhelmed, and completely spent; you nodded. With blush burning in your cheeks, you pressed a soft kiss to his nose.

“I-I’m wonderful, Peter. Thank you.” And you giggled, avoiding his eyes, “That was…fantastic. Thank you for-uhm…for doin’ that for me. I-...I couldn't have asked for anyone better. You're perfect.”

Peter snorted, laughing doubtfully in response to your kindly words.

Your body continued to tremble uncontrollably, and you felt sticky tears staining your cheeks. After pressing playful, loving kisses to your temple, Peter disappeared for half a second. By the time he returned, in the blink of an eye; you were all cleaned up and refreshed. Your shorts were tucked back into place, your shirt covering your torso once more. And Peter threw that flimsy blanket over you, tucking you in as he held you close.

"Oh my god...wow..." You gasped, surprised at his careful, caring treatment, "How many times can I even thank you, dude?"

And he scoffed, waving you off.

"Fer what? Basic human decency? Nahhh, don't worry 'bout it, babe." Peter dabbed at your remaining tears with a cool, wet rag, "I'm hopin' to god nobody heard what kinda nasty stuff we just did...because damn...that was...phew." He exhaled a breath for comedic effect. Peter shook his head, appearing shocked at himself.

"Too late." A deep, rough voice called quietly from the hall. A groggy, shirtless Logan came walking by, only stopping to address the two of you. With a large hand pressed to the doorframe, he pointed to Peter with his other, "Might wanna take that shit somewhere else next time, bub. There’re kids sleepin’ upstairs, fuck’s sake.”

Logan sauntered off then, grumbling in low whispers to himself. You sank further into Peter’s arms, covering your heated face with your hands. And Peter snickered. He mouthed a hushed 'shit', his own cheeks tinted in a rose-y hue.

"I might like you too, by the way." You suddenly muttered, your quiet voice somewhat muffled by your hands, "In a more-than-buds kinda way, I mean."

Another spark of joyous sunlight shined through your mind. And this time, you knew exactly where it came from.

Peter.

"Oh, fuck, wait-" Peter closed his eyes tightly, cursing himself. He remembered, in that moment, what he'd mindlessly confessed while busting a nut, "Shiiiiiit. I'm just embarrassin' the hell outta myself tonight, aren't I? Haha…" He paused, and realization appeared to dawn on him, "Waaaiit wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait-"

"Yeah?" You peeked shyly through your hands, "I'm waitin'..."

And Peter smiled, as warm as the sunny visions he'd been unknowingly sending you all throughout the night.

"So, does that make us, like, a thing now? Like, a thing thing? Because that'd be really fuckin' awesome."

You reached down to the floor, grabbing a box of snack cakes you kicked off the couch at some point. It was lying in a pile of other snacks, each an unfortunate victim of your lustful scuffle with Peter.

Ripping open a cake and turning your attention back to Fraggle Rock on TV, you playfully shrugged.

"Maybe. Maybe not." You bit into the sweet dessert, "Who's to say, huh?"

Abruptly barking a laugh, Peter attacked your cheeks in kisses galore.

#peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x y/n #smut #fic requests #txt

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thesoftboiledegg · 10 months

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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!

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #summer smith #wet kuat amortican summer #season seven #review

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tmntkiseki · 2 months

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(Massive spoiler warning!) Let's talk about the TMNT 2003 oneshot from the 40th Anniversary Anthology

Ohhhhh boy, my friends, it is finally here. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 40th Anniversary Comics Celebration was released a few days ago and with it, the first comic-based piece of TMNT 2003 media in over 16 years. Whether this oneshot will pave the way for future comics set in the 2003 universe is yet to be seen, but for now, Lloyd Goldfine, Khary Randolph, and Emilio Lopez have cooked up an incredibly delicious treat for fans of the 2003 series, so without further ado, let's dive in because it's ninja time!

(Note: This post contains full spoilers for the "Splinter Forever" oneshot. If you haven't read the comic yet and want to go in as blindly as possible, please do not read beyond the "Keep Reading" and avoid this post like the plague.)

