What If… There Was A Markandan Christmas Special?

Merry Christmas! So just to explain, this was originally going to be a Christmas Special of both Markanda Mark and MCU Mark brances. We didn't really get enough done on the MCU sections though, so it's almost exclusively Markanda here, even if the intro talks about both worlds. I've included one small section from the MCU branch which won't make much sense to exclusive Markanda readers, but just ignore that section if you don't get it. And as usual: Written in collaboration with Cross C.

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"Time and space... an infinite canvas of possibilities. Yet even in the vastness of the multiverse, one season binds countless worlds together: the season of giving, of joy, of hope.

But what if... these traditions took an unexpected turn? What if holiday cheer collided with the universes that have fallen under the hypnotic sway of one… Mark Williams?

In one reality, a man who has conquered the nation of Wakanda. The King of the Mutants, carving out a place for them in a world that hates them. In another universe–far from his own–a fallen Mark. Slowly reforming his hold in a universe echoing his original. Both worlds, connected by a single strand, but torn apart by a simple fated choice. Yet, both Earths spin on, and in their universes lie new traditions and tales for us to explore.

Prepare yourself, for tonight, we unwrap the wonders–and the dangers–of the holidays across time and universes. I am the Porn Watcher, and I invite you to join me for this most festive of 'What If...?' smut tales.”

---

This palace drawing room was a blend of Wakandan elegance and the indulgent excess Mark had brought to the nation. Intricate carvings and Afro futuristic accents still adorned the walls, but they now surrounded gaudy, oversized furniture and decorations that seemed deliberately designed to scream ‘I’m a crass sex-obsessed idiot'.

Behind him, spanning an entire wall, was a mural painted by Nkosana M’Bali, one of the River Tribe’s most gifted artists. An anime-inspired style by royal request (a sharp break from the snooty fellow’s usual output), it depicted Bast, Wakanda’s sacred panther goddess, as a shortstack catgirl with exaggerated curves. Her petite frame was laden with massive, jiggling breasts and a plump, round ass raised high as she knelt submissively. Her fur shimmered in the soft light, her golden eyes half-lidded in ecstasy as the mural’s centerpiece—an enormous, godlike male mutant clearly modeled after Mark—stood behind her. His hands gripped her wide hips, his colossal cock plunging into her dripping, stretched pussy with obscene detail.

In the corner of the room, hovering above a pedestal designed to resemble an indoor firepit, was the Wakandan equivalent to a TV, its holographic display looping an endless stream of erotic imagery. Women from every corner of Markanda paraded across the screen, their tits bouncing, their asses shaking, their legs spread wide in a shameless display of submission. Farmers, warriors, scholars—it didn’t matter. The broadcast cut to villages, to offices, to training fields, capturing women in the midst of their daily routines as they suddenly turned to the camera, their faces lighting up with adoration as they stripped and screamed their love for their King.

One woman, her mocha skin glistening in the sunlight, stood proudly on the back of a tram. Her hand pointed down to the tattoo just above her pussy, written in bold, pointed English letters: "Mutant Dick Hole", with an arrow pointing downward. “This hole is for my King!” she declared, her voice echoing with joy. Another woman leaned over her from inside, rubbing her breasts as she shouted, “Please fuck me, daddy! You're my daddy, your majesty! Please!”

And there Mark sat, sprawled in the center of the oversized leather sectional like a man who owned not just this palace, but the very air itself. He wasn’t clad in the flowing regal silks of a king; instead, he wore baggy basketball shorts, a designer hoodie, and sneakers so spotless it was clear he rarely set foot on common ground. Yet even dressed as a casual American teenager, Mark exuded raw dominance.

At Mark’s feet, his Black Panthers knelt in perfect devotion. Both former leaders of Wakanda now served as his loyal pets, their once-proud authority reshaped into unwavering submission. Yet their brilliance, their personalities, and their skills remained intact, entirely redirected toward fulfilling their King’s desires.

To his left, Psylocke lounged against him, her lithe, toned form wrapped around his side like a silken vine. Her round, full breasts were bare, her dark nipples brushing against the smooth fabric of Mark’s hoodie every time she shifted. Straight violet hair cascading down her shoulders, Betsy looked utterly at ease, her eyes sharp with amusement as she idly trailed her fingers up Mark’s thigh.

To his right, Captain Concubine mirrored Betsy, her powerful frame softening into Mark’s side with surprising ease. Her large, gravity-defying breasts pressed firmly against his arm, the heavy mounds jiggling faintly as she shifted. Unlike Betsy, Carol wasn’t merely lounging—her gaze was focused, her golden blonde hair catching the light as she manipulated cyberspace with the neural implant installed in her brain. Her eyes flicked this way and that, a clear sign that her mind was busy navigating the digital streams of Markanda.

T’Challa sat upright on his heels, his hulking superhero physique exposed in full. His dark, hairless skin gleamed under the soft light, his limp black cock resting atop his tight, smooth balls. His stoic gaze remained fixed on Mark, his every breath measured, his body perfectly still except for the occasional rise and fall of his chest.

Shuri, on the other hand, was sprawled decadently on the floor, her lithe frame draped across the plush carpet. Her small, firm breasts rose and fell steadily, her toned abs glistening in the light. Her legs were spread casually, her glistening folds fully exposed as a palace maid knelt between them. The maid’s tongue moved with careful precision, drawing soft, contented sighs from Shuri as she rested her head lazily against Mark’s leg, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Hold on,” Mark said, shaking his head. “You’re telling me Wakanda doesn’t celebrate Christmas? Like, at all?”

Shuri cocked her head, a small smile tugging at her lips as she looked up at him. “We’re not Christians, Mark,” she replied matter-of-factly, her voice laced with both amusement and mild condescension. “I mean, I’m not religious at all, but my people are all about Bast, ya know.”

“She’s right,” T’Challa added, his deep voice steady. “Our country is older than Jesus Christ. It would be strange, to say the least, if we celebrated his birthday.”

“Older than Christ,” Mark repeated slowly, as if trying to wrap his head around the concept. “That’s wild.”

“Not as wild as you thinking everyone celebrates Christmas,” Carol snorted softly, breaking her focus for a moment as she smirked and leaned her head on Mark’s shoulder.

