#marvel in the 70s

[classicmarvelera]

Unraveling the Legacy: Steve Englehart's Impactful Journey at Marvel Comics

In the intricate tapestry of comic book history, certain creators stand out as architects of enduring legacies. Among them is Steve Englehart, a prolific writer whose imaginative storytelling and nuanced characterizations have left an indelible mark on the Marvel Universe. Throughout his tenure at Marvel Comics, Englehart crafted narratives that transcended the confines of the page, breathing new life into iconic characters and redefining the landscape of superhero storytelling

Early Career and Arrival at Marvel

Before his ascent to prominence at Marvel, Englehart honed his craft through various ventures in the comic book industry. His journey towards the House of Ideas began with a passion for storytelling and a keen eye for character dynamics. Upon joining Marvel Comics, Englehart quickly distinguished himself with his inventive approach to superhero narratives, earning him a place among the company's top writers

Captain America: Redefining a Patriotic Icon

Englehart's tenure at Marvel is perhaps best remembered for his transformative run on "Captain America." Englehart embarked on a daring exploration of patriotism, identity, and the moral complexities of heroism during his time on the title. Through Captain America's lens, Englehart crafted compelling narratives that resonated with readers on a profound level

One of Englehart's most acclaimed story arcs, "The Secret Empire Saga," remains a seminal moment in Captain America's history. Englehart delved into the heart of America's political landscape in this epic tale, confronting societal issues with unflinching honesty. The storyline culminated in a shocking revelation that shook the foundations of the Marvel Universe, leaving a lasting impact on Captain America's legacy

Exploring Other Marvel Characters

While Englehart's tenure on "Captain America" garnered widespread acclaim, his creative influence extended far beyond the Star-Spangled Avenger. Englehart's work on the relationship between the Scarlet Witch and the Vision, two of Marvel's most enigmatic characters, stands as a testament to his ability to infuse depth and complexity into his narratives. In "The Vision and the Scarlet Witch" miniseries, Englehart explored the intricacies of their unconventional romance, navigating themes of love, identity, and acceptance in a superhero context

Additionally, Englehart's contributions to other Marvel titles showcased his versatility as a storyteller. From the cosmic adventures of The Avengers to the mystical realms of Doctor Strange to the brutal Avengers/Defenders War, Englehart's narratives spanned the breadth of the Marvel Universe, enriching the tapestry of interconnected stories

Creative Collaborations and Artistic Vision

A hallmark of Englehart's work is his collaborative spirit and his ability to synergize with artists to bring his vision to life. Throughout his tenure at Marvel, Englehart forged lasting partnerships with some of the industry's most talented illustrators, resulting in visually stunning and narratively rich comics. From the dynamic pencils of Sal Buscema to the ethereal landscapes of Frank Brunner, Englehart's collaborators imbued his stories with a visual dynamism that elevated his narratives to new heights

Critical Reception and Legacy

Englehart's contributions to Marvel Comics have not gone unnoticed, with fans and critics alike lauding his innovative storytelling and memorable characterizations. His work continues to resonate with readers, standing as a testament to the enduring power of comics as a medium for storytelling

In the annals of comic book history, Steve Englehart's legacy shines brightly as a beacon of creativity and imagination. His groundbreaking contributions to the Marvel Universe have left an indelible mark on the fabric of superhero storytelling, inspiring generations of creators to push the boundaries of the medium. As we continue to celebrate his achievements, we are reminded of the transformative power of storytelling to inspire, to provoke, and to unite us in our shared love of comics

Conclusion

Steve Engelhart is a titan in the comic book world, yet his contributions often reside in the shadow of more mainstream characters. His legacy is woven into the fabric of Marvel, shaping the narratives of both obscure and iconic figures alike, from the Avengers to the enigmatic Scarlet Witch and Vision

In the annals of Marvel history, Engelhart stands as a trailblazer, setting the stage for future writers who would helm the sagas of Captain America and the Avengers. Mark Grunwald's tenure bears striking resemblance to Engelhart's, a testament to the enduring themes of politics and cosmic exploration inherent in these titles

Engelhart's storytelling prowess shines particularly bright in Captain America, where political intrigue and global conspiracies intersect, birthing characters like Shang Chi. While rooted in martial arts, Shang Chi emerges as a pivotal figure in Marvel's tapestry, navigating the murky waters of SHIELD and HYDRA with aplomb

