#Mr. Tuts

[just-an-enby-lemon]

I'm a firm defender of Arkham being terrible. The worst place on Earth. This place is clearly making everyone worse.

Give me Jonathan Crane loving how cruel and lax one could get with the "patients" at Arkham as he tested his toxin only for him to realize that the same "treatment" would be gave to him as he is finally caught by Batman. Jonathan who was one of the doctors who signed authorizing eletroshock "therapy" because he didn't care either way only for years later see himself being dragged to the eletroconvoulsive room.

Give me Harvey Dent trying to use his lawyer knowledge to protect himself and his friends by mentioning how solitary confinament against mentally ill people is not allowed on the state of New Jersey only for the guards/doctors to smile cruely and say "oh but this isn't solitary confinament it is *insert buzzword for solitary confinament that makes it legal*"(and yes prisons do that irl).

Harley painfully trying to explain both as doctor and as patient that inhumane treatment of inmates was scietifically proven to only make them more violent only to be ignored because "don't the guards deserve revenge" or some similar bullshit.

Ivvy who just wants her plants. Who gets physically sick when she can't get close to the green. But she can't have even sunshine because they specially discriminate against metahumans. And what if she uses her powers? Same for Music Maister except is worse because it is his voice! They even take Freezes suit away the first times but when they realize he will just die he just gets an special room that is basically temperature zero solitary but don't worry is for his own good.

All while doing human experimentation with Clayface because he is a meta anyway and honestly does he even count as human? And of course let's not forget Killer Croc that gets to be arrested in a cell on the fucking sewers. Yes it does not have basic sanitation whatsoever and yes Waylon deserves better.

Jervis who gets punished for daring saying they have no respect for the human mind. And King Tut who is mocked for his delusions instead of helped in any way.

Joker who spends more time in solitary than with actual people to the point is very likely that he was actually sane before Arkham and just an evil clown.

Riddler who spends most of his stay just drugged out of his mind because he talks to much and both the nurses and the guards find him annoying and isn't the silence best for everyone? And if him (or anyone who is reciving too much medication or the wrong meds) gets an addiction, well is not their problem.

And of course the more important part: Bruce who has no clue what is happening until Joan Leland enters the picture and contacts him for help because it doesn't matter if they are all criminals they are people and she is going to do her job (and Bruce Wayne is the only donor that cares). Cue to an horrifyied Bruce questioning his former stance on crime and getting ready to help make Gotham a place were rehabilitation is truly possible.

[nerds-yearbook]

King Tut made his first appearance in the Batman episode that aired on April 13, 1966. King Tut was the first villian completely created for the show. While Zelda the Great was technically a new character, her story completely mirrored a comic starring a different villian. ("The Curse of Tut", Batman, TV event)

[evilhorse]

Goodbye, Rama-tut.

(Fantastic Four #17)

[wwprice1]

Fantastic Four was so good this week!

[chernobog13]

Kevin Maguire presents the cast of characters from the Batman (1966-68) television series.

[shibara]

I can already feel the noise of the entire Good Omens fandom exploding

[daisies-on-a-cup]

"and when i die i want her lying by my side in my grave" very pharaoh of you mr huron

[justdealingwithsomeissues]

A bunch of pin-ups of some of the FF’s biggest foes... I really like the Molecule Man double spread, and those Mignola works are amazing, especially the Annihilus one with the creepy skeleton.

[brentusjoshea]

I got the complete boxset of the 1966 Batman series for Christmas, and I’ve very nearly finished watching the first season. It’s a series you don’t have to rush - it was never designed to be binged - so I’ve just been watching four episodes at a time (& since the first season is all two-parters, that works out to two stories at a time).

It’s not the first 1960s TV series I’ve watched (I’ve watched Dr Who along with bits of The Stranger and Thunderbirds), so I’m used to the look of the show. And I have references for what 1960s TV was broadly doing at the same time. But compared to the others, it leans far more heavily into its aesthetic: each episode is basically constructed of short setpieces (heists, fight scenes, chases, cliffhangers), and with rapid cuts from setpiece to setpiece it tries to propel the viewer through 25-minutes packed with excitement and comedy.

There isn’t much space within that for anything that feels more emotionally substantial (at least at this point). But there is one glaring exception. It’s in my opinion the best two-parter of the series to this point. It is the first appearance of Mr Freeze, here played by George Saunders and, for a villain who’s usually summed up as “a joke until the 90s animated show got its hands on him,” he’s genuinely tragic here? There’s a genuine emotional thread throughout the two-parter as Batman feels personally responsible for Freeze’s condition, and Freeze’s ambition isn’t world domination or anything like that but just... trying to find some semblance of justice for what’s been done to him. I wasn’t expecting to find actual pathos in this series but it’s there.

Maybe the rest of the show goes in a wildly different direction from here, but at least within its first season yeah - this feels like a TV series based on a comic book. It’s having fun being a TV series based on a comic book. And, admittedly rarely, it punches above its weight and gives its characters interiority and greater emotional depth than you’d think for a show that’s felt like a bit of a punchline for decades.

[evilaccountant]

I cut off season 5 but here’s my opinions on all the batman 2004 villains

[whateveriwant]

Actually I'm not done talking about Mr. Simon Fucks-Himself-Stupid Riley just yet :(

I'm picturing a scenario where you, a civilian, are visiting your boyfriend at his base. Maybe you're there to deliver something, like a file he forgot at home or the lunch he said he didn't need. Either way, whatever your cover story for being there is, the end result is the same: you, on your back, knees up by your ears, sprawled across Simon's desk as he fucks you like his life depends on it.