Mark shot her a playful glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault Christmas is fun,” he defended, leaning back deeper into the couch. “Food, presents, lights—what’s not to like?”

“I could do without the caroling,” Betsy offered, yawning as she adjusted herself against him. Her bare chest pressed closer to his side as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. “And the hideous sweaters.”

“You just hate anything warm and fuzzy,” Carol teased, glancing at Betsy with a grin.

Betsy smirked, her violet eyes narrowing playfully. “That’s not true. I love the warm and fuzzy feelings I get with him,” she said, her voice dropping as she trailed her fingers along Mark’s chest through his hoodie.

Mark grinned, clearly pleased with the attention, but he waved a dismissive hand in the air as he refocused on T’Challa and Shuri. “Alright, alright, you’re missing the point here. It’s not about the Christ thing. Christmas is about traditions—decorating, food, parties. And I can definitely make it work here in Markanda!”

“You could, but you shouldn’t,” said Shuri, surprising the room with the strange defiance in her voice… only for the woman to roll over with a wicked grin, “If it is your will to taint our traditions with commercial western ideals, then we should be the ones to enforce Christmas on the populace. We’ll make sure to change Wakanda to your liking. Like a big, fat, mutant cock creampieing our precious nation.”

Mark’s grin stretched wide at Shuri’s brazen remark and the room was quiet for a moment save for the faint, wet sounds of the palace maid dutifully licking between Shuri’s spread thighs. The soft, rhythmic motions of the maid’s tongue were unmistakable, her small hands gripping Shuri’s thighs for balance as her face worked with complete focus. Shuri, ever composed even in indulgence, let out a soft, satisfied hum, her abs tensing briefly as her lips curled into an amused grin.

Carol was the first to break the silence, bursting into laughter so loud and abrupt that her bare shoulders shook as she pressed her face into Mark’s hoodie-covered chest. “Oh my god,” Carol managed between giggles, her cheeks flushed from the outburst of amusement. “You’re an absolute menace, Shuri. A menace.” She wiped at her eyes, her heavy breasts jiggling faintly from the motion as she tried to catch her breath.

Betsy raised a perfectly shaped brow and smirked, her tone dry but edged with amusement. “Poetic, Shuri. Crass as hell, but poetic,” she said, idly trailing her fingers along Mark’s thigh. “I’m not sure whether to applaud you or start praying for your brother’s sanity.”

“Sister,” T’Challa began nodding in thanks for the psychic ninja’s concern, his tone even and diplomatic but carrying just the faintest edge of disapproval, “you might show a little more respect for our heritage.”

Shuri laughed softly from the floor, her wicked grin softening just slightly as she rested her cheek against Mark’s leg. “Big brother.” she teased, glancing over at T’Challa with faux innocence. “It’s not so bad. A little colonizer tradition never hurt anyone.” Her grin returned, sharper now. “Especially when it comes with stockings stuffed full of mutant cock.”

The rest of the room seemed to nod in agreement. Mark was rather impressed, the way Shuri could rally others would have made her a good Black Panther one day, if he hadn’t changed her fate forever. “Alright. I’ll leave it to you guys then. Make me the best Markandan Christmas ever~”

---

“That is the ugliest damned tree I’ve ever fucking seen.”

Up in his Markandan high-rise apartment, Logan slurped his eggnog and scratched at his Christmas jumper as he watched the ‘tree’ get pretty literally erected in the town square. A twinge of annoyance ran through him. It was almost a curse knowing that his mind was still mostly free from Mark’s influence, yet not free enough to be able to leave. There were food, fucks, and freedom of movement, so it was a decent prison, but a prison none the less. Watching on as this teenage mutant fool degraded thousands of years of culture every damn day.

Case in point, it was apparently time for Christmas, a stupid holiday that had only become more stupid over the years. Yet Mark and his mind controlled cronies had taken the cake, instead of decorating a tree, there was now a twenty foot tall wooden statue of the kid’s huge cock. Wrapped in tinsel, lights, and a huge star balanced on his urethra.

Markandan people were clearly in true admiration of this massive fake penis. Wearing their own Christmas apparel and walking up to the base of the tree to admire it. Some placed gifts for their king around the festive testicles, others were placing kimoyo beads on the tree as if they were ornaments. He’d quite literally fucked up this entire country in one fell swoop.

“Of all the shitty things to shove in front of my apartment…” The humbug grumbled once more, scratching again at his jumper, “Grr… and why the fuck are they making me wear this fucking thing?! We’re under the equator, it’s fucking ninety degrees out here!”

At least he wasn’t wearing one of those fruity g-strings that were basically the Markandan equivalent to jeans in the States.

Honestly, he’d rather just be nekkid.

“Hey~ hey hey hey~ take it easy, big guy!” a familiar voice chimed in behind him, light and teasing. Logan’s ears twitched at the sound, followed by the soft buzzing of wings as Janet Van Dyne zipped into view.

She was wearing a red bikini, the fabric barely enough to cover her petite, toned body, with a Santa hat perched atop her sleek bob haircut. Her dark brunette hair framed her sharp, mischievous features, and as she grew back to full size, her bare feet touched the ground with a delicate bounce. “It’s Christmas! You’re supposed to be jolly, or at least, I don’t know, less grumpy.”

She wrapped her red bikini clad body around his back, grinning at his grinchiness, “They just wanna make this a nice time of year for Mark. And you have to admit, a big dick tree? That’s pretty funny!”

Logan snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Hrmph,” he grumbled, though he didn’t disagree. It was the sort of dumb shit he would’ve found hilarious if he wasn’t living in the middle of it.

“Ahh, come on~ Hey, they said they don’t mind you taking the jumper off when you’re having se~ex~” Janet teased, happy to see his begrudged smile come onto his face.

Logan chuckled, a low, gravelly sound that made Janet’s grin widen. “You know,” he muttered, setting his eggnog down on the windowsill, “I’ve fucked every last female Avenger, including a petite little honey named Janet Van Dyne…” He turned to face her fully, his grin widening as her eyes sparkled with mischief. “…but she still never shuts up.”

“Guess you’ll just have to shut me up, then,” Janet purred, reaching up to pull at the neckline of his jumper.

