Need Hugh Jackman - Tumblr Posts

Okay, so I’ve been wanting to write a a Logan x OC fanfic with the OC as a professor at Charles school and I wrote the first chapter (really short cause its just sort of a bit of background) and I thought I’d post it here just to see how people would receive it!

(Also this is set when she’s about fifteen, the actual first chapter is going to be a major time jump, so through the fic she’ll be about 30)

Warnings: runaway teen (?), sleeping in a diner, she thinks Charles is kinda weird, not proof read lmao, nothing else I don’t think?

———————

She woke up cold. Her lashes flutter against her cheeks, sore with sleep. It was too frigid in the small diner, the heater did little in the winter and they had put her right by the door that let in a breeze every time it swung open; biting her skin. Her own attire wasn’t much help either, she thought.

The too-big sweatshirt hanging off her shoulders wasn’t thick enough to keep her warmer than her own body heat could, and her jeans were still wet from falling into the snow outside of the empty diner. The only warmth she had was from the thick leather boots on her feet that were two sizes too big.

The heavy thrill of hail outside the small diner window was a heavy patter in her ear drums. The bright beaming twenty-four hour sign hummed against the window, the fluorescent light flickering harsh blue and red light.

She pressed her open palm to the side of her cheek, eyes looming over the other patrons. Most of the diner was vacant, the waitresses bide behind the counters and the heavy steam of coffee burned in the air. She felt hunger nestle in the pit of her empty stomach, if she had enough shoved away in her rucksack she could get pancakes, if she had enough energy she wouldn’t need to pay for them at all. But she had a feeling she would.

She pushed against the table, stretching carefully, ignoring the always present ache in her limbs. Her fingers pushed against her scalp, feeling against her boyish cut hair.

It was just getting long enough for the curls to furl beside her ear, but it still bristled against her fingers. It made people stare less the more it grew, and she was thankful. Soon enough she’d attract even less attention.

Maryn could hear the soft clicking of heels, it was the waitress, she could hear the whisper of her thoughts flutter against her skull. Her mind was always hazy after sleeping, so none of the whispers were coherent enough for her to understand. She didn’t look up until she was right beside the table.

“You want anything, sweetheart?” She had a pot of coffee in her hand, and a southern lilt in her voice. “You’ve been here a while, you must be hungry.”

If she had noticed Maryn sleeping only moments ago she didn’t mention it, but her thoughts fluttered with concern.

“Pancakes?” Maryn blinked up at her.

The waitress nodded, her name tag read Hellen. She had blonde straw-like hair and yellow rimmed glasses.

“How about some chocolate chip pancakes, huh? Knock your socks right off.” She smiled, and Maryn nodded, unwilling to deny the indulgence. “I’ll get those right out, sweet pea.”

She walked away, bright red shoes clicking as she did. She was nice.

Maryn sunk back into her seat, one of the waitresses turned on a radio and through the storm the music didn’t sound like it had any words, covered by static, but its gentle tune was nice enough.

She rubs the ache over her tired eyes, she’d have to walk further when the sun finally came up. If her jeans dried before she left the diner maybe she’d make it further than she did today. Just the thought of more walking made her head throb and ache.

Hitching a ride wasn’t a far idea for her, but didn’t like all the questions that came with asking for help. They can’t help it, always the most obvious questions first, Where are your parents? Are you all alone? Shouldn’t you be in school? She was tired of it.

The soft jingle of the bell hanging over the door rang lightly as it swung open. Maryn tugged her sweater closer when the biting breeze crept through the sleeves.

Another soft flutter of whispers filled her head, she ignored them. She didn’t care to hear anyone else's thoughts. But they grew closer, until someone was coming up beside her table again, and then the whispers were gone.

“Hello.” An accented voice greeted. “Mind if I join you?”

She looked up at the man beside her table, her eyes trailing up the silvery metal of the wheelchair he was sitting in before his face.

He was older, weathered and looked at her with a familiar kind of smile while wearing the nicest suit she had ever seen. A deep blue with a matching tie and one of those pieces of fabric people shove into the chest pocket. It made him stand out, looking strange in the rickety diner.

