#and the new comics are a hot mess

[katscythe]

I think this is my favorite pic I have seen of her haircut ever.

(Not my art pls reblg if you know the artist)

Why DC started doing weird ass pink tips and fugly bobs I will never understand.

Like, it's just an inverted bob guys, it's not that fucking hard.

Bangs are just bonus points

[strawberrybyers]

marvel drives me crazy with hiring some of the same actors to play different characters but i love rdj so much that i’ll let him playing dr. doom slide.

i kind of get why he was chosen as dr.doom as dr. doom takes on the identity of iron man for a period of time, but like dr. doom isn’t tony stark. i mean idk how they’ll play it out in the mcu and i know they like all the alternate universe stuff so maybe they may play a “tony stark becomes dr. doom in another reality” card. but what would’ve been better than all of this is if they just didn’t fucking kill tony stark to begin with!!

[alexmooreillustration]

so, in an attempt to beat the aLg0rYtHm i’ve started up a news letter which is hhhhhhhhhhhopefully going to be a monthly(ish) round up of releases, works in progress and recommendations. 

the first instalment is out now but if you’d like to keep abreast of all my horribly chaotic output you can subscribe to get my horribly chaotic output delivered straight to your inbox;

https://alexmooreillustration.substack.com/p/januaryfebruary 

[bylightofdawn]

Today I forced myself to go through my comic trade paperback in an effort to thin it out so I don't have to move all these heavy fucking books in the near future. I was ruthless going through my old DC stuff. Got rid of prolly half of my DC books, majority of which is Batman related. I held onto my favorite books, mostly revolving around Batfam stuff and things like the Killing Joke and Death in the Family. Also I love the trashy Jason Todd comes back from the death era. I know it's shit, I know it's overhyped but I still love it. It's like peak trashy comics.

Then I got to my Flash comics and ahahahahahahahah I lost steam. I kept most of them. I love the Rogues and have all the major Rogues stories so those weren't going anywhere. I kept Flashpoint and stuff like that. And then I got to my Outsiders books and I was doomed. No one is going to read these books anyway. I think I'm the only person who loves the Dick and Roy lead the Outsiders 2.0 stuff. Or it feels that way. So I got through my DC stuff and prolly have half left. I was feeling good and like I could do this.

I ended up keeping all of my Transformers comics because...nostalgia. I prolly won't read them, I SHOULD get rid of them but I can't because it was such a huge part of my fandom background. And honestly? Early IDW Transformers kinda slaps.

Then I got to fucking Marvel. BRUH. I have an entire shelf of Avengers/Captain America/Excalibur/Daken/Dark Wolverine.

I got rid of 4 books, all of them random Civil War shit. I pulled the Avengers and saw Children's Crusade INVADERS/AVENGERS which is one of my ALL TIME FAVORITE SERIES. Because I LOVE the Invaders. They are my blorbos and that series plus Torch miniseries is just...ruins me for life. I'm about to go pull both of those and read them right now actually.

SO YEAH I failed hardcore. You expect me to get rid of the Brubaker Captain America run? Do you WANT me to cut off my arm and beat you with it?

The last shelf I haven't touched yet and I'm debating why even bother. It's got my old World of Darkness core books, my Halo comics and Star Wars comics. I'm not getting rid of ANY of those. SO what's the point? I think I might have some old Iron Mana and Thor stuff I have zero emotional connection to so I might be able to pulla handful of them.

So yeah, abject failure on my part but as a bonus, I want to go read my Invaders comics and then I'm going to pull out some of my old Rogues comics I think.

[bob-artist]

Into the Smoke Chapter 1 is COMPLETE!!

Into the Smoke is my new free webcomic about a hot mess of a spirit medium who binds himself to the ghost of a vengeful murdered hitman.

If you've been waiting for a good backlog of pages before reading, now's the perfect time! All 12 episodes of chapter 1 are up, which is the equivalent of about 70 comic pages.

Read Into the Smoke Chapter 1 HERE!

[cartoonus-maximus]

If I ever met Bendis irl, there's a very real chance that I might actually thank him for creating characters like Miles Morales and Riri Williams, who I think are fun and valuable additions to the comics, and then promptly slap him for every single crime he wrote into the Ultimates universe.

[tangerinesilk]

－ DISTRACTION : DAVE LIZEWSKI

dave was a great study buddy, but there's no doubt he was a distraction. he constantly made you turn your head twice at whatever he said or did whether it was some comic book character he rambled about or how his pale blue eyes shined under the warm lighting of his desk lamp.

pairing ✷ college!dave lizewski x college!fem!reader

rating ✷ r (18+ minors dni!)

tropes ✷ friends with benefits, spicy but no / little plot, unspoken love, domestic toward eachother but no dating, dorky and awkward people in love who just wont admit it theyre in love (sort of) | nsfw warnings below!

word count ✷ 1.7k

a/n ✷ um this was a random thought and it just sort of happened. stg it feels like i blacked out while writing this KSKFFKS what is going on with me. anyways been wanting to write about this cute dork for a while and why not make it really hot. posting now so i dont chicken out but ill edit later.... i always love feedback! xo

[ steamy warnings: mentions of public sex, dom & sub switches, p in v without protection, nipple play, hj + bj, f receiving oral from m, praising + heavy dirty talk, face sitting, finishing inside v ]

typical weekends: saturday night at dave's apartment.

dave was explaining something... it was something. something important, but all you could focus on was his pretty eyes and how soft his lips looked today. he pushed his glasses up more on his nose bridge again, looking down at his book for one of his college classes.

he was so into the subject, you didn't even have to nod. you were occasionally tapping the eraser end of your pencil against your blank notebook, only listening to every other word.

suddenly, your mind wanders to when you two were doing laundry at three in the morning and got a little spontaneous. then getting a bit handsy on the top floor of the library where no one usually was. maybe even the time when you were visiting him back home for one weekend and you both could barely keep it together with company downstairs.

ever since you both agreed on this friends with benefits agreement, your dry spells were no longer an issue. it seemed like both of you were touched starved, but not wanting to meet other people, strangers you didnt want or need to know.

so, after becoming lab partners in your fall semester of senior year, its been nonstop seeing each other. not just for sex, but hanging out to study, going to local comic book stores and libraries, even the occasional dinner and sleepover combo at his apartment or yours.

it seemed like a wild card at first, but you would never admit (outloud) to dave lizewski that you underestimated how great his tongue felt inside your pus—

"y/n, are you even listening?"

you cleared your throat, "hmm?"

he chuckled, "so you weren't... i know, its kind of boring."

now you felt bad, caught up from going down memory lane and he was excited about his new class.

you ran your hand over his curls, "im sorry, dave. my mind was wandering."

he turned, seeming interested, "about what?"

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, "about... you know..." you trailed then shrugged, "stuff."

dave smiled, "oh yeah? you weren't, i dont know, thinking about me?"

you had seen this confidence grow inside dave as more time passed, and you weren't sure if it was cockiness, but you couldn't deny how cute yet attractive it was on him.

"why dont you go back to what you were rambling about? please. im all ears now." you lean in, placing your hands underneath your chin with your elbows on his desk.

its ironic how his full size bed was behind the two of you yet here you are, acting like this was the first time you've hung out.

he pressed wet kisses against your inner thighs, your clit aching for his mouth as his nose brushed against your skin. he'd let out a nervous chuckle as he noticed the wet spot forming on the center of your panties. you'd bite your bottom lip as he licked his lips, in awe of the mess you were for him.

dave pulled down your panties, shuffling them down your ankles before tossing them to the side. his strong hands run up the top of your thighs before holding your hips, pulling your core closing to his mouth. after his first, yet hesitant, kiss on your clit, you let out a faint moan.

soon his tongue was running over your open slit and tasting your sweet wetness. you arched your back, leaning back on his desk as he flicked your clit a few times. when he pushes his tongue inside you, a rush of heat runs over your entire body. you caress your own breasts and pull at your own nipples as he picks up his pace.

"fuck... god, yes. eat my fucking pussy." you whimpered. he got so weak when you uttered your sweet nothings. as dominant as he thought he presented himself, dave was a sucker for you.

just when you thought it couldn't get better, he slide his two fingers into your slit as his tongue flicks your swollen clit. you told him how you love when he curled his fingers inside you, knuckle deep and gathering your wetness every pump as he brought you closer to your orgasm.

your hips grind against his mouth and hand, painfully near your climax. he cursed under his breath as he felt your pussy clench around his digits. he pulls his mouth away from your clit, trailing more kisses over your stomach then rolls his tongue against your right nipple.

his hand still worked your slit, thrusting so fast that your head was spinning along with the pleasure of him sucking your erect nipple. you glanced down, seeing how his hard pressed against his khakis. just the thought of taking his cock into your mouth made you dizzy, bucking your hips against his fingers.

"yes... make me cum. i wanna fucking cum on your fingers." you muttered under your breath, pulling at his curls. dave's knees were giving out as he held his position but he loved to hear your continous begging.

he was about to see if he could pick up his pace before your hand reached down, sliding into the front of his stained pants and caressing his hard cock. he grunted against your chest, instantly weak from your touch which made him pause.