"And how could I have imagined that most incredible transformation of all?! Here, I speak not of mutation... but of my sons. Could I ever have dreamed I would become a father?"

So, before we talk about the actual story of "Splinter Forever," let's talk about a pretty important detail of the comic itself; the fact that it is only eight pages long. While it is certainly not impossible to tell a good story with such a limited number of pages (the Archie oneshot from earlier in the anthology certainly did it, and it had only four pages to work with), it certainly makes telling a deeper, more complex story that much harder since you don't have as much time to tell it. Knowing this, Lloyd Goldfine opted to play it safe and keep things fairly simple in terms of narrative—whether he played it too safe is certainly up for debate, but I personally think that "Splinter Forever" more benefits from this approach than not. What it lacks in interesting plot, it more than makes up for in its characterization and presentation (and believe me, we will be talking about the artwork A LOT in this post.)

"Splinter Forever," at a glance, is pretty straightforward in terms of story; taking place at some point after Turtles Forever, it is about Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo rescuing Splinter, who has been captured by the Shredder; he is assisted by Hun, who is still trapped in his mutated turtle form due to the events of the movie. "Splinter Forever," however, is so much more than just the turtles kicking butt and looking cool—it is a story about Splinter expressing his undying love for his four children and how he values his family above all else.

After a brief flashback to Splinter's days as an ordinary rat in the care of Hamato Yoshi, the turtles make their big entrance by crashing through one of the windows of the Foot facility that Splinter is being held in. Each of the next four pages focuses on one of the turtles, showcasing their combat prowess as they fight Shredder, Hun, and the Foot, all while Splinter... pretty much gushes over them. He highlights Michelangelo's nature as a comedian who, none the less, is the most naturally talented of his brothers at martial arts, the fact that Raphael is actually much softer than his tough, aggressive personality would suggest, Leonardo's big heart and unyielding dedication to protecting his brothers, and Donatello's great intellect and unique worldview. Splinter is just so, so, so proud of the people that his sons have grown into and while none of them are perfect, he wouldn't have them any other way.

Now, the one full page from the oneshot that I am able to include in this post is the one focusing on Michelangelo, as it was made available via IDW's social media several days prior to the release of the anthology in order to promote it. There are two things I want to draw everyone's attention to: Khary Randolph's panel composition and Emilio Lopez's use of color.

So, for starters, the composition; The panels on these four pages are rendered in such a way that they resemble broken glass. Makes sense from a narrative standpoint given how the turtles just appeared to crash Shredder's "Let's kill/experiment on Splinter" party, but I genuinely feel like there are some lines to be drawn between Leo's iconic window scene from season 1 and how this is basically the inverse of that situation; instead of one turtle being tossed by the Foot through a window after being beaten near to death, all four turtles are jumping through a window in order to lay a sound beating on the Foot for trying to harm their father. (Or maybe Khary Randolph just thought it looked cool, I don't know.)

Second; Emilio Lopez's use of color. Oh my gosh, Emilio Lopez's colors. It's amazing because the colors used for the turtles are fairly in line with how they appeared during the first five seasons, but rather than looking dark and muted like in the show, they are rendered in such a way that they appear bright, vibrant, and above all, eye catching. Combined with Khary Randolph's dynamic poses and perspective, the turtles are practically popping off the pages. It's literal eye candy no matter where you look!

Besides that though, comparing Raphael and Leonardo's pages to Michelangelo and Donatello's pages is really, really interesting, especially when done so while examining both Splinter's narration as well as the action happening on-panel. On Michelangelo's page, Emilio only really used gold/orange colors for the backgrounds; on Donatello's page, outside a single panel where Splinter catches his cane, only violets are used for the backgrounds. In contrast, the backgrounds on Raphael's page use both reds and violets, while Leonardo's page includes blues, reds, and oranges.

In terms of the action on Mikey and Don's pages, they are absolutely destroying the Foot that they're up against, and Splinter's narration is nothing short of praise for both of them. When we get to Raph's page, though, he's struggling a bit with Hun. In one panel, Hun manages to grab hold of his arms and in another, he punches Raphael away; the backgrounds of these panels are rendered in violet. But in panels where Raphael is on the offensive, the backgrounds are rendered in red. And then there's Splinter's narration from this page.