Logan grinned, his claws popping out with a soft snikt. “Gladly.” With a single swipe, he shredded the itchy jumper, letting it fall in tatters around his feet. Janet laughed, her bob swaying as Logan grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of presents.

“Back to bed, bug,” he growled, carrying her toward the bedroom.

“Finally!” Janet teased, her voice ringing with laughter as she wriggled playfully in his grasp. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to ditch that scrooge bah humbug act.”

It was gonna be a long Christmas for the Wolverine. But at least he wasn’t wearing that jumper anymore.

---

Many of the shops down the main street of Markanda had new selections of goods to appease their King’s wishes. Christmas decorations of tinsel and crummy lights dotted around their stalls, selling ornaments for trees and potential gifts for family members, and a grand heist had occurred out in America thanks to Black Widow and Mystique to introduce turkeys into Markanda’s ecosystem.

It may have been a snap decision from a tyrannical teenager that had mind controlled them this year, but many Markandans were truly getting into the spirit of Christmas.

This included a few mutant men, who helping out with the decorating. Iceman, Gambit, and Nightcrawler all finalised one of the more iconic pieces of imagery for the holidays, the nativity. This time in ice form. Bobby was handling the majority of the ice sculpture, with his friends nearby to help him with the finer details.

“There! The nativity scene is finally done!” Bobby surmised, looking at the final product with pride.

Then the baby Jesus’ head was slashed off his shoulders.

“Hey! Kurt!”

He had been sulking at his task all morning, not even looking at the display other than to use his tail as a guillotine, “Bah. We are holding too much onto the American ideal of Christmas. This cuckold man and his ‘virgin’ wife’s baby is not one to be celebrated. Mark is the God we should be celebrating!”

Gambit was a little less annoyed, shrugging his disinterest to the whole affair, “Eh, mon ami, the big man said he wanted this silly holiday to be just like his old world. Gambit don’t get it though.”

“Mark’s nostalgia would be easily overridden by his engorged pride,” said Kurt, gesturing to the massive cock tree in the center of the square, “Like this! A glorious pillar to Mark, not a simple tree! Mark is a God! He already conquered the fool of Thunder, you cannot deny that he would rather see the man from Nazareth on his knees before him rather than worshipped in any regard.”

Bobby wiped off the baby Jesus’ ice head with a little sigh, “I mean… you have a point, but it’s still crazy to hear you say all this.”

“What would you suggest then, elf?” Asked Remy.

“I would like to hear this too.”

The three men turned their heads as Ororo Munroe descended gracefully on a gust of wind, her presence immediately commanding and radiant. She floated down with an elegance that only she could manage, her snow-white hair flowing around her like a halo in the sunlight. But it wasn’t just her usual regal bearing that caught their attention—Storm was heavily pregnant, her body gloriously transformed by the impending birth of her child.

The Markandan version of her iconic superhero costume clung to her luscious, rounded figure like a second skin, exposing much more than it once had. Her flowing black and gold cape billowed behind her, still regal and grand, but the rest of her ensemble had been altered. The high collar and shoulder pads remained, but below her breasts, the material gave way to her bare, glowing, dark skin. Her massive, milk-heavy breasts were barely contained by what little fabric clung to them, her cleavage exposed so fully that even a slight movement caused her swollen bosom to jiggle enticingly.

Her belly, the centerpiece of her magnificent transformation, was fully exposed, proudly bare for all to see. It was large, smooth, and taut, the skin glowing with a radiance that seemed almost divine, the curve of her pregnant form rising like a fertile moon. Her toned thighs were visible through long slits in her costume’s fabric, the remnants of the once dignified design reduced to teasing accents that framed her body’s maternal splendor

The Queen was the picture of bosomy, pregnant magnificence, a goddess brought to earth not just in power but in form. She exuded a serene confidence, even as her state left her slightly slower than usual. Her every step caused her hips to sway, her rounded belly shifting subtly as her hands cradled it protectively.

The three men couldn’t help but stare for a moment, mesmerized by the sight of her. Even Kurt, ever the gentleman, found his golden eyes lingering on her exposed form longer than he should have. Ororo’s glowing pregnancy had a gravity to it, as if her very presence demanded awe.

“Ororo!” the blue man beamed, helping her land with his three fingers outstretched. Teleporting away briefly to fetch a chair for the woman to sit on, “Is it safe for you to be-?”

“Oh, stop it Kurt. The baby may be due any day now, but I refuse to sit in that bed any longer than I need to.” She waved off his concern… only to feel a kick and need to sit on the chair anyway, “H-he really has his father’s spirit…”

“Well, Gambit think you looking radiant, ‘Ro.” said the Cajun, trying his best to stay suave in his Markandan garb of a single loin cloth that was beginning to poke upwards, “Gambit do wish the psychics didn’t imprint a fetish for women with Mark’s babies, tho.”

“I’m not here to **** you, Remy,” Storm replied, turning back to their blue brethren, “I think Kurt may be onto something. As the woman whose known Mark the longest, I think we should listen to the priest’s ideas about a new way to celebrate Christmas.”

With a happy smile, Nightcrawler placed his hands together and bowed, “Even in this new perverted world we live in, we can always trust in the magnanimous wisdom of Ororo Munroe.” The other two men just rolled their eyes at him as the woman on the chair giggled. “My ideas are simple, founded in truth. Has Mark’s goal not always been to remove the history of any one culture and form new customs through his divine form! True change through a God’s divine will! Even Mark can struggle to see how important he is and holds to a holiday so beneath him. Christmas must be changed just as elegantly as Wakanda was. No Nativity based on an inn of fools, we must make a sculpture of our Ororo bent over in Mark’s bed! We must not have Santa delivering presents under trees, but mutant men visiting houses to give the gift of life to every household! This is what I believe is Mark’s true will! Though, I feel as though you already knew all this, my elegant Queen.”

Storm smiled at the kneeling knight. His heart so believed every part of his new religion, and yet he was still the smart and passionate man she’d met all those years ago. Mark was so incredible.

“Perhaps I do, Kurt. I’m sure together we can make this a very special Christmas indeeEED!”