Being a Lieutenant grants him the luxury of having a private office where he can engage in such extracurriculars, but that doesn't mean it's without some major risks – namely, prying ears that might be lurking in the hallway outside.

But being discreet shouldn't be an issue, should it? I mean, a man known infamously as “Ghost” should have no problem staying quiet, right?

Wrong.

Turns out, not only does that tight hole of yours reduce your boyfriend to a dumb, drooling mess, it makes him a dumb, drooling mess who can't keep his fucking mouth shut.

So while you have the wherewithal to clamp a hand over your lips to try muffling your lewd noises, Simon is out here moaning and groaning unabashedly like something sent forward in time from the Paleolithic. You could try asking him to cover his mouth, but it seems an impossible task; his hands are a little preoccupied with making sure he doesn't fuck you right over the edge of his desk.

While you don't want to stop, you also don't want to get caught, so you settle for urging him to keep it down. It's after a third softly gasped ‘N-Need to be qu-quiet, Si’ that your warning finally worms its way into his brain, and he acts in a way to appease you, just… not how you expect.

Swiftly, Simon removes his hold of your waist and brings one of his arms forward. He grabs for the center of his t-shirt, tugs the material up, and quickly stuffs the fabric into his mouth.

It only takes a split second for the action to happen, but immediately, you see how effective it is. The moment that standard, army-issued tee is captured between Simon's teeth, there's a drastic reduction of noise in the room.

Now, he can fuck into you with reckless abandon, and he snaps his hips forward with enough force to make your whole body ripple. Even as you pulse and constrict around him (sometimes inadvertently, sometimes not), the sounds that climb their way up Simon's throat are heavily dampened by his cotton gag.

It's as Simon begins the ascent to his peak that the cloth in his mouth really comes into play. As he pumps into you, he starts grunting lowly, gutturally, exhaling through his nostrils in quick, harsh bursts. It's a deep sound, animalistic in nature, like a bull huffing before it digs its heels into the dirt and charges.

His thrusts turn sloppier and sloppier the closer he nears his high, his hips propelled forward only by some basic hindbrain instinct. His lashes start to flutter, his eyes roll towards the back of their sockets, and when he cums, he throws his head back in a full-blown snarl.

Simon's a bit shaky on his feet after he climaxes in you, but he manages to pull out before he stumbles backwards, plopping down heavily into his chair. As you start cleaning yourself up, you see how he makes no attempt to move. He just sits there, completely brainless, pants around his ankles and t-shirt still tucked between his teeth. You have to walk over to him and purposefully tug on the shirt to get him to release it, and once it's freed, you see the damage that's been done.

In the center of Simon's shirt rests a big, blotchy wet spot, like he's tried to do his own slobbery take on the classic Rorschach test. The fabric's been wrinkled to all hell and there's a few imprints left behind from where his teeth had bitten down, and if you were to inspect the hem closely, you'd see where he popped a stitch or two in his ecstasy.

The sight of his mangled shirt has you tutting in disapproval. He can't walk out of his office looking like this, and he certainly can't forgo wearing a shirt altogether. What would the people around base say if they saw their normally put together Lieutenant looking so unkempt? You don't think he'd ever hear the end of it, nor would you for that matter.

In the meantime, as you wait for Simon's brains to un-liquify themselves, maybe you can scrounge up something else for him to wear. There's got to be something lying around here to help make him presentable once again. It's too bad as part of your cover you didn't think to bring an extra set of clothes to change into.

You'll have to remember for next time.

[evilhorse]

You primitive ape—you expect to hit me into submission?

(Fantastic Four #17)

[ogamagirl]

ppl that call me Mrs. Evans/tag art of me and Soul as 'the Evans'

thank you forever it makes me really happy TAT

[cherrygirlfriend]

do your job right pairing: assistant!reader x ceo!rafe synopsis: assistant!reader forgets to mail important documents; the diligent mr. cameron makes sure it doesn't happen again. warnings: smut, spanking, degradation, praise MDNI - wc: 1.1k this is the first day of my birthday-week fics! honestly i had a blast working on all of these and i hope people enjoy them. ᯓᡣ𐭩

rafe had always been a hardworking man, especially when it came to his business, and he couldn't stand it when his employees didn't do their jobs right. people say that you can either choose to be feared, or respected, and rafe cameron was the kind of man who'd rather be feared.

so, the fact that he refused to fire the ditzy, airheaded girl who'd been hired as his assistant was nothing short of a miracle in the eyes of his other employees. what they didn't know, they couldn't ruin.

you were shaking as you walked towards his office, wobbly on your kitten heels, the tone that rafe used with you still fresh in your mind.

"come into my fucking office. right now." he had barked into your phone, before shutting the call. you chewed on your lower lip, not knowing what you had done this time for him to be cross with you. still, you lifted your hand, softly knocking on the door with the golden nameplate reading 'r. cameron'.

"come in."

you took a deep breath before pulling the door open, revealing your boss leaning against his desk, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows, crossed in front of his chest, a harsh look on his face, his eyes as cold as ice.