"Raphael. Always so angry...most reliably, at himself. But, in truth, he is only half as fearsome as he makes himself out to be... Which of course, is more than fearsome enough."

I don't know if this was intentional on Emilio Lopez's part, but it seems to me that the backgrounds are being used to help characterize the turtles more. In the panels where Hun has the advantage and Raphael is presented as weaker/more vulnerable, the backgrounds are rendered in violet. But in panels where Raphael has the advantage and is confident/on the offensive, the backgrounds feature his iconic red color. Raphael's nature as an "rough on the outside, soft on the inside" type of character is being represented via color! I love that!

Something similar is done on Leo's page. Panels where Leo has the upper hand on the Shredder have the backgrounds rendered in his associated blue, but panels featuring the Foot and the Shredder getting the upper hand on him are rendered in either orange or red. As we know, Leonardo's nature as a perfectionist is his big fatal flaw as a character; on one hand, he trains the hardest and is the most skilled of his brothers in terms of his overall combat abilities, but whenever he perceives himself as having failed his family, he takes it hard, and this is reflected in Splinter's narration.

"Leonardo. He trains so hard. Cares so much. All this... to ensure he never, ever fails his brothers."

Also, I think it's worth pointing out the colors used for the panels where Shredder either only barely avoids hitting Leo or manages to land a strike on him. Orange and red. Michelangelo and Raphael. Leonardo is thinking of his brothers in those moments and how he can't let them down. God damn it, Emilio.

Anyways, after Donatello frees Splinter on his page, we are treated to a gorgeous two page spread that parodies the one from the first Mirage issue; however, now Splinter is a part of the composition and... god, I really love this image. The colors are fantastic, Khary Randolph improved on the posing from the original, and it's a perfect tribute to the original comic that started it all. The box with Splinter's narration where he speaks of how proud he is of his children is even in the same spot where Leo's narration from the original image is!

The final page of the oneshot has Splinter easily kick the Shredder's ass. He breaks his Utrom exosuit and proceeds to send little Ch'rell... flying through a window. God, to do the same thing to the Shredder that he did to Leo in Season 1 is poetic justice at its finest. The four turtles embrace Splinter, and the oneshot ends with the family, now reunited, returning home. The end.

Honestly, my only real nitpick with the oneshot is the fact that there is no explanation for how Ch'rell came back after literally being vaporized during Turtles Forever, but again, Lloyd Goldfine only had eight pages to work with, so I can pretty much let it slide on that basis alone because otherwise? This oneshot is so, so good. It is not only a perfect tribute to Splinter's deep bond with Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo and the love he holds for them as their father, but to the entire 2003 series as a whole. It was certainly worth the wait and I'm definitely hoping that this won't be the last we see of the 2003 turtles in the comic books.

"Yes, mine is a life I could never have imagined for myself...and, even if given forever... I could not have dreamed of one better."

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2k3 #tmnt 2003 spoilers #tmnt spoilers #comic spoilers #spoilers #I am slapping as many spoiler tags as possible so people can avoid this post if they want/need to sfjgkdfjgkfd #tmnt splinter #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raphael #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donatello #tmnt shredder #tmnt hun

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zornseasonstar · 5 months

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Does anyone EVER CARE about Magneto?

Is it fair to say that I am so fucking mad at the 9 episode?? Has Magneto done one thing out of line since the first day he took over from Professor the X-men? At first, he was ditrusted by all the X-Men, surrendered himself to the humans with a restraining collar, was taken to court, and pardoned the assassin who hurt Storm (originally aimed at him), and then followed the mission, and the defense of Genosha, he was injured and almost died, but NO ONE FUCKING CARE ABOUT HIS LIFE. The leader of the X-Men, NO ONE KNOWS whether he is DEAD or alive, and no one cares that he has been badly wounded and then tied up and released, he has experienced so much, experienced the slaughter of his fellow X-Men and now his X-Men are hunted by Sentinels all over the world, what can he do except ban the global magnetic force?