She winced suddenly, clutching at her belly while panting. As the three men circled her, Kurt’s yellow eyes seemed to be calculating something. “Very special, yas… perhaps the nativity just needs an update…”

---

-MCU MARK INTERMISSION-

“Christmas time for youthful humans. Usually, a time to forge lifelong bonds with those of similar age around you. Laughing and playing together… but for one Peter Parker, finding time to be with others is never simple.”

“We join him now at a social gathering, a party hosted by his rival, and attending with the woman he once had a fierce crush on…”

“Peter?”

“...”

“Peter? You in there?”

“Bwuh?!” jumped Spider-Man, suddenly remembering where he was and what he was doing, “Ah! MJ!”

Michelle Jones frowned at him. A mix of worry and confusion on her face as she tried to guage what the bizarre look of guilt and panic on his face meant, “Are you okay? You’ve been super distracted all night.”

Peter looked around. The party seemed to barely care one way or the other about him, celebrating the craziest year of their lives with reckless abandon. New York had some of the best parties, and now that Flash had moved himself into a proper penthouse suite he was sure to invite all his old ‘friends’ to as many gatherings as he could to show off his family’s wealth.

The party was practically brimming with people. Out here on the balcony was the only place where you weren’t threatening to get crushed by others, and that was only because of the soft layer of snow outside. Inside there was music, dancing, drinks, food, and tons of people making bad decisions with each other. Even Ned had been eaten by the crowd at some point, Peter swore he saw his friend with a pretty blonde thing making out.

It seemed freedom and sexual exploration were all the rage these days. Half the population suffered for five years, half had their whole lives turned upside down in an instant. Neither truly knew how to go forward, or go back, trapping everyone in a strange bubble of fear and isolation. At some point though, that bubble had popped, hard. A Christmas miracle (ignoring the strange whispers around of a bizarre ‘Phoenix Kingdom’ cult) of pure togetherness.

Yet Peter Parker had been ignoring MJ. Sitting on the balcony alone and staring out to the chilled yet bustling city below.

“S-sorry…” He sighed, rubbing a couple drops of water from his heated brow, “I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

“Right… anything you want to share with the class?”

They’d had a budding relationship before the blip. Strained already by his double life. Yet this last month, Peter had seemed more… distant. Like he was hiding something else, and was scared she’d find it out. Even now, he kept his lips surprisingly shut, as if a frog had gotten inside his mouth and she was a predator ready to strike.

“...is it about Tony?” She asked, trying to get him to spill even a little. His confused look made her even more befuddled, “Come on. Tony Stark? I thought this could be you getting hung up on what happened…”

“A-ah! Right! Um, yeah, kinda…” He admitted, scratching at his cheek, “I really miss him. That must be it!”

Her journalistic mind wanted to keep digging. Peter was obviously taking the first out he could from this conversation, yet she couldn’t exactly fault the logic that his mentor’s **** would be messing with his mind as well. It was like talking to a wall, the same wall that used to deny his involvement with Spider-Man at all. With a begrudged exhale, MJ dropped the subject. “Alright, fair enough. If you wanna talk at some point, just let me know, Peter.”

“Th-thanks, MJ. You’re the best.”

“I know, I know,” She smiled, taking his chilly hand and giving it a squeeze, “I’ll get us some drinks, do you want anything?”

“Punch would be great,” He definitely saw the light thump on his arm coming. Spider-sense be damned, she was too cute to stop. Comedically shrugging while walking away to the large glass doors, back into the fray of an overpopulated party.

Peter smiled as she left, but turned back to the city with a deeply concerned gaze. How could he ever tell MJ about what had happened? About-

BZZT!

As if on some cosmically horrible que, his phone buzzed. The second he was alone, like she knew he was the most **** now. Peter cursed himself for not turning his phone off earlier, he hated himself for opening his phone and seeing who it was that had texted a few photos, and he loathed the fact that… he quickly opened the message.

‘New Xmas Lingerie! What do you think? <3’

That evil woman.

May was lying on their couch at home, spread out so invitingly. The lighting was low yet warm, begging his eyes to delve deeper into the image and truly admire each curve that his aunt was showing off to him. The lingerie was intoxicatingly thin, all red, featuring a tiny see-through mini-skirt that failed to hide her pussy, a similar shawl around her shoulders adjourned with fluffy white cotton, and a love heart bra that so loosely covered her breasts a sneeze from Ant-Man would send it flying. There were other parts of the costume, like xmas gloves, socks, and a hat. But none were even noticed by Peter as he flicked through the other photos she’d sent rapidly. Each angle she took just making his dick hard in his pants as he imagined the fun he could be having back home with her…

“Oh yeah, what ever happened to that cat villain you were chasing?”

He scrambled to close his phone in time, having to web it back to his hand as he dropped it off the edge of the balcony, “Th-the what?!”

MJ paused at his panicked panting, slowly handing him the cup of punch before continuing. “Um. The cat. You were texting about her while I was away, kept saying how annoying she was, then all mention of her stopped.”

Peter once more looked guilty and unsure, having been so freaked out the moment she’d returned, “I… I just haven’t really seen her since!” Goddamn, how does he keep such a big secret when he’s this bad of a liar? “Um, okay, so… sorry MJ, but I really gotta go.”

“What? Now?”

He was already looking around to make sure no one was watching as he hopped up onto the corner of the building and started climbing down, “Yeah, May just texted and, I, uh, look, I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” And with that, Peter crawled away before even truly explaining himself. Taking barely a minute before sights of Spider-Man swinging over midtown could be seen to those looking up at the shimmering snow falling down from the sky.

Spider-Man had never swung so fast back home, away from the party and his girlfriend. Christmas was more of a family thing anyway... “May! You can’t keep sending me sexy pics when I’m at a party!” Peter barked as soon as he got through the window, “Someone could have seen when I opened them!”

Barely even registering his anger as he stomped through the house towards her, May just casually lay back on the couch, “You didn’t have to open them, Peter. I said what they were before the photos. You know you opened them because you wanted to~”

Spider-Man was frustrated for many reasons as he stared at his aunt.