Amidst the tumult of the 1970s comic scene, Engelhart rose as a beacon of innovation, his work becoming synonymous with the decade itself. Remarkably, he achieved this without the crutch of marquee titles like Spider-Man or the Fantastic Four, solidifying his place as an unsung hero of the Marvel Bronze Age

Steve Englehart's tenure at Marvel Comics is a testament to storytelling's transformative power. Through his imaginative narratives and compelling characterizations, Englehart reshaped the Marvel Universe, leaving an indelible mark on the landscape of superhero comics. As we reflect on his legacy, we are reminded of the enduring impact of his creative vision and the timeless allure of his storytelling prowess

References

Captain America: The Secret Empire Saga

The Vision and the Scarlet Witch

The Avengers: The Celestial Madonna Saga

Doctor Strange: A Separate Reality

[lunasblunt]

70s logan moodboard

[headcanonthings]

Sam: I don't want Steve to die Sam: You don't want Steve to die Sam: So now we need to make sure that Steve doesn't make Steve die Bucky: Fantastic plan, but have you fucking met him?

[rzc11]

Rogue’s early look

[hyper-fixates]

let me offer some subtle foreshadowing for this oneshot :)

that headcanon was made to be written for dofp/70s!logan cause those kitty ears do be voluminous, but feel free to insert whichever logan you prefer!

tags/warnings: 18+ — afab!reader (no pronouns/gendered language), oral sex (reader receiving), munch!logan, explicit language, fingering, teasing, use of “baby” once, edging, light biting (let me know if anything was missed!).

Logan is ever the perfect example of a walking contradiction.

A rough voice but gentle words. A soft touch but purposeful fingers. A guarded nature but a caring heart.

He juxtaposes himself. Every characteristic, every feature, has a partner in crime that shows you his versatility as a person and as something more.

The full, styled tufts of his hair graze the inside of your thighs with every deep lick up your slit.

Your legs rest over his bare shoulders while your heels slide up and down his back in restless pleasure; you have to dispel the tension in your muscles somehow.

“You’re shaking, baby,” Logan mumbles against your clit, readjusting the grip he has wrapped around the tops of your thighs.

He’s got you locked down. His hands slid along your hips and around to the top of each thigh, peeling them apart and keeping you tight against his hungry mouth. You couldn’t move in the slightest even if you tried. And you’ve tried.

A light gasp is ripped from you as his lips catch your clit. “It’s j-just, ah, a lot,” you breathe, eyes fuzzy with bliss.

Everything between Logan’s warm tongue to the ends of his hair brushing up against the tender skin along your thighs has introduced your body to new lengths of perception its never experienced before.

He’s been toying with you for half an hour. Half an hour of fleeting kisses, firm licks, and harsh sucks to your clit with the occasional finger or two pumping slowly inside you to back you away from the edge you’ve been chasing.

He’d take his mouth off of you, slipping his index or middle finger, or both, inside you as a reprieve; it would calm your impending orgasm but still keep you excited enough to soak his fingers for the few minutes he’d be pumping them into you.

You think he’d be able to get off on the sound of your cunt swallowing his fingers alone—a subtle squelching that puts just how desperate you are on display.

Logan pulls away from your pussy, turning to smear wet, messy kisses along the inside of your left thigh—this does nothing to soothe your aching cunt. If anything, it makes it worse. Feeling him right there but not where you want him.

“You want a break?” He asks, still scattering kisses while he loosens his grip on you, rubbing his hands comfortingly around your hips. You grab two of his fingers and squeeze them in your grip lovingly.

You arch into the touch slightly with a protesting groan. You don’t have the energy to lift your head to meet his playful hazel eyes, so you speak to the ceiling. “No—keep going. It hurts,”

Everything is on fire. Everything is throbbing. Your cunt is sore, tired of the teasing, but you want more of it. You want to drip through his sheets, coat his tongue, and feel the tips of his hair caress the sensitive skin inside your thighs.

“Mhm, I know, I know.” He gently nips at the skin adjacent to your cunt along the crevice of your thigh, not trying to break skin or leave a mark.

Your swollen clit gladly welcomes his clever tongue back. He gives three broad strokes before sliding down to your hole, lightly prodding it in quick motions that makes the tip of his nose bump against your clit.

“Ah, fuck. Fuck,” you whine, nearly wanting to start kicking against his back.