"lock the door."

hesitantly, you did as you were told, chewing on your lower lip, looking at him through your eyelashes. "w-what did i do this time?" you asked with a shaky voice.

rafe let out a small chuckle, entirely devoid of any positive emotion before clearing his throat, picking up a small stack of papers off his desk, and when you realized what they were, you felt all the blood drain from your face. "look familiar, hm?"

"mr. cameron, i'm sorry, i swear i was going to-"

"but you didn't." rafe interrupted you, tutting as he shook his head, one of his hands going to scratch his chin in thought, "you know, i'm starting to think you keep doing this on purpose. that you like it when i get mad at you, when i punish you. 'cause i don't know how someone could be so... dumb to keep making these mistakes."

"i'm sorry, i'll send it over right now, please-"

"no. that's not how this works." he pushed himself away from his desk, slowly striding over to you. looking at you up and down, rafe lifted your head up from your chin, making you look up at him. "you know the drill. desk. bend over."

"mr. cam-"

"now."

the air of finality in his voice caused a shiver to run down your spine as your wobbly legs took you to his desk, and you hesitantly bent yourself over his desk, the desk cold against your arms.

"you know what to do." rafe said, his hand resting over your ass that felt bare under his touch even with the fabric of your pencil skirt that was separating your skin from his, a rush of heat in your lower stomach. "count for me."

slowly, he pushed up the fabric of your skirt, revealing your bare ass, rafe letting out a small chuckle, "i see you decided not to wear panties, like i've asked. looks like my dumb little secretary can actually listen. you know what they say about broken clocks."

he grabbed at the flesh of your ass, massaging it slightly as he tutted, "five. you ready?"

"y-yes..." you mumbled weakly, squeezing your eyes shut and biting down on you're lower lip, preparing yourself for the impact.

a loud smacking sound echoed around his office before you could even register the sting on your ass, a small squeal unwillingly escaping your lips as your body was jolted forward by the impact.

"o-one." you counted, rafe's palm massaging at the buttock he had just slapped, before slowly pulling it away.

"you know, if you weren't such a dumb, forgetful slut, i wouldn't have to be doing this."

before you could even process what he had said, his rafe's palm landed another slap on your ass, your body jolting forward once again. this time, he didn't even take the time to massage your buttock before he pulled his hand away, delivering another slap to your ass almost immediately, one that made you let out a noise that was something between a moan and a squeal even though you were biting down on your lower lip so harshly you could taste blood.

"count."

you took in a deep breath as he massaged your ass, trying to stabilize yourself, your breathing erratic, feeling your heartbeat in your throat. "t-two, and, uh... three."

"i'm surprised," rafe cooed mockingly, "that a dumb little thing like you can even do simple maths."

rafe pulled his hand away, and you intertwined your own fingers together as a way to calm yourself down, your eyes stinging with tears threatening to fall, and once you felt his palm hitting your ass once again, a tear rolled down your cheek, your entire face feeling warm as you managed to pitifully let out the word "four." and although you were hurting, you also couldn't deny the arousal starting to gather between your legs.

"i mean, you'd think that you'd understand how important my work is. you could lose me thousands for forgetting to mail those papers." he tutted, pulling his hand away, "so, what are you gonna do from now on?"

"i-i'm gonna remember it, mr. cameron, i promise."

"that's my girl." rafe said, and once again, you felt his palm connect with your ass, a small yelp leaving your lips.

"five..." you babbled almost incoherently, a panting mess, certain that by now your asscheeks were red in the shape of rafe's large hands, a sigh of relief leaving your lips when you realized that your punishment was over, a small hiss escaping your lips when the pained skin of your ass was met with the biting air of rafe's office.

"you did so well..." rafe said quietly, softly massaging your asscheeks before slowly sliding your skirt back down, smoothing it out. he helped you stand up, his bulge obvious in his trousers as he turned you around to face him, cupping your chin to once again lift your head up to look at him, "go home for the rest of the day, okay? take a warm bath and rest, hm?"

you nodded your head, looking up at him with your vision blurred by tears, rafe wiping the blood off your lower lip, "you did really well. i'm proud of you." he said, bringing his lips down to meet yours in a gentle kiss, his hand cupping your cheek so affectionately it was hard for you to tell if the man holding onto you was really the same man that had just punished you.

when he pulled away, rafe looked down at you with a sweet smile, "i'll come by later, alright?"

"alright." you nodded with a similar smile, leaning into his touch. when rafe pulled away from you, you smoothed down your skirt, slowly making your way to his office door.

maybe he knew, or maybe he didn't, but you'd never tell him that your little accident was anything but that. that they never were accidents.

[imaginedisish]

See You Again (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: This took so long, and it's because it is ABSOLUTELY FILTHY. This one is inspired by "See You Again" by Tyler, The Creator and Kali Uchis. This isn't a request...just a *thot* I had. Heavy on enemies to lovers and forced proximity. And cocky Logan...Enjoy :)

Summary: You're convinced Logan hates you. But when you're forced to run a drill in the danger room, alone, everything changes.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!!! Oral (f!receiving), fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), afab!reader/f!reader, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, cursing, some angst, cocky!Logan/teasing!Logan, praise kink, softdom!Logan, mutant!reader, canon typical violence, probably grammatical errors, I think that's it!

Word Count: 5,325 I am disgusting

You could not believe your eyes. It had to be a glitch—your names together on the touch screen built into the wall. You tap the glass firmly with your index finger, but the words don’t budge. This is it. This is the last straw. 

There is no way you are going into the training room—the danger room—with Logan Howlett. 

