#He snapped. He was so triggered that he snapped.

[hoshifighting]

Pls give me never-jealous nonchalant bf! woozi getting triggered over y/n complimenting some other flirty man's voice at a party so they ended up having bathroom fun. Pls pls pls

nonchalant bf!woozi getting jealous and fucking you in the club

PREVIEW: “you think his voice’s pretty, huh?” he growled against your mouth. “wait till i’m moaning in your ear. bet you won’t think about his voice then.” you swear you almost blacked out right there. WARNINGS: smut, explicit language, degradation, rage sex, dirty talk, jealousy, penetrative sex, jihoon moaning, body fluids (cum), a bit of after care,

you didn’t think twice when the bartender slid both drinks across the counter, his smile a little too wide and his voice dripping in that syrupy charm that bartenders seemed to have on tap. he’d just finished explaining the entire menu to you like you were clueless—which, okay, you kinda were, but you could’ve done without the unnecessary flirting. whatever. you were polite, thanked him, and took your drinks to find jihoon.

the second you slid his glass onto the sticky table, you mentioned it casually. “the bartender’s got a pretty voice,” you said, not even sparing him a glance as you adjusted your skirt.

jihoon’s shoulders went rigid under his thin-ass shirt, so translucent it might as well be a goddamn window. his jaw ticked, and his eyebrows furrowed in that way that screamed i’m not jealous, but i’m absolutely fucking jealous. you could see it so clearly, like a red-hot thermometer climbing from his sneakers to the tips of his ears.

you kept talking like nothing happened, but internally, you were screaming. this wasn’t new—jihoon getting all worked up was practically a bi-weekly event—but every time he let his emotions slip? it was game over for you.

“babe,” he cut you off sharp as he grabbed your wrist, his palm burning against your skin. before you could even register what was happening, he was weaving you through the crowd, dragging you along like a man on a mission. his grip softened slightly when he remembered your ridiculous high heels, but he didn’t stop until he’d hauled you into the dingy club bathroom.

the second the door slammed shut, his lips were on yours, hot and furious. he kissed like he was trying to brand you, his hands greedy as they gripped your waist, then slid down to squeeze your ass.

“you think his voice’s pretty, huh?” he growled against your mouth. “wait till i’m moaning in your ear. bet you won’t think about his voice then.” you swear you almost blacked out right there.

“babe—”

his hand tangled in your hair, tugging it harshly enough to make your head tilt back. “nah, don’t stop now. keep talkin’ about other guys while i’m right here.”

your lipstick was completely fucked, smeared all over your mouth and probably his too. his other hand found your chest, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. you were melting, your panties already a lost cause.

“you’re so fucking easy, one kiss, and you’re dripping, hm? bet you’d let me fuck you right here if i wanted.”

before you could even catch your breath, his thigh slid between yours, pressing right on your cunt, making the wet panties slide uncomfortably through your folds. his grip on your hips was firm grounding you down against him.

“ride it.” his voice cutting through the haze clouding your brain.

your head snapped up, eyes wide in disbelief.

jihoon almost laughed at your stunned expression, the corner of his mouth twitching, but his grip on your hair tightened, yanking your face closer to his. “did i fucking stutter?” he bit out, his eyes blazing. “i said, ride. it.”

a shaky breath escaped you as you tried to move, but the friction was almost nothing. his thigh was solid beneath you, unyielding, and the way he watched you like he was eating every little reaction, made you almost embarrassed.

“that’s it,” he encouraged, his hands gripping your waist to guide your movements. “show me how bad you want it.”

you whimpered, head falling against his shoulder, the dirty bathroom and the muffled bass of the club fading into the background. jihoon leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “you’re suck a needy whore. getting off on my thigh like a desperate little thing. bet you’re soakingmy jeans right now.”

you couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped, loud and shameless, and jihoon groaned, his grip tightening. “yeah, that’s it. don’t hold back now. let everyone hear who’s making you feel this good.”

your fingers tangled in his hair, desperate and trembling, tugging hard enough to make him hiss. his reaction was immediate—his hands shot up to grab your wrists, pinning them against the edge of the sink, his grip firm but not cruel.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growled, his chest pressing hard against yours as you arched into him, helpless and needy.