"hmm, what about i cum on your cock instead?" you giggled as your lips met his, "it's so hard... bet you've been thinking about cumming inside my tight pussy, huh, dave?"

he sighed, "shit..."

"that's what i thought, baby." you say before taking his fingers into your mouth, tasting your own cum. he takes a mental picture even though you've done this in your previous hookups.

you hop off the desk, playfully pushing him on his twin size bed. you slowly get on your knees, running your hand over the crotch of his pants that were already unbuttoned and half unzipped. it's easy for your pull his cock out, practically springing from his briefs.

his eyes are glued to you as your tongue runs up and down the base before wrapping your lips against his red tip. you half-giggle when you taste his pre-cum, then carefully take him all in your mouth. you gag a bit as his tip pushes further in, and he groans when your throat tightens around him.

you push your tongue out to make sure your teeth dont graze his cock as you deep throat him, incredibly slow, so he can watch in awe. he leans up on his elbows, falling apart as you take him in your mouth so easily and your hand pumping the rest of his base.

"fucking christ... fuck." he muttered, his dick twitching inside your mouth as your salvia runs down when you gag on his hard.

his hand runs over your hair, gathering it together to keep it out of your face— also to have a better view of him receiving one of the best blowjobs you've given him.

when you pull your mouth away, you giggle as you pump his cock with your spit lubricating for better motion. his face screws together the faster you pump, and he can barely take the pleasure.

"hmm, i bet you wanna cum on my face... and tits. but, i want you to cum inside me." you say as you but your bottom lip, running your thumb over the cum leaking from his tip.

"me too, baby. fuck!" he grunts, and it makes you smile at how much of a mess he is too.

you rise from your knees, relieving the pressure on them before straddling him on his bed. you pull off your top, tossing it on the other side of the room as he quickly peels his shirt off as well. his big hands run up your body, over your breasts once more as his thumbs move against your nipples.

"god, i want to feel every inch of your cock... so, don't stop until you're finished." you tell him as you run his tip agaisnt your slit before slowly sinking down on him.

"babe, shit... fuck." he whimpered, his fingers pressing into your hips as you arch your back.

"god, im so tight." you moan, "your cock is so big... can barely fit you inside me." you huff, your eyes closed shut as you slowly move your hips.

soon, you meet a nice pace of bouncing on his cock and he loosens up as he watches you move up and down. his bright eyes keep moving between looking at your tits and your face, completely amazed by your beauty.

you run your hands over his toned chest and abdomen, leaving light scratches on his skin from the waves of pleasure coursing throughout your body.

"dave, im gonna cum. oh, oh! i'm gonna cum." you announced to him and he was holding off anyways, his jaw clenched his much that it was beginning to feel painful.

as you arch your back and let out a long whine, he stills his hips as his warm cum fills you up. it was the first time he was fully inside you, and you were aching around his cock, feeling it throbbing against your walls.

he leans up, leaving a soft kiss just above your breasts before you two share another kiss. you can't help but giggle, both of you feeling that sudden hit of exhaustion.

you lift yourself from your cock and cum runs down your slit, letting him see the mess he made. dave smirks, expecting him to say that he'll get you a towel but instead licks his lips and starts to lean down between your legs again.

it was like deja vu. his tongue presses against your swollen slit, tasting your mixed cum before sucking on your sore clit. now you're so sensitive to the touch, you could orgasm again at any moment. he was so in tune with your body that he knew what pace to go and how long you could actually lasts.

you run your hands over your breasts, his tongue moving so perfectly between your slit and clit. you feel his press a light kiss against the area above your pussy before trailing more kisses up your body. then, you two shared another kiss, tasting each other's tongues once more before he laid next to you.

"you know, i've never had a study partner like you." you jeered, pressed a kiss against the start of his jaw.

he blushed, "me neither..." he raised his eyebrows, "trust me."

[wolvietxt]

𝓒HAPTER 𝓞NE !

series masterlist    taglist form pairing : logan howlett x reader warnings : injury detail, heavy angst, trauma, reader has a flawed regeneration mutation, arguments, reader has lots of scars (mentioned throughout), a lot of time shifts wc : 5.3k �� a/n : chapter one! hope you guys enjoy, will try and get chapter two out before the end of the week, fill in my taglist form (linked above) to be tagged in the rest of the series :3

the scars never really faded, no matter how much time passed. your regeneration didn’t work like the flawless kind you’d read about in comic books - clean, seamless, leaving no trace behind. instead, your body mended itself in a patchwork of silvered lines and raised ridges, crisscrossing your skin like a roadmap of every mistake, every fight, every loss.  

people stared. even when they didn’t mean to, their eyes would flicker over your arms or collarbone before quickly darting away. you could feel it in the way they shifted uncomfortably, their gazes tinged with pity or fear.  

you didn’t blame them, not really. you had grown used to it, the way your appearance seemed to speak for you before you ever opened your mouth. it was easier to keep your head down, let people think whatever they wanted, than to explain everything.  

your mutation first showed itself when you were thirteen. it was a normal school day, one you barely remember apart from the incident that changed everything.  

gym class had always been your least favourite. the whistles, the shouting, the echoing clang of equipment - it was overwhelming, a chaotic mess that you dreaded every week. that day, the teacher had insisted you try the balance beam.  

you climbed up reluctantly, your sneakers squeaking against the polished wood. your arms wobbled as you stretched them out for balance, your breath shaky with concentration. step by step, you made it across, relief flooding your chest as you stepped down.  

you never saw the edge of the metal bench sticking out.  

your foot caught, sending you sideways. the fall was fast, the sharp edge of the bench catching your side before you hit the ground hard.  

at first, all you could feel was shock.  

then the pain hit.  

it was searing, white-hot and sharp enough to knock the air from your lungs. your hand flew to your side instinctively, and when you pulled it away, your palm was slick with blood.  

the gym teacher’s whistle blew sharply, followed by the high-pitched shrieks of your classmates. someone screamed your name, but the sound barely registered. the world felt muffled, far away.  

you tried to speak, to say something, but all that came out was a soft, panicked wheeze.  

then it happened.  

at first, the pain dulled - not completely gone, but less overwhelming. a strange warmth spread through your side, accompanied by a tingling sensation that made your skin crawl.  

you looked down, and your stomach flipped.  

your skin was shifting, the torn edges pulling themselves together in jerky, uneven motions. the bleeding slowed, the exposed muscle knitting itself back in place.  

it wasn’t clean or seamless. the new skin was raw, red, and puckered, the kind of scar that looked like it belonged to a battlefield, not a middle school gym.  

“oh my god,” someone whispered.  

the gym teacher rushed over, her face pale as she knelt beside you. “stay still,” she said, her voice trembling. “help is on the way.”  

the ambulance ride was a blur, your parents' faces even blurrier when you saw them in the hospital waiting room.  

your mom hugged you tightly, her arms trembling, while your dad stood stiffly in the background.  

you thought the worst was over. you were wrong.  

later that night, sitting at the kitchen table, you tried to explain what happened.  

“it wasn’t me,” you said quietly, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of a napkin. “it just… happened.”  

your mother didn’t respond right away. she looked at you for a long time, her expression somewhere between disbelief and fear.  

“you’re one of them,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible.  

the words hit like a slap. your father didn’t say anything. his jaw was tight, his hands gripping the back of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white.  

“we’ll figure this out,” your mom said eventually, though her tone was more for herself than for you.  

but they didn’t. 

at school, the whispers started almost immediately. someone must have told.  

“mutant,” a boy sneered as you passed in the hallway, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.  

the word clung to you, sticking like glue no matter how hard you tried to shake it off.  

your classmates avoided you like the plague. even your closest friends began to drift away, their excuses flimsy and half-hearted.  

“my mom says i shouldn’t - ” one girl began, then stopped, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.  

you stopped asking after that. stopped trying.  

instead, you withdrew.  

your parents weren’t much help, either.  

your mom tried, in her own way. she asked how school was, offered to drive you to and from classes, but there was always a tension beneath her kindness, a stiffness in her voice that hadn’t been there before.  

your dad barely spoke to you at all.  

he would sit at the dinner table, reading the paper, his face hidden behind the rustling pages. when you tried to make conversation, he would grunt in response, his answers clipped and distant.  

you knew it wasn’t anger. it was fear.  

the scars kept coming.  

every time you tripped, every scrape and bruise, every accident - they all left their mark.  

your body healed itself instantly, sure, but not without a price.  

you stopped wearing short sleeves altogether, the constant stares too much to bear.  

you spent most of your time alone after that. books became your solace, a way to escape into worlds where people like you were heroes instead of freaks.  

fantasy novels, mostly. you devoured stories of knights and sorcerers, of battles and triumphs.  

but no matter how many books you read, you couldn’t escape the weight of your own reality.  

some nights, when the house was quiet and the walls felt like they were closing in, you would cry softly into your pillow, the ache in your chest too much to hold back.  

you learned to hide your emotions, too.  

the last time you’d cried in front of your dad, he’d winced, like the sight of your tears was physically painful.  