For one, she had a point. No way he could sass back that when he’d openly gawped at them mid-party. Second, he’d been thinking about fucking her all the way home, so he was sexually frustrated too. Compounded by thirdly, she was still in the sexy outfit. Meaning he couldn’t even hide his hard on through his suit as he loomed over her splayed out form.

There were some other frustrations about how he got here, how his hot aunt had him wrapped around her finger, and how he was coming to realise how much he preferred being here to being with MJ… but they all fell away to the throbbing in his pants.

Thwip! Thwip!

“Oh? Why Spidey, am I the gift you’re wrapping up?” May teased after Peter webbed her hands and feet to the couch. “You missed my mouth though~”

He hopped up, feet on either side of her, moving his pants down to let his cock spring free in front of his aunt’s face, her mouth instantly hanging open with tongue out for him to approach, “I’m stuffing that stocking with something else…”

Somewhere deep he knew this was still very wrong. That the flirting, bad puns, and constant incestual fucking had to stop. Yet… he just didn’t want to. Peter got to come home to a smoking hot MILF that was **** at all times to suck, fuck, and love him all night long. Her beautiful brown eyes beamed up at him with such wanton delight as his meat stretched down her throat over and over again. Bra already falling off to reveal her plush breasts, ready to wrap around his meat during round four or five.

May was obviously thrilled with the arrangement. She loved Peter, and knew his cock was the second most perfect thing in the whole universe, second only to Mark and his Godlike phallus. But Mark was busy conquering, and Peter was all hers to enjoy. He was spending less time with the little bitch that never put out for him, MJ. Slowly he was getting seduced to the Aunt side of the **** each passing day.

They were just so compatible. She was able to handle the strength of a spider ramming down her throat, and he was nimble enough to spin around and cling to the wall behind the couch to fuck her upside down, licking her out as he did.

As the first of many floods of cum began to fill May’s mouth, she too gave Peter a lovely gift of her squirting cunt. The party long forgotten, the lingerie soon to be ripped asunder. They’d already made plans to stay in on Christmas day. Doing nothing but fucking and eating take out all day.

---

The question was, where was Mark during the time where his subjects were getting his country prepped for the most wonderful time of year? Well, the only place that can keep him truly distracted for a whole day if he needed to: The Danger Room!

No longer the training zone for the X-Men, it was now a place for famed porn director Kamala Khan to strut her love of lewd. Treating Mark to all the perverted ideas that spawned in her head through the infinite possibilities of the technological room.

Right now, the scene seemed rather homely. Keeping to the Christmas theme was a fun challenge for the mutant/inhuman girl, so she’d made a little wooden cabin environment for Mark to kick back in. Snow falling outside, warm unending fire, a bouncy green ‘tree’, yet the best was still to come.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time, Kamala,” Mark grinned as he lay back in his comfy rocking chair, “I can definitely enjoy myself here. I assume the real fun is that lovely green specimen you have pretending to be a tree?” He asked, pointing over to the naked mass of She-Hulk, wrapped in loose fitting tinsel and lights while wriggling around in anticipation.

Kamala smirked, “I won’t blame you for picking Jen, in fact I hope you bend your tree over by the end of this, but she’s far from the only attraction here today! You haven’t even opened one your presents~”

A dozen or so boxes scattered the ground around She-Hulk’s feet. Mark had assumed they were just generic decoration to fit the Christmas theme, like the wreaths and stockings, so with a shrug he followed Kamala’s lead. Reaching over to undo the ribbon of one of the cliche looking Christmas boxes…

Only to find that the box became digitized as soon as he undid the ribbon. Morphing into a white blob, congealing into a strange shape before a flash of Christmas magic turned the present into a woman! She was also green skinned, but not one Mark had even seen in passing. Slight purple highlights on her short hair, a sexy maid outfit on her well toned body, it was certainly one of the best Christmas presents Mark had ever received. Her eyes were closed, sleeping in a ball where he had opened her.

“Her name is Gamora,” said Kamala, “All the boxes have a different Christmas coloured woman for you to enjoy! If you’d rather open a different one she’ll remain asleep until you pinch her nipple, but I do recommend this one. She’s an actual alien, known as the ‘Deadliest Woman in the Galaxy’ and I made her your sexy devoted maid! Isn’t that really hot?!”

Mark was always happy to hear the eager cheers of the girl his own age wanting him to fuck the heroes of the world. Kamala was already stroking herself off with a candy cane dildo from her seat near the fire.

He looked down at the sleeping alien girl, deciding to definitely go for her first… but greed was in his nature. Curiosity got too much for him immediately, so he went around opening a few more of the presents. Sleeping women of red and green popping into existence around Gamora and She-Hulk.

“Th-that’s Abigail B-Brand, leader of SWORD! Mantis, she’s a teammate to Gamora-oh! Red She-Hulk! There’s so many flavours of Hulk it’s crazy. Ah, Viv! My old teammate, you remember her~ Polaris, Medusa, Marrina, Jackpot, Enchantress, aaand Sin! She’s the Red-Skull’s daughter.”

Mark marvelled at the Miss’ meticulous planning, “You really outdid yourself, Kamala.” He repeated. It really was the twelve cunts of Christmas for him to enjoy while his elves corrupted the capital.

All he had to do was sit back and enjoy his digital spoils.

Moving then mounting up his new maid, Gamora still stayed asleep as she lay peacefully by the fire. Mark shifted his bright red santa pants he’d been wearing to unleash his beast right on the alien’s uncovered cunt. Oh how he loved the universal language of p in v, especially when it was his to enjoy all to himself. Reaching down with his cock still resting on her mons, Mark pinched Gamora’s nipple through her thin maid outfit.

The deadliest woman in the galaxy blinked awake, assessing the situation quickly as she stared at Mark with determined eyes, then down to his cock on her crotch, then back up to Mark.

“I understand, Master. Would you like to breed me today, or use my asshole to relieve yourself?”

Her voice so smooth, so cool, yet her will was completely gone already. Mark shuddered in perverted glee, lining up his cock to her cunt as she stretched her green legs further apart for him. “Breeding, maid. Be sure to talk dirty to me as I fill you up for Christmas.”

“Absolutely, mastEEERR!” Gamora sang out in rapturous carol.