“Oh, absolutely not!” You shout, turning to face Charles and Storm. “I am not going in there with him!”

Storm shakes her head. “That is the assignment we are giving you.”

Charles nods in agreement, pointing between you and Logan. “You two need to learn to work together.”

“This is insane,” you stammer. “Does nobody see how crazy this is? I’m not doing this.”

“Why?” Logan asks, arms tucked into his chest, back against the wall. He smiles, cocky and self-assured. “You afraid you might like it?” You try not to think about the deepness of his voice or the way his smile makes your breath catch in your throat. 

“N-no!” You stutter, stumbling over your words as you finally process just what Logan meant. “You hate me! I’m afraid you might kill me in there!” 

Logan’s smile falls from his lips. He looks almost shocked, but you ignore the sudden change in his expression. You’ve only been a member of the team for a few months now, but you know Logan well enough. You know he doesn’t really care. He’s always short with you. He teases you; he calls you princesscondescendingly. He’s overly protective, incessantly running to your side on missions as if you can’t handle yourself. It is so incredibly annoying. And yet…

You can’t help but harbor a small—maybe massive—crush on him.  

And so, being in the simulated danger room, alone, with Logan, is quite possibly your biggest fear. 

“Mr. Howlett certainly does not hate you,” Charles assures. “And he will not be killing you, either.” 

You roll your eyes, and Charles smiles softly. Storm walks over to the screen, pressing a few buttons. Suddenly the doors to the room open, and she extends her hand, inviting you and Logan inside. 

Logan pushes himself off the wall, side-eying you as he steps inside with no hesitation. You look to Storm, exasperation and stress painted across your face. You swallow nervously. “Don’t make me do this,” you plead, pressing your palms together as if praying to Storm. 

She tuts, pushing your shoulders softly, but strongly enough to make you fall past the doors and into the room. “Good luck!” She says, smiling widely and pressing a button. The doors quickly slide shut. 

“No!” You shout, banging your fists into the doors once before letting your forehead fall against the cold metal. You groan, turning around so that your back is pressed against the doors instead. 

“Simulation, starting,” a robotic, automated voice calls out. A blue grid scans the room, and a battle scene appears. You’re in a winter forest, snow covering the ground and falling from the white clouds above. The room even grows a bit colder, a slight chill hanging in the air. It’s surprisingly peaceful. 

Too peaceful. 

There’s a crash somewhere nearby in the forest, and then an explosion. You jump, turning around. Logan is at your side in a heartbeat, claws extending out. A few feet away, a massive metal sentinel stomps, shaking the ground. 

“Die, mutant scum!” The robot’s voice echoes against the trees as if the forest were real. It points its arm at you and Logan, loading its laser gun and shooting. Before you can react, Logan is shoving you to the ground and rolling on top of you to shield you. 

There’s a scorching sear—a patch of melted snow and burnt grass where you and Logan had just been standing. The simulation is fake, but it suddenly feels incredibly real. Logan is still on top of you, wide eyes searching yours. Your chests press together. He’s so close that it’s distracting, dizzying, overwhelming. You need him off you. Now. 

“I can handle myself,” you spit, but he doesn’t move. 

He smirks. “Sure looks like you can, princess.” 

You groan, shoving him off and standing up. You dig your heels into the ground, looking up as the sentinel approaches. It aims again, and shoots. This time, you’re prepared, controlling the laser with your mind. The beam stutters in the air as you concentrate on changing its trajectory. It takes so much strength—so much power—but it works. You let go of the beam and it slings back into the sentinel’s face, the metal melting in a fiery explosion. 

You turn your head to Logan, the corner of your mouth twitching up. “See! Told you I can—” 

Another blast echoes across the forest, and Logan’s arms are around you again, pulling you back down to the ground with him. “You can what? Risk your life unnecessarily to prove yourself to me?” 

“Oh, you are so full of shit!” You shout, punching at his chest, but he doesn’t flinch. “You think I’m weak!” 

He furrows his brows. “Who the hell said that?” He pushes himself up, jumping onto the sentinel in front of you. His claws slice at the robot’s head, swiping it clean off. 

“It’s just the way you treat me!” You call out as you extend your hand and push another sentinel into a tree. You concentrate, bending its arm towards itself. With the flick of your wrist, you pull its trigger, forcing the robot to shoot itself. 

You don’t see the sentinel that’s behind you, but Logan does. He grabs your hand, yanking you behind a nearby tree. “And how do I treat you?” He asks, caging you in, his hands pressed firmly on either side of your head. 

His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move. You look away, unable to keep his stare. “L-like you hate me,” you stutter, looking down at the ground and then back up at him. 

He tilts his head to the side. There’s that shocked expression again—the same one he had made outside the danger room. He shakes his head, smirking. “I don’t hate you,” he starts. You can see the shift in his face, the softness in his eyes, the playfulness in his smile. He’s close again. So fucking close. “I don’t think I could ever hate you.” 

“But you always—”

You’re abruptly interrupted as a sentinel blasts the top of the tree you and Logan are leaning against. The trunk cracks, and you look up, watching as the branches begin to fall. 

“Let’s move!” Logan shouts, grabbing your hand again, and leading you to the other side of the forest. “How many of these fuckers are there?”

You can see three coming in, surrounding you and Logan. You instinctively stand back-to-back, readying yourselves for the fight. When you had started this training session, you didn’t think you’d be here, pressed against Logan, guarding his back as he guards yours. You’re working as a team, a unit, equals, partners. 