“you have to be stronger than this,” he’d said gruffly, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “people like you don’t get to be weak.”  

it wasn’t fair, but you listened.  

by the time you were eighteen, you’d learned two important lessons.  

first, people would always see the scars before they saw you.  

and second, no matter how much you tried to hide them, the world would never let you forget what you were.  

🌀 a few years later…

you never understood why they did it. your parents - the people who were supposed to protect you, to love you unconditionally - were the very ones who handed you over. 

it happened when you were still too young to grasp the full weight of what was happening, too naive to know the horror you were about to face. they’d told you that it was for your own good, that it was necessary. they said the facility would make you better - make you stronger. they promised you’d be safe there, that they’d be right outside the door if you needed them. 

but when you reached the gates of the compound, you saw their faces - familiar but distant - before the heavy steel doors slammed shut behind you. they didn’t even try to fight it. they didn’t look back. 

you were a child, small, innocent, and vulnerable. you couldn’t have known what was coming.

they called it the program. they never told you exactly what it was - never explained the tests, the injections, or the experiments. but you could feel it all. every sharp prick of the needle, every invasive procedure that left you raw and trembling. it was all about control, about making you something they could manipulate, bend to their will. 

they trained you like an animal. they broke you down piece by piece, until you barely recognized the person who looked back at you in the mirror. the pain of the experiments became a constant hum in your body. your mind, too, slowly dulled as they erased the parts of you that once made you human.

they kept you in a cage, a box that was your world. your only companions were the cold walls and the sterile air, the only sounds the occasional voices of the guards, their footsteps echoing down the hallways.

in those dark moments, you questioned everything. who were you, really? what were you becoming? you couldn’t remember your life before the compound, couldn’t recall a time when you weren’t a part of their twisted plan.

then, one day, something changed. 

you’d been in that sterile room for weeks, if not longer. and when you heard the familiar click of the door unlocking, you thought it was just another round of tests - another round of pain. but when the door swung open, it wasn’t a scientist or a guard standing there. 

it was a man - tall, broad-shouldered, with a harsh, unreadable face. he wasn’t one of them. he was different.

he was here to take you.

he told you his name, though it didn’t mean anything to you. he said they were going to break you out, that you were free now, that they had no more hold over you. but nothing was ever that simple. nothing was ever as easy as it sounded. 

he led you down cold, metal hallways, past security, and through doors that felt like they might be your last. every footstep echoed in the silence, and with each one, you thought maybe it was a trap. maybe they were going to drag you back to that cage. 

but it never came. instead, the man pushed you further into the complex, until you found yourself standing in front of an exit - a set of heavy doors, marked with nothing more than a simple code on the screen. 

this was the moment, he told you. this was your chance to run.

you ran. 

your legs burned, your lungs ached, but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. the feeling of freedom was overwhelming, and it was all you could do to keep your mind from drifting back to what you’d been through. you pushed it away - the fear, the anxiety, the voices in your head telling you that you were still a prisoner in your own skin.

but when you reached the gates of the facility, there was no escape. no one was there to help you.

just when you thought you were free, the men in black uniforms emerged from the shadows, surrounding you in a circle, blocking every exit. you knew then that this was never going to be over. they weren’t going to let you go. 

and in the middle of it all, your mind flickered back to your parents. why? you wondered. why did they do this to me?

their faces were cold in your memory now, distant like they had been the moment they handed you over to the program. you weren’t their child anymore. you were just a project. 

but you didn’t have time to think about that now. the fight wasn’t over. 

you’d escape this, too. you had to.

the compound was chaos - loud, frantic, and disorienting. alarms blared in every corner of the facility, the sound nearly overwhelming your senses. everything felt too bright, too sharp, the noises too jarring. you had learned to block out most of it over the years, but in this moment, it all rushed back, drowning you.

you barely had time to process what was happening. everything had gone sideways far too fast. guards ran in every direction, chasing after people - some fleeing, others doing what they could to stop the chaos. the entire building felt like it was falling apart.

you knew you couldn’t stay here. you had to move.

you had to finish what you started.

you stumbled through the hallways, barely able to keep your feet beneath you. the pain from the wounds you’d sustained was a constant companion, but it wasn’t the physical ache that was distracting you. it was the memories - the flashes of everything you’d been through - the tests, the injections, the cages.

but now wasn’t the time for weakness. now wasn’t the time to look back.

when you reached the lab, you couldn’t believe it. everything was laid out in front of you - files, plans, even test results. everything you needed to finish your mission. but before you could move toward them, something shifted.

the door slammed open with a deafening crash. instinctively, you dropped to the floor, fingers scraping against the cold tiles as you slid behind a metal table.

shadows danced in the doorway.

the x-men.

you’d heard of them - everyone in the mutant world had - but never in person. and now they were here, a group of strangers entering your nightmare, bringing their own kind of chaos with them.

you peeked cautiously from behind the table, watching as they quickly overpowered the facility’s security. each member of the team moved with precision - beast’s large form barreling through walls, cyclops’s visor flaring with every blast, and storm summoning lightning with a mere flick of her wrist. the room seemed to come alive with their power.

“she’s the one,” one of them called out, his voice cutting through the noise. “take her down.”

you held your breath, eyes widening as they closed in on you. they weren’t just here for the facility. they were here for you.

but you weren’t some damsel in distress.

you’d spent years training, escaping from countless situations far worse than this. you couldn’t allow yourself to be weak. so, you moved.

swiftly, you darted from your hiding spot, catching the man off guard. you weren’t sure who he was - just another one of their team - but the shock in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. you’d caught him off guard.

but that split-second advantage wasn’t enough. before you could get another strike in, a powerful force slammed into your side, sending you crashing into the floor. you winced at the impact, your vision blurring as you tried to push yourself up. someone was kneeling next to you now - someone strong and familiar - but everything felt hazy.

“hold still,” a gruff voice ordered. “you’ve been through enough.”

you wanted to snap at him - wanted to tell him that he didn’t know anything about you - but the words wouldn’t come. and as you fought against the darkness creeping in, you realised that you couldn’t fight anymore. the exhaustion from days of running, fighting, hiding, it all caught up to you.

you didn’t even remember when you lost consciousness.

when you awoke, everything felt wrong. there was an unfamiliar weight in the air, a soft, sterile smell that clung to your senses. you tried to push yourself up, but a sharp pain shot through your head, forcing you to stop.

you were in a bed.

the bed was unfamiliar. it wasn’t like the hard floors you had grown used to, or the metal cots they’d kept you on. no, this was soft - comfortable, almost too much so.

you blinked, your vision clearing as your senses slowly returned. you were no longer in that hellhole. no longer in the compound where they kept you.

but where were you now?

the room was quiet, the dim light from a single lamp casting shadows on the walls. the bed beneath you felt like a luxury. everything about this place was different. warmer. safer, almost.

your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open. a figure stepped inside - someone you didn’t recognize at first, but then, as he moved closer, you could see him more clearly. tall, with dark hair and a rough, scruffy face. his eyes were intense - calculating, like he was studying you from the moment he walked in.

you didn’t trust him. you didn’t trust anyone.

“you’re awake,” he said, his voice low, rough. “good. you’re safe for now.”

you tried to speak, but your throat felt raw, as if you hadn’t used it in days. you coughed lightly, but still, the words wouldn’t come.

he reached for something beside you - a glass of water - and held it out to you. “drink. slowly.”

you didn’t want to take it. didn’t want to trust him. but you were parched, and the dry feeling in your throat was unbearable. so, you reached out and took the glass, drinking slowly, careful not to spill. the water was refreshing, but it did nothing to ease the dread building in your chest.

“where am i?” you finally croaked, your voice hoarse and weak.

“the x-mansion,” the man answered, not missing a beat. “this is where we bring people who need help. you’re safe here.”

you didn’t believe him. you didn’t know how to trust anyone anymore.

but before you could respond, the door opened again, and another figure stepped in. this one was more familiar - his posture rigid, his presence commanding. a man who seemed to radiate an aura of danger.

“logan,” the first man said, a note of caution in his voice. “she’s awake.”

logan’s gaze flicked to you, sharp and unyielding, as though he could see right through you.

“how long?” logan asked, his voice tight.

“a couple hours. she’s stable.”

logan didn’t respond. he just kept staring at you, his eyes narrowing. there was something about him - something dangerous and cold. and yet, beneath that, there was a flicker of something else.

you couldn’t place it, but it made your heart race.