Kamala always raised the sensitivity of the girls to maximum, and made sure to encourage lewd hentai inspired facial ticks for whenever they had Mark inside them. Not that he needed help turning girls to mush, but she just got extra horny whenever someone badass like Gamora’s eyes rolled back in her head from the first thrust. A grimace of inexperienced pleasure that melted into pure open mouthed moans the more his piston split the alien in twain.

Mark would have a lovely time waiting for Christmas to be ready with all these wonderful presents.

---

“Mrs Frost! Mrs Frost!”

Emma exhaled quietly. There goes her nice alone time lounging by the pool, and she was having such a nice peaceful December. Emma wasn’t one for the holidays, but this warm corrupted country was letting her breeze right through them with just an ill-fitting white bikini, a bottle of suntan lotion, and a good dirty book to read. Yet all her plans were squandered as he watched as three young mutants–Sunspot, Anole, and Spyke–bounded up to her at rocket speeds. Wearing only their swim trunks and wide grins as they approached her sunbed, “Yes, dears?”

“We have mistletoe!” Sunspot practically barked he was so happy.

“...that’s great. Thank you for sharing.” She casually dismissed, reopening her smutty book to indicate her disinterest.

“You know what that means…?”

“Anole, I’ll have you know I was the one that came up with the idea to implant the desire to kiss those with mistletoe in all the humans,” She said dripping with exposition, “And I was certainly present when us psychics added those triggers. So again, thank you for sharing, but I say you should go bother some humans with the news.”

Then all three of them pulled their trunks down.

Bobbing hard cocks, full of fertile semen to increase the mutant population, yet for some reason pointed at her. Not only that, all of them had a single plant on a string that was wrapped around their belly, letting the mistletoe hang right above their erections.

Their highly kissable erections.

“Oh, bugger…” Emma mumbled, sitting up from her seat to land on her knees in front of the boys. A deep pull of desire to kiss their cocks surging through the White Queen’s mind as their delicious smelling precum stained her nostrils, “How… how…?”

“Mrs Grey told us she got us an extra gift,” said Spyke, rubbing his glans against her nose and upper lip, “A trigger that makes the sexy as hell Emma Frost kiss any dick under mistletoe.”

That bitch. Even after all this time, even after winning Scott and being Mark’s favourite, Jean still liked to rub it in how much better she was. That bitch.

“Kissing and fucking the Markandans is super fun, but it’s every mutants dream to get Emma Frost’s lips on their dick!” said Spyke.

“You’re one of the main women I get Mrs Mystique to turn into when I get enough credits to afford her.” Agreed Anole.

“Well, Mrs Frost?”

“I’m… I’m one of Mark’s wives…”

“Jean said she’d take full responsibility for us if Mark gets mad. Not that he will.”

With a roll of her eyes and a begrudging accepting of fate, Emma began to suck the boys off. There were worse ways to spend time at Christmas than having three eager pricks in your face. Sour smells and groaning yells as Emma began to ring their bells.

The mistletoe trigger was just too powerful to get around. Jean had made the desire to suck cock far too strong for Emma to even want to bypass it. The whims of Christmas demanding she fully tongue kiss each of the mutant’s dicks for long drawn out minutes before switching to the next one. Swirling their tastes to every part of her pretty mouth, letting the length of mutant supremacy brush her uvula.

Each had their own quirks. Anole wanted to rest his hand on her head for ‘dominance’. Sunspot stood proud with arms behind his back. And Spyke seemed to prefer when Emma ran her tongue up the underside of his cock.

To get them to leave quicker, Emma undid her bra for the boys. Their long drawn out ‘ooo’s a testament to the size of the White Queen’s huge milky teats. Their endless bounciness, perfect tear drop shape, and cute poking nubbins would certainly make their orgasms quicken in pace. Their thrusts into her mouth seemed to agree with her hypothesis. Demanding groans, cocks getting closer together to shorten the amount of time she spent without a penis in her mouth, and bold precum smears across her delicate features.

It wasn’t long for Emma to get the first snowfall of a gooey white Christmas. Splattering cum across her face, hair, and tits. Slimy semen that should be filling Markandan wombs, now just making a mess of Emma’s body and day.

“Thanks, Mrs Frost!” Anole and Spyke cheered out, already rushing away after the deed had been done. At least the mistletoe was gone now, so she felt no compulsion to suck them off anymore. She also knew that she would now need to dip in the pool to clean herself off…

“Mrs Frost? Mrs Grey also wanted me to give you this. Merry Christmas.”

She gave a sharp glare up to the boy that had roughed up her throat. Swiping the card from his hands in a huff as Sunspot nodded and walked off his mates. They were going onwards to human cunts, while Emma had to deal with the card from this mutant one.

It wasn’t a thick envelope. Emma was very tempted to rip up the patronising Christmas card and just go back to her book while covered in semen. But out of the spirit of the holidays, she decided to at least read it first.

The card was one of Mark and all his wives together. A fairly common card for Markanda, but there was a level of sentimentality Emma had to see herself deified like this. She was allowed to lean against Mark’s shins for the picture, which was prime real estate for someone like her.

Inside there was a note:

Dear Emma,

Thanks for being a good sport for my Xmas prank. I wanted to give the boys something special, and help you get through the holidays with some mutant blowjobs.

‘How kind of her.’ Emma rolled her eyes.

I know you probably don’t think that’s much of a consolation prize though, so I went one better. You may know I’m the only one with access to Mark’s mind. I never usually do this, but I gave him a trigger, just for you. ‘During December, if Emma Frost holds mistletoe above her pussy then Mark will get the urge to fuck her hard without pulling out three times. Usable once a day in December.’

Lots of love,
Jean Grey xxx

…

Emma practically drooled at the note. She then noticed a piece of mistletoe that had popped off one of the boys and just lay there on the floor so invitingly.

‘That bitch,’ Emma smiled.

---

Santa Baby,
I hear you’ve got a mutant for me, tee hee,
I’m waiting in my bedroom for thee,
Santa Baby,
So bamf into my bedroom tonight.

Santa Baby,
Any mutant penis will do, so true!
Bred like Nakia or Shuri,
Santa Baby,
And hurry to Markanda tonight!

