#I can answer any further questions

[fascinationstreetmp3]

i need daniel to be overcompensating for his insecurities so bad. 100 times more cocky and rude and aggressive and insensitive than he was as a human, falling back into old dangerous habits and vices, not just because now he has new energy and power and wealth to flaunt but because it's ALL he has, and he needs to cling onto it. play it up and revel in it so no one sees that underneath, he feels like a botched fledgling in the body of a sick, faded old man who maybe has no real idea why he was even made. that armand might think he failed in making him. that his maker didn't even really want him.

[fated-normal-767]

Accidentally deleted the first version of the explanations. Fuck. Well I’m back now.

I won’t have time to start writing the other thing till tomorrow BUT this should take less time (I thought before I had to restart it)

there’s some small details referencing things I don’t know how to write properly yet, like mental health in detail, so minor tw for mentions of that

(I can write about mental health actually but it’s some brutal stuff further into the story so I want to be careful about that)

- Ares is left handed (ink on his left sleeve, doing most actions with his left hand)

- Kronos is painted as cruel or rude but never actually does much to make bad things happen; just takes advantage when they do. In terms of just actions, Ares would be much worse.

- The only times Kronos is shown to be “human” emotionally is in his will, or self described “Final testimony”, or with interactions from the perspective of Corvus while he’s alive. There is a very important reason for this.

- When Ares fakes his death and Shimmer thinks they’ve shot him, the shooting scene is designed to visually parallel this one.

- It also parallels Kronos’ death but you’ll see that soon

- The metaphor of drowning is used a lot around Ares, as he was specifically never taught to swim so he’d be easily killable if someone needed him dead. It symbolised a lack of control in his life, as a created weakness.

- Ares sees his surname as an insult, and it’s also used against him in arguments with other characters. He’s especially shown to recoil from being called “Mr Usotsuki”. Letalis calls shimmer “Usotsuki” but the meaning behind it is never clear.

- it’s implied, but the bottle and the drink in the glasses is alcohol. Yes Ares is 15 at this point. It’s specifically whiskey I think. This is directly after the government let him arrange a car crash that killed two people so I don’t think it’s really their highest priority to stop him from breaking the law.

- Kronos’ reference to Ares’ mother being what made him lash out. Hannah Usotsuki suffered from a version of psychosis and delusions which allowed Oulixes to manipulate her and make her seem “insane”. And now Kronos compares Ares to her in order to undermine his thoughts.

- Ares’ potentially injured right arm. Ares scratches his right arm subconsciously, or “to check he’s still real”. As well as this, it’s later described that ares leans on his less injured arm, despite his left arm being the only one damaged in the fight. With his depression, visible weakness, and lack of self preservation at this point, it’s sort of implied what happened.

- A lot of description for Ares relies entirely on his eyes, and what he’s looking at. He’s very linked to eyes throughout the story. Slightly unbelievably, I planned this before I’d even heard of tma, but yeah, very eye coded.

- The descriptions aren’t vague but they’re unsure. No one involved fully remembers this- there’s a lot of “Seems to” and “As though/As if” even in the narration.

Additional fun fact

Kronos has a brother who is later introduced as Augustus Garcia, who works for Zephyrus. He’s very rich and spends his time pretending to be straight for fun, then going home and commissioning femboy art of his gay twink fursona. Somehow, this is plot relevant.

Writing! @teamfortresstwo

The young man holds a crystalline glass in shaky hands. He can’t be much older than 16, yet he averts his eyes from the rest of the room and stares into the contents of the glass like he is much too tired to see any of it. His gaze is dull, and does not display much, though his slumped posture, pale skin, and the deep eyeshadow-esque smudges beneath his eyes could speak paragraphs upon paragraphs to his fragile state.

“Ares, are you even going to pay attention? I’m sure you’re quite aware how important this is,”

This tone is much too harsh to match this young man, but however does match a taller man standing across the room. He too holds a glass, but with a much more steady hand, and a glare directed clearly towards Ares. He appears the antithesis to this poor echo of a man; tan skin, fox-bronze hair, and a sharply ironed suit the maroon shade of dried blood,

“Usotsuki.”

That’s an insult. Ares knows it, he knows it as an insult, a threat, and a very painful reminder. He scratches slightly at his right arm, probably a subconscious action, or maybe just to prove he’s still real.

“Of course I’m listening Kronos. But I feel no inclination to act like I care about what you’re about to tell me.”

There is no hesitation, no stutter, the young man seems to have an uncharacteristically clear tone, though it cracks slightly as he speaks, and days without sleep weigh heavily in the words. Ares is just as formally dressed as Kronos, maybe you could even say more so; but the left sleeve of his shirt is smudged with dark ink around the wrist, and the clothes that were clearly finely tailored now hang loosely off of thin shoulders and a frail form.

“How the fuck could you do that?”

A laugh. The younger man seems to grin in response, but only for a moment. It’s the first flicker of emotion since Kronos walked in, but it seems sarcastic. An ironic twist, and Ares knows he doesn’t need to answer. There is an answer though,

“What, are you surprised I had the courage to change things around here? Astonished that I could stand up for myself? Hm?”

The tone is mocking, almost an attempt at cheery, but his hands shake more, and he gently places the glass next to an empty bottle on his desk to avoid it shattering against the floor when he would inevitably drop it. Despite all this, Ares turns around and looks directly at Kronos. His gaze is no longer nervous, and he holds the violent glare with the determination of a man ready to do anything for what he believes in. A cold laugh, the kind that feels like needles on you skin to hear.

Kronos does not acknowledge this. He seems as though he has just heard the most repulsive thing anyone has ever considered, and looks away from Ares with a look of disdain.

“He was your father. Did family really mean so little to you? You disgust me.”

Any semblance of confidence disappears from the eyes of the younger man, replaced with a fire, or maybe a sadness. The rage and misery combine and he takes a while to respond,

“You don’t know what he was like.”

“I don’t care what you think he was like. I knew him longer than you did and I can say with complete clarity that he was a better man than you’d ever fucking be. You’re just a coward, Usotsuki.”

The room does not fall silent, a distant murmur of talk makes sure of that, but air seems to fall still and harsh, as if the oxygen has seeped out.

Have you ever walked across a frozen lake? Unnaturally smooth and still ground; people don’t belong there, but there is always a sense of freedom in being somewhere you should not be, the ice is safe, of course.

Till it’s not. Till the soft crackle of snow beneath your feet grows aggressive. Till you can feel the rage in your very bone marrow, and the safety of nothing breaks to gives way beneath you. Cold feels like a fire if you’re not careful enough; anything can burn.

Ares grabs the glass from his desk and throws it into the floor. The glass breaks, the ice breaks, the silence breaks, Ares Usotsuki breaks,

“NO. NO, YOU DO NOT GET THIS. YOU DO NOT GET TO TELL ME WHAT I KNEW, WHAT I FUCKING LIVED THROUGH.”

“You have no right to talk to me like that, Usotsuki.”

Ares Usotsuki picks up the bottle from desk and drinks some; for a second it’s clear he finds the taste of the drink unpleasant as he almost drops it, exaggerating every movement with a stumble to recenter his balance and glare directly through Kronos. He says nothing.

“Really, Ares, you clearly need help. This is delusional and insane behaviour. You’re acting completely immature.”

Taking a step towards Kronos, Ares holds the bottle closer to his side, and speaks in a low tone,

“Shut up Kronos. Just,” A glance is thrown towards the broken glass on the floor, “Just shut up.”

“You are being entirely unreasonable. Everyone is trying to help and you’re an ungrateful bastard. You don’t even understand that Oulixes was doing the right thing,”

With a movement faster than you’d expect from the frail figure, Ares swings the glass bottle towards Kronos’ head, and he shuts his eyes, waiting for the crunch of either skull or glass, or hopefully both. There is no sound. His arm is grabbed and twisted at a sharp angle, and the bottle is pulled from his grasp. With his free hand he attempts to swing a punch and ignore the burn jolting through the muscles of his limp arm, but he instead stumbles backwards, visibly shaken.

A mocking laugh, and a cruel grin, “Ares, really. You’re unwell. This attitude will never get you anywhere.”

“Got me here. Got Oulixes in that fucking car crash,” A small laugh which twists into a wince in pain as he shifts his arm, “Got you all pissed off that I’m doing better than you, didn’t it? Angry that some stupid child runs this entire fucking place?” A flicker of sadness, “I couldn’t quit if I fucking wanted to. They need me here.”

“You’ve killed two innocent people. For nothing. I don’t envy you. I pity you. There is something wrong with your mind, and you need help.”

“OULIXES WASN’T FUCKING INNOCENT. I SAVED MY FAMILY. YOU-”, a sharp intake of breath, “You need to leave. I don’t need help. I especially don’t want your poorly disguised abuse- Sorry, sorry I mean ‘help’.”