“you,” logan said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. “we don’t know what you’ve been through. we don’t know if you’re a threat.”

his words sent a chill down your spine. it wasn’t the first time you’d heard that. and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“we’re not going to let anything happen to you,” the other man said quickly, his tone gentle but firm. “but you need to understand. this is just as dangerous for us as it is for you.”

you wanted to argue  -  to tell him that you weren’t the one to be scared of, that you weren’t the one who was dangerous.

but you couldn’t find the words. instead, you sank back into the bed, your thoughts spinning, your body heavy with exhaustion. you couldn’t escape this life. not now. not yet.

but maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to survive it.

as the hours stretched on, your body ached, but it wasn’t just from the physical injuries. the weight of your past pressed down on you with every breath you took, and you couldn’t escape it.

you closed your eyes again, letting the darkness take over.

for now, at least, you were safe.

but you had no illusions about your future. nothing was ever truly safe.

and logan? he wasn’t about to let you forget that.

you could hear the slow, steady rhythm of your own breath, the steady rise and fall of your chest as the darkness pressed in on you. the world outside felt so distant now - no longer the chaos of the compound, no longer the sound of explosions and gunfire. here, in the safety of the mansion, you almost felt like you could relax.

almost.

your limbs were heavy, your body aching in places you didn’t even know existed, but it was the exhaustion that wore at you most. it wasn’t just the physical toll, though. the ghosts of your past were still there, just out of reach but always lurking in the back of your mind.

you had done things. horrible, unspeakable things. and it didn’t matter where you were now - whether you were in the mansion with strangers who couldn’t possibly understand or back at the lab where they had made you into something else - it didn’t matter. you were still that person. the monster. the killer.

and yet, here you were. safe. for now.

but there was no such thing as true safety. not for someone like you. not for someone who had been broken and remade by those who had no mercy.

you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered, like a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

a knock at the door.

you stiffened, the muscles in your back tensing instinctively. it was probably one of the x-men, maybe hank or scott, checking on you. but a part of you - the part you didn’t want to acknowledge - hoped it was logan.

you didn’t know why. maybe because he was the closest thing you had to an anchor in this strange new world. maybe because, despite the bitterness and the anger in his eyes, he was the one person who seemed to understand the weight you carried. not because he wanted to understand, but because he knew pain. he knew darkness.

but you couldn’t trust him.

you couldn’t trust anyone.

“come in,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

the door creaked open, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flash of surprise in logan’s eyes when he stepped into the room. it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with the usual guarded expression that always made you wonder what he was thinking behind that hard exterior.

he didn’t speak right away. instead, he stood there in the doorway, his posture tense. it was almost like he didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, you wondered if he had come to check on you because it was what was expected of him, not because he actually cared.

it was probably the latter.

you sat up slowly, bracing yourself against the headboard. “what do you want?” the question came out harsher than you intended, but it was too late to take it back now.

logan stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “just checking,” he muttered, his voice low, rough around the edges. it almost sounded like an afterthought, like he wasn’t sure why he was here. but the way his eyes kept flicking to your face made it clear he was still trying to figure you out. maybe you didn’t make sense to him.

“checking on what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

he hesitated for a second, looking away. when his gaze returned to you, it was guarded again, the walls firmly in place. “you’re not dead yet.”

you snorted despite yourself, the bitterness bubbling up in your chest. “what, you think i’m going to fall apart just because i’m here?”

he shrugged, the movement quick and dismissive. “didn’t say that.” he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still studying you. “but you don’t exactly look like you’re in one piece.”

“and you’re not here to help with that,” you said, your voice sharp. “so what do you want?”

logan’s eyes flashed for a brief moment - something unreadable, something buried beneath the layers of his hardened exterior. you could almost see the frustration behind his eyes, though he hid it quickly, masking it with the usual indifference. “look,” he muttered, “i didn’t come here to babysit you. but if you wanna go out there again, you better be able to hold your own. i’m not gonna coddle you. i’m not here to make you feel better.”

his words stung more than you expected. was that what you wanted from him? no. you didn’t need anyone to “coddle” you. but something about his tone - cold, dismissive - made the weight of everything feel heavier. 

"i can handle myself," you said quietly, looking away from him, hiding the sting in your eyes. 

logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “you should’ve said that to yourself when they were doing this to you,” he muttered under his breath. but it was loud enough for you to hear. it felt like an accusation, like a slap to your face.

you flinched, but tried to cover it. "don’t pretend you care,” you shot back, your voice breaking just a little. 

logan didn’t flinch. in fact, he didn’t even react at first. but you saw the tension in his body, the way his fists clenched by his sides. he opened his mouth as if to say something else, then closed it, brow furrowed.

“i don’t give a damn about what you think about me,” he finally said, voice quieter now, almost like a whisper. “but i can’t stand seeing people throw themselves away without a fight. you can fight. but you gotta decide whether or not you wanna keep doing it.” 

he turned on his heel, heading for the door. "we’ve got a long way to go before this is over. don’t think you’re gonna get out of it that easily."

and with that, he left, leaving you alone once more in the still silence of the room. the door shut with a soft click, but you could still hear the echoes of his words rattling around in your head. the weight of them sat heavy on your chest.

he didn’t care about you. not in the way you wished he would. but he cared about one thing: survival.

you hadn't expected much from logan. you never did. but you still couldn't shake the bitter taste his words had left behind. they gnawed at you, even though you told yourself it didn’t matter. you'd been through worse. you could handle it.

but there was something about the way he'd spoken to you that made your stomach twist. it wasn’t just what he’d said - it was the way he said it. like you were nothing but a problem to be solved, a task to be managed. his words were cold, sharp, like they were meant to cut deeper than they did.

he didn’t care. he never would.

you were sitting at the kitchen table, the bright, sterile lights of the mansion making everything feel even emptier than it already did. it was one of those rare moments where the mansion felt... silent. as if it, too, were waiting for something. maybe it was waiting for you to break.

you hadn't seen logan since he’d left your room earlier that day. a part of you was glad for it, even if you hated the reason why. the truth was, you didn’t know if you could look at him again without that biting edge creeping back into your voice.

a voice - someone's voice - cut through the silence. 

"you alright?"

you flinched, startled. you turned to see scott standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed in concern. of all people, scott. you didn't want to talk to anyone, but you knew you couldn’t hide forever. he was trying to be kind, but it felt too... loud.

"yeah," you said, your tone flat. you pushed the empty mug in front of you away, suddenly too aware of the quiet surrounding you. "just... tired."

scott didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press it. instead, he took a seat across from you, looking like he had something else on his mind. it wasn’t a long time before the door opened again, and the last person you wanted to see walked in.

logan.

you didn’t even look up. the instant you heard his boots on the floor, you felt the walls come up, higher than before. you didn’t trust yourself not to say something you’d regret. you knew he’d seen your face, the way your mood had shifted earlier, but he didn’t care. nothing you felt mattered.

logan didn’t even acknowledge scott as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. he looked disinterested, almost bored, like he was doing this out of obligation.

you focused on the mug in front of you, trying to ignore him. you tried to tell yourself you didn’t care, but the words he had said still hung in the air, suffocating you. maybe you were being dramatic, but you couldn’t help it. he’d made you feel small. 

"what’s up with you?" logan’s voice was rough, breaking the uncomfortable silence. he was looking at you now, and the gaze sent a shiver through your spine, though not in a way that felt good. it felt like an accusation.

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t.

instead, you picked at the edge of your sleeve, the fabric worn thin, your mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. why did you care?

"you’ve been acting off since we got back," logan continued, his voice a little more insistent. “you’re not some porcelain doll. quit pretending like you are.”

you couldn’t hide the flicker of annoyance in your eyes. the way he always saw you as fragile - it made your blood boil, and you hated how much it stung when he said things like that. porcelain doll? you weren’t some fragile thing that needed protection. you weren’t weak. but the more you tried to convince yourself, the more the truth settled on you like a heavy weight.

"i’m not pretending," you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. your hand clenched into a fist, and you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to stay calm. you didn’t want to get into it with him. not now.

but logan wasn’t letting it go. his eyes locked onto yours, and it felt like he was searching for something. it didn’t feel like concern; it felt like judgement.

“you sure about that?” he asked, voice low, almost mocking. “because from where i’m standing, you look like a damn mess.”

you sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the way your heart seemed to sink with each word. a damn mess. 

it was like a slap across the face. you could feel it in the pit of your stomach, a deep, gnawing sensation that told you to shut down, to stop caring. but the words, those words, kept echoing in your mind, getting louder with every breath.

you look like a damn mess.

you couldn’t respond. couldn’t defend yourself because it felt like there was no defence to it. what could you possibly say to that? the worst part was, you were starting to believe him. maybe you were a mess. 

but in that moment, the anger bubbled up - anger you didn’t even know you had - and you didn’t care about anything else except getting him to stop. to stop seeing you like that.

"maybe you should just keep your opinions to yourself," you muttered under your breath, but the words were brittle. 

logan didn’t back down. “you’re not fooling anyone, kid. if you can’t even keep yourself together long enough to pull your own weight, you don’t belong here.”

the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, harsh and unforgiving. it felt like a punch in the gut, and you couldn’t stop the sting that followed.

you looked up at him then, your eyes burning with the anger and hurt that had been building up. “you don’t know anything about me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of it. 

but logan wasn’t done. he never was.