She doesn’t say anything, but he picks up the menu at the other end of the table and she doesn’t stop him.

“I’m Charles Xavier.” He said warmly, he extended a hand, “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

She looked at his hand curiously before reaching out to shake it slowly. His hand is warm.

“Hi.” She said, wearily. He looks at their joined hands when they touch.

“Cold,” He smiles, “I’d imagine this is the warmest place around these parts.”

“For a few miles.” Maryn shrugs, he didn't seem like the worst person to have a conversation with.

“Did you walk yourself here?” She nodded. “The next town isn’t for miles. You must be exhausted.”

She shrugged, again. She felt how she always felt. Cold, tired, achy. His eyes trail over the rucksack tucked into her side.

“Is that all your things?” She nodded, tugging her bag closer.

“What I can carry.” She tells him. He hums.

“It looks heavy. Must have been difficult in this weather.”

“It’s alright.”

“If you say so.” He smiles.

She nods.

Charles, the strange British man, didn’t seem annoyed by her silence, but she was rather perturbed by his. His mind was completely silent, not a single whisper.

Usually she couldn’t keep other people’s thoughts away, only if she really concentrated she could quiet the noise down for a little bit, but it’s like his mind was completely empty.

Her dark fawn-like eyes trail up his head. She usually didn’t have to focus so much, and even now as she did, she heard nothing.

You won’t get anything up here, Maryn.

She jumped in her seat.

“Alright, baby, I got your pancakes and–oh,” Hellen came back with a hot steaming stack of chocolate chip pancakes. She looked between the two, eyeing Charles, “Is everything alright over here?”

“Yes, splendid, could I get some coffee, please? And,” He pauses to look at Maryn, “A milkshake, for my friend.”

There was only one milkshake on the menu, vanilla.

Hellen looks at her first, and then back at him.

“Of course. Coming right up, sugar.” And she clicks away again.

Charles smiled at her, kindly.

“It’s rude to snoop, you know.” He says, though there’s not much sternness in his tone.

“Most people don’t seem to mind.” She said plainly.

Charles dipped his head with a funny smile.

“I’m sure they don’t.”

“How do you know my name?” She asked, picking up her fork and butter knife as she did. She was curious but still starving. She grabbed the syrup at the end of the table, smothering her cakes.

“Because I have been keeping an eye on you for quite some time, Maryn.” He admits, watching her scarf down her pancakes like they’d run away from her. “You are very special.

“Special" isn't the word most people use.” She says out of the edge of her mouth, still chewing.

“We are not most people.” Charles hums.

“Yeah,” she muttered plainly.

“I’ll admit, your…capabilities are more advanced than I’ve seen in others your age.” He observed, “It’s quite impressive.”

Maryn doesn’t say anything to that. She didn’t have anything to say. Charles continues.

“You know, most mutant children I find are often in groups. They find one another, and protect each other.” His fingers drum on the fake carved plastic, “You remain by yourself. Have you not met others?”

She cuts jaggedly into her pancakes.

“I have.” She chews.

“And what happened?”

She thought about not telling him, then she thought he already knew and was just waiting for her to say it. Either way, he waits patiently across from her, waiting for her to say something; same gentle look in his eye.

“There's something inside me.” She admits, dubiously, “It scares people.”

“Does it scare you?” Again, she doesn’t answer.

Charles looked at her for a long time, she almost thought he was going to go away, leave her there, growing frustrated with her insolence. But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks at her with the same familiar smile.

“I have a school.” He says, “It’s not much now, barely a handful of students, even less teachers, but I created it for gifted children. Children like you.”

Maryn stared at him, her fork stabbing a piece of pancake on her plate.

“A school?”

He nods.

“I’d very much like you to attend.” He tells her, eyes looking her over, “Perhaps I can help you.

He seems to mean it. It’s the first time she can’t see into someone’s mind to know if they’re telling the truth or not, but she has a feeling, an unfamiliar feeling, that she can trust him.

She looked down at her plate, “What if you can’t?”

Charles looks at her carefully.

“Then maybe I can help you learn to control it.” Maryn looks up at him. “At the least, you’ll have a warm bed, food. Clothes that fit.”