He buries his face so deep in you that his hair brushes your thighs with each keen mouthful of your pussy. Up, down, up, down.

You barely hear his moans over your own, but you know they’re there. You can feel them. They travel right through you—they vibrate against your clit—and you start clenching around nothing.

You want to clamp your thighs together, but his strong hands keep you open, and there’s nothing you can do but take it.

It’s a whole different level of euphoria when you aren’t able to control your pleasure. Logan knows that, and he likes to abuse that knowledge.

Your lungs can’t seem to get enough air to make up for how fast Logan’s stealing it from you with every stroke of his tongue.

He wraps his warm lips entirely around your clit, sucking just enough for your muscles to tense as he flicks the bud soothingly with the tip of his tongue.

You’re basically crying out with every exhale, wrapped up in tingling, sharp pleasure that has your lower body burning and every part of your cunt begging for relief.

“Oh, please. Please, please, please,” you chant, sliding a hand through his hair and grabbing a handful to anchor yourself.

He grunts, giving a hard roll of his tongue that has you coming on his sheets.

Thankfully, Logan doesn’t push you any further, even if he likes to most of the time. He gives mercy to your cunt, removing his mouth but letting a curious finger slide along your slit and down to your hole to feel how much cum he’ll get out of you.

He pushes in an inch or so, feeling your walls fluttering and pulsing.

You might be numb down there now. You nor your body acknowledge his wandering finger.

You lay with your eyes closed as you try to control your rapid heartbeat. A careful hand glides up along your side to your chest before stopping at the base of your neck.

You crack your eyes open to see Logan leaning beside you, gaze tracing down your quivering body.

“Nice work,” you say, a satisfied smirk pulling at your lips.

He raises a brow. “You do something long enough…you get good at it.” He shrugs, matching your wicked smirk.

A hundred-something years of experience, you remind yourself.

He lets himself fall on top of you, his damp facial hair chafing against your throat as he presses firm kisses along your jaw in praise.

Two fingers press into your cheek, turning your head towards his. You let your neck roll to the side.

His lips catch your own. You let him work your mouth open, tasting the remnants of your cum as he drags his tongue over yours enthusiastically.

“I’m so fucking hard right now,” he says against your lips, giving you a rather forceful kiss before you have to pull yourself away to laugh.

Logan is someone that will always give you both sides of himself—hard and soft, rough and gentle, stern and loving.

You feel very lucky to get it all.

[wwprice1]

These Disco Dazzler covers are phenomenal! So fun!

[atomic-chronoscaph]

Mego action figures (1979)

[mutantpowerlist]

Nightcrawler - Kurt Wagner 🇩🇪

• Teleportation • Enhanced abilities of agility, strength, flexibility, and night vision • Camouflages in shadows • Blue fur • Pointed ears and end of tail • Three fingers, three toes • Skilled Acrobat

Teams: X-Men, Excalibur, Quiet Council, Legionaries, X-Treme sanctions Relatives: Mystique (mother), Destiny (mother), Rogue (foster sister), Gambit (brother-in-law), Margali Szardos (foster mother), Azazel (father), Baron Wagner (father), Raze (half-brother), Graydon Creed (deceased half-brother), Amanda Sefton (foster sister), Stephan Szardos (deceased foster brother) TV / Movies: X-men: Pryde of the X-Men (1989), X-Men: The Animated Series (1992), X-Men: Evolution (2000), X2: X-Men United (2003), Wolverine and the X-Men (2009), X-Men: Apocalypse (2016), Deadpool 2 (cameo) (2018), X-Men: Dark Phoenix (2019), X-Men '97 (2024) First Appearance: Giant-Size X-Men #1 (Apr 1975)

[incorrectquotesmcu]

Wade: Act tough, Peter.

Peter: But I’m not tough.

Wade: That’s why I said “act”.

[pandapetals]

Tennesse Whiskey

You go over to Xavier's mansion looking for Charles only to be greeted by Logan.

dofp!logan howlett x fem!reader - logan is a bit of an ass, no y/n used, no reader description, cussing, reader has fiery personality inspired by daisy jones, 70s setting, making out, liquor play, sweetheart/gorgeous and good girl pet names used, rough kissing, teasing banter

a/n: AHKJAHSAJKH - this is me rn because i am a bitch in heat. someone asked for a sequel to electric fever and i was like wtf am i supposed to write? then the tiktok gods blessed me with a scene from crashing (thank you jonathan bailey, i love you) and here we are. *takes several deep shaky breaths*

divider credit: @enchanthings

The car’s engine sputtered to silence as you rolled to a stop in front of the ruins of what was once Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. The sign above the crumbling arch hung crookedly, the paint faded and peeling, like the rest of the mansion. The grass had given way to dirt, and vines snaked up the sides of the building like nature was reclaiming it.