"you're damn right, i don't," he said, his voice still biting. "and i'm not interested in learning. all i know is, you’re a liability. and i don’t need one of those around."

the room seemed to tilt, and for a moment, everything around you blurred. a liability. that’s what you were to him. that’s what you’d always be.

you stood up abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor. it was as if your body had made the decision for you, your legs shaking with the force of the emotions swirling inside you. 

"i’m done," you muttered, turning on your heel. you didn’t care if he was still watching you. you didn’t care about anything anymore.

you just needed to get away.

the door slammed shut behind you, leaving nothing but silence and the distant echoes of the words that had broken you.

liability. a mess.

and somewhere deep down, you knew this wasn’t the end. it was only the beginning of something much worse.

🌀 logan howlett : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @bbittenapples, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[rileyslibrary]

Synopsis: A new lieutenant comes to your base—a hot one. Ghost isn’t happy.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,334

Notes:

I haven’t thought of a title, so I’m replacing it with a picture of Ghost’s expression that perfectly captures the fic’s concept. Let me know if you think of one.

Platonic fluff, duh.

Warning: Lots of swearing ahead of you, British slang as well. Told you, he’s not happy.

UPDATE: there’s a Part 2 now. Things get messy.

Want more?

———————————————————————

The rumour mill went into overdrive as soon as the ‘new guy’ arrived at the military base that morning. A former special ops legend with impressive credentials; what’s not to love?

But it wasn’t just his military skills that had everyone talking; it was also his appearance. Rumours of his Adonis-like looks had spread throughout the base, and everyone was dying to catch a glimpse of him. Even the mess hall was dominated by talk of his stunning looks.

What did you think of him? Well, you prefer to take such things with a grain of salt and not put too much stock in them. After all, beauty is a matter of personal preference, and no single definition applies to everyone. So you wanted to evaluate things for yourself.

Okay, fine. Yes, the rumours were true—the guy is exactly as they described him.

The new lieutenant stands tall and proud in front of the line you’ve all formed, his wavy hair coiffed into a deep side part with a thick fringe swooping over one eye. His chiselled jawline is accentuated by a short, perfectly groomed beard, and he gives everyone a brilliant smile as if he’s auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. His voice is booming and almost comically enthusiastic as if he were trying to engage a class of children. He gives orders by pointing at soldiers with gun fingers and winking, causing some of you to stifle giggles.

“All right, soldiers, pay attention!” he says, clapping his hands like a cheerleader. “Today’s tasks are routine: cleaning, organizing, equipment repair, and inventory taking. And, hey, if we pull this off, I’ll buy everyone a round at the local pub! How does that sound?”

Some of the soldiers exchange skeptical glances, wondering if this guy is for real.

But Ghost? Oh. My. God.

Ghost’s agitation becomes too hard to hide as the new lieutenant speaks. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, moving frantically as if eager to be anywhere but here. His eyes keep rolling back as though they’re searching for some leftover patience in the depths of his skull. You keep staring at his crossed arms. They’re so stiff that his muscles must ache from the effort. It’s as if he’s trying to keep them in place, so he doesn’t unleash them and back-slap the hot lieutenant’s pretty face. That, or he’ll let out a primal scream any second now.

“Y/N,” he turns to face you, and you stand at attention, “you’re on border patrol with me today-”

“Y/N is staying with me at the office today,” Ghost opposes him. “There’s a lot of paperwork that needs to be done.”

“Can’t you get someone else to fill out the paperwork?” the man asks, shooting Ghost a wink and a grin.

“Can’t you get someone else to help you with border patrol?” Ghost winks back at him and turns to face you. “Y/N, on your feet, c’mon,” he says, walking towards the building.

You exchange glances with the new lieutenant and shrug. This is too awkward.

“WHENEVER YOU’RE READY, SOLDIER,” Ghost commands, and you dash towards him, brushing past the new lieutenant, who also happens to smell amazing. Of course, he does.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today, Lt.?” You whisper as you run behind him, “where’s the camaraderie we discussed during yesterday’s briefing?”

Ghost shoots you a glare over his shoulder. “Just trying to keep my paperwork safe,” he mutters.

“What’ll happen to the damn paperw-” you proceed to ask, but then evaluate his words; you’re the paperwork.

At the office…

He’s reticent as he sits on his desk—not like he’s a social butterfly any other day, but today, he seems angry. Almost hostile. His eyebrows are tied together, his restless leg syndrome is back, and he takes too many cigarette breaks compared to what you’re used to. He answers your questions with one-word statements when—and if—he acknowledges your presence. Yesses and nos are all you’ve been getting since you entered the office, with the occasional “tsk” he might utter while he looks at his papers.

“Pass me the stapler.” He commands.

“Magic word, Ghost.”

“Pass me the fucking stapler, please.”

You slide the stapler over to his desk. “You’re rude today, Mr Riley.” You comment, turning your focus back to the laptop’s screen.

He doesn’t reply in the form of words. Instead, his feelings manifest themselves by aggressively stapling the papers together.

“Perhaps you’d like me to ask for the stapler by winking at you?” He finally mutters under his breath.

“Like the guy that came in today?” You scoff.

Oh, you have his full, undivided attention now. He turns his chair towards you and leans his weight on his thighs as if you’re about to tell the most exciting story.

“What do you think of him?” He asks.

You flick your wrist dismissively. “I don’t know him well enough to form an opinion. I prefer to reserve judgment until I get to know someone.” You give him a pointed look, hoping to convey your message without having to spell it out for him.

“He’s a fucking bellend, I’ll tell you that much.” He mumbles in response. Guess the message got lost in transit.

“Come on, man!” You shout and punch your fist on the table, “it’s obvious that he’s got you rattled.”

“He’s not rattling me!” Ghost protests, but his defensive tone betrays him.

“Sure, he’s not,” you reply sarcastically, “that’s why you’ve been chain-smoking and stapling papers like you’re trying to murder them.”

Ghost lets out a deep sigh and rubs his temples.

“Is it his looks?” you ask.

“No, it’s not his looks,” Ghost rolls his eyes, “I’m much better looking than him, that’s for sure.”

“Are you...I don’t know, intimidated, maybe?” You shrug, “because you’re worried he might take your place as the top dog around here?”

He looks at you incredulously. “What are you talking about? I’m not worried about that.”

“Sure, you’re not,” you smirk. “That’s why you’ve been acting like a total jerk all day.”

He looks up and sighs. The poor man looks like he desperately needs an ego boost. Beneath Ghost’s tough facade there’s Simon, after all. And Simon is a human being with the same insecurities and worries as everyone else.

“In any case,” you say, trying to comfort him, “nobody takes such douchebags seriously in the army. And I get it; the guy’s trying to make a good impression and all, but, my God, he needs to chill with all the...” you start winking and pointing gun fingers left and right.

He’s so happy he lets out a sharp chuckle. “He’s a fucking nobhead, isn’t he?” He asks, “trying to take charge and acting like he knows everything.”

“Indeed,” you reassure him, “and that cologne, I almost fainted as I passed him; how could you stand beside him for so long?”

“Don’t ask.” He shakes his head.

You reach over and give his arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it, Ghost. You’re the most respected operator here,” you say, giving him a small smile, “just do me a favour and give the guy a chance; he has so much to learn from you.”

He nods. “I wanted to neck slap him so hard,” he mumbles, “knock his pretty white teeth out.”

“Which are fake, by the way.”

“Are they?” He asks, shocked.

“100%.” You reply with conviction as if you are the guy’s dentist.

“I knew it.” He yells, slaps his hand on his thigh, and turns his chair back to his desk.

You look at him from the corner of your eye. He seems much more relaxed now. Hopefully, he takes your advice to heart and proceeds with the same resilience and leadership he does on the battlefield. Or, maybe, you temporarily diffused a potential conflict, and the captain will have to get involved pretty soon. Who knows. At least he feels confident in himself now, and the guy’s teeth will live to see another day.

———————————————————————

Part 2 ->

[pucksandpower]

Grid Kids: Mama Bear

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: when you learn that Mick has been dropped by Haas, your protectiveness takes over

Series Masterlist

The news of Mick being dropped by Haas hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re at the track trying to focus on the race weekend but the anger, frustration, and protectiveness begin to bubble up and boil over.

Sebastian notices your clenched jaw and furrowed brow. “What’s wrong, love?”

You exhale shakily, glancing at Mick who’s trying to maintain his composure despite his turmoil. “I need to have a word with Guenther Steiner.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Oh, you’re sure. In fact, you’re ready to unleash your inner mama bear in a way that no one could have anticipated.

***

You storm into the Haas garage like a woman on a mission. Guenther Steiner, usually fiery and unshakable, is taken aback by the intensity in your eyes.

“Guenther!” you call out, your voice carrying across the garage. The team members exchange nervous glances, sensing a storm brewing.

Guenther turns to you, a hint of a smile on his face, “Ah, Y/N. How can I help you?”

You want to smack that smile right off.

Your voice is ice cold, “How could you drop Mick like that? He’s a talented driver and he deserved better.”

Guenther’s smile falters, sensing your determination. “It’s just business. We had to make some tough decisions.”