“jihoon,” you whimpered, your voice cracking as your face scrunched, tears threatening to spill. “i—i can’t—”

he paused, his jaw clenching as his eyes searched your face. “you can’t what?”

your lip quivered, your breath hitching as you choked out, “i need you. so bad, jihoon, it hurts.”

his expression shifted, his grip on your wrists loosening just slightly as he turned you around, pressing your chest against the sink. his hand slid down your back, as he kicked your legs apart. the panties were roughly pulled to the side. “then stop fucking whining and take it.”

the first thrust was brutal, and you cried out, your hands flying to grip the edge of the sink as the tears finally spilled over as your pussy couldn't even clench with the sudden penetration, your ears getting stuffed. jihoon groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he set a punishing pace.

“crying already? don’t tell me it’s too much.”

you sobbed when your mind came back, he yanked your hair, pulling your head back so he could see your face in the mirror. he watched the tears stream down your cheeks. “so fucking pretty when you cry.”

“hoon—!”

his teeth scraped against your ear cartilage, adn he bit down just hard enough to make you whimper, and then he exhaled—a low, shaky sound that turned into a soft moan, right in your ear.

his grip on your hair faltered for half a second, his strength stuttering, but he didn’t let go. instead, his moans got louder, the pitch rising with every thrust. they weren’t loud, but they were wrecked, so wrecked—whiny and breathless, like he was struggling to keep himself together.

“taking me so good—ah—fuck.”

you were gone. your vision blurred, spiraling in and out as the alcohol and pure lust made your knees buckle. every single one of his whiny, broken ah-ah’s sent a fresh wave of heat through your belly, clenching so hard around him it felt like you might snap.

his lips brushed your ear again, warm and damp, and he groaned—this high-pitched, desperate sound that had you dripping, the slickness already making a mess of your thighs. your breathing was ragged, chest heaving against the sink, and your legs were barely holding you up. if it weren’t for jihoon’s insane strength—his arm locked tight around your waist—you would’ve collapsed already.

“jihoon—” you sobbed, your voice weak, breaking apart at the edges. “i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” he growled, but then he moaned again, and it wasn’t just a sound. it was a melody—needy, and drawn out, his voice cracking in the middle like he couldn’t take it either.

you whimpered, your vision tunneling as the orgasm built, white-hot and relentless. your body trembled violently, your nails clawing at the edge of the sink.

“fuck, i can feel you,” he gasped, his voice strangled. “you’re so fucking close, aren’t you? you’re squeezing me so tight—shit—gonna come?”

and then he whined—the most broken, helpless sound you’d ever heard, right against your ear—and you completely fell apart. your body seized, a sob ripping from your throat as the orgasm crashed into your.

jihoon groaned, his voice cracking as he followed you, his thrusts erratic and desperate, his forehead pressed against your shoulder as he panted and moaned, completely destroyed by the way you fell apart for him.

cleaning up was almost comedic, if you weren’t both still reeling from the mess you’d made of each other. jihoon tried to reach for the shitty paper dispenser, one arm still holding your waist to keep you from sliding off the sink. your upper body was basically draped over the cold marble, your legs trembling so much you couldn’t stand without him.

“can you—shit—can you move?” his hand smoothed over your rumpled skirt, trying to fix it, but it was pointless.

you groaned, your cheek smushed against the your arm. “i literally can’t. my legs are fucking noodles.”

jihoon huffed a laugh, his breath still uneven. “guess you’ll just have to stay like that.”

someone knocked on the door, hard and impatient, and jihoon’s head snapped up, his brows furrowing. “occupied!” he barked, his voice sharp enough to make whoever it was pause. when the knocking didn’t stop, he rolled his eyes and snapped, “shut the fuck up! we’ll be out when we’re out.”

you let out a weak laugh, still sprawled over the sink. “god, you’re so aggressive.”

“yeah, well, they’re annoying...” he sulked.

finally, when your legs felt a little less like jelly, you managed to push yourself up, leaning heavily on him for support. jihoon grumbled under his breath, reaching for the paper again, and this time, he managed to grab a handful.

he crouched slightly, his hands surprisingly gentle as he wiped your thighs clean, his lips quirking into a smirk when you flinched. “still sensitive, hmm?”

“shut up,” you mumbled, swatting weakly at his shoulder.

once he’d done his best with the paper towels—which, honestly, wasn’t much—he stood up, brushing your skirt down