You killed the engine, the sudden quiet making the eerie emptiness of the place feel heavier. For a second, you hesitated, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. It had been a few days since you had sex with Logan, and no matter how much you told yourself you didn’t regret it, there was still a weight in your chest. Maybe it was irritation. Or curiosity. Either way, you hated that he lingered in your thoughts.

With a sharp breath, you shoved the door open and stepped out, your knee-high boots crunching against dry dirt where there should have been grass. You squared your shoulders, slung your bag over one arm, and marched up the weathered stairs to the front door, slamming your fist against the wood three times in rapid succession. Each knock echoed into the emptiness like the whole mansion was mocking you.

The door creaked open slowly, the hinges protesting loudly. And there he was. 

Logan filled the doorway like a permanent fixture, wearing a tight white tank that clung to his chest and shoulders like it was painted on. His hair stuck up in its usual wild tufts, and there was that smirk—the same cocky, aggravating one that made your blood boil. He leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand resting on the edge, the other holding a half-smoked cigar.

“Was wondering when you’d come begging for more,” he drawled. The scent of smoke and whiskey clung to him like an aura.

Your eyes narrowed. “In your dreams, Logan.”

“Pretty sure you’ve been dreamin’ about it, sweetheart,” he shot back, stepping aside as you pushed past him into the mansion.

“Where the fuck is Charles?” you snapped, your boots echoing against the dusty wooden floors as you glanced around. The place was cold and hollow, and the quiet gnawed at your nerves. “I have no idea what’s going on, and I’m not in the mood for your shit. So where is he?”

Logan let the door fall shut behind you with a heavy thud, his smirk only widening as he tucked his cigar between his teeth. “He isn’t here.”

You turned on him, hands on your hips. “Then when will he be back? What about Hank?”

“Gone, too,” he said, shrugging like it was the least of his concerns. “But hey, you’ve got me.”

You glared at him, your patience wearing thinner by the second. “Guess I’ll wait here.”

Logan chuckled, a deep, rough sound that sent heat curling low in your stomach— which you immediately ignored . He sauntered closer, his boots scuffing lazily against the floor as he towered over you, his presence almost suffocating.

“Sure you wanna stay? ‘Cause I can think of at least a dozen ways you could make better use of your time,” he teased, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a way that made you want to slap him. Or kiss him. No, definitely slap him.

“Don’t,” you snapped, pointing a finger in his face before he could finish whatever smug remark was brewing. “You’re too cocky for your own good.”

Logan leaned in just enough for you to catch the faintest hint of smoke and whiskey. “And you love it,” his voice dropped to that infuriatingly low, gravelly tone that scraped against your nerves.

Your glare burned hotter, but you didn’t flinch. “Keep pushing me, and you’ll find out exactly how much I love punching that smug grin off your face.”

Logan’s smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he backed away, hands raised like he was surrendering. “Alright, alright. No need to get feisty. I’ll behave...”

He spun on his heel and walked away, his broad shoulders still annoyingly relaxed. “But hey,” he called over his shoulder, voice dripping with amusement, “if you do wanna go another round, you know where to find me.”

You let out a frustrated groan, your fingers itching to throw something at the back of his head. Instead, you dropped your bag with a thud and stalked after him.

“Got any liquor, asshole?” you snapped, catching up to him as he crossed into what used to be the mansion’s formal parlor.

Logan’s chuckle rumbled through the hollow space, and the sound made your teeth clench. “Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart, but Charles drank it all,” he said, not even bothering to turn around as he sauntered toward an old end table by the far wall.

You rolled your eyes, quickening your pace until you were walking in stride with him. “Since when did Charles turn into a goddamn alcoholic?” you quipped, earning yourself a half-smirk from Logan.

“Apparently, you’ve missed a lot of things,” he replied, his voice dripping with amusement as he reached the end table. He pulled the cigar from his mouth placing it on the table. Sitting on top was a tarnished gold tray, a lone bottle of whiskey, and a single glass. He picked up the glass, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he poured himself a generous splash. The amber liquid caught the faint light streaming through the grimy windows.