You cross your arms, the fury palpable in your gaze. “Well, I hope you realize that messing with Mick means messing with our entire grid family. We stick together no matter what.”

***

Unbeknownst to you, your grid kids have gathered at a nearby corner, ready to back you up. As Guenther tries to explain himself, the atmosphere grows tense.

Charles steps forward, “Yeah, and we’ve got some words too. Like unfair, ridiculous, and insane.”

Max grins, cracking his knuckles, “And don’t forget just plain stupid.”

Guenther’s eyes widen as your grid kids begin to circle around him. The garage is now filled with an almost comical chaos — you, glaring fiercely, and the young drivers, exuding an aura of protective unity.

Guenther stammers, “Now, let’s not get carried away …”

***

Just as the situation is about to escalate, Mick intervenes, stepping in between you and Guenther. His calm presence cuts through the tension.

“Mick, you deserve better,” you mutter, still furious but willing to defer to Mick’s judgment.

Mick nods, looking at Guenther. “I appreciate the opportunity I had with Haas, but I’ve got my eyes set on the future.”

Guenther clears his throat, sensing that he’s on thin ice. “Alright, alright. Let’s just … calm down.”

Your grid kids reluctantly disperse, their stance clear but their threat implicit. As you leave the garage, your anger subsides, replaced by a sense of accomplishment.

Sebastian chuckles, wrapping an arm around you. “Is it bad that I found that ridiculously hot?”

You smirk, “Well, you know me. I’ll gladly go full mama bear when needed.”

And as you walk away, you can’t help but chuckle at the thought of the chaos you’ve just orchestrated in the name of protecting one of your own. Guenther doesn’t know what he’s in for.

***

Guenther’s day starts as it usually does. The soft light of dawn peeks through his curtains as he slowly stretches and yawns. As he pulls the duvet back, a feeling of cold, damp heaviness meets his touch. He freezes. Slowly, he turns his gaze downward to find, to his utter horror, the unmistakable figure of a dismembered horse head resting beside him.

His scream echoes throughout the entire hotel and within moments, security and a few team members burst into the room.

“What the …” One of the Haas team members exclaims, eyes wide in disbelief.

Guenther, pale and shaking, stammers, “Wh-who would do this?”

Hidden among the crumpled bed sheets is a small note:

Mick might not get his seat back but remember, the grid family always has a seat at the table.

***

The paddock is abuzz with the shocking news. Whispers travel quickly, and by noon, almost everyone has heard about the unexpected gift in Guenther’s bed. Many are baffled but those who witnessed the previous day’s confrontation have their suspicions.

Lance approaches you during lunch, leaning in conspiratorially. “Was it really you?” he asks, trying to suppress a grin.

You take a sip of your drink, maintaining an innocent face, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mick, overhearing the conversation, adds with a chuckle, “It’s straight out of The Godfather. Or should I say, The Godmother?”

You wink, “Well, let’s just say it’s always good to send a clear message.”

Lando, laughing, chimes in, “Guenther will think twice before crossing any of us again!”

***

As the day progresses, the story becomes more embellished and fantastical with each retelling. Rumors of the Godmother of the Grid begin to circulate. Some even whisper that you have ties to the racing underworld, with Sebastian as your loyal consigliere.

Guenther, though shaken, tries to downplay the incident, but there’s no doubt that he’s received your message loud and clear.

Years later and he still turns and runs in the other direction whenever he lays eyes on you.

As the sun sets on another chaotic day, you and Sebastian share a quiet moment. “You know,” he begins, “I always thought you had a bit of a devious streak.”

You smirk, “Sometimes you have to be a little ... creative to make a point.”

Sebastian laughs, wrapping an arm around you, “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

[coveredinsweetpea]

not to be a whore........... but imagine making out with Eddie's buldge through his underwear 😩

🥴🥴🥴 tbh I think there are two different scenarios and I wanted to choose only one to elaborate on but I couldn't so here I go: you're both either too lazy to care and this evolves from a sleepy cuddling session OR you're being needy and clingy, begging for his attention - just a whiny mess basically, and this is all that he's willing to give you. Both detailed under the cut 🥴🥴 (the 2nd one is pure filth, humiliation, degradation etc 18+!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

It's summer, Wayne's not in town and you have all the trailer to yourselves. But it's still early, no one's in the mood to party yet, it's hot and you're both too lazy to move. 

Eddie's starfish on the bed, a comic book having him completely under its spell, while you lay lazily with your head on his tummy, hoping sleep would envelop you. But it doesn't; Eddie's too caught up with a plot twist he didn't see coming, and ideas start coming to you. 

Your eyes fix the outline of his cock and without saying a word, you palm him in your hand, your fingers drawing random patterns on the material of his boxer briefs. 

Eddie doesn't react, at least not to your knowledge, but one eyebrow does pop up. You don't see it however and decide to keep going, moving your hand a bit to the side so you can rub the length of his cock. 

"Sweetheart?" Eddie lifts his comic book so he can look at you, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing"

You don't even look at him, just keep teasing him through his boxers, until he can't help but tense his thighs. "Love?"

"Yeah?" again, you answer without bothering to face him, but this time you do move. Just in the opposite direction, nonchalantly pressing your lips against his bulge. 

The gesture was light, not too sudden or too strong, but the reason he froze for a second is the pure confusion that washed over him. But he doesn't get a chance to ask, because when he feels what you're doing - understands that you're right now literally kissing the length of his cock, he can't help but chuckle. 

"Sweetheart, you know I can take those off for you, right?" Eddie teases, one hand on the top of your head as you keep going.

"Nah" you shrug and wrap your lips around his clothed tip. One of your hands slips lower, your fingers brushing against his balls as you start sucking. 

"Ah fuck" he gasps. But you don't budge.

You keep at it - licking, sucking, grabbing, your teeth lightly grazing the tip of his cock. 

"Baby, damn it" the comic book flies across the room, his attention now fully on you. "You wanna make me cum like that?"

But you don't answer. You just shove your hand up one of the legs of his boxer, cup his balls into your hand, and resume full on making out with his cock. 

The sheer feeling of him getting hard under your lips, the way he can barely control his breathing, how his thighs tense and how his abdomen clenches every time you apply just a little bit more pressure, makes you want to see just how far you can go. 

Brushing your thumb over the wet patches on his underwear, you look up at him, "Yeah, I wanna. Can I try?"

"Try?" he laughs and rubs your cheek with the back of his fingers, "Darling, you're halfway there"

You beam under his praise and resume your quest, eagerly sucking and tugging through the material as his cock visibly stiffens.

"But then you'll take yours off. You can play around all you want, but you know I can't stop until you've made a mess on my face, doll"

Fine by you.

OR

You being clingy isn't anything new. The planets sometimes settle so that some days the only thing you want is his attention and nothing else. And it's usually not a problem, Eddie being more than happy to oblige and give you what you so desperately crave, but there are also days when that is not possible. 

Like this one.

Busy with tasks Wayne left for him, the campaign needing some last minute fixes, Dustin asking for a ride and a Corroded Coffin concert late in the evening - this day is bound to suck for the both of you. 

You manage to compose yourself for as long as you can, but by the time you reach the venue for the show, you're almost out of your mind. Begging, teasing, whining, throwing yourself at other men to get his attention - you do everything in your power to get his attention. But you fail. Miserably. As once you finally get home, things don't play out the way you had hoped - at all. 

"So fucking desperate, like a fucking whore" Eddie scoffs, plopping down on the couch. He spreads his legs and nods, "Do your thing"

Normally, you'd whine and complain, but your brain isn't cooperating so you listen to his command. You kneel in front of him, undo his jeans, and then helplessly look up at him, bottom lip popping out. "Eddie…"

"Do you need help, kitten?"

You nod.

"Do you deserve it? You acted like a dumb slut all night. Why would I help you? You can't even take my dick out, why would I let you suck it?"

"Please, Eddie…" you cry.

"Look into my eyes, doll" he commands, his hand on your chin forcing you to face him. "Apologize for the way you've been tonight"

"I'm- I'm sorry" you sniffle, "Please-"

"Sorry for being such a cock thirsty whore that you can't even function unless you get to have my dick down your throat?"

"...yes"

"Say it, baby. You need to hear yourself saying it. And look into my eyes while you do it, love. Show me how bad you want it"

"Please, Eddie-" you blink, "I'm sorry for being such a whore, but I need it, please. Can I please, please, suck your cock, please?"

And your pleading might have been enough but you'll never know. Eddie doesn't even get a chance to fully strip before he sees the hungry look in your eyes. "Come here" he motions as he stands up, his jeans now pooling around his ankles. "Show me you want it"

For a second, you look up at him in confusion, but the way his cock stretches the material of his underwear has you feral all over again.

So you don't question it, don't complain, you just get to work. He's hard - throbbing almost, the wet patch of precum making your tongue tingle as you make out with his cock as best you can. 