“This is completely stupid. You’re acting just like your mother.”

Ares jolts up at that, without even pausing, throws his entire body weight into a punch, more as though he is trying to tackle Kronos. Then he tumbles. His ears are ringing, and his vision is blurred, warm blood pours over his eye and he lurches to the desk, dragging himself back onto his feet; The glass bottle Kronos had taken is now blood soaked and shattered on the floor, and Ares feels as though his skull is imploding, crushing into his mind, like, well, shards of glass, or, or maybe the feeling of your brain being vacuum sealed, he considered.

He grabs onto the edge of the desk and manages to drag himself onto his feet, though leaning heavily on his less injured arm, as the other hangs limb by his side, and he shuts his eyes tight to avoid blood dripping from a deep cut on his forehead. The tint is smudged through his hair and smaller cuts littered across his skin stain his shirt.

“Dear lord, Usotsuki. You’re a wreck,” Brushing his hands together to remove any specks of glass powder, Kronos glares disapprovingly at the man who seems to be staring intently at his desk, “At least Oulixes could make a point without getting so uselessly emotional, you’re nothing compared to him.”

A quiet click. Slowly lifting his uninjured arm from the desk, Ares holds a gun towards Kronos, though his eyes are still closed, with blood entirely covering one eye and obstructing significant vision in the other- he would need to be lucky to make the shot, even at point-blank range- The both of them knew that. But you don’t threaten the person holding a gun to you, no matter how unlucky you expect they’ll be.

“Now now Us- Ares, there’s no need for this.”

Ares has no mocking response, no nothing. He simply raises his other arm with a wince, to steady the hand holding the gun.

The door to the office has been ajar. It would allow anyone to look through, but no one working in this environment would dare irritate Kronos, or even the miserable looking Usotsuki, who was much more threatening than his appearance occasionally suggested.

Shimmer Usotsuki does not work there, they are much much too young, being just under 8, and not having much sense of what they are meant to hear or know. Disturbed by the shouting, they had wandered to glance through the gap in the door. They had not been there long, but they were afraid, for their brother, and for what might be about to happen.

Sheepishly, and with as much caution as a young child can muster, they attempt to look further round the door. And they do not manage, falling into the room and rapidly standing up. They didn’t dare utter a word, maybe they could leave without causing any trouble?

Ares jumped at the sound of the door opening, and still unable to see, turned away from Kronos, glaring towards the sound. His heart was racing and he had had enough of all of this; of everything, of this fucking place,

“WHO’S THERE? I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD YOU BETTER STAY BACK, JUST STAY THE FUCK BACK OR I’M SHOOTING EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM AND THEN MYSELF, YOU-”, he takes a pause to breathe heavily, almost sounding as though he is sobbing.

Kronos watched, with an almost amused smile. Ares couldn’t see but, well, he could. And he could see what was about to happen. The terrified child stares at Ares, who has gone still, other than his shoulders shaking and he struggles not to collapse or break down crying, as he waits for any indication to what is happening, and;

A quiet voice. They utter a name, just a name. Well not quite just a name; their brother’s name. It sounds like a question. It is a question. A gun falls to the floor. A young man who has done barely anything and yet too much falls next to it. He hides his face.

He does not stop hiding his face. Not long after the memory has been repressed from both his pain-riddled mind, and Shimmer no longer knows why they cannot look down the barrel of a gun without thinking of their brother, why some images haunt nightmares but don’t linger.

[gracebethartacc]

soooo I had a lore idea earlier that ties into the rewrite really well,,,,,,

Poor unfortunate souls am I right :)

[cathodic-clairvoyant]

Oh hi there transfem discussing her experience in the trans community i just had a quick question about your post

What does tme mean?

Oh okay i see i understand, thank you.

What does transmisogyny mean?

Ah I see, I get it.

What's a trans woman?

Oof scary. One last question.

What's a woman?

Thank you for being my own personal google (not like you had anything better to do right?) and derailing the point of your post for my own personal education. I will now add nothing of value to this post in return. Bye bye!

[clowningcrows]

lol i pregamed a tiny bit for agatha but now after finishing im just taking shots for coping reasons

[electrozeistyking]

WHERE IS THIS GOLDEN RETRIEVER FACT FROM

This golden retriever fact is featured in Episode Five of Murder Drones - which is called "Home" - and can be heard in the opening two minutes from the show's deuteragonist, N! :D

I can concur with this being true, having met a golden retriever once. Gave the fella a treat and he accidentally dropped it, so I had to give it to him a second time. He was very gentle taking it from me both times and I think I nearly cried about it.

[fated-normal-767]

Ok facts time hell yeah! She uses any pronouns but mainly she/her, and she’s about 18 or 19 but doesn’t exactly know her birthday. Her name is a pun on “rejoice” but jayce also means “healer”.

She wants to be a journalist and takes notes on everything she sees, originally speaking to Yuki when she noticed them doing the same thing but with sketching drawings of everywhere they went. As she wants to be a journalist, she got an internship with a company to do paperwork and occasionally manage social media presences/track how things went. Unfortunately for her, she works for Zephyrus, who is the most unpleasant and irritating bastard ever, with a tendency to resort to violence about anything.

Ria does not originally get along well with Basil, not out of dislike (she doesn’t really dislike anyone. not even zephyrus, that much); but because basil shows up looking for their legal records to get the names of the medications they were given so they don’t end up getting distracted and stabbing someone to death while they’re trying to plan much more subtle ways to do that. Basil was told not to scare Ria and does this very effectively by shouting “I don’t want to kill you” at them (an attempt at being reassuring), which causes ria to throw the files at them and then lock herself in a room for a few hours. Basil thinks this was very effective and decides that a crucial part of zer plan should be befriending Ria.

Ria eventually is slightly less scared of basil, after basil knocks zephyrus unconscious to save her life, almost accidentally killing him then and there in the process (nearly sacrificing basils entire plan, which is something they take very seriously). Abaddon is also there but you don’t know much about him yet (I love abaddon so much).

Ria and Basil go for ice cream at one point, and then not even an hour later; drug someone together (ria’s idea, basil just followed her plan), blame a kidnapping on someone basil kidnapped (because they can’t defend themself), and plan to kill Zephyrus (Ria still doesn’t hate him, but she’s doing it for basil and everyone else Zephyrus hurts)

When Yuki is introduced, Ria is the first person that Basil goes to to say “there’s something wrong with this freak please help”, and Ria is the only one to trust them. Upon interacting with both of them, Ria decides that there is something weird about this person, but there’s also a significant amount weird about Basil, and she’s friends with them. Might as well be friends with another strange, plotting, creature of some description, that has family issues.

I believe that if basil has the ability to comprehend emotions or time to think about that level of idea, they would be in a romantic relationship with Ria, however they are Not able to do that, so the idea does not apply. Ria is attracted to basil, but it makes nothing awkward or weird and they’re both normal about it. It’s very slight implied at the end of the project that basil, yuki and ria have some kind of qpr, but it is very nonspecific.

Ria mentions that if she needed to, she could probably kill someone without much worry or regret. Phantasm eats human eyes in front of her once. She’s slightly insecure ability her appearance but dresses in very bright colours to try and make that the focus of her appearance. She does not like violence but is unopposed to any form of self defence or protection of other people.

She was adopted and does not know her birth parents, but this isn’t mentioned much other than a few notes in the back of her notebook. Her skill is mainly aesthetic, I haven’t decided if it includes anything that actually has any use yet. She likes singing but wouldn’t sing in front of people. She doesn’t like coffee.

I have found a new oc for my project (knew she’d be in it but didn’t have a name yet)

Her name is Ria Jayce and she has a similar form to Corvus (bird-like) but instead of grey and black it’s the cmyk test page colour scheme and pattern

^ this. She’s friends with basil and yuki.

OOOOOOH I ALREADY HAVE SO MUCH BRAINROT FOR HER also aren’t those the Cartoon Network colors?

[piningpercussionist]

I saw from a post about how many asks you have and I was wondering why not just answer one ask then use that as your daily post? (I'm pretty sure you post daily from my memory)

I'm not a writer so apologies if I sound a bit rude or oblivious. But I think you don't do that because it might get tiring to write an in-character response each day.

I'm actually an Insane Person and ideally would be posting hourly/bi-hourly, if only I ever found enough content to queue up in such a manner,,

But, basically the delays can be summed up in three parts: tired or busy (lumping these together as one problem), no idea how to respond just yet (or respond in a way that satisfies me,) or I have ideas but they're art based and take more time.

I do have some wips for some art answers saved I think, but I've got, like, a single commission remaining on my docket and I refuse to let myself do other art until it's finished (barring one sketch I did for the sake of my sanity.... I cannot stress enough how much of a fight it is to get myself to do full shading and backgrounds 💀 mistakes were made.)