Your eyes narrowed as you leaned against the massive wooden table in the center of the room, crossing your arms. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you said, your tone sharp. “You have whiskey? After all that, you’re just gonna pour yourself a glass and pretend I don’t exist?”

Logan turned to face you, glass in hand, and that damn smirk of his widened. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle a little disappointment?” He took a slow sip, his gaze never leaving yours, like he was daring you to argue.

Your lips curled into a scowl, the heat in your chest climbing fast. “Do you have to be so insufferable? Or is that just a natural talent?”

“Natural talent,” he said easily, setting the glass down on the tray before picking up the bottle. He held it up, inspecting the label like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “And besides, there’s not enough here for two.”

You straightened up from the table, your fists planted on your hips. “Like hell, there isn’t.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, turning his full attention to you, the whiskey bottle dangling from his hand. “You that desperate, sweetheart?”

“Desperate?” you repeated with a sharp laugh, stalking toward him now. “I’ve put up with your bullshit long enough, Logan. If there’s one thing that’ll make it even remotely tolerable, it’s a drink. So, stop being an ass and pour me one.”

He didn’t move, though his smirk deepened, his teeth glinting wolfishly. “You want whiskey that bad?” he asked, his voice dropping to that gravelly, infuriating drawl that sent a shiver up your spine, whether you liked it or not.

“Obviously,” you snapped, stopping just short of where he stood.

“Alright then.” He set the bottle back on the tray, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. When he turned back to you, his eyes glinted with something dark, teasing, and far too confident. “C’mere.”

You blinked, your brow furrowing. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, stepping closer, his boots clicking softly against the floorboards. He towered over you now, his body radiating heat, and you could feel his breath, warm and laced with whiskey, as he leaned in. “You want a drink? I’ll give you one.”

“Logan, if this is one of your—”

Before you could finish, his hands gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly and setting you down on the edge of the wooden table. The rough surface creaked under your weight, and your boots dangled an inch above the floor. You glared at him, heat rising in your cheeks as you pointed a finger at his chest. “You are such a—”

“Open your mouth,” he interrupted his voice a low growl, his hands still resting lightly on your hips.

Your jaw dropped—not from obedience but from sheer disbelief. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

He nodded, his smirk practically feral. “Dead serious, sweetheart. Now, open up.”

For a second, you debated decking him right then and there. But there was something in his eyes—a challenge, an invitation—that made your blood run hotter. Against your better judgment, you rolled your eyes and parted your lips.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and the low rasp in his tone sent a flicker of heat straight to your core.

You barely had time to glare at him before he brought the whiskey glass to his lips and took a slow sip. But instead of swallowing, he leaned forward, his mouth brushing against yours as he tilted his head. The whiskey spilled between your lips, hot and smooth, but before you could react, his tongue followed, sliding past your teeth and deepening the contact.

The kiss hit you like a punch—messy, heated, and all-consuming. The whiskey burned down your throat, but it was nothing compared to the fire spreading through your veins. Logan’s hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, and your hands instinctively tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer.

Your teeth grazed his bottom lip, and he let out a low growl, his hands sliding up to grip your thighs. The table groaned under the weight of your combined intensity, but neither of you gave a damn. His tongue teased yours, the lingering taste of whiskey making you crave more—of the drink, of him, of everything.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, Logan pulled back just enough to look at you. His lips were wet and swollen, a faint sheen of whiskey lingering on them, and the gleam in his eyes—dark, dangerous, hungry—sent a jolt straight to your stomach.

You licked your lips, tasting whiskey and him, and your voice came out more breathless than you intended. “Now are you going to pour me a glass, or what?”

Logan let out a low, gravelly chuckle that made your thighs tighten where his hands still rested. “Are you gonna beg for it?”

Your eyes narrowed, your irritation flaring instantly. “Do I look like a girl who begs?” you snapped, moving to hop off the table. But his hands didn’t let you. His grip tightened on your thighs, rough and unyielding, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” he rasped, his smirk widening. “You’re the one who asked for a drink. Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.”

You glared at him, the heat in your chest climbing higher. “I’m not backing out of shit,” you shot back, your fingers darting toward the bottle still sitting on the tray. “If you’re not gonna share, I’ll just help myself.”

You managed to grab the whiskey, the cool glass smooth in your palm, but before you could bring it to your lips, Logan’s hand shot out, covering yours and wrenching the bottle away with infuriating ease.