All I'm asking is how many times he's saved these X-men? If Magneto hadn't controlled the global magnetic field, they will still be hunted by sentinels right now. Don't they have GRATITUDE????? Professor a return all rushed to stand behind him, Magneto is really the last straw, to declare war on the world. Humans have already slaughtered tens of thousands of Genosha mutants, haven't they?? In this case, I don't know why those groups of people still sticking that GODDAMNED bottom line, and the first reaction is to ask him to stop, I really CAN NOT UNDERSTAND THE LOGIC HERE, is the world only Magneto a sober person HUH ？？？？？？？？？

I admit that this animation is really well made, there are big scenes, there are amazing plot. But this animation really makes me UNBEARABLE to the X-Men, the professor has been pursuing the FUCKING peaceful coexistence has been destroyed by humans how many times, they have to carefully pick up and rush to lick human's feet again. I'm SO DONE WITH IT. Does anyone EVER CARE about Magneto? Does anyone care about those dead???

#magneto #x men 97 #x men #professor x #marvel #marvel animation #x men the animated series #erik lehnsherr #charles xavier

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oleander-nin · 11 months

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Horrortober Day 25- Shock(Yandere Rise Donnie x Reader)

A/N, not important: Man there's a lot of Donnie. I should probably switch a few lol. Also this one kinda sucks because I'm running out of steam again and I only have Three more plots that I really actually like. And uh... two of them are Donnie. Oops. Hope y'all like him because apparently I sure did. Also my birthday's in exactly a week. So. yay! You're going to get reminded for the rest of these because I want to be annoying about it. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: chains, shock collar, yandere themes, dark themes

Words: 1047

Summary: Donnie's desperate to get you to listen

“You’re not listening.” Donnie says, his voice tight and his hands halfway clenched at his sides. You roll your eyes, anger bubbling in your chest from the sheer audacity. You didn’t want to listen to a thing he had to say until he let you go.

“I don’t usually listen to people who chain me in their lab.” You sneer, yanking at the chain screwed into the wall and connected to your ankle. Donnie bristles at your words, his eyes sharpening as he looks down at you. You can tell you hit a nerve, especially after he just gave a near hour long speech on why it was necessary to keep you here. He opens his mouth before shutting it with a small click, his shoulders tense.

“I’m trying to keep you safe.” He says slowly, like he was talking to a small child. You try your best to hold your tongue, knowing that anything you said would be taken both literally, and as an act of war. Making him too angry could be dangerous, and you weren’t sure you wanted to risk it.

“I don’t need to be kept safe. I was fine on my own.”

“Scoff!” Donnie exclaims, his voice growing in pitch as he gets more upset. “You were living in less space than the average pig. I will not allow you to be in such conditions. I have everything you need here, and you can be kept safe and healthy. I’m helping you.”

Your face heats at the notion, your teeth sinking into your lips as you try to keep from yelling. “That was not your call to make. And how can I possibly be safe here? You kidnapped and chained me! That’s the opposite of being safe!”

“They were necessary precautions!” Donnie argues, his drawn eyebrows furrowing. He’s starting to lose his patience, his shoulders shaking while he fights you. “I offered to bring you home a few days ago and you refused! It’s not my fault you’re so stupid I needed to intervene.”

Your nose flares at his words, all caution thrown to the wind. Whether it was his intention or not, he had successfully riled you up to the point of snapping. Cohesive thought leaves and anger takes over, your eyes darkening and a scowl set on your face. “Why would I ever want to go ‘home’ with you?”

Donnie shifts, his stance becoming more closed off. He towers over you, trying to make you cower back. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

You roll your eyes, standing up shakily to meet him, wincing at the tightness of the chain around our ankle. Fire danced in Donnie’s eyes as you met his glare, neither backing down for a second. You snarl at him, wanting to do nothing more than punch him square in the face for treating you like this.