Now, admittedly, it's been a minute since I took a crack at writing out some more thoughtful or lengthy responses for some of the asks I've gotten- so far as I recall, at least- but the dissatisfaction problem is Extremely Real. No joke, I've had an ask sitting in my queue for several months now because I was like "yeah this is good enough," queued it, and then just before it could post I was overcome with an Intense distaste for it. I really liked the question and thought I could do better. (And still clearly have not done better....) Writing Kim honestly comes really naturally to me, and I could never really get tired of it, but sometimes an ask throws a curveball at me in a way that I just really cannot quite wrap my head around responding to. Other times, I get asks that I just can't let myself answer in a subpar manner- either the ask itself or the implications of the answer I concoct end up mattering too much to me, so I get super in my head about finalizing the reply.

And then me being tired is just a skill issue. (I'm joking; this only applies to like the last month or so, but I actually started taking some new medications recently that have been messing with me just a little in this respect. Sometimes I get tired, and when they DO give me the pep to do things, I've admittedly been trying to direct that energy into getting my life together lol)

[piko-power]

What do you mean by die or a coma?

👀

(I recommend NOT clicking on "keep reading" if you don't want spoilers for Sonic the Hedgehog 3 but proceed with caution if you must lol)

I may or may not have seen a certain action figure that kind of made me lose my crap for hours last night lmao

I'm not gonna say who it was but if you played Sonic Adventure 2 then you'd understand

[fingertipsmp3]

Swear to god if I was actually a proper reddit user I’d be posting the stupidest AITA posts

[vespersbelladonnakiss]

OMG YOU DO??? okay im lying on the couch with my ipad rn because i am in above average amounts of pain and want to distract myself but whenever i go over to my computer i will post essays about them

[captain-astors]

1, 2 for Seidou and 12 for the asks?

Once again obligatory apology for talking about Nimu it will happen again. 1. You know that bit in the gourmet arc where Ami mentions Souta was suspicious on account of never eating any human food? He kind of got dealt all the bad cards when it comes to his mixed species nature because he can't process human meat or human food very effectively, but the prior at least doesn't taste garbage and his morals are too nonexistent and detached to have that factor in by much. It was an active decision, he just doesn't eat human food with the exception of very specific kinds when he can help it. 2. Seidou pushes it off with snide comments ("I don't like men that way" and etc.) but he's genuinely super uncomfortable with any physical touch post-Kanou and if you tried to hug him and actually managed to do it without getting sliced to pieces, he would cry and not in a good "I missed this" way. He's never been a very physical person when it comes to affection but for obvious reasons that made it a million times worse. I don't think there's actual a single living person he'd allow to touch him anymore unless his sister is still alive, then it's a maybe. Possibly Amon or Akira with time but we'll never know! Thanks Ishida. 12. Kind of an extension of my 1, there are some weird byproducts of turning a half-human into a half-ghoul. Particularly in this case because the Furuta branch are not primarily rinkakus, so it's a little bit like injecting a person with a whole bunch of incompatible blood but slower and weirder. From the moment of the operation until his death, his limited existent RC system was essentially at war with Rize's (and losing) as it tore new pathways through the useless ones Nimura's had already. Funnily that actually strengthened the existing one, so it couldn't just be mercifully wiped out and functioned essentially as a human being turned into a ghoul, and the new one was too similar to his old one to always tell the difference, so it defaulted to Attack Everything but also Heal Everything including his organs and etc. This had the upsides of a much faster transformation into a Kakuja state and highly advanced pathway without dismemberment (hence why he can reattach a limb just about as easily as Seidou, someone who underwent months of repeated butchering despite not having the time to do that to himself, though Kanou and the Washuu nonsense also helped with this.) because his body is constantly tearing itself to shreds and healing just as fast anyways. However, the costs included but were not limited to: an even shorter anticipated lifespan, incredibly agony as the opposing system brutally rips his own apart in instances of usage, and limited voluntary shape manipulation (Only how it looks, he's got no issue striking extremely specific places) which is why it ends up just appearing a bit like a mass of eyes, kagune and teeth and doesn't repeat the same form twice. That's also why his Kakuja looks more like a Bikaku than a Rinkaku.

[deceptivebeatbox]

>>Whiteout minibio

>>Not included are her without the visor and an alternate form

>>Text under cut

I don't really know what to call Whiteout. She's not cybertronian, her origins are from Earth. I suppose she is an Autobot, like me, since she stays alongside them. Though, I don't know if that would be the case if I hadn't found her when I came to Earth. She's quite the small thing, the same size as those humans… Similar to Sari, but she definitely seems a lot more fragile. While she does feel like a primitive counterpart to Sari's technorganic self, I'm actually quite impressed with how advanced she is when you put her next to any other Earth robot. She's… Like a real person. She stays by my side very often, she's a bit of a clingy one… It feel like a hassle most of the time, since I do need to watch over her and make sure she's not going to get herself scrapped at any moment. She listens, though. To orders and even to Bumblebee's ramblings about things I don't care to understand. …Oh? What do I think of her? … She's okay. —Beatbox

[mikkeneko]

In various places -- here, the bird app, even YouTube comments -- I keep running into people with some variation of the same question:

"Does Scum Villain have a teacher/student romance?" And every time I want to answer with: No, But Also Yes, But Also Not Really, It's Complicated (And That's On Purpose.)

Which is an answer that's too long to fit in a tweet or a YT comment, but fortunately tumblr has no (effective) post limit! So here I go.

1 - No

In the very straight forward porn cliche sense of "oh but professor, I really ~need~ to pass this class or my life will be ruined, can't I do ~anything~ to get you to change my grade?" *bats lashes* and "Hoho, my pretty young teen student, I've got your good grade right here in my pants, if you ~apply~ yourself..." then no.

No sex or romance between a teacher and their student in the bounds of a teacher-student relationship happens in this book. No deliberate grooming of an underage student on the part of a teacher occurs in this book. No sex or a romance between an adult character and an underage character occurs in this book, nor is the adult 'waiting' for the minor to reach adulthood to initiate one.

2 - But Also Yes

No sex or romance between a teacher and their student in the bounds of that relationship happens in this book. Two people who were formerly in a teacher and student relationship do enter into a sexual and romantic relationship by the end of the book. Also the nature of the society they're in further means that even though they are no longer in the schooling environment, it is socially assumed that the deference owed by a student to their teacher lasts forever, even after the student leaves that environment, and they continue to regard themselves and refer to themselves in those roles even though the teacher no longer strictly speaking has authority over the student.

Also, the student was really hot for his teacher even when he was still a student. (The teacher was oblivious to this fact.)

3 - But Also Not Really

By the time sex and romance is even on the horizon for these characters, their relationship has so drastically changed from that of a "teacher and student" that it is barely recognizeable as such. The power/authority dynamic between a teacher and their student is subsumed pretty much entirely by the facts that:

A. The 'student' has become a medeival fantasy warlord of such unsurpassable magic and might that literally no other person in this world can stand up against him, 'teacher' included, and the 'teacher' is well aware of that.

B. Also, the 'student' is metaphysically endowed (heh) with the Protagonist Halo, a literally active force within the setting they're part of, which means that not only can he not be defeated, he ontologically cannot be denied anything that he desires; what he wants, he gets, and what he doesn't want, cannot be forced on him.

C. ...But also, the teacher in this setting is a metaphysical outsider to the world order the student is part of, which means that he is aware of all of the above, and can and does manipulate it to suit his own agenda, which may or may not align with giving the student what he wants at any point in time. Assuming that the teacher has the correct understanding of what the student wants. (He doesn't.)

D. ........But also also, for all his power, one harsh word from him can destroy him. For all his knowledge, one tear can devastate him. (Which one? Both.)

4 - It's Complicated (On Purpose)

*throws the chalk against the wall*

Between a teacher and their student, who has the power? Between an emperor and a scholar, who has the power? Between a hero and the villain he is predestined to destroy, who has the power? Between a character and the reader who's read ahead to the end of the story, who has the power? Do we find some of these power imbalances more acceptable than others? And if so, why do we?

Trying to track Who Has The Power or Who Has An Unfair Advantage socially, physically, and metaphysically between this particular pair of characters is damn near impossible and that's on purpose.

The Scum Villain's Self Saving System is a lot of things, but one thing that absolutely defines it is that it is a parody. It's a parody and a deconstruction of a lot of things -- the 'stallion' genre, the 'isekai' genre, the 'pay-per-chapter webnovel' genre, the 'gay drama' genre and, most relevant to this conversation, it is a deconstruction of teacher-student romance.

What kind of a teacher-student romance has a clueless, fish-out-of water NEET in the role of the Wise Old Mentor? What kind of a teacher-student romance has a black-hearted, demonic, domineering feudal warlord in the role of the Blushing Virginal Student? What kind of a teacher-student romance has the two principals so close in age -- by the end of the book, they may be as little as a year apart -- that they're more like peers than teacher and student? What kind of audience are we, going into a story like this one and finding ourselves cheering for the teacher to fall in love and lust with his student, only to be disappointed when that doesn't happen because the teacher fails for three books straight to recognize love and lust when it's literally looking him in the face and crying?