You can hear Logan’s claws shing against the metal of the sentinel he’s fighting. You take on the one straight ahead, while the other stalks close behind. You shut your eyes, listening to its steps as it approaches. You breathe deeply, opening your eyes and extending your hand out. You swallow, concentrating hard as the metal of the sentinel’s head begins to bend. Slowly but surely, you crush it like it’s an aluminum can in the palm of your hand. It caves in on itself, crashing down to the ground. 

“Atta girl,” Logan praises over your shoulder, his lips inches away from your ear. He finishes off his sentinel, too, his claws swiping cleanly as the robot crashes to the ground. You try to ignore the way your stomach somersaults, the way your heart beats out of your chest. You’re sure Logan can hear it given his heightened senses.  

You’re so distracted by him that you’ve forgotten about the other sentinel. It’s suddenly closing in quickly. Too quickly. It aims, and you shut your eyes, trying to muster up enough energy to stop it before it shoots. But you can’t. You’ve used so much of your energy already, bending metal and stopping the sentinels’ beams. You’re tired, out of breath. 

“L-Logan,” you stutter, your head piercing with pain as you try to concentrate, pushing yourself harder than you should. “C-can’t…” You trail off, unable to finish your sentence as the pain worsens, your head throbbing. 

Logan steps out in front of you, sweeping his claws at the sentinel’s guns, disarming it. He slashes its legs next, and the robot comes crashing down. But he miscalculates ever so slightly, the sentinel tipping over, threatening to fall on the two of you. 

“Fuck!” He shouts, pushing you down to the ground. You don’t fight him this time, allowing his arms to wrap around you as he shields you, his body warm against yours. 

The sentinel’s head smashes into a nearby tree, slowing its fall. It scratches against the bark, the sound of screeching metal rattling in the air. You wince, and Logan quickly moves to cover your ears, protecting you from the noise. You’ve long forgotten this is just a drill, a simple training session. The panic has set in, and you squeeze your eyes shut. It all feels too real.

Logan’s hands lift from your ears. His full weight is still on you. He lifts himself up slightly so that he’s hunched over you instead. “Hey,” he soothes, his fingers gently brushing up and down your arms. His touch is electric against your skin. “I think it’s over.” 

You finally open your eyes. Logan is still hovering over you. The sentinel precariously leans against the tree, frozen just above the two of you. You’re trembling, shaken, unconvinced that this is all just a simulation.

“A-are you sure?” You stammer, frantically looking around the forest. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. He can see the fear on your face, the single tear that runs down your cheek. You’re in shock—literally. He slips his hands under your back, hoisting you up so that he’s holding you in his arms. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, pulling you to his chest. “I’ve got you. None of that was real.” He strokes up and down your back. “It wasn’t real,” he repeats, his voice steady and reassuring. 

“I forgot,” you confess, letting your head fall into the crook of his neck. It dawns on you how soft he’s being, how kind he truly is. “I couldn’t use my powers. I was so drained, and I was so worried that you’d…” You trail off, too nervous to finish your sentence. 

“That I’d what?” Logan presses, holding you tighter. 

You’re trembling for an entirely different reason, now. You take a deep breath, and the words fall from your lips. “That you’d get hurt, or worse, and I wouldn’t be able to save you.”

He pulls away from you for a moment, looking down at you. Tender—that’s how he looks. Soft, gentle—so much different from the beast he normally is. A chuckle rumbles through Logan’s chest. “Sounds like you don’t mind me so much after all, princess.” 

“I never said I didn’t like you,” you say back, a small smile playing on your lips. You poke your index finger into his chest. “You’re the one who hates me.” 

Logan shakes his head, his expression turning somewhat serious. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again: nothing could ever make me hate you.”

You look into his eyes, searching for something—you’re not quite sure what. The truth? He just gave it to you. He laid it bare. “So, w-what do you think about me?” You ask, tentative, anxious. 

He’s smirking again. “You really don’t know, do you?” He brings his face closer to yours, his lips just centimeters away. Your breaths meld together. He pulls you in again, tighter this time. Your throat bobs and your heart beats out of your chest. Your noses brush, the proximity driving you wild. He slips his hands down your back and under your shirt—bare skin on bare skin. 

Your lips are practically touching—the ghost of a kiss. Logan breathes you in, swallowing harshly as he parts his lips and—

The room suddenly changes, the forest disappearing and the doors opening with a swoosh. The walls are metal and gray; the ground is hard and cold. You and Logan quickly separate, standing up, shoulders awkwardly bumping as you regain your bearings. 

“That was…” Charles trails off, entering the room with Storm at his side. “A very excellent execution of that simulation,” he summarizes, perhaps intentionally leaving out the more embarrassing details. 

“You two certainly learned how to work as a team,” Storm says, her arms crossing tight against her chest. She raises her eyebrows and smirks knowingly.  

“Yeah, well, she’s strong,” Logan says, looking over at you. “And talented.” The compliment makes your chest feel hot and tight. You can see the look in his eyes, the one that screams: We aren’t finished yet. 

Charles nods toward the doors, motioning for you to walk with him, and so you do. Logan moves to follow you, but Storm stops him. She’s keeping him busy, telling him where he could have improved during the simulation. You turn around, your eyes trained on him, not paying attention to a word that Charles says. 