"That's my girl" he grins, patting your head, "My good girl, keep going. Make me cum. If you can do it, you get to swallow it all, baby"

[bluecollarmcandtf]

My little brother wants to know what it’s like being older, he wants to experience life inside of my fathers body as well as our next door jock neighbor. I was wondering if you could help him out with that?

Be careful what you ask for! Your brother has a reputation for being an irresponsible troublemaker. Who knows what he'd get up to if he had those bodies at his disposal...

"Holy crap!" your brother shouts, seeing his body in the mirror. His jaw hangs open as he runs his fingers through unfamiliarly thick hair, "I'm him...I'm the hot neighbor!"

For as long as you can remember, your younger sibling has lusted after the guy next door. Charlie would spend most of his time peaking out of the window and into Diego's garage, giving him a front row seat to every one of the hot neighbor's workouts.

You always called Charlie a creep for staring at the neighbor, but you secretly understood why he did it. Diego was built like a god. His body was so lean that every vein was visible even from across the street! And now that body is standing in your brother's bedroom, eyes wide with so much disbelief it was comical.

"I'm Diego," Diego gasps softly, a tear of joy coming to his eye, "I don't know how. I was just thinking about him and then..."

"Charlie?"

Diego's head darts away from the mirror and stares at you with glee, "Yeah, it's me idiot! You think Diego would ever be shirtless in our house?"

Your brother turns his gaze back to his new body, licking his lips as he examines the thick round pecs hanging off his new chest. You watch as Charlie raises Diego's heavy arm and gives his muscle-tits a few squeezes. The real Diego would never grope his own body like that. In fact, the real Diego would probably kill Charlie for doing that with his body.

"I think you should give our hot neighbor some appreciation," Charlie purrs, flexing Diego's arms overhead, "I know you like his body just as much as I do big bro."

Your brother is right. Charlie might pull out the binoculars to watch the hot neighbor lift, but you aren't much better. Just last night you were wanking off to the memory of Diego giving you a casual wave as you got home.

"Charlie, this is insane," you try to stay calm, "We need to figure out what's going on."

"What's going on?" your brother uses Diego's sharp voice against you, "What's going on is I have the neighbor's hot body now, and you aren't appreciating it!"

"Please..." you ask your little brother to calm down, but it doesn't do any good. He's only getting more and more assertive with his new body, and it's messing with your head. You have to remind yourself that this is actually your dork of a younger brother and not the incredibly intimidating boy next door.

"Shut up," Charlie snaps, giving you a shove that throws you against the wall.

"Charlie!" you groan, "Don't push me ar-"

"Call me Diego."

Your younger brother swaggers over and sneers down at you. In Diego's body, you have to look up to meet his face, and he seems fed up. Already, he's got a muscled arm pinned against the wall over your shoulder, and already, you feel trapped under him.

"Char-"

"DIEGO!" he barks, slamming his other arm against the wall.

"Diego," your voice shakes, "Aren't you even just a little bit worried about the real Diego?"

"Oh, kiss my ass!" he snorts, "I just liked his body, and now it's right here for me to enjoy."

"But..."

"I told you to kiss my ass, big bro," Diego's intense glare tells you he's not joking.

Your legs feel weak. Somehow your little brother has gone from a loveable rascal to domineering bully! All it took was giving him Diego's shredded body and he's bossing you around like you're his bitch.

He doesn't wait for an answer. Charlie takes Diego's strong arms and pushes you to the floor. Before you know it, he's turned around, and you are face to face with your neighbor's tight bubble butt. You don't want to just give in to your baby bro, but Diego's assertiveness is impossible to ignore. Your face is drawn to that ass, and you lose yourself as you kiss the sculpted glutes beneath the mesh shorts.

"That's more like it," Charlie smirks, "Now that I'm inside Diego, I want some ass kissing from you everyday."

You don't respond. Your lost in the pleasure of the hot neighbor's body, his ass pinning your head against the wall. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad life, after all...

A sudden vibration jolts you out of it. The walls shake as the door to the garage is raised with a buzzing motor. Dad is home!

"Shit," Charlie says with Diego's mouth.

"I'm telling dad what's going on!" you cry, rising to your feet.

"What! No, I was just kidding about the ass stuff," Charlie panics, "Dad won't understand!"

"I don't care!" you shout and stomp out of the room. Your ego is slightly bruised by how quickly you folded for Charlie. It doesn't matter that he's wearing the bulky neighbor like a costume. He's your younger brother, and you just kissed his ass, literally!

Maybe your father can make sense of all this Freak Friday nonsense! He always has a calm decisive answer to everything.

"Hehe, beat you to him, bro!"

Your jaw drops when you see your father in the living room. The man just got home, but he's already waiting for you with his shirt ripped off. His entire beer gut is hanging out in the open, and he's shaking his torso around like he's trying to show it off.

You can't help but recoil from the sight. Your father hates taking his shirt off. The man wears shirts in the pool to keep people from seeing him like this! Yet, now here he is, without a self-conscious bone in his body.

"Dad, what are you-"

"Ooh I like it when you call me dad," his voice lowers, like he's trying to be playful.

"Wait, Charlie?" you gasp.

Your father throws his hands on his hips and smiles at you. He's the kind of guy who's only ever smiled when you scored in a sport or won a game. You can't help but feel like you've earned his approval when you see that grin. It really sucks that this isn't actually your dad.

"How did you even..?"

"I don't know, bro! I just really didn't want you to tell dad, and then I blinked, and then I was here: inside him!"

"Well get out!" you say firmly. Charlie wearing the neighbor's body was one thing, but this doesn't feel right. He shouldn't be playing around with your father like this.

"What, no!" he snorts, "Dad's even more fun to be. I feel so fat and hairy!"

"Dad's not that fat or hairy," you retort sternly.

"Oh come on," your father's voice purrs, "Look at the flab on this guy!" Charlie grabs the bloated stomach with Dad's arms and gives it a playful shake. Your real dad would be mortified if he saw how his body was acting!

"Charlie, don't do that to him."

"Shut up! I feel so big and manly in his body," he explains, "And he's still sore and sweaty from work too!"

You watch in disgust as your father raises his arm and takes a long whiff from his armpit. The real man would normally jump in the shower the second he got back from his day at the construction yard, but Charlie obviously enjoyed Dad's smell of hard work.

"I think I've had a long day of work, son," Charlie suddenly announces, lowering his voice in a cheap attempt at dad's typical monotone, "Grab your old man a beer."

"No," you pout, rolling your eyes.

"No?"

Suddenly your father pounces on you, locking you into a tight headlock with his meaty arms. You try to slip out. His bare skin is slick with sweat, but your little brother holds you there with an unyielding grip, laughing with dad's deep voice.

An hour later and you're washing dad's truck. Charlie released you from the headlock, but only after he'd told you how excited he was to manhandle you again. Apparently, he couldn't wait to use dad's body to keep you in your place.

You grabbed him his beer and massaged his shoulders like he told you, but you didn't do it happily. Your own father was now bullying you around because your stupid little brother somehow managed to hop in his body. He wants you to go upstairs and clean his bedroom next. It's getting late, but you don't want to make Charlie angry, especially now that he's put a few beers in dad's belly. Who knows what your power-drunk little brother will do when he's inebriated!

You just have to accept it. Charlie has your dad's body and you have to do what he says. This is your life now...

These amazing images were generated by @bodyhopper-files

[gatorbites-imagines]

John Constantine x tattoo artist?? Smut or no (you choose!) I think it would be cute if john gets his tats from the reader (also kind of a possessive/marking quality there lol)

John Constantine x Tattoo artist male reader

Headcanons

Sorry there’s been no posts this week, classes have started up again, so as you can imagine I’m exhausted and have a lot less free time. I’ve been using most of my free time to read JJK, ngl.

Imagine being a magical tattoo artist, something like a seal maker. You do large complex and beautiful pieces, but you hide different seals and protection markers inside the patterns. It keeps the real purpose of the tattoo a secret, but is also pretty to look at.

John already has tattoos in the hellblazer comics, but imagine you giving him different ink. Something a lot less obvious and more attractive.

It makes him pass as a hot blonde British guy covered in a lot of fancy ink, instead of some brit with lotsa weird cult looking tattoos.

John becomes one of your most common customers, mainly because a lot of the tattoos you put on him disappear after the seals been used, since its all defense and storage. He might also use it as an excuse to see you more, so he can flirt.

John being John, would get a tattoo right above his crotch, think like a reverse tramp stamp, or a succubus tattoo, just so he can have you sitting between his thighs as he gives his flirting his all.

You definitely end up railing him within an inch of his life in the tattoo chair, tsking and “punishing” him for straining the tattooed area too much, and “messing up your work” when he writhes too much.

In the beginning its just a friends with benefits situation, something like a “happy ending” you might say. John wouldn’t be someone to do relationships for the most part, since most of the ones he’s been in haven’t ended great.

He subconsciously also wouldn’t want to paint a target on your back, since hes always involved with all kinds of stuff. But he cant help but always find himself back with you, getting some new seal inked onto his skin.

And if every visit ends up with him bent over the tattoo chair, or down on his knees to “thank you”, then who will judge him.