For the first time since they started talking, she smiles. It’s small, but it’s there.

“Alright, a coffee for you,” They both looked at Hellen as she came back, “And a milkshake for you, Angel.”

“Yes, we’ll have the check please.” Charles says kindly. Then he places his forefinger and his middle finger to his temple and looks Hellen in the eyes,“You will not remember us once we leave.”

Maryn watches the waitress's eyes glaze over from behind her glasses before she smiles again.

“I’ll get that right out for you.”

Maryn looked at Charles.

“Can I do that?”

“We shall see, won’t we?” His lips spread into a thin smile. “Finish your pancakes.”

——————-

Omg I feel so anxious I literally have never done this before 😭 but please let me know what you guys think! If I do decide to post the whole fic it’ll prob be on ao3 just cause I plan to make it pretty long/slow burn

But I hope u guys like it 🙌🙌

MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED STAN STAN STAN STAN

Last one standing..

Stanley Jobson x reader (neighbor!au)

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜ଘ(˵╹-╹)━☆ 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 ＆ 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘢𝘭, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘍𝘓𝘐𝘙𝘛𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺, 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘦̂𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘴, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘺, “𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺”𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘴, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 -3- !!－， 𝘏𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭😭

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦ଘ(˵╹-╹)━ ♡︎ 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑑𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐻𝑒’𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑟𝑢𝑏𝑖𝑥 𝑐𝑢𝑏𝑒, 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒．．．．𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒’𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑚 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟．．．

@cherrywineisawaltz said something first😭

_ _𝐑𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐟𝐟.-_ 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨_/-𝐜.𝐨𝐧_𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨}} 𝐧𝐨-/_.𝟐

.♥︎.

You couldn't give in. It felt like the legacy of damn near feminism itself was counting on you.

It was all HIS fault.

A frown creeps on your face as you recall what- or rather who seemed to coast in from Texas bringing not only himself but his unconventionalness with him while also single-handedly being responsible for the position you’re currently in. And to make matters worst, you hadn’t even done anything to catch his attention.

To your knowledge (the apartment grapevine) you’re one of the few strong soldiers still standing who haven’t fallen to his charms. You never thought you’d live to the day where you’d be mentally cursing a 6’3 man with short hair as messy as his life, unfairly bright under eyes, perfect teeth, dimples, the most clutchable forearms you’ve ever seen and eyebrows that just won’t quit.

Fucking Stanley Jobson.

You shake your head- no you’re not fucking Stan. Even though since about three and a half weeks ago, he’s been driving you crazy trying to get you to go out with him. The last time you saw him he was guaranteeing that “you’d have a great time pretty” and from the suggestive flick of his brow as he looked down at you, head tilted, you tried to fight the warmth crawling over your body at the picture his words painted you. It didn’t work though because almost immediately you were swarmed with images of him. Laying naked in Stanley’s bed, nails digging into his broad shoulders before raking down his equally sculpted back, big arms wrapped around you as he stretched you out, rolling his hips into your slick heat over and over moaning raggedly into your mouth-

Stan’s gentle questioning hum breaks you out of your daydream and you stare back dumbly into his eyes before taking a deep refreshing mind clearing breath of crisp completely sane air before giving him a tight smile, turning around and promptly getting the fuck out of there.

The more you avoided him, the more he seemed to haunt you. Physically and metaphorically.

Another incident was when you were using the complex’s washing machine. Usually you’d go to a different laundromat but it was pouring and you needed clean underwear. Again, thanks to your shit luck, you ran out of laundry detergent half way through and the free stuff was on some high ass shelves above the machines that you couldn’t climb because they were old as fuck and just as unsafe which left you to the tried and true method: tiptoes and jumping.

You still couldn’t reach and for some reason it filled you with such a rage that you consider knocking all the shit there over but before you could throw your fit, a large hand holds your waist along with a solid chest to your back while his other hand reaches up to grab the soap powder, placing it softly in your hands then resting his chin on your shoulder.

“How are you cute even when soap has you all pissy?” Stan huffs out an amused chuckle, the air tickling your cheek. You catch yourself rolling your eyes fondly, tilting your head back a little.