Asking "does Scum Villain have a teacher-student romance?" is sort of like asking "does Galaxy Quest have a lot of high science fiction concepts?" No, but also yes, but also not really. It's complicated, and that's on purpose.

[inkedells]

pairing: old!logan x f!reader

Logan is sick and tired of you treating him like he's fragile. He'll ignore his relentless pain to show you what it's like to be taken apart, rough and slow, then fast and agonizing.

wc: 3.5k of pure smut

warnings: heavy smut, lap sitting, fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), dirty talk, facials, p in v, ruined orgasms, snowballing, kind of angsty, the claws come out, logan is angry with you, kinda toxic, definitely mean, but still kind of sweet, pwp basically, blood, but it's not bloodplay, it's just logan not caring if he's hurt, if i missed any let me know.

Logan comes home and throws himself back on that torn-up leather sofa, thumb flicking his lighter while the other holds a cigar. It’s less of a distraction from the ache in his bones, and more of a device to push you away. Because if you think he’s tired or angry or hurting, you won’t ask him to fuck you.

It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Of course he does. It’s the sympathy in your eyes when he gets tired from just a couple of minutes of thrusting that he hates. The whispered, “It’s okay. baby, I can ride you.” The gentle touches across his body and his neck and his face and his beard. It all reeks of pity. And if you were to sit him down one day and ask him why he hates being taken care of, he wouldn’t have an answer. He would push the voice in his head down into the void that all the strength he had left fell in, the voice shrinking until it’s nothing as it screams, because I’ve never been taken care of, and I would’ve loved it back when being taken care of wasn’t my only choice.

But it’s fine. You wouldn’t ever ask him that question because he knows for a fact that you don’t know. If you did, you wouldn’t be climbing onto his lap quietly, hands rubbing his sides as you press kisses to his neck.

“I missed you, Logan,” You whisper. Your hips aren’t moving; He knows he sat here like this to avoid fucking you, but he almost wishes you were seeking exactly that. Sex, as embarrassing as it would be for him, is better than your sick love. He doesn’t think you love in the way lovers do. It’s the kind of love meant for sick puppies, or the lonely old woman sitting on the bus with all her belongings in plastic bags.

He turns his head to take a drag of his cigar. Silence.

You hold his face, forcing him to look at you as you kiss him. Slow, chaste, no tongue. He feels scrutinized by your touches, and something nervous seats itself deep in his belly.

“How was your day?” You ask, your gaze snapping between his eyes.

Logan closes them. “I’m tired,” He says flatly.

“I know. It’s okay.”

There it is again. Pity.

He scoffs. It’s quiet. Barely there. He didn’t mean to. He watches your face fall the smallest bit. A year ago, he wouldn’t have noticed, and if he would’ve, he would blurt out an apology. Now, he does notice, but he secretly wants to watch it fall even further if it means you’ll realize how much you’ve been hurting him.

You swallow, your thumb rubbing his cheekbone. “I found an American poetry anthology in the basement today. 20th Century. My favorite poem was in it.”

He mumbles, “In a Station of the Metro. T.S. Elliot.” Remembering the poem you told him about months ago sounds too much like sorry. He wishes he’d pretended to forget.

“Ezra Pound,” You correct. Your smile tells him he’s forgiven for an apology he never offered. “If you can recite it I’ll be impressed.”

“I’m not reciting a goddamn poem.” He sounds sarcastic, and it relieves you, but then you kiss him and he’s wound tight again.

You sigh as you pull back. “What’s bothering you, baby?”

“Nothing’s bothering—”

“What’s bothering you?” You interject.

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. He makes the decision to sacrifice his dignity for the sake of stopping this conversation. You never could resist an orgasm, especially one caused by him. “Enough of that.”

“What?”

But he’s putting out his cigar and lifting you off his lap with a suppressed grunt, then pushing you down on the couch.

“Logan,” You protest.

He continues undoing the drawstring of your pajamas, with a kind of slippery urgency that tells you he's trying to shut you up more than he's trying to satiate his own desire.

You sit up straight, swatting his hand away. “Stop.”

He withdraws immediately, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at the floor. He was wrong, before, about you not knowing. You definitely know, because you don’t place a loving hand on his thigh and you don’t kiss his shoulder. He’s grateful.

Instead, you observe his profile, then the quiet tremor in his hand. The impossible stillness of the rest of him. He tends to do that when his nerves are on fire. Thinks being a statue is what people who aren’t in chronic pain do.

“Don’t do that,” He mumbles, feeling your eyes on him. “I don’t need you feeling sorry, or whatever—whatever the fuck else goes through your head when you’re around me.”

You say nothing. That’s the most he’s said about his feelings in a while. He knows it, so he forces himself to say nothing, too. It doesn’t last long.

“I’m not dying.” His voice cracks a little at the end and he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

“I know.” The words come out in a tumble, as if you’re rushing to participate in his lie.

“Then stop looking at me like I’m dying.”

“Okay.” Tears prickle your eyes but you blink them away.

“Okay,” He repeats.

You take a deep breath. “But it’s okay to be cared for, Logan.”

He laughs incredulously, and suddenly his volume is rising and his voice is firm. “Would you just—Would you just quit being my fuckin’ mommy? Would you?”

He only lets your silence marinate for a second before he rushes in to kiss you, ignoring the cramps in his muscles as he tugs your neck forward roughly. You squeak against his mouth, fighting his impossible grip on you, but you give up with a shaky exhale through your nose when your efforts prove useless.

“I can take care of you, too,” He grits out. It would sound sweet if it weren’t for the frustration in his tone. He pushes you onto the couch the same way he did moments before as he opens your legs by your knees and settles between them. He sucks a dark mark onto your neck, his fingers digging bruises in your ribs.

“I know you can,” You reassure him. You can see where this is going. “And I love when you do.” You gasp when he pulls your shirt up over the curve of your breasts.

“No. You don’t.” He pinches one of your nipples and sucks the other into his mouth for a brief second. “It’s okay. I’ll show you so you don’t forget again. You won’t want to get ruined any other way.”

“Logan,” You sigh.

He hums against the soft skin just underneath your breast as his hands ravage your body. He begins to unsheathe the adamantium claws in one of his hands so he can rip your top open. It’s slow and excruciating, so he closes his eyes, but the pain is over too soon and his suspicions are confirmed when he opens his eyes to see them stuck halfway.

You don’t expect him to lean back and individually tug each blade free. There’s blood, and now it’s dripping onto your belly, and he mumbles something that sounds like an apology as he wipes the dots of red away with his thumb.

But the hazel in his eyes is alive again. You hope it’s you that did that. Hope it’s not the pain or the sight of his own blood. You want to ask him, just to make sure. You don’t like hurting, right? You just really like me—

He slices through your shirt, careful not to graze your skin, and you try to ignore the fact that he’s never that cautious with himself, but you can’t.

“Logan, you’re bleeding.” Your voice is unstable.

“It’ll heal,” He says quickly, passively. He wipes his burning palm on his wifebeater.

“But that takes a long time now.”

He meets your eyes, his movements frozen. He’s angry and you’re not stupid. You’re pitying him again. He needs you to stop fucking pitying him. When he speaks, his voice is deep and rough and slow, and you would be scared if he wasn’t your Logan. “Are you done?”

You don’t know what to say, so you just close your eyes and nod. You hear his claws retract faster than when they came out, and almost simultaneously, he’s shoving that same hand under your waistband as two of his calloused fingers push themselves into your cunt.

You arch toward him involuntarily, a ragged moan falling from your lips as he tugs your pajamas off your legs and spits on your pussy to ease the slide of his fingers.

Each groan he pulls from your throat is a step toward dispelling the doubt from your body. Doubt of his capabilities, of his strength, of his devotion to you.

“Beg me to fuck you,” He demands, fingering you roughly.

Your mind is cloudy at this point, from sadness or arousal or both, but you give him what he wants. “Fuck me,” You whisper, your eyelids about to flutter shut as you shed a tear.

But then you catch Logan smiling.

He grabs your jaw with his free hand, and you look at him immediately. “You’re gonna let me use it, right? Get myself off?” You lazily trace his features with your gaze—His nose, his wrinkles, his beard—because you know if it were your fingers instead he’d mistake it for tenderness and get mad again.

You nod, but it’s weak with how hazy everything is.

“Good girl.” 

“Please,” You sigh, “I need you inside of me. I need to—I need it.”

“I know. I know what you’re feeling before you feel it.” He lets the pad of his thumb draw quick circles on your clit. “What? Thought I couldn’t hear you playing with yourself in the shower? If I can hear your heartbeat when I walk through the door, what makes you think I wouldn’t have heard you whining my name?”