“You’re being unreasonable.” Donnie sneers, his eyes twitching while he stares down at you. You don’t say anything, only staring at him with the utmost hatred in your eyes. Any care you had for him before was gone, your words only fueled by anger and hatred for the mutant in front of you. Donnie holds your gaze for a moment more before looking away, leaving the room he’s tied you in and shutting the sliding door with as much force as he could muster. You fall back into a sitting position on Donnie’s bed, grumbling to yourself as you pull on the chain keeping you stationary. If you could only get rid of that, you would be able to run and get away. As long as Donnie didn’t notice, of course.

The door opens again, Donnie’s heavy footsteps signaling his nearing presence. You don’t react, keeping your back turned to him while you continue to meddle with the chain around your ankle in an act of defiance. You couldn’t do much in your position, but you could show him you weren’t backing down. You could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head.

You regret not looking at him when a sharp pain shoots through your scalp, Donnie’s hand tangled in your small mess of hair as he yanks your head up. You struggle and scream profanities at the mutant, clawing at his hands before two sleek robotic arms hold you down. His hand is removed from your head, both limbs moving to your neck as he fastens something cold and metal around your neck. He pulls back, and all of your struggling makes you fall forward, his spider-shell no longer holding you up.

You turn to glare at him, opening your mouth to yell some more, but your body doesn’t let you as white-hot pain shoots through your person. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you scream, the onset of pain only lasting mere seconds, but your limbs refusing to move for moments more. You shakily push yourself to your knees, looking at Donnie’s smug face with fear. Your twitching hand moves to your neck, swiping over the metal now practically melded to your skin from the tightness.

You thumb the sleek technology, the aftershocks of pain making you dizzy while your vision fades in and out for a few terrifying moments. You felt sick, the small amount of electricity buzzing under your skin before finally dissipating. You stare at Donnie in shock, unable to speak to him. Everything he had just done to you broke every assumption you had about him, every form of trust and bond shattered. He shocked you, the remote still loose in his hand.

“Do we understand the consequences of our actions?” Donnie asks, his voice light and playful despite the condescending words. He sounded happy with what he had done, probably overjoyed in the fact that his invention had worked. Faint memories of a similar device given to his brother flood your brain, but Leo’s could be removed and was much bulkier. Yours was sleek and smooth, flush with your skin and more collar-esque than the bulky tech that Leo was given. You gulp, looking at Donnie and the situation really dawning on you. You were stuck, and Donnie would do anything to keep you that way. He would keep you safe, even if it meant hurting you himself.

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physalian · 5 months

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Physalian’s Curated Tips on Worldbuilding Megapost

Some of these are *not* mine, they’re from author Randy Ellefson, I’m just interpreting the tips I like in my own words. These specifically come from his book, 185 Tips on World Building. I don’t agree with all of them, because he tends to read as a “you must do this specific thing to be successful,” which is limiting and doesn’t consider when elements work because they’re different, these books are also in the “throw all your eggs in one basket” camp for your one series/mythos, instead of different worlds for different universes.

Ellefson also disagrees with my argument of “everything you build doesn’t have to serve a purpose”. Verbatim, in his book, he says: “There’s no reason to invent something if we don’t have a plan for it.” Which, sorry, no. Easter eggs and details purely for fluff in a one-off sentence make your world feel real.

That said, he does have some useful nuggets I’ll paraphrase below, and some I just went off-book entirely.

1. Pacing your Workflow

Rome wasn’t built in a day, and sitting down to hash out all the elements of your world in one sitting and never deviating from that path greatly limits the scope and variety you could come up with. As I wrote in my “when worldbuilding gets weird” post, the real world wasn’t manufactured by a nitpicky author on a quest to absolve us of plot holes—let your worldbuilding be a little illogical and contradictory and just plain strange and inexplicable.

The best way to do that is to worldbuild when inspiration strikes, or at least leaving your worldbuilding loose enough to add in extra details and spice whenever you come up with something cool. Do a little note here or there, toss it in your “worldbuilding” bin, and you’ll likely end up with something far more unique and organic than following any step-by-step method.