John would end up finally acknowledging his feelings when you save him from his big bad of the week, using your complex and intricate tattoos to pull out weapons and spells, and later seal the being that’s after him.

Its hard to deny how he feels after that, and though he wouldn’t put it into words, he would act differently. Like just showing up at your parlor to spend time with you without getting anything done, or sending you little protection charms or trinkets.

At some point you guys just start kissing and acting like a couple, without actually putting a name to it. It’s a dangerous life you both live, and words mean everything, so you never tell anybody you guys are lovers, since that would make the target on you both even bigger.

It doesn’t keep you guys from pretty much living together and acting all domestic, or being completely exclusive to just each other. John turning down all advances made on him confuses people in the beginning, until they just come to accept it.

John ends up with even more tattoos, these a lot more complex than average useable seals. These are the kinds that you have spent your entire life developing, and had only used on yourself because they’re that powerful.

The league are knocked back by how powerful his spells have become, and how much damage he can withstand. Only other magic users with the knowledge know just how amazing his tattoos are. He never tells them where he got them, just because he’s an ass.

You end up helping out more with his business, and he ends up being free advertisement for your parlor. Of course, no one gets tattoos like you or John, you would never give a possible enemy that kind of power, but it helps pad your pockets quite a lot.

John’s enemies end up targeting you as well, but they’re easily dealt with for the most part.

He ends up getting teased be friends and allies that he’s getting soft and domestic, cuz he doesn’t go out to bars like before, and wants to be home in time to watch a movie with you, or just go to sleep together.

He ends up a lot less stressed too, since you rock his world whenever he needs it, and become someone he can let down his defenses and just be vulnerable with.

In the end he probably gets pavloved to get in the mood when you tattoo him, or he hears the noise of the tattoo gun. John always blames you for making him this way, because you always go down on him after giving him new ink, not that he’s complaining.

[phoenixyfriend]

Remember my post about Anakin pulling a Mike Murdock? Yeah, no, I have a full on AU concept now (with contributions by @threebea! indented)!

He lies so hard about having a brother that the universe invents a twin from scratch for him. It happens when Anakin is like twelve.

Anakin was just committing to the bit on a mission because he was bored.

The Force was also bored.

Oh no Anakin force manifests a sibling Obi-Wan: …That's not how the Force works. Anakin: You tell the Force that. Obi-Wan: Well, I suppose this would be your half-brother since the Force is your shared parent. Obi-Wan after the initial shock: This might as well happen.

New brother is better at some things and worse at others, as any person is. Anakin is, naturally, a fucking mess about all that, worries he'll be replaced, etc.

Obi-Wan just brings this to the Council and nobody can DENY this Skywalker from the Jedi after they already took the first one. So. Mace volunteers.

This Skywalker is a bit more Force than Anakin, got glowing eyes and visions and the Animal Communion buff. But is worse at flying, worse at tech, and unfathomably worse at people. Which is a FEAT, since Anakin's not too hot at social skills in the first place.

Mace has his hands full in many ways, including "keep this child from walking face first into the wall."

Obi-Wan: We are not calling him Anagain.

Anakin had many mixed feelings but! If he's going to have family then he's going to commit!

The other option is that the brother is younger by enough that the Older Brother instincts kick in, but I think the one-sided twin rivalry is funnier.

Anakin: I'm a big brother now. Anagain: I think we're supposed to be twins. Anakin: I have more worldly experience. Anagain: I'm taller. Anakin: wut Anagain: alpha twin alpha twin (that's his nickname until you come up with actual name lol) Obi-Wan: Well, I'm taller than both of you, and while that is the case you both need to listen to me. Anagain: (flash of foresight) So, not for long Obi-Wan: What? Anagain: Nothing. Mace: (the Shatterpoints are blinding) Yeah, I'll be taking this one. More seriously tho, Anakin definitely torn between what if everyone likes him better he's born from the force what if he's the chosen one what if and also: I have a brother I have family I need to take care of him. Probably some fun twin force bond too. Oh man Sheev after digesting all of that would definitely try to get some jealousy going.

Anakin talks about the new brother with terms like Freshly Hatched and Innocent Baby and it's mostly a joke except that now HE thinks Palps is a creep when it's aimed at Not Him.

Palpatine: When do I get to meet him? Anakin: [absolutely not] Mace won't let him [Yeah that'll work] Mace: Yeah, absolutely not, he didn't help save Naboo there's no reason for my Padawan to have a relationship with the Supreme Chancellor

I've decided to call the brother Aion (EY-yon). I like the whole thing about Anakin's name being based on Ananke, even if it's a disputed thing, so I go for Greek myth when doing alt names for siblings.

Mace still bitter about having to let Palps get time with Anakin not about to do the same if he can help it. Although that comic takes place later eh (handwaves) still The Jedi might try to be hush hush about where aion came from anyway since he would fall directly under Jedi business

Help I'm imagining Mace and Obi-Wan on a walk and the twins are on child leashes. Anakin because ADHD will have him trying to run off to look at something. And Aion because he's going to be so distracted by visions that he will walk into traffic.

"Can we send a letter to mom so she knows he exists?" The other thought was ANAKIN holding the child leash for Aion, and then Obi-Wan or Mace holding the one for Anakin. Lil chain.

Aion: Hey… I know I've only existed for a few months, and yes my memories of before are sort of built by the Force, but I'm pretty sure the Supreme Chancellor is evil. Mace: You saw that in a vision? Aion: No, he's just super creepy. Bad vibes.

Obi-Wan: Of course he's evil, he's a career politician. Anakin: What about your friend from Alderaan? Obi-Wan: That's different.

One of these boys is constantly zoning out. The other is smiling, but the smile contains murder.

They're both adhd but with wildly different sides of it.

EXACTLY

Also.

Aion: [silent, a bit upset but mostly chill] Anakin, holding his hand: He asked for no pickles!

[mimizumc]

Okay so, the world building. In tma au they are all human because I think it would be easier that way with meat and corruption being a factor. So they live in tma world with all the cults and institutes but the whole story takes place in the 80's and before the main story there was a large political or whatever organization like EU and it was called senate like in the IDW comics and decepticons protested against them and eventually destroyed them they are considered a terrorist organization but are more like league of super villains but it's way too cartoony for tma univers so terrorist it is. Autobots is organization that is sprout out as a reaction to decepticons and consist from anti terrorist squads all around the world merged into one new organization. Decepticon need to hide, so they're base is under water at the coasts of Mexico cuz I just think it's epic sigma and I'm leaning this reality more to 80's futurism then realism. So by the 80's war between Autobots and Decepticons began to combust and at one moment both Megatron and Optimus disappeared leaving Soundwave searching for Megatron while he has to make sure Decepticons won't turn in just a mess, Bumblebee and Hot Rod searching for Optimus while Ultra Magnus replacing Optimus. The main protagonist is Soundwave because he is so perfect for this role honestly and I'm just not that interested in autobots. He is marked by the eye but will transform into avatar, so he could find Megatron, but he would have to adjust to his new powers. Shockwave knows a lot about the entity's he was a fan of Lietners collection although found him kinda pathetic, he buried himself in the research of possible ways to use fears for decepticons and at one point isolated himself so much in research he became avatar of lonely. Part 1 of tma au Astrotrain and Blitzwing next, spoiler they are doomed.

[time-like-tears-in-rain]

So this one^ takes place AFTER the movie Alien 3, it's not favorite writing in the expanded universe, and it's not *exactly* a fix it, but if you're looking for a good synthetic/AI/android story its solid, and also a VERY easy jumping on point to the chaotic expanded universe titles since its technically a stand-alone.

HOWEVER...... I have two more for u.

So Alien 3 went through several scripts before the final one, the more storied being by William Fucking Gibson, successor to Phillip K. Dick's cyberpunk throne. It was never produced, and eventually leaked online. A graphic novel version was released as part of the Alien 40th publications but it....wasn't great. Pat Cadigan, an author in her own right and not just a tie-in author (and one of the Alien 'verse's few women) developed it into a novel more recently.

I have my issues with it, namely Ripley not being around (but at least she's alive and could be in a follow up), but the new characters mesh well with both Alien and Aliens, it feels like a honest follow up to BOTH movies, and also Hicks and Bishop are in one piece well they're alive at least, and both get POV chapters. For the love of Giger get them a trauma therapist after this. Newt is also still alive, which is my biggest point of loathing for the A3 movie we actually got.

Then there's Bug Hunt which came out several years ago: it's a collection of short stories giving origin stories, prequel shorts, and side quests regarding the crew of the Sulaco and some new roles as well. The late, great Rachel Caine (whose lengthy resume includes punk vampires, sentient space ships, high fantasy, and murder mysteries) wrote Bishop's origins which give a Blade-Runner-bleak look at the synthetics industry. This story also got a subtle shout out in Alien: Romulus.

Fandom hates her: Incredibly lucky woman falls in love with niche character from a 40yr old franchise and discovers that an entire canon book about them was published only a year prior.

We used to pray for days like these.