“Logan,” You sigh, your hips lifting off the couch, coaxing his fingers deeper for as long as possible before he’s shoving you back down with the heel of his palm.

“I’m gonna play with you now. I’ll fuck you after, don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“What do you mean, play with me?” You breathe, fighting to keep your eyes open as he finds your g-spot.

He grins dirtily, in a way that makes your head spin and your thighs clench around his hand. You’re barely processing his words as he bends down to mumble in your ear, “Right when you’re about to make a mess on my fingers, I’m gonna stop. Then I’m gonna go down on you. And I’m gonna lick your pretty pussy, maybe even fuck you with my tongue if you’re good. And guess what? Guess what I’m gonna do when you’re this close?”

“You’re gonna stop,” You whine.

“I’m gonna stop,” He nods, and it’s mocking, but it’s gentle, and he’s fucking killing you with the way he’s talking right now. “But I’m not mean. I’ll give you a break. You can calm down when my dick is in your mouth, okay?”

“Okay,” You breathe, your hips unabashedly grinding on his fingers. But you want to reassure him he is mean, and you especially want to tell him how much you love it. “Logan, I’m gonna—”

He withdraws his fingers from you so fast it almost burns. You clench around nothing, your lower half spasming as your orgasm barely approaches before falling away again. Only a hint of pleasure is able to make it through the cracks, and you cling onto it, hoping if you focus hard enough, the wave will come back. It doesn’t. You should regret warning Logan that you were about to finish, but all you feel is comfort now that he’s finally proud of you again.

Another tear streams down the side of your face, landing in your hair. Logan’s watching you as he pets your thigh, his lips parted when he leans down over you. He kisses your wet cheek softly, his beard rough on your skin. It’s unlike him to offer you affection this gracefully during sex. It’s always shaky limbs and suppressed groans and dirty kisses. Both of you know it. 

He moves down your body, until his face is hovering over your cunt. He doesn’t have his reading glasses on, so he has to pull his head back and squint as he spreads your folds with his thumbs, studying what you look like. He licks a stripe over you. A second, longer one, before he zeroes in on your clit. You can do nothing except lay there and take it as your hips twitch from overstimulation under his firm hands.

“Oh my god,” You whisper, your fingers twisting in his hair. “F-Fuck.”

He moans at that, pressed right up against you, the sound deep and delicious and vibrating. “Feel good?” He asks teasingly with a nip to your inner thigh.

“What do—What the fuck do you think?”

He breathes a laugh. It’s short and airy, not frustrated like before, and a warmth ignites itself in the back of your mind. It’s overpowering even the feeling of his mouth licking and sucking your most sensitive area; It’s the relief that he’s still hiding the Logan you fell in love with somewhere in there.

You wind your fingers in his hair and scratch his scalp. You try to do it lovingly, although it comes across as sexual and Logan’s breath hitches in pleasure against your pussy instead. So as you suppress a gasp from the pure skill of his tongue, you show your affection differently—you hold the wounded hand he has resting face-up beside your hip. The cuts embedded there are easy to avoid as your thumb rubs the lines of his palm, because even though you can’t see his hand, the puffiness surrounding each slash on his skin are your cues.

He doesn’t move his hand away, but his tongue falters for a fraction of a second before slowing down.

The kind of love you’re pressing into Logan’s skin with each gentle stroke is unrecognizable to him. It’s not the pitiful love he’s so used to. He thinks it might be the opposite. Admiration. Reverence.

“I’m so empty,” You whisper, bringing your hands to grope Logan’s biceps. They’re sweaty and hard and flexing under your touch, and you wonder if he would let you ride them one day.

When your climax starts to creep up on you, it’s thanks to the image of Logan forcing you to lick your arousal clean off his bicep. Indulgently swirling your tongue along his pronounced veins, savoring the taste of his sweat mixed with yourself. He’d probably say somthing like, fuckin’ filthy. Getting yourself off on my arm. Who does that? Are you that obsessed with me?

Logan feels you squeezing his tongue, harder than all the other times before, so he withdraws at the last moment, ruining your orgasm once again.

 You convulse silently, your breath coming out stuttered with your twitching jaw. As if he can read your mind, he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants and boxers. But he doesn’t strip himself of his wifebeater, stained with blood.

It’s the hottest thing in the world.

You blink, and suddenly Logan is hovering above you with his cock over your face. He rubs his leaking tip on your cheeks first, then your lips, and when you open your mouth to take him, he moves his cock away and nudges your jaw shut with his free hand, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

A whine lodges itself in your throat as Logan spreads his pre-come over the plush of your lips. It escapes only when he lets go of his cock in favor of massaging his wetness across your lips and on your tongue with his thumb. His hard cock is bobbing above you, almost tantalizingly, the occasional drip of arousal landing itself somewhere near your eyes, then your hair, then your mouth, and you watch Logan’s brow furrow as you try to lick whatever you can.

His resolve snaps. A calloused hand squeezes at your cheeks until your jaw falls open. His cock is in your mouth before you can process it, thick and heavy and wet. So. Incredibly. Wet. You start to wonder how it’s even possible that he’s this hard at his age, but you know he wouldn’t want you to be wondering that, so you happily push the thought away.

You suck your cheeks in, swirling your tongue around his tip as you bob your head to meet the subtle, almost imperceivable thrust of his hips. You’re taking it well, you know you are. So you keep taking it, until Logan can no longer successfully suppress his moans and his hips are jerking out of rhythm.

He moves back until his cock slips out of your mouth. “I don’t wanna come like this. Wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah, yes. Fuck me. Please.”

He stands up and turns you on your front, your knees pressing into the soft couch cushions with your ass in the air.

“Logan,” You plead as you feel his tip pressing at your entrance.

“I’ve got you,” He says quietly, pushing in until half of his cock is comfortably squeezed by your cunt. Both your breathing is loud and labored, and there’s a specific kind of intimacy in knowing you’re both feeling this identical need. Overwhelming and hot and unquenchable by anything other than each other.

His first thrust is shallow, but it ruins you all the same. With how thick he is, it should feel like an intrusion, and it does. But all you can think about is how perfectly he fits inside of you, filling you extraordinarily with only a few inches.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes. “Look at that.” He traces around your entrance with his thumb. “Stretching so wide to take me.”

You moan, pressing your cheek against the sofa as you rock with his thrusts. He still hasn’t pressed all the way in yet, and you’re growing impatient. “Come on,” You urge, pushing yourself back to force more of his cock into you.

You expect him to chastise you for being so greedy, but he listens to you instead with a slow, full thrust. His tip nudges your cervix with how deep he is, and a ragged moan escapes you. “Yes,” You whine, “Oh god, yes.”

Logan’s breaths are coming out heavy through his nose, quick and occasionally intertwined with a grunt. His thrusts are getting quicker, and it’s starting to burn, but you welcome every sensation he has to offer you. He pulls out, spits on his cock, then shoves himself back inside, and this time you’re both unabashedly moaning the minute you’re joined again. 

His fingers dig in the plush of your ass as he observes himself disappearing into you. It hurts, but you love it. He knows you do, so he spanks you quickly before gripping you and rutting against you again.

“I love when you fuck me,” You whisper, feeling ashamed as soon as the confession leave you. “When you properly fuck me.”

He slows for a moment so he can watch his cock glisten with how wet you are. “I know.” He picks back up his punishing pace.

Your eyes begin to water, from pain or pleasure, you can’t tell. “I love you.”

“I know,” He repeats, this time breathier. His hips stutter. You can tell he’s close.

“I want it on my face,” You tell him quickly, his impending orgasm giving you no time to worry about being too forward.

He pulls out again, letting you turn onto your back as he shifts up your body. He jerks himself furiously, but you swat his hand away and take it upon yourself to stroke him.

“Come for me,” You tell him honestly, softly. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips part around a trembling exhale.

He groans as his release coats your face in long stripes. Some of it even lands in your hair, but you don’t care. Your own fingers work your clit as you stick your tongue out and taste him. Logan bends down to kiss you, chest heaving and hands shaky, and you rub yourself faster as you swap his release between the two of you with a hum. He pulls back to let you swallow, then he kisses your cheeks with his rough beard, uncaring about the mess on your face.

You don’t know you’re coming until it’s over and you’re breathless, and it’s almost excruciating with how much he’s ruined you, but you’re so exhausted you can’t find it in yourself to dwell on it a second longer.

You wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down for another kiss because you can hardly remember the one he just gave you.

“I’m sorry I had been treating you all wrong,” You say carefully.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” His voice is rough.

You nod, your lips brushing his as you smooth sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. These touches are hard for him. Any variation of your chaste affection is a reminder that he’s not really Logan anymore.

But the shame in it is gone. Replaced by the reassurance that he can still surround you with safety and firm hands and blatant desire;

And for a moment, he’s his old self again.