Think of all the men you could bring,
From tall to hairy fellows that I could make sing!
I’ve been loyal, you know I’ve been good,
Please bring me cocks or dicks or just some hard morning wood!

Santa Baby,
I smell your sulphur stench in the air, right there,
Oh my, is this my breeding stud for this year?
Santa Baby,
He’s gonna stuff my stocking all night~

Oh yeah!
Making babies!
Markanda’s breeding all through the night!

---

In a lavish Markandan home, the Dlamini family bustled with energy. Their chosen present, Ayanda, was the eldest daughter of the household—a stunning young woman with deep brown skin, full curves, and an eager smile. Her mother carefully oiled her body with scented balms, massaging her ample thighs and round hips as her younger siblings decorate her with ribbons, bells, and golden paint.

“You look beautiful, my daughter,” her mother said warmly, stepping back to admire her work. Ayanda’s body glistened in the candlelight, her breasts adorned with glittering ornaments, her hair braided and crowned with holly. She lied back on the ceremonial mattress, her legs spread wide, her pussy freshly shaved and adorned with a thin string of pearls.

“Will he really come, Mama?” Ayanda asked breathlessly, her heart pounding with anticipation.

“Of course, my love. The High Priest never forgets a worthy family.” Her mother leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You have done everything right. He will come.”

Her cousins and older brother watched with stupid grins and knowing eyes.

Her younger brother and sister peeked shyly around the corner, their wide eyes filled with wonder. “Will we see him, Mama?” the little girl asked, clutching her brother’s hand.

“No, little one,” the mother chided gently. “You must be asleep, or he won’t leave his blessing. Now, off to bed!”

The younger children giggled and scampered off, leaving Ayanda with her mother and the older youths of the family and the glow of the candles. They all soon retreated to their own rooms, leaving her to wait in breathless silence.

She waited for several hours, her neural implant buzzing and keeping her awake.

Ayanda lay on the ceremonial mattress in the center of the living room, her body anointed and adorned with festive care. Gold paint and ribbons highlighted her curves, her breasts were pushed high with gentle ties of holly and silk, and the pearls dangling at her hips swayed softly as she shifted in anticipation. Her legs were spread wide, her oiled skin gleaming under the light. Around her, offerings of fruit, wine, and gifts were carefully placed, all tokens of the family’s hope for the High Priest’s favor.

The Diamini patriarch moved silently through the house, pretending to inspect the candles but unable to resist stealing glances at his eldest daughter. Her body, prepared and glowing, was a feast of fertility and devotion, her soft moans of anticipation barely contained as she bit her lip and waited for the sacred arrival. The father’s throat was dry, his neural implant already active, recording everything under the guise of ensuring the family’s legacy.

The air in the room grows thick with tension, the flickering candlelight casting Ayanda’s body in a warm, golden glow. Then, with a soft bamf and a puff of brimstone, he appears.

The room momentarily filled with the tangy, otherworldly scent of sulfur. His blue fur glistened under the flickering candlelight, his lean body a perfect blend of demonic grace and mutant power. The fur-lined cape draped over his shoulders fell open, revealing his naked, sculpted form.His cock—massive and unmistakably mutant in its shape—hung heavily between his thighs, a testament to his mutant virility. The thick blue sheath at its base framed the length of his shaft, which mottled from a deep blue near the root to a flushed pink along its veiny, equine contours. It throbbed faintly with readiness, the sheer size of it casting long shadows on the floor, an offering of raw, primal dominance.

His glowing yellow eyes sweeped over Ayanda’s spread and decorated body, a devilish grin curling his lips.

“Frohe Weihnachten,” he said smoothly, his deep German accent sending shivers down her spine. “You have been a very good girl zis year, ja?”

“Yes, High Priest,” Ayanda whispered, her voice trembling with excitement.

“Good.” He stepped closer, his tail swishing behind him as he knelt beside her. “Zen let us make zis a Christmas to remember.”

Ayanda could only nod, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Nightcrawler’s tail slithered up her leg, the cool, silken touch sending shivers through her. He leaned down, his lips brushing her neck, trailing down to the delicate slope of her collarbone. She arched into him, her body tingling as his large, dexterous tri-fingered mutant hands explored every curve, every dip, and every swell of her form. His tail curled around her wrist, binding her gently, as his lips found her breasts, his tongue flicking expertly over her nipples.

“Please, High Priest. Bless me.”

With a slow, deliberate thrust, Nightcrawler eased himself into her, his girth stretching her inch by inch. Ayanda’s back arched off the mattress, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as he filled her completely. Her father stifled a gasp, his implant recording every detail—the way her painted breasts bounced with each thrust, the way Nightcrawler’s muscular hips moved with unrelenting precision, and the way his tail coiled possessively around her body.

Ayanda’s cries of ecstasy grew louder, filling the house and waking the children in their rooms. The older youths exchanged knowing grins, their excitement bubbling over as they pressed their ears to their doors, giggling at the unmistakable sounds of their relative receiving the High Priest’s blessing. The younger children, still innocent, simply smiled sleepily, murmuring to each other about how lucky their family was to be chosen.

In one bedroom, the middle sister, Dineo, pressed herself against the doorframe, her fingers buried between her thighs, circling and teasing herself as she listened. Her breaths came short and fast, her arousal pooling in the palm of her hand. Across the hall, another bedroom door cracked slightly, and behind it, the eldest niece grinned wickedly, rubbing a toy between her legs in slow, deliberate strokes as she waited for the first sounds of the ritual to fill the house.

In the hallway, the father stifled a groan as he slipped his hard penis from his pants and pumped himself, his cock leaking freely, a trail of seed dripping to the floor beneath him. He wasn’t alone; from the bedrooms, muffled gasps and moans echoed softly. Thandi, sprawled on her bed, was riding her buzzing toy shamelessly, her hips bucking as she imagined herself in her cousin’s place. In the other room, Dineo’s fingers plunged deeper, her free hand gripping her breast as she listened to Ayanda’s cries of ecstasy.

Meanwhile, in his bedroom, the twenty-year-old son lay sprawled on his bed, his ocular feed tuned to the feed from his father’s implant which he’d hacked long ago. His hand moved furiously over his shaft, his cock swollen and purple as he pumped himself into the damp sock clutched in his other hand.