Later. Logan mouths. Your breath hitches in your throat. You nod once, smiling widely. His eyes don’t leave yours as you walk through the doors of the room and into the hallway. 

“Are you listening, my dear?” Charles’s question snaps you back to reality. 

“To be honest, Professor, no,” you say, embarrassed. 

But Charles smiles. “That’s just fine. I was simply saying that you must be careful. You’re incredibly strong, as Logan said, but you faltered,” he pauses. You’re still barely listening, your mind racing with thoughts of Logan. “When you exert yourself too much too soon you…”

Charles continues talking, but you can’t hear him. You’re thinking about how close Logan was to you, his hands under your shirt, his lips ghosting yours. So close, but not quite close enough. 

He made you a promise. Later. 

Later later later—it’s a perfect word. 

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Later comes, and Logan is nowhere to be seen. The grandfather clock in the study reads 9:55 PM. You’ve been keeping an eye out for him, searching for him all day. But it’s like he disappeared. 

You’re at the old oak desk in the study, reading a book, scribbling notes in the margins. You’re writing nonsense, really. You haven’t been able to think straight all day, not with Logan on your mind. You close your eyes, dropping your head to the center of the book. You feel like a child, impatiently waiting for the thing they were promised if they behaved well enough. 

You groan audibly, bumping your head against the book once, twice, three times. 

“Well, somebody’s happy to see me.” You shoot up straight at the familiar, bassy voice. Across the room—leaning in the doorway—is Logan. He’s still in his beater and his jeans, still wearing that shit-eating grin, too. His arms are crossed against his chest.

“H-hi,” you stutter, suddenly nervous. He pushes himself from the doorway with his hip, shutting the door behind him. His thumb brushes over the lock and it clicks into place. He stalks over to the desk. You can already feel the fire building between your legs. 

“Didn’t think I forgot about you, did you?” He leans over the desk, his hands covering yours. He’s hovering over you, holding you in place. “Thought I wanted to be away from you that long?”

You can’t think of what to say—can’t think of anything except him. You’re frazzled, caught off guard, wrapped up in Logan. 

“You like when I tease you, pretty girl?” His voice is honeyed and dark. He lets go of your hands and slips behind the desk. You turn around to face him. 

“Y-yes,” you confess, leaning against the desk as Logan towers over you. 

He hums, his hands finding your hips, holding you tightly. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you protest, but it’s no use. You can feel the heat rising to your chest, the way your clothes uncomfortably scratch against your skin. His words are tripping you up and driving you wild. 

“Yeah?” Logan asks, taking a step closer, his hips pressing into yours, his hands tugging at the hem of your shirt. He slips inside, his nails trailing gently up your stomach. You shiver underneath his touch, goosebumps rising in its wake. He smirks, knowing full well what he’s doing to you. “Then tell me how I’m making you feel.” 

Fuck, you think to yourself. You swallow harshly, racking your brain for the words. “G-good…” you trail off as Logan’s fingers travel up to your ribs, hiking your shirt up in the process. 

“Just good?” He murmurs, massaging your breasts over your bra. He squeezes, thumbs brushing your nipples. 

“B-better than good,” you force out, leaning into his touch, searching for more of him. “Wanna touch you too.” Your hand falls to his lower half, riding up his inner thigh until you find his erection. He’s so much bigger than you expected him to be.

He can’t help but lean into your hand as you slide up and down his shaft. He grunts, losing his composure, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. You can feel him straining against his jeans, the denim tight and uncomfortable. You trail up to his belt, but Logan suddenly grabs your hands and pins them to the desk below. 

All you can think about is how he isn’t touching you anymore, how his lips are centimeters away from yours, how he’s holding you down as his erection pushes against your leg. He shakes his head. “Wanna make you come first, pretty girl,” he husks, closing in on you. His forehead presses to yours. “Lay back for me, sweetheart.” You listen as he guides you down to the desk, hurriedly shoving papers and books away and onto the floor. 

You sit up on your forearms, watching as he strips his beater away. He’s beautiful—every dip and every curve beyond perfect. He steps toward you again—one hand on the desk for support while the other explores your body. He’s quick, his hand slipping under your shirt and tugging it up and over your head.

He’s squeezing your breasts again, playing with the hem of your bra, fingers sliding underneath teasingly. You arch your back into his touch. “Please,” you whine. 

Logan smirks, his nails brushing the underside of your breasts before traveling to your back—to your bra clasp. In the blink of an eye, the clasp is undone, and Logan is sliding the straps down your arms, throwing the bra to the floor. 

He drinks you in, his eyes slowly trailing up and down your body. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, shaking his head. He settles in between your legs as he lowers over you again—one hand pins your wrists above your head, keeping you from reaching out and touching him, while he traces and strokes your stomach with the other. 

He’s so close—so impossibly close—but he hasn’t kissed you yet. You want to feel the warmth of his lips, the curve of his smile against you. “How could you ever think I hated you?” His hand slides up your body, finally cupping your right breast and brushing over your nipple. You shudder underneath him. 

You curse under your breath. “I-I just thought you did. N-never seemed like you liked me,” you say, smiling at how different things are now. 

Logan shakes his head, pinching your nipple before moving to the other breast. His forehead rests against yours as he toys with you. “I wanted you this whole time, darlin’.” His confession washes over you, and he finally presses his lips to yours. 