A/N: it's been so long since i've written anything, but logan has been consuming my brain for weeks so i had to get this out. i hope it's true to his character. <3 also, my asks are open, so feel free to request anything you want to read about.

[filmstarved]

i can fix him and fuck him.

18+ [logan x female!reader]

nobody can break through logan's walls with ease like you can. and he actually lets you, welcomes it even. he needs it to breathe and when he's ready to walk out of the gifted youngsters door, there you are again.

word count: 5,737

logan sulks. he’s so devoid of love and compassion that he sulks. he’s confused most days, too. unsure of who he is and what he even wants. the people who are somehow closest to him can’t even find their way past the fire breathing dragons that guard the drawbridge to his heart. (scott jokes that he doesn’t have a heart and that the adamantium replaced it and he’s fully pumping cold, hard metal).

logan is a man who answers to himself and doesn’t give people even the slightest chance to ask him a dumb fucking question because he’s not in the fucking mood. he’s never in the mood…unless you put him in one. usually a good one.

you earn a smile from logan as easy as the sun makes it seem to rise every morning and the moon to take its place at night. it leaves the team dumfounded. they believe if you weren’t here, logan would have left a long time ago. they’re right. logan used to search high and low for any excuse to leave. he never knew where he’d go, he’d just…go. but you didn’t dare let him out of your sight. not ever since the professor had brought you to what you call home a little over a year ago now.

deep down, he wanted reasons to stay. somewhere deep inside that metal frame…he wanted things to be right again. he’d find it tiring most days to carry around his grief and anger. but you gave him reasons to stay just one more day.

“so we’re working on that thing for charles together tomorrow right?” you asked on a wednesday, standing so cutely in the threshold of his door that it was almost annoying to him.

“so we’re catching that movie downtown with ororo and hank tomorrow right? it starts at 6!” you asked on a thursday.

“heeyyy, lo…do you possibly, maybe think you could sub for scott’s morning classes tomorrow? he has a dentist appointment…,” you shyly asked on a very late sunday night. (logan heard scott’s jokes about his heart so he made you ask. logan was the only one available.)

but behind his stoic stature and intimidating glare fixed on his face accompanied by knitted brows, he’d always say yes…to you. you were his reason for staying. he knew it but would never admit it. you knew it but played the oblivious part well. and the rest of the team would gossip about it when you two weren’t around. but as long as you were here, logan has nowhere else to be.

although as of late, you’ve been busy. much busier than usual. charles has you creating plans for a mission happening soon. when you’re not teaching mutant ethics 101 to freshmen, you’re hauled up in the lab or library; sometimes darting back and forth between the two multiple times a day leaving very little time to worry about logan.

tonight, you brought your work back to your dorm. as you cleaned up a rough draft of an exit strategy, rain began to tap lightly on the window. you had lit candles littered around the room as well as grouped on your table, a small desk lamp illuminated the surface further. as you reached up to stretch your aching back muscles, you were startled by the sound of a throat clearing.

your eyes shot to the sound at your door where logan stood, leaning against the frame; arms crossed and still like he had been glued to the spot. 

“hi lo,” you say. “y’scared me, heh.” you aren’t used to logan greeting you often, especially not this late. he’s over 150 years old, of course he’s grumpy and an early bird. you’re usually the one at his door with requests and invitations to social events he assumes can be nothing short of insufferable. he sighs, his stare dropping to burn holes in the ground. “logan, are you-“

“i think i’m gonna get out of here, bub.”

those words felt like an arrow hitting the bullseye in your chest and then another splitting the first one right through the center.

“wha-what do you mean?…you’re leaving?” you asked, confusion and frustration trembling in your voice.

“it’s too hard being here.”

with that, you stood up from your chair, beelining to him. “c’mere,” you say hushed, pulling on his leather clad arm, trying to unfold them and get him out of the door frame. he doesn’t budge and you pull “the look” that you know he can’t say no to. “come sit with me please, lo.”

he unfolds his arms which allows you to grab his hands to lead him to take a load off on your bed. your bare feet pat on the hardwood floor as you quickly go back to close the door.

you walked back over to him, assessing his body language. ever since he let you use your mutation to “read him” a few months ago, you told him you’d never do it again without his permission. one gaze into his eyes and a touch of his skin and you could feel everything wracking around in his head. anxiety, rage, hate but love, pain. it was hard to feel just for a moment and your heart cracked knowing he was riddled with those feelings constantly.

but right now you couldn’t help it, he was slouched on the edge of the bed, his head dropping to rest in his large hands, and apparently ready to walk right out of the door. your powers are amplified with a touch and even more when you can look into their eyes. from a distance, you could feel a sense of unease and something else… a pressure…built up in your stomach as you surveyed your friend. it didn’t feel bad though…it felt familiar. a good familiar. you stopped reading him and did your best to shrug off the aching stomach feeling and care for your disheveled logan.

he wasn’t emotional, like ever. he hid all that, only showing you what you wanted to see; what he believed you wished him to be — happy, whatever that was. but that couldn’t’ve been farther from the truth. sure, you want him to be happy but also just whatever he wanted to feel, you wouldn’t suppress it or try to change it to fit some ideal of who people on the outside want him to be. yes, he was one of the meanest motherfuckers you had ever met but he was your mean motherfucker. (whatever that means because nothing has ever really been clear between you two).

you walked closer to him, forcing yourself in his diabolical bubble. you stood between his legs, removing his hands from his face to wrap them around your waist. you scooped your hands under his scruffy chin, pulling up to get a look into his bloodshot eyes. oh, he’d been crying.

“lo…,” you muttered. “why were you crying, wolv?” you slide a thumb across his cheek where tears had stained the skin. “why do you want to leave?”

he pulled his face away, breaking his stare with you. he dropped his head forward to rest on your stomach, wrapping his arms around your legs so his hands rested on the back of your thighs. he began to slowly rub the exposed skin of them that your very short night shorts didn’t cover. he lifted the hem of your shirt slightly to press his hot face into the soft, cool skin underneath. he hummed into it, allowing you to feel the vibration.

“logan,” you softly moaned his name under your breath. his fingers press firmly, inching closer to the crease in the skin where your ass meets thigh.

“is this okay?” he asks lowly, when he looks up for confirmation to keep going, you’re already looking down at him nodding. “say it’s okay for me to touch you like this, bub.”

“yes, keep going, logan,” you said curtly. in your voice there is a hint of need. you hadn’t been touched like this since jean’s christmas party, tipsy off spiked egg nog in the garden with a guy whose mutation was a very wet, long tongue. flirting with him seemed intriguing in the moment, but five minutes later, it rendered itself utterly useless due to user error. the sexual tension between you and logan is so potent it usually clears out a room. aside from accidental brushes of hands and quick looks at each others lips mid conversation, neither one of you has acted on it.

his hums turn to growls and soft whimpers as your hands ran through and tugged his hair. your fingers found their way to his nape, splaying out to grip the hair there in your fist. he managed to place a single kiss on the skin right above the elastic of your shorts before you pulled his head back to scrutinize his face.

“you don’t have permission to read me,” he groaned. before you could ask how he even knew that’s what you were doing he said, “you get this serious, focused look in your eyes. i can feel you in my head.”

“logan, what are we doing?” you ask, releasing his hair and stepping out of his bubble. 

his hands drop from the absence of your thighs onto his lap and his sighs frustratingly. 

“what do you mean?” he asks, admiring your body in the dim light with a semi pressing on the denim of his jeans through his boxers.

“i’m…not doing this with you…if you’re just gonna disappear from my bed before the fuckin’ sun comes up. i’m not doing this,” you said, with your hands on your hips.

he pressed his hands into his knees to push himself up to tower over you. he took two big steps forward and stood in front of you. his hand raised up to brush the back of his fingers across your cheek to cup it and rub his thumb over the warm skin. 

he pressed his lips to yours, skillfully allowing his tongue access to it. you let him. “i give you permission,” he moaned in your mouth. “read me. feel how i feel about you…how i’ve always felt about you.”

he welcomed the hesitant slip of your hands past his jacket and under his shirt, shivering and chuckling “mm, cold” into your mouth. you rested your cool touch on his hips and with his mouth obsessed with yours, you read him. 

your head dizzied instantly and the hair on the back of your neck stood up. you had never felt anything as strong as this. you could almost taste the colors in logan’s head. your heart dropped to your stomach like you were on a rollercoaster, feeling sick from adrenaline in the best ways. and then, returned that good familiar feeling. this time buried even deeper in your stomach, moving it’s way lower…and lower until logan was swallowing the noises escaping you. before you literally passed out, you dropped your hands and took back ownership of your lips and tongue. breathing heavily, you moved away from him to collect yourself.

a beat of silence followed by a heavy sigh and a “well, say something” from logan passed and you opened your mouth to speak before shutting it again.

that…was the best thing you had ever felt. no drug could compare to the euphoria that a minute of kissing logan could bring. you could practically feel yourself lubricating and your upper thighs unconsciously squeezed together as you scrambled to find thoughts.

there were none. your mind already dumb and wanting more of him…more of the feeling. your fists planted firmly on both your hips as if you were grounding yourself to the floor to avoid buckling. you eyed the ground, looked back up at him and forwarded with another heated, taking-in-each-others-breath kiss. your hands found their way to the same place gripping the hair on his nape to which he praised the tug with a moan. he supported your balance as your whines got more whiney and needy and your hands held onto him like life support.