2. Are the Gods Real?

In essence—say you have your fantasy world and your fantasy religions. Decide whether or not those prayers can actually be answered, and to what degree, and how the existence (or just speculation) of your world’s religion impacts scientific thought and endeavors.

You can write a whole-ass religion with all these beliefs and practices, and leave it entirely up to speculation whether there’s anyone listening. Or strike it somewhere in the middle where they do exist but aren’t very hands on, or they do exist, but only for certain groups, or they did exist, etc.

In my WIP sci-fi series, I had a little bit of both. One world where they’re very much real and there’s proof, and one world where everyone sure believes their capital-G god is real, with zero evidence.

3. Species vs Races

Most of the time, in fantasy, they’re different “races” in that they can intermarry and interbreed and create things like half-elves. In sci-fi, they tend to be different species with different lifespans, biological structures, diets, habitats, restrictions, etc. If your world is the latter, something really underexplored in these kinds of settings is how being completely different species can be devastating to romantic relationships that connect on an intellectual level, but just can’t on a long-term scale.

Also an aside—if you’re going to write a racism allegory consider the following: Racism in the real world is a social construct. We are all human and the differences between us are negligible, making all the fearmongering baseless. And yet, in so many stories, fantasy racism is between two legitimately different species or between one group, and one Much Cooler group (mutants, fairies, elves, aliens, supernatural entities). Suddenly the fantasy racists have a leg to stand on because they aren’t all the same species and they are fundamentally different, which… misses the point entirely? Elves vs “Dark Elves” are a whole different ballgame than “Elves vs Humans”.

4. The Planet of Hats

Taken from OSP, and Ellefson. “Gee, I wonder who the bad guys are?”

The bad guys: Blood red eyes, stereotypically ugly features, skulking around in the dark with yellow teeth, claws, a penchant for hissing, and a color pallet of reds and blacks.

The good guys: Conventionally gorgeous, pastels and bold rainbows of color, sunny utopia of a civilization.

Unless the point is to comment on the planet of hats, or be funny, try to inject some variety and nuance in the Bad Guy realm.

5. Determine the Social Hierarchy

Most of us can come up with the lower class and the rich one percenters for our worlds rather easily, I think, because those tend to be emphasized most heavily in fantasy, and your hero/villain will likely fall into either side. But do you have a middle class? What socioeconomic hurdles are in place to keep everyone in their lanes?

What’s the difference between homeless, impoverished, poor, getting by, renting, home-owning, and land-owning? How can you tell, and how does your world’s rich maintain their place, outnumbered by your world’s proletariat? Hunger Games is a fantastic example—some Districts are much more heavily favored and nurtured by the rich than others.

6. Monsters

Similar to whether or not the gods are real—are your monsters real? Does your world have their own in-universe metaphors and allegory for the “monstrous” that are still myths? What does that say about these people? Has that view around those “monsters” and what they allegorically represent in-universe changed?

If the monsters are real, are they actually monsters, or the victims of propaganda? Are the “normal people” the real monsters? Are they all just people creating violent slander against each other?

7. Plants, Animals, and Natural Resources

Stuff like this is, in my opinion, only important to heavily detail and think about if the plot demands it. As in, I don’t need to know about the land’s farming practices if a food shortage or grain disease or fantasy inflation of corn prices isn’t part of the story. A one-off line? Sure. A farmer’s backstory? Sure. Taking a random aside to talk at length about genetic engineering of onions in your book about fantasy spies? No.

That said, if this is part of your plot, mix together some real-world analogues and when it comes to fundamental methods for survival, like farming, think of what would be the path of least resistance for these people to come up with. A seaside village is probably going to survive mainly on fish, mussels, and crustaceans because it’s right there for the taking, as opposed to trying to farm avocados on starved soil. If they are trying to farm avocados, now that’s a peculiar story I’d love to hear more about.

8. Zombies?

Or the general concept of an afterlife, and reverting back from it. Is there a religion around their dead and where they go when they’re gone? Can they come back? Do the people only think they can come back? Are there whole rituals or beliefs around revival or reincarnation or body-hopping?