“Nice try,” he growled, tilting the bottle to his mouth and taking a long, deliberate swig right in front of you. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and when he lowered the bottle, his tongue flicked out to catch the drop sliding down the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a goddamn child,” you bit out, seething. “Can’t even share a drink.”

Logan’s gaze dropped to your lips. “Oh, I’ll share. But I don’t think you really want the whiskey, sweetheart,” he said, stepping closer until your knees pressed against his sides. “I think you just wanted an excuse to kiss me.”

You huffed out a laugh, sharp and biting. “You’re full of yourself.”

“And you like it,” he shot back, his voice dipping low as he leaned in. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, and the deep rasp sent a shiver racing down your spine. “Admit it.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of rattling you—at least, not yet. “You’re delusional,” you muttered, though your voice faltered when his lips trailed down to your jaw, the scruff of his beard scraping against your skin.

He hummed, the vibration made your breath hitch. “Am I?” he murmured, his mouth skimming down to the curve of your neck. His teeth grazed your pulse point, and you gasped softly, your hands instinctively gripping the front of his tank top. “Because I think I’m in your head, sweetheart. Under your skin. And I think you like it.”

You opened your mouth to snap back, but then his lips latched onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Heat bloomed across your skin, spreading down your chest and pooling low in your stomach as his tongue soothed the spot before he moved lower, biting and kissing a trail along the side of your throat.

“Logan,” you said, his name spilling from your lips half in warning, half desire.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and wild, his hands sliding up from your thighs to grip your hips, firm and possessive. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough and fraying at the edges. “Admit it.”

You swallowed hard, your nails digging into his chest. “Admit what?” you asked, your voice shaky but defiant, even as you felt your resolve crumbling.

“That you like how I get under your skin,” he said, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. His breath was warm, tinged with whiskey, and it made your pulse race. “That you like the way I make you crazy.”

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t look away from him, your breathing uneven as his hands gripped you tighter, his thumbs stroking small, maddening circles against your skin.

Finally, you huffed, rolling your eyes as your cheeks burned. “Fine,” you said, your voice sharp but barely more than a breath. “I like it. You happy now?”

The second the words left your mouth, Logan growled—a deep, guttural sound that made your entire body shiver. “Not yet,” he muttered, and then his mouth was on yours again, harder this time, hungrier.

His kiss was fierce, devouring as if your admission had broken whatever thread of control he’d been holding onto. His hands slid up your sides, tugging you closer to the edge of the table, and you wrapped your legs around his waist without even realizing it, your body moving on instinct.

You tugged at his tank top, fisting the fabric in your hands as his lips moved against yours, hot and demanding. When his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, you gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours.

Your fingers slid up into his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a low groan from him, and the sound sent a thrill racing through you. He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth down your neck again, nipping and sucking in a way that had you arching into him, your breath coming fast and uneven.

“ Logan ,” you managed to gasp, your head tilting back as his teeth scraped against your collarbone. 

Logan’s lips moved against your neck like he had something to prove, teeth grazing just enough to make your breath hitch. His hands were everywhere—rough palms sliding up your waist, fingertips pressing into your ribs like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

Your brain was short-circuiting, every thought scattered to the wind except for more . It was all you could think, all you could feel as the heat of him pressed closer, his broad body trapping you against the table.

“More,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his tank top, pulling him closer, needing him closer. “I need more.”

Logan growled low in his throat. “You sure about that, sweetheart?” he rasped, his breath hot against your skin.

Before you could answer, his hands moved, tugging at the hem of your shirt, and before you knew it, the fabric was sliding up and over your head. He tossed it aside without a second thought, baring you to him in nothing but your bra. His gaze dropped, and the way his eyes darkened made heat flood through you, your entire body flushing under the weight of his stare.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he muttered, his hands cupping your waist as he leaned back in, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that stole the air from your lungs. His hands roamed higher, his thumbs brushing over the edge of your bra, and you let out a soft gasp against his mouth.

Your legs tightened around his hips, and he groaned as your fingers slid under the fabric of his tank top, nails raking lightly against the hard planes of his stomach. Logan’s mouth was everywhere, moving from your lips to your jaw, then down your throat to the sensitive spot at the base of your neck.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he growled against your skin, his voice rough and ragged.

“Just hurry up,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair as his teeth scraped against your collarbone.