It’s all-consuming, the way he moves against you, the way he fits into you perfectly. His lips are smooth and addicting, like a drug you can’t get enough of. The kiss is slow and hard, but you can feel the need behind it—the intention. 

“Want you,” you say against his lips, squirming underneath him, trying to break your hands free from his pin. But he doesn’t budge—he simply smiles against you—his mouth still on yours. You try again, more honest this time. “N-need you.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he breathes, kissing your pulse point, and then the hollow of your throat. “But I’m gonna take my time with you.” 

He nips at your collarbone, his lips trailing down the center of your chest. He licks a long stripe across your breast, his mouth latching on to your nipple, sucking softly. You moan his name as he travels to the other side, repeating his actions, his tongue teasing you. He continues his course down your body, taking in every inch of you, savoring you. 

Logan kisses your belly button and stops at the hem of your shorts. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and filled with lust. He slowly yanks at the waistband, pulling your shorts down your legs, revealing the lacey lavender panties you’re wearing underneath. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss right above your clit. You want him to rip the lace from your legs, but he doesn’t. He sits there, staring as his fingers climb up your inner thigh. It’s achingly slow, but his fingers finally brush over your folds, your arousal soaking through your panties. “Been hiding this the whole time?” He asks, his head cocking to the side, stroking your clit through the fabric. 

“I-I...” You can’t find the words, his touch numbing your mind, stopping all coherent thoughts. 

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. “So fucking wet,” he grunts, pulling them down your legs. “No more hiding, princess.”

You’re laid bare for him, your legs hanging over the edge of the desk. He kneels before you like he’s at an altar, praying to you, worshiping you. You swallow at the sight of him as he brings his face closer to your heat. You can feel his breath fan against your folds, your clit. 

“Logan, please. Need you so—” 

And then his face is buried in your cunt, his tongue licking a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit. His hands slip under your legs, grabbing your thighs tightly, pulling you closer to him, and forcing you in place.  “Tastes so good,” he mumbles against you, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking roughly. One of his hands slips out from under your thigh, finding your folds and sweeping through them gently. 

Logan’s beard scratches deliciously against you as his tongue laps relentlessly. His fingers prod your entrance, spreading your slick. You’re ready to beg again, to whimper and whine, but he’s shoving two of his long fingers deep inside—down to the knuckles—before you can complain. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he huffs between laps, his fingers still inside you. He slides out and thrusts back in—deeper this time. 

“Logan,” you whimper, as he hits that sweet spot inside you. “Feels so good.” He smiles against you, his tongue circling around your clit. “You f-feel so good.”

“Oh yeah?” His teeth graze your core ever so slightly, and you jolt at the sudden feeling. Your walls tighten around him, squeezing him. He notices immediately. “You like that?” He chides, pumping his fingers in and out, quickening his pace. 

“Y-yes,” you choke out. Logan’s working you through it, gentle praises flowing from his lips as he laps at you. You can feel yourself getting closer—the pleasure reaching its peak. He adds more pressure with his tongue, sucking harder. “Logan I—”

“I know,” he mumbles, plunging deep inside you, his tongue lapping at you like he hasn’t eaten in months. “Can feel the way you’re squeezing my fingers.” 

His thumb strokes your thigh comfortingly—his grip still strong, holding you in place. His eyes are locked on yours, watching your every move, like a predator watching its prey. You know he loves the way you’re squirming under his touch, the way you throw your head back when his teeth graze over your clit.

There’s lust in his eyes, and desire too. But you can see the adoration, the need to have you close, to bury himself inside you. If he could climb under your skin, he would. If he could worship at your throne, he would. You can feel it in the way he pushes into you, the way he swallows you like he’ll never get to eat again—never get to have you again. 

And that’s when the tension breaks—snaps in half so easily. Your muscles contract, walls fluttering around him, taking him deeper. “Logan I’m…” 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he husks, “Let go for me. Wanna taste you on my tongue.” His words, his smell, his touch—he’s everywhere—filling your senses. He rides out your orgasm, pumping in and out as you come undone underneath him. It’s pure bliss, perfect release—more perfect than anything you’ve ever felt before. 

And it’s because it’s Logan. It has always been Logan. 

His fingers rub against your walls, his pace slowing. He laps gently at your clit as he carefully pulls out. He lifts his face from your cunt, your arousal dripping down his chin. Logan stands, taking the two fingers that were plunged deep inside you and bringing them to his lips. His mouth wraps around the digits and he sucks softly. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him savoring the taste of you. His fingers slip out with a pop, and he smiles.

That fucking smile. So goddamn cocky.

Logan grabs his belt, undoing his buckle and slipping the belt away. He’s unbuttoning his jeans, pulling down the zipper, hooking his thumbs into his waistband, and slipping off the denim and his boxers in one quick move. His cock springs up to his stomach, and your jaw drops at the sight of him. 

You sit up as Logan steps in between your legs, his erection pressing against your stomach as he slots into you. He brings his hands to your hips, gripping tightly, and you wrap your legs around his waist. 

He lays you down on the desk, hovering over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand guides his cock to your entrance. He captures your lips in a kiss as he slides through your folds, notching against your clit. 

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers between kisses, his tip slipping in your entrance teasingly, and then slipping back out. “You’re so perfect.” He slips in again just a bit but doesn’t move. “Can’t believe you thought I hated you…”  

And then he’s plunging into you, sinking down to the hilt. “…When I wanted you this entire fucking time, pretty girl.”