The feed was crystal clear, every angle and detail captured in stunning resolution. He zoomed in on Nightcrawler’s cock, watching it disappear into his sister’s slick folds, her juices glistening on his length as he pulled back. The rhythmic slap of skin, the cries of pleasure, and the guttural growls of the High Priest filled his ears, pushing him closer to the edge.

Inside the living room, Nightcrawler was relentless, his thrusts deep and deliberate, his cock plunging into Ayanda’s soaked pussy as her screams filled the air. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his back as he drove her higher and higher.

Nightcrawler roared, his hips slamming into hers one final time as he came, his cock pulsing deep inside her. Ayanda’s body convulsed beneath him, her cries turning to sobs of pleasure as she clung to him. He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a gentle, reverent kiss.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered, his voice soft and velvety. And then, with a final flick of his tail and a soft bamf, he was gone, leaving Ayanda trembling and sated on the mattress.

---

“Thanks everyone, this really has been the best Christmas EVER~!”

Mark stretched out on his throne at a job well done.

Wakanda had changed a lot–perhaps a wild understatement at this point–but especially for this holiday he wanted to experience once more.

Presents had been shared, terrible sweaters had been worn, carols had been sung out from everyone in the country at once. It was a truly unifying moment for Markanda, especially as they’d surprised Mark by not singing anything dull like a Christmas Carol, but instead ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ by Nirvana. Other parts of Xmas had been thoroughly corrupted for Mark’s enjoyment too. Party games replaced with strip games, presents mostly consisting of a new Mark-sized dildo, and he’d seen the video footage of Nightcrawler bringing mutant men ‘down the chimney’ to waiting Markandan women.

There were nice moments of change as well. The turkey had been spiced to high heaven with the proper Markandan cooks that Mark had grown to absolutely love. Way better than the bland food back home. And speaking of, his mother and father had been brought to the grand table to enjoy thier sons company for once. Not that they were barred, but the quiet life away from Gods and Kings suited them best, and Mark understood that. They were always happy to say how proud they were of him though. Ramonda also got her seat, with T’Challa and Shuri nearby at their food bowls. With Nakia and his other wives taking up the majority of the other seats, even if one was suspiciously empty.

Overall, he felt like it was his favourite Christmas ever. Right now just sitting back with a crummy movie playing over the old Wakandan walls while he snuggled up with both Jean and Betsy. Other members of his council lounging or fucking or talking or eating. A proper Christmas party that Mark had never really ever enjoyed before.

Maybe, if he was **** to admit it, this whole affair was just a way to celebrate the people he cared about in one of the few ways he knew how. It may be too warm for the season, but Iceman was still providing a light coating of snow outside for him to just pretend this all meant something.

It was the most wonderful time of the-

“Oh, I think it’s time, my King!”

Mark blinked at Shuri. She’d just received a message in her periphery vision then ran up to him excitedly, “...hm?”

“Your final Christmas present! It is here! Come, come! We must go now!”

“But the movie-”

“The movie can wait, Mark.” Said a surprisingly defiant Jean, ushering him to follow the naked genius, “Hurry! Go with Shuri!”

Knowing not to go against her of all people, Mark got up from his chair in bafflement, “Oookayyy?”

The King of Markanda followed her out of his bustling throne room and into the maze of the palace. Following her down many corridors and stairways and wishing that Shuri would just tell him what was happening. Was any present worth this much walking? He could make her tell him… but for Christmas’ sake he decided not to.

Finally they began to approach Shuri’s lab, with a one-eyed man standing guard outside.

“Mark! You’re just in time!” Beamed Scott, wrapping his muscular arms around his master’s body briefly before saluting to attention, “Sorry sir, I was just so happy for you I couldn’t stop myself!”

“What the crap is happening?!” growled Mark.

“They’re just inside.”

“WHO?!”

“Just go in!”

In a frustrated huff, Mark stomped himself through the doorway.

Only to lose all notion of anger in an instant.

“W-wuh… whuuuhh…?” He failed to form words at the sight. Such radiant beauty had never befallen his eyes before. Mark swore he’d mind control a poet next, just to give proper words to his thoughts. “...Ororo?”

“Mark…” A very tired looking woman smiled at him, having only enough strength to lift a head, “Come meet our son. The first born son of Markanda.”

Mark’s heart was pounding in his chest. Looking between Ororo, their son, and the doctors in the room as well. Shuri and Cyclops were both beaming in pride. Kurt was also in the room, dressed in his priest robes, seemingly at the ready for something, but Mark didn’t care. Slowly he shifted his heavy feet over to his first wife, and the tiny little creature she was holding up.

It was incredible. The way it moved, kicking around in understandable confusion, barely able to open its newly formed eyes. Soft little skin bunching up, in a shade halfway between him and his wife, all as it snuggled tightly against the X-Woman’s shoulder blade. “A son… an actual child…” Mark mumbled. His heart beating wildly, feeling like it was growing three sizes at the sight of him as everything became slightly more real. Reaching down, he placed a single finger near the boy who suddenly grabbed him with tiny strength and refused to let go, “It’s beautiful ‘Ro…”

“We made him together, Mark,” she smiled at him, earning a passionate kiss for her hard work, “Mm, I love you.”

“I love you too… what are we going to name him?”

“Mark the Second?” Suggested Cyclops.

“Or ‘Better T’Challa’!” Shuri joked.

“If I may,” said Kurt, stepping forwards to the happy couple, “Mutant powers can sometimes be generational gifts. My blue mother and teleporting father managed to create my fine furry form. So, it stands to reason zat we may be looking at a boy that can control both the clouds and ze people beneath them. From the Latin for ‘speech’ I suggest: Orarion.”

“Orarion… I like it.”

Mark nodded at his wife’s agreement, “Yeah, it’s fancy. I can see myself bequeathing my throne to King Orarion one day. Though I do want to name one of my kids Mark 2.”

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities for that. Including from me,” Storm purred, dragging him down for another kiss.

The scene panned away from the couple and their child. Friends and wise men surrounding them, on this the holiest of nights. Nightcrawler smiled at the scene. His God and his first son, born on Christmas day. Now this was a nativity.