What parts of your afterlife really are a myth, and what can you prove within the narrative? Does it even matter to the plot if fantasy heaven is real? Do your characters refuse to believe in it, despite evidence to the contrary?

Are the “undead” bound to religious rules, or supernatural? Meaning: If I write about vampires, am I writing with Christian rules (with the churches and the holy ground and crosses being problematic) or something older? If I write about zombies, are they a natural phenomenon, or a plague from the gods?

9. On Practical Planets (Physalian’s)

I just watched a movie where there was a lock-box with a celestial combination lock, and to unlock it they needed to know the specific future date the last people who touched it would have thought of. The problem: That box predates the modern calendar, and the writers either didn’t know, didn’t care, or didn’t think it was important (it wasn’t, but still).

Same principle applies on creating planets: How “real” do you intend to get? We’re already off the edge of the map when we create multiple humanoid alien races, implying a cosmic degree of convergent evolution. The more “real” you get with your worldbuilding, the more questions you open up, the more it starts to fall apart as you put the audience’s ability to suspend their disbelief under a microscope.

Example: Artificial gravity. We can either make spinning spaceships, or just say the ship has some fancy alien tech that magically makes it happen and not explain in any further detail. And people will buy it because this is sci-fi.

When it comes to planets and concerning elements like tides, seasons, weather patterns, different gravitational pulls, whether the air should even be breathable, it can get very overwhelming very quickly if you yourself don’t allow some room for your own suspension of disbelief. So consider playing with elements on non-Earth worlds like how the night sky would look on an inhabited moon, or a binary star system, but also, this is fantasy. Just roll with it.

If you are intending to write a universe with very realistic and grounded physics, you have a lot of research to do and authors like Ellefson have plenty of guidance to help you.

10. Practical Geography (Physalian’s)

Once again: If it’s important to the plot, go ham on your climates and weather patterns and how the geography and mountains shape rainfall and such. The more bearing the physical environment has on the story, the more detail it deserves. Your fantasy city is going to need a source of freshwater and ample fields for food if they farm, vs import.

But also, get weird. Fill your fantasy geography with crazy natural phenomena. You might have a forest of trees that your fantasy woodpeckers bored a million holes through, and when the wind blows, the entire forest sounds like a godly flute. Or you have a river that runs beet purple in the spring because of a natural mineral deposit upriver, perfectly harmless. Or you have a flower that can walk, creeping around the forest floor on its root ball devouring beetles all night long.

Real world physics are fun to play with and can create some interesting problems: Like your heroes crash land on a jungle world with air they can’t breathe, demanding they address this problem that many sci-fi stories overlook, but it’s also terribly constricting. This is fantasy. Get fantastical.

11. Fantasy Politics and Why They’re in Power

100 years from now, I’d love to know how the textbooks describe the evolution of early 2000s American politics. If you have a fantasy dictator, figure out how they came to power, who they stood on to get where they are, and what parts of the populace were so desperate for a world they don’t live in, that they gave this leader the shirts off their backs.

Figure out the answer to “How did we get here?” Let it be illogical, and let our current political climate serve as example. You can have whatever hill you want to die on for your chosen politicians, for the most arbitrary reasons, and most of us don’t have well-thought-out theses on why we vote the way we do. Our views are filtered through the media we consume, and the media we don’t consume.

Let the system be broken and nonsensical—you can’t get any worse than reality.

12. Romanticizing (Physalian’s)

In other words, does your world have an era, a style of design, a way of living, a philosophy of a bygone time that they romanticize? Do they have idolized fantasy celebrities? A type of home or settlement that’s the Fantasy American Dream? What’s being advertised by the fantasy luxury, leisure, and cosmetic brands?

Was there a previous leader who led like no other? Do you have your own “Make Fantasy Land Great Again” group? Do they have merit? Is there another culture one group strives to live like? Architecture or clothing or cultural items they buy en masse to “be like the idols”.