His hand leaves his cock and finds your clit, stroking lightly. You’re already close, still overstimulated from your first orgasm. Logan hasn’t moved, his cock still deep inside from his first thrust. “Logan,” you mumble, helpless underneath him. He finally pulls out and pushes back in again—somehow deeper this time—bottoming out. You moan at the feeling. 

“That what you needed?” He growls, building his pace, his hips rutting into yours. “Needed me to fuck you?” His words alone could make you come. 

“Fuck, yes,” you answer as he pounds into you, his fingers drawing rough circles into your core. Logan isn’t restrained anymore—he isn’t taking his time like he said he would. He’s letting go, slamming into you, flicking your clit, taking what he wants. 

And fuck does it feel good. 

“You feel so fucking perfect,” Logan praises, biting your lower lip and kissing away the pain. “Doing so good for me, beautiful.” You can feel him rubbing against your walls, stretching you out, fitting inside you like he was always meant to be there. He’s right: it is perfect. 

Nothing will ever compare to this. 

Logan’s hips snap into yours, his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with every single thrust. He’s still working your clit, chasing your orgasm, making you feel good. That adoration is still vibrant in his eyes, still rocking you to your core. 

You clench down around him, squeezing him, taking him in deeper. “Fuck,” he mutters, his pace faltering. He’s close, and so are you. He’s letting go, pumping harder, faster. “So tight, so warm,” he groans. “Such a good girl, letting me fuck you into this desk.” 

Your chests heave together—skin against skin. He’s so warm, so solid, so constant. You can feel yourself melting, sinking, slipping. “Lo…” You trail off, wrapping your legs tighter around him. 

He moans into your mouth. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart.” He pinches your clit, lighting your skin ablaze. 

“I’m s-so close,” you stutter, stumbling over your words. 

Logan’s throat bobs as he fucks into you, fingers swirling your clit. “Gonna get you there, princess,” he pants. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.” You curse under your breath and Logan swallows the words with a kiss. You’re squeezing him tighter now—inches from the edge, and he knows. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he coos, stroking harder, pounding into you. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” 

You listen, your orgasm crashing into you. It’s uncontrollable—wave after wave of pleasure surging through your body. You’re a mess underneath him, arching your back as you let go. You’re seeing stars, heat flooding your vision. There aren’t words to describe the way you feel—the way that only Logan can make you feel. 

He’s close behind, rocking into you. His hand reaches under your back, lifting you so that he’s standing and you’re sitting up on the desk. The angle is brutal—giving him more room, more depth to fuck up and into you. It’s too much, but it’s just what he needs. 

“Wanna…” you trail off, struggling to get the words out. “Wanna f-feel you come too.”

“Fuck,” Logan curses, pressing his forehead to yours. “Gonna give you what you want. Always gonna give it to you.” And then he’s coming deep inside you. You can feel him filling you up, painting your walls. 

His thrusts slow as he finishes. He pumps in and out a few more times before slipping out of you, but he doesn’t pull away. He wraps his arms around you, keeping you pressed tightly to his chest. The contact is comforting—stabilizing—as you come down from your high. 

Silence fills the room as you melt into him. All those months spent thinking Logan hated you…how could you be such a fool? He was yours the whole time. 

He presses a chaste kiss to your temple. “I meant what I said, you know. About wanting you.” 

You smile softly, your head falling into the crook of his neck. “I never knew.” 

He shakes his head. “Still want you now.” 

“You have me,” you say, lifting your head to look up at him. He’s got that look—that glimmer—in his eyes again. It dawns on you that it isn’t just adoration.  It’s love. You know it’s love. Your breath hitches in your throat at the thought. 

“Good,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours again. “Because I’m not done with you yet.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he teases, his voice raspy and deep. “When can I see you again?” 

You laugh. “What are you doing after this?” 

He pauses, as if thinking through his mental calendar. And then he smirks that shit-eating, cocksure smirk. “You.” 

Well fuck. 

[gayteensupreme]

average ace attorney trial

phoenix: ah god im so nervous im so new to this

maya: we can do it nick!!! yayayayay

judge: hello i am here

edgeworth: hello i am calling my witness mr seekret murdahrer to the stand

seekret murdahrer: hi i am but an innocent witness. i saw harry willington kill that guy from my window. yes the defendant.

phoenix : oh shit uhhhh fuck i know!!! yes mr murdahrer um you claim to have seen mr willington from your apartment window and yet your apartment has no window!!!!

judge: order!!!!

edgeworth: tut tut tut you see mister wright mr murdahrer does have a window, your building plans are outdated!

phoenix: oh shit. um. i. LOOK AT THIS

judge: what the fuck is this

phoenix: this is a piece of tape! but as you can see, there is dust on this tape!! i picked it up at mr murdahrers apartment! in the dust on the tape you can see the serial number from the murder weapon!!!

seekret murdahrer: *rips off face* GAHHHHHHH fine i did it!!!!!@

judge: ORDER! anyway i find mr willington not guilty!

confetti: *falls*

maya: yayayay mr wright we did it!!!

edgeworth: Phoenix....... I Have Always Felt A Certain..... Way..... Towards You..... As If Our Lives Are Perhaps Intertwined...... This Thought Has Penetrated Me Deeply... And Yet I Find Myself Unable To Resist........

harry willington: wowowow thanks mr wright!!!! now i will go back to the novelty ninja dice factory and work there again!!!!