“lay down,” he said into your kiss. it wasn’t really a command, more of a warning because he tossed you on the bed like unfolded laundry.

he stood over you as you collected yourself, darting your tongue out to taste the spit he left behind. you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a look at the man casting a shadow over you. without the sounds of pleasure exclaiming in each others mouths, your ears absorbed the comforting sound of the battering rain. a tree branch smacked the window as thunder rumbled outside.

logan took a moment to admire your presence. starting at the top, he gazed upon your hair that he associates with vanilla and roses and the times he’d touch himself wondering how it’d feel being wrapped around his hand and pulled.

as he removed his leather jacket, he took his time mentally undressing you. feeling even more pressure build in your clit, you bore your hips down into the mattress, rolling them in circles to stimulate the swollen nub. he beheld your tits, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip at the sight of your hard buds under your very thin, white tank top. he threw his heavy jacket to the side, letting it thud in a ball on the ground.

“you look so beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, deeply enthralled by your scantily clad figure laid out in front of him. unable to stop staring, you could see the bulge in his pants get larger and it ridiculously turned you on. with you making eye contact with the crotch of his jeans, he effortlessly unfastened his belt buckle. the metallic buckle clanked to the floor as his jeans and boxers pooled around his ankles. 

he stroked himself while he looked upon you. it was like you could read his mind, because you began to touch yourself. the twitch of his lips and darkening of his eyes validated your teasing. letting yourself drop back on the bed, you caressed your body for him. one hand occupied by cupping your tit and pinching and twisting your nipple while the other is exploring the wet spot left on your panties. not being able to handle eye-fucking you any longer, he dropped to his knees on the edge of the bed between your legs. logan hooked his arms under your knees, pulling you close which in your intoxicatingly lustful brain you found funny, so you laughed.

logan spread your thighs open so he could fit in between them to leave wet, sloppy kisses all over your skin. he nibbled here and there, earning soft hisses and hums from your parted lips.

kiss kiss nibble hiss mmm kiss hum nibble nibble bite kiss suck

he spent about a minute just doing that, leaving warm welts in his mouths wake. “i need these off of you, princess.” once he had kissed his way up to the elastic of your shorts, he snapped it. you nodded and he did the honor of pulling them down and flinging them across the room like he was opening presents on christmas morning. 

he let out an amused scoff as he ran his trembling hand down his face, caught between ecstatic disbelief at the sight of your black lace panties with little black bows adorning the seams. you mentally thanked your past self for slacking on doing laundry and only having your “special occasion” panties left to wear.

“d’you know how pretty you are,” he said. his eyes traced over every inch of you in excitement like you were artwork he stole from the louvre and made out like a bandit with.

his hand disappeared to slickly stroke himself, his mouth watering in anticipation for your taste. his chest heaves as he takes in the sight of you, studying every curve prettily laid out before him; thinking about every position he wants to see you in and every way he wants to please you. without another groan inducing thought, he lunged forward to press a kiss to your lips, his tongue demanding attention. you drink his breath like liquor becoming completely intoxicated by him. he needed this, he needed you.

“need…to taste…you,” he breathed in between kisses. with this mouth obsessed with yours, his hands caress your tits, his thumbing circles on one of the nubs while he’s pinching and pulling on the other. your head falls back and your neck rolls at the sensation, earning profanities from your pretty, swollen lips. your tit misses the hand that he proceeds to run down and up your thigh to locate the spot in your panties you were playing with a moment before. as he parts from your kiss, he’s hooked two fingers under the elastic, pulling those off swiftly.

you yelp when he pushes your torso down. you stare up at the decorative ceiling as he savors you, kissing and massaging your thick thighs. he’s enjoying playing with you as much as possible before allowing himself any pleasure. he wants your juice to cover his face…his neck…his arm…the bed…the floor too when he gets you to pop like a water balloon.

“logan…please, please,” you beg, pawing at his hair. you lift your head to watch the man between your legs taking in the sight and smell of your pretty, wet pussy. even in the dim light, he could see how much you ached for him. he not so secretly got entertainment from watching you lightly buck your hips up to his face and he would’ve let it continue but your pheromones became overwhelming for him; engulfing his head in it’s enchanting aroma.

like fresh pie on a windowsill, he was drawn into you. logan opened wide to swipe one flat tongued lick up your slit. he had one goal — to knock all sense out of you, to fully engulf you in pleasure. he wants you dumb and begging for him to stay right where he is — at the mansion and also all over you. 

logan audibly sucked and popped your clit in and out of his mouth, teasing the most sensitive bit. he’d suck and pop and then lick up your slick, repeating the act. one of his big hands reached up to cup your tit, pinching and twisting and circling. from his hair to the tit he wasn’t playing with, you clawed at whatever would ground you. being eaten by logan felt like floating above the stratosphere.

your wet soaked his beard and it only made him more horny, his cock dripping and throbbing in his fist. tasting you, inhaling you, winning pretty sounds from you, knowing he’s the one making you buck up and fuck his nose only made his appetite for you insatiable. he let go of himself to push his pointer and middle fingers into your needing pussy. you hissed and cursed. the thrill of him devouring you began to reach its peak. his fingers pumped relentlessly into you, curling them to stimulate your g-spot. moans, curses, the gushing of your wet cunt, his sucking and popping and vibrating moans mixed with the rain and thunder grumbling outside filled the dorm like mozart’s symphony no. 25.

he wanted to kiss you, so he did. with his fingers still coaxing an orgasm out of you, he shared the sweet taste. he got back on the bed with you, sliding his free hand under your back to push you up to further to see the mess you were making on the sheets.

“look at how good you’re taking my fingers,” he groaned, inching closer to your ear so you could hear his dirty language loud and clear. “you can come for me, baby.” he peppered a few kisses to your forehead, removing his hand from behind you so he could press it into your stomach. this only heightened the overwhelming wash of pleasure coursing through you.

“lo…logan, i’m-“

“fuck my fingers, baby. use them…oh that’s it…that’s it…i feel that clenching, c’mon you can do it for me. go big baby, make me happy.” his dirty mouth and sporadic clit circling and pumping in and out of you with his tireless wrist pushed you over the edge. you cowered into his neck, pulling on his white tank top and biting the salty skin below his ear as your pussy obeyed, erupting with your juices. out of breath and fucking dumb already, you could feel the wet soak the sheets under your ass.

logan pulled his fingers out of you, landing a light smack on your pussy before licking you clean off of his digits. you fell back on the bed, your arms above your head as you heaved and saw stars.

“‘m not done with you, princess.” he slid off the bed, still delighted by your taste and engulfed in your aroma.

“fuuuck,” you groaned. the pulsing lightning feeling spread throughout both legs as an effect of your rocking orgasm. logan was wicked with his tongue, a devious magician with his fingers and you were his sole audience member wondering about his tricks for sleight of hand.

he quickly tossed his tank, that had tug marks from your attempt to ground yourself, to the side, his muscles flexing under his skin. as he let your post orgasm, cock-dumb brain fog clear, he spit in his hand to fuck his fist. his saliva mixed with the pre-cum leaking from the head, he groaned and sighed heavily at the feeling of giving his dick some sort of relief. you, needy for another hit of him, propped yourself up on your elbows to watch the most delectable creature pleasure himself.

just the sight of him illuminated by candles and flashes of lightning outside as he gets off to how fucked out and dumb you look was enough to have you open up again and play with yourself. the sensitivity from your swollen nub required a delicate touch but your pussy ached, clenching around nothing. his knitted brows relaxed, eyes darting from your pretty face, to your tits, to your fingers rubbing circles where his mouth resided moments ago back to look longingly into your eyes.

“you’re gonna stay,” you said. your hand reached your mouth, your tongue swiping a lick up your middle and ring fingers, wrapping your lips around them to coat them in your saliva. “tell me you’re going to stay for me,” you elaborated. your wet fingers found your aching center.