I have a world with cultural artifacts inspired by Italian Murrine style glassblowing and via magic, they can make some physics-bending art pieces. Those artifacts, from that ancient culture, have been stolen and sold to enemy museums and the elite and have become a status symbol, even though the ancient culture just made plates and bowls out of necessity and would be horrified at their legacy.

13. Fantasy Weaponry and Innovation

Necessity inspires innovation, but what if your world never invented cars or gunpowder? For example: American land travel and urban design was built, with rare exception around our oldest cities, for cars in mind, not trains or horses and wagons and foot traffic, because of where we sit on the industrial revolution timeline. Our cities aren’t retrofitted for cars, our roads are wide enough for that sole purpose. Our settlements can be very widely spread apart because they were built with the knowledge of speedy travel in mind. Very few things, especially in the South (where I live) can be considered in “walking distance,” much less safely. You must own a car, you have no other option. The Powers That Be also hate trains because more trains means less need for cars and car companies like money.

Alternatively, how does warfare change depending on how deadly and plentiful your fantasy weapons evolve to be? Modern soldiers don’t prance around in their national colors and fancy feathered hats anymore, standing across from each other and shooting on command. Was there any practical reason for dressing your soldiers in bright, candy red, Britain? Surely must’ve been easy to spot for an ambush. Surely wasn’t practical, or logical, but it did happen.

14. Timescales

I want to address the alternative to the obvious “create a standard unit of measurement”. Show what happens when there isn’t a standard unit of measurement, and let chaos ensue. You should have one for the sake of not confusing your readers, but in-universe, have different cultures choosing to die on their hill of having 25 months when the rest of the world has 23, with the former based on their local natural phenomena and the latter based on lunar cycles.

“Military time” as we call it in the US, is the standard 24-hour clock that still confuses us and has us counting up on our fingers. A system we refuse to change even though it’s fundamentally the same amount of time, is a broken system that we still use because it's too hard to change (like the imperial measurement system).

15. Famous Places and Significant Architecture

Do you have a fantasy Disneyland? What about a fantasy remnant of a fantasy World's Fair randomly in your city? Or a bidding war between rival artists amounting to crazy monuments and art installations around the region trying to one-up each other? Your own Chicago Bean with a real name that no one uses and most of us aren’t even aware exists?

Or for religious purposes, what do your churches look like? Do they tower skyward as a monument to a celestial creator, or do they bury deep below ground and into the ocean, to reach a land or water god? Are they massive monuments or humble temples? Are they beautiful displays of wealth, or little wooden gazebos built by the locals? What does your architecture say about your culture?

16. Languages and Cultural Barriers (Physalian’s)

Whether you decide to write your own language (of which I made a guide for) or come up with a few words here and there and allude to foreign tongues, how do these languages, and the people who speak them, navigate foreign lands? How is the dominant language taught? Is the foreign language looked down on and discriminated against? Is even speaking it or having a name from it considered a crime? Are signs and advertisements written in multiple languages or just the dominant one?

What foreign traits are seen as unsavory by the dominant one, whether it’s clothing, religion, lifestyle choices, names, social behaviors, food, parenting, etc? How does the dominant culture discriminate–through law or social pressure?

Is your culture striving to protect a dying language and offering free courses and resources to learn it? Is there a dialect specific to one class or group or region? Do you have a pidgin or creole (not Creole) that comes from a blending of cultures, by force or by chance?

—

I want to make it clear that I don’t think Randy Ellefson is objectively wrong. He makes a lot of good points—for grounded worldbuilding. As I said above, the more central any one piece of your worldbuilding is to the plot, the more detail and thought you should put into it so it feels believable and it feels like there’s much more beneath the tip of the iceberg than just what’s on the page.

He points out many facets of how a society is established where it is, when it is, and why a people would come together, stay together, thrive together, and fall apart. Lots of elements you might not think about when you’re staring at a blank canvas.

I just think his tips don’t allow for the creative freedom of the weird and illogical aspects that make a world feel organic, and not manufactured with step-by-step instructions. His tips are for world building, not world discovering.

#world building #tips for writers #writing resources #writing advice #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #fantasy #sci fi #scifi #long post

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