Maybe you could entertain him a bit.

Relaxing in his hold, you try to calm your racing heart. Stanley was so big and he smelled so good and you can’t even think about his voice and all the dirty things that would sound heavenly coming from him. Especially right now, standing pressed flush to him with no panties on under your shorts.

“That’s because I wasn’t getting pissy-“, another chuckle from Stan, “I was getting annoyed. The difference is key.” You retort sassily, feeling him nod on your shoulder. “Yeah, sure you were baby.” The petname makes your heart skip hard as heat blooms to your chest and you swallow. Goosebumps raise on your arms as Stanley rubs them up and down, softly humming as he does. You wish you were unaffected but unfortunately you need to stay strong.

Clearing your throat, you ask aloud: “what are you doing?” He runs his hands up to your shoulders, applying firm pressure as he starts to massage the tension there. “Helping. This whole week whenever I saw you, you always look so stressed…”

Qué?? Your brain shuts down and suddenly you have a second heartbeat as the hottest man you’ve ever come in contact has your resolve crumbling by the second. His thumbs drag across a particularly sore part of muscle and a relieved gasp spills from your throat. “I- yeah?” You say, trying to concentrate but the deep hum in your ear scatters your thoughts again, Stanley clouding your senses.

“Yeah…and y’know I could fix that..help you relax..” He trails off but god you know exactly what he means, biting your lip to keep from accepting immediately. You should stop. Back up off him and come up with some nonsensical excuse to leave before you kiss him but you don’t. Instead you ask-

“…how?”

You won’t repeat the things he whispered in your ear.

Only that they had you running back to your place to do something- anything to distract you from the ache between your legs. Leaving your laundry altogether.

Okay, so you shouldn’t have flirted back but experience is important. Now you know that letting the stupidly built man you’re fighting tooth and nail to resist hold you is a bad idea. You live and you learn.

But….all these encounters are starting to take a toll on you and Stanley is wearing you down. You can’t recall when he even started to be this big of a problem for you. When he first moved in, you didn’t see him much but heard a lot. Excited talk about some gorgeous guy and disputes over if he had the perfect nerd or fireman look until you saw him and understanding dawned on you. You won’t lie, there was no point: he was fine. Standing in grey adidas track pants with a tight sleeveless tank as he helped an elderly lady carry her things to the elevator with a effortlessly gracious smile but from then on you decided that was it. Guys like Mr. ‘Pregnancy is only 9 months’ were nothing but trouble. Plus seeing just about all the women in the building vying for his attention, you knew what you weren’t going to do: him. Until you see him one night standing in front of the mailboxes holding a childrens drawing with a look so sad it made you mourn with him. Walking up to him, placing your hand on his arm.

“I don’t know who she is but I’m sure she understands.”

A longing sigh leaves Stanley’s lips and he’s silent for a beat. “…she- Holly- is 10. I had to send her away again this week. We talk and stuff but my work always has me runnin’ off somewhere n that’s hard n just…”, there’s another sigh and you know what he means because you miss your own folks sometimes, “I miss her. I don’t want her to think she’s not apart of me because we’re not always together.” First step to comforting someone: don’t cry. You rub his arm in soothing motions, nodding gently. “Well technically, you aren’t apart. She’s in your blood, you’re not a lonely man.”

The way Stan snapped his head down at you, staring into your eyes with a tender look was definitely the first warning but did you listen? No, all you did was stare back before softly bidding him goodnight. Leaving behind your perfume and the warmth of your hand.

After then, he was steadily more different towards you. More open, even more charming, but you willed yourself not to go there with him. If you were any other woman, you’d have bit his dust a long time ago. Hell, you know a plethora of women who already did which leads to what do you do now? You’re both getting closer but you’re trying to stay friends. If you start, it might never end so you keep tiptoeing..

Solid knocks at your door break you out of your brooding, slightly confused because you didn’t order anything and you weren’t expecting company. Padding over to the door, you swing it open and your eyes widen as your heart leaps up your throat. Stanley stands looking as yummy as ever smiling down at you. His shoulders seem even broader and you can’t think clearly with his aftershave in your face.