“there’s no where else i want to be,” he answered. he paced closer to the bed where you laid, his dick basically making eye contact with you as he stopped a few inches away. “you’re mine, you know that?” he noticed your hand slow, “keep going,” he commanded. logan reached out to cup your face, tilting his head to get a look at you obeying his every request. “your face…your mouth…,” his thumb swiped across your lips as he spoke. “your body…your cunt.” he leaned down to kiss your mouth, leaving a string of spit attached to your lower lip. “your laugh…your heart,” he said kindly, his hand massaging your scalp. moans earned from his praise escaped you. “you’re all mine. is that okay with you, baby?”

you’re so bewitched by his aura and his subtle touches make your heart race so fast that you can’t do anything but try to maintain his torrid eye contact and nod.

“use your words, honey.” his thumb returned to the softness of your parted lips.

“i’m yours, logan,” you said, taking his thumb in and closing your lips around it. “if you’ll stay with me, i’ll be yours forever,” you breathed around his thumb, speaking from a mix of eager lust and the terrifying need for him to not to be an asshole, just once.

“i’m not going anywhere…i promise,” he said matter of factly before leaning back down to hungrily devour your kiss. “i need to…fuck you…now,” he cursed in between swallowing moans. 

“do what you want…i’m yours,” you said just clearly audible over the storm rumbling outside. you two shared eye contact so intense that you noticed his dick twitch from your peripheral. you took his dick in your drooling mouth, reaching up to squeeze the base of him. it twitched from the warmth, pressure and tongue swiping rhythmically around his angry, red tip. you kept yourself enveloped around his length, bobbing your head to hit your gag reflex. the added lubrication drove him crazy, his abs twitching under the toned skin of his abdomen. you moaned around him purely from the enjoyment you got out of having him stretch the corners of your mouth, feeling the sting from it. 

logan reached down with both hands to hold your head steady while he sped up thrusting into your throat. your gags and gasps for air, his praise and the storm filled the room beautifully. 

“fuuuck, baby, keep that throat open for me please,” he begged. his hands left their position to find a new one — one supporting his thrusting hips, the other petting your head. “oh, you look so fuckin’ pretty with my cock down your throat…you’re taking me so good, sweetheart.”

he pulled his dick out of your mouth to smack it on your face, complimenting how gorgeous you look. he kissed and licked the mess off of your mouth.

“mm, baby i need to know how good you feel.” with that, he rounded the bed to lay down. “c’mere, baby.” you turned around, crawling on all fours to obey him. his cock in its usual place to be, in his fist, leaks pre-cum in anticipation for you to smother it with your warm, clenching pussy.

“lay down,” he said.

“damn, yes sir,” you say, jokingly annoyed with all of his demands. you lay down next to him, your knees instinctively parting slightly. he lays on his side, resting his hand on your stomach, rubbing his large hand in flat circles.

“d’you know how long i’ve thought about this moment with you?” he asked, leaning in to kiss and suck the skin in the crook of your neck. you lustfully sighed at the sensation of his hot breath. his hand finds its way between your legs again, tickling and tapping at your slit. “i want you to read me the whole time i’m inside…can you do that?”

“are you—“

“yes i’m sure, i feel so fucking good right now and i haven’t even felt you. i want you to feel that and more,” he explains, pulling your chin in to taste the desperation on you.

before he came just from your kiss and rutting against the sheets, he hovered above you. his lips stayed attached to your chest, kissing lower and lower to suck a tit into his mouth, flicking your nipple with his tongue then biting softly on the nub. his hand disappeared from the side of your head to grab hold of his shaft, flicking his tip against your clit. his head dropped as he watched and listened to your slick coating his cock. he quickly swiped up and down your pussy trying to savor every fold and feeling. his brows furrowed, not being able to resist your warmth, he lined himself up with your hole, using his hand to guide just the tip into it.

“oh…fuck,” he groaned in excitement. he pushed in just a little more which caused you to hiss. his head shot up and eyes scanned your face for any sign of regret or unsureness. “are you okay? d’you want to stop?”

“no, baby,” you giggled, lifting your arms rest around his neck, one hand always finding a way into his dark locks. “just been a while…keep going, i’m okay.”

with your permission, he pushed in a little more. he let out a deep groan at the feeling of you stretching to form perfectly around him. you gasped, pressing a hand into his chest, feeling a similar sting to the one you felt in the corners of your mouth earlier. against his want to start thrusting his whole length into you, his went slow, watching your demeanor for cues to keep going.

“you feel…fuck…like it was made for me,” he said which caused the butterflies in you to flutter their wings even faster. “are you okay?” his chest heaved and his breath fanned your face.

“fuck me…please logan,” you said. your hands reached his hips, pushing them down onto you. without wasting another minute, he did. 

he bent your knee more to press it into your chest as his hips repeatedly slammed down hard, his balls smacking your ass. with one hand giving him better access by positioning your leg higher, the other cupped and squeezed your bouncing tit.

“oh my…fucking god,” you moaned. you had let the walls of your mutation down, allowing yourself to be flooded by not only your pleasure…but the love logan feels for you plus the absolute sheer euphoria that he was experiencing deep inside of your pussy. it coursed through your body like a steam engine leaving the station. it had felt like you had been brought to five earth shattering orgasms before the one that was bound to shake you again soon.

“you know you feel so good, look at that fuckin’ fucked out smile. can you feel it? can you feel how good you make me feel, baby? don’t stop readin’ me, princess. it’s all for you,” he praised for you to hear every word.

“holy shit…mm fuckin’…ahh!” your hands couldn’t help but find their way above your head, subconsciously reaching for the bed post for something to ground you again.

“here, baby, hold onto me.” logan grabbed your wandering wrist with his free hand, slapping your hand on his chest which you pressed into as if you were pushing him away. before your cock drunk mind could register what happened, he had flipped the two of you so you were on top. 

logan looked so fucking pretty under you. you took a second to breathe and take in the view before bending your knees to put yourself in a squatting position on his cock. you placed your hands on his heaving chest for support as you started to bounce your ass on him. ‘oh this is so fun’, the thought making you giggle in elation as you drilled down your hips, rocking them back and forth to feel him stimulate the deepest parts of you. his thumb bored into your clit, drawing circles on it. 

as you kept bouncing your wet pussy on him just how he liked, logan lifted his knees up behind you and pushed you back onto them. he moved his hand away from your clit and picked his head up to watch his dick disappear deep inside you. then, he spit. his saliva landed on your pussy and stomach. he went back to stimulating you, fully realizing how much that turned you on from the tight clench around him and the extra juice running down his ass onto the sheets under you two.

he, still playing with your clit, summoned your face closer to his with the middle and ring fingers on the other hand. once closer, he grabbed your neck to kiss your fiercely. 

“you’re my good girl, huh?”

‘mhmm’ was all you could muster with his hand around your throat and his hips still ramming his cock into your stretched out hole.

“use those words for me, baby. are…mm, fuck…you my good girl?”

“ye…sss, baby i’m your…good…oh my fucking…girl!!”

“open your mouth.” he fucking spit in it. you moaned tasting him again and feeling it on your face. “good…fuckin’ girl,” he complimented, kissing you and then squeezing your cheeks to spit on your tongue again. 

your body started to go limp and your eyes were practically glued together. you could feel the searing hot orgasm burning up inside. you could feel logan in a way that you never thought possible. everything. 

his love, his passion, his longing, his fear, his anxiety, his lust, his heart…everything was yours in this moment. high on his feelings, you let your head fall back coming undone on top of him.

“oh you’re so pretty…that’s pretty, baby, keep…fuck…use me, it’s all for you.” his words took you further and further into ecstasy. it was a really good fucking trip that you never wanted to end. the pain of his cock fucking you out and his grip clutching your skin like he’d fall off earth without doing so made you moan so intensely that not even the thunder outside could compete.

he could tell you were a few fucks away from collapsing but so was he. 

“baby…you keep clenching around me like that…i’m gonna fuckin’ fill you,” he said. you kept bouncing on it, wanting him to even feel a fraction of how he just made you feel. he closed his eyes trying to last as long as possible in the heaven that he found in you. his thumbs bore into your hips as he used them to ground himself.

“i want it, baby…fill your good girl up.” you leaned down to speak into his ear and then carry on kissing his neck, letting him claim your moans as trophies. 

“fuuuuck…fuuuck,” he moaned as his thrusting became sloppy and you weren’t bouncing as much anymore. his abs twitched again along with his face. 

SNIKT!!

you hissed at the cool metal of his claws against your skin and the feel of him throbbing severely inside you as he let himself paint your walls. you thanked him in pleased moans before falling on his chest. still semi-hard inside, he kissed the top of your head to which you looked up and he gave you a proper kiss. he let himself twitch out a few more dribbles of cum inside you before pulling his claws back in to carefully rub your back.

a few beats of silence went by as you listened to each others hastened breaths and the rain tapping the glass. 

“…i love you, logan.”

“i think you know how much i love you, baby,” he said, smugly remembering how you looked coming on his dick, further escalated by his letting you read him.

you two snuggled naked under the covers and as you laid on his chest and listened to his light snoring, you read him again. 

ease and silence…and love.