Logan chuckled, low and dark, the vibration of it making you shiver. His fingers fumbled with the clasp of your bra, and you were about two seconds away from helping him when—

“Ahem.”

The sound cut through the heated fog like a bucket of ice water, and Logan froze. His lips stilled against your skin, his hands halting mid-motion.

Your head snapped up, and there, standing in the threshold was Charles and Hank.

Charles’s expression was between mildly amused and thoroughly exasperated, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. Hank, on the other hand, was wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open slightly like his brain hadn’t quite caught up with what he was seeing.

Logan reacted faster than you, snapping into action like nothing had happened—though the growl rumbling low in his chest told a different story. He grabbed your shirt from where it had been tossed, spinning you away from the two men as he yanked the fabric back over your head with the kind of speed and efficiency that only Logan could manage.

“Don’t look,” he barked over his shoulder, his hands still adjusting your shirt as though shielding you from view would undo the last few seconds. “Turn the fuck around.”

Hank immediately slapped a hand over his face, turning away so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. “I—I didn’t see anything!” he stammered, his voice pitched a little too high.

Charles, however, didn’t move, his lips twitching as though he was suppressing a smile. “Logan,” he said calmly, the faintest hint of dry amusement in his tone. “I see that you’ve been… preoccupied.”

“Not another word,” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous as he adjusted your shirt one last time before stepping in front of you, blocking you from view entirely.

You, still catching your breath and absolutely mortified, peeked out from behind Logan’s broad shoulders, glaring at the two intruders. “Now you want to show up?” you snapped, your cheeks burning hotter than they ever had in your life.

“Quite honestly, I didn’t expect to find… this ,” Charles replied smoothly, gesturing vaguely to the two of you. “If I had known, I assure you, I would have announced my presence more tactfully.”

Charles cleared his throat, glancing down briefly at the floor before looking back up at Logan with an air of professional detachment. “We’ll give you both a moment to, ah… compose yourselves,” he said, gesturing for Hank to follow him out.

Hank, still not looking at either of you, mumbled something unintelligible and practically bolted for the hallway. Charles followed at a much more measured pace, but not before casting one last glance over his shoulder. “When you’re done, Logan, I’d appreciate it if you could join us in the study. We have matters to discuss.”

Logan didn’t respond, his glare enough to send Charles out without another word.

The moment they were gone, you let out a sharp exhale, your hands covering your face as you groaned into your palms. “I hate you,” you said, though your words were muffled.

Logan chuckled, turning back to you with a shit-eating grin. “No, you don’t.”

You glared at him through your fingers. “I mean it, Logan. I hate you.”

“That right?” he said, stepping closer, his hands finding your waist again as his smirk softened.

Your cheeks burned hotter, and you shoved at his chest—not that it did much, considering he was built like a goddamn brick wall. “I’m serious. I hate you.” 

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he shot back, leaning down to press a quick, teasing kiss to your lips before stepping away entirely. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go deal with these two before they pass out from whatever they just walked in on.”

He held out a hand to help you off the table, and though you glared at him for a long moment, you eventually took it, letting him pull you to your feet.

“You owe me whiskey after this,” you muttered, adjusting your shirt as you brushed past him.

Logan chuckled, following close behind. “Oh, I’ll give you more than whiskey, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice thick with amusement. “But only if you ask nicely.”

You shot him a scathing look over your shoulder, but the slight curve of your lips gave you away.

[cgbcomics]

[ente-lab]

[lunasblunt]

70s logan likes to take pics of you w his car it turns him on soooooo bad

he makes you pose on the hood, in the backseat, the front seats, literally anywhere you can fit your body he’s got a photo of

he’s dedicated a whole drawer to them

[deyageka]

Pretty boy Pietro <3

[vertigoartgore]

1978's X-Men Vol.1 #111's (LGY : Uncanny X-Men #111) last page by writer Chris Claremont, artist John Byrne, inker Terry Austin, colorist Mary Titus and letterer Tom Orzechowski (what a dream team, also joined by editor Roger Stern in the next issues).

[georgie3116]

*Natasha helping Peter Parker at his high schools fundraiser*

Peter P: Ms Romanoff, you’re selling raffle tickets.

Natasha: I’m your woman

Peter P: Please don’t yell at the customers.

Natasha: I’m kinda your woman.

Peter P: And please could you smile a little?

Natasha: You need another woman.