Fuck your life and the horse it rode in on.

Suppressing a deeply inconvenienced sigh, you grin tightly at him. “Yes Stanley?” The sound of his name from you makes his already glowing face positively blinding. “You and me, 7:30 tonight. Let’s paint the town. What do ya say sweetheart?”

“What about Holly?”

As if summoned, you hear the little things voice from way down the hall and you poke your head out to see her. She’s all toothy grins, waving excitedly as she poorly holds a familiar looking dog with one arm. “Emmie and me are having a slumber party tonight! And look! Isn’t he cute?!” She explains before thrusting the dog forward and while cute, you do feel bad for him because that can’t be comfortable. Emmie is the daughter of one of the military men next door. You see them around and they’re always nice. Just as quickly as she appeared, she’s gone again, back in the door to go play with her friend. A soft laugh leaves you as you turn to look at Stanley but he’s already looking at you. And closer. You gulp.

“Well, I would but-“

“Scared you’re gonna have fun?”

His playful jab riles you up in the way that’s always been easy for him because it’s him and you rush to wipe the smirk off his aesthetically pleasing face. “Actually I’m scared you won’t be able to keep up with me.” Stanley looks stunned for a second before chuckling lowly, biting his lip as he nods slowly and the air shifts. “How are you so sure I can’t keep up if you don’t give me a chance?” The air feels hotter and you roll your shoulders to try and shake it off but the images are back and it’s so not your fault. Stanley gets closer. “If anything…,” his breath washes over your face like mint and lemon sweet tea, “you’ll be breaking to keep up with me.”

Oh.

“And what if I can’t? Do you go find someone who’s more your speed?” You ask coyly, going for a different approach entirely so you don’t yank him to your lips. “No, I help you keep up. For as long as you’ll let me.”

That’s it.

Silently, you back up a few steps into your apartment because you know he’ll follow you. When he does, you motion to the door with your hand and Stan looks amused but closes it anyways, coming to stand in front of you when you crook your finger for him to come closer.

Burly arms wrap around your midsection, pulling you completely against him and it feels so good you’re dizzy, reaching up to loop your arms around his neck but Stanley’s height makes it hard and you groan. Knowing how you can get (laundry incident) Stan lifts you, arm around your waist with the other hand splayed across your ass then your legs around his waist. The feel of his warm muscles under you make you throb and suddenly breathing is slightly harder. Biting your lip, you run your hands up his corded neck then back down to his chest, letting your imagination run wild. Stanley just lets you as he clears his throat to get your attention.

“You wantin’ something from me, baby?” You would have said something smart back but you don’t have it in you. Instead, “just kiss me already-“ and then your mouth is immediately consumed by his.

Like the rest of him, his lips are warm and you’re burning up, moaning the second he slots his mouth over yours, sending shivers down your spine as he licks along the seam of your lips, making you tighten your legs around him and kiss him even harder.

Stanley groans at your roughly sucking at his bottom lip before licking hotly into your mouth. His tongue coaxing yours into his, languidly sucking at the wet muscle and you melt down, dripping from your cunt, soaking your underwear and the need to be naked becomes urgent. The wet smack of your kissing makes you both heady as your grind yourself on his abs, gasping wetly at the friction and you tug the hem of his shirt with a needy whine.

To your dismay, Stan pulls off from the slick of your mouth, dragging you slowly down his body, watching with blown pupils as your pouty mouth drops open when your clit catches on every ridge of his stomach and the tent of his erection through your tiny shorts, until you’re set back on your feet, glaring at him. He pecks you on the lips to soothe you but you’re feisty. “I’m hard, you’re hard. Why’d we stop?” Laughing at the whine in your voice will only frustrate you further so he stamps it down, taking your hands in his.

“Because, we need to go on our date first.” You pout despite the warmth in your cheeks and nod. “Right. Tonight at 7:30.” This time he does laugh, the sound making you smile as he nods. Bringing your knuckles to his lips to kiss them, then your cheek. “You got it, pretty.”

You walk him to the door and motion him down, kissing him sweetly one more time, bathed in the warm way he looks at you.

“See you then…”

It ended up being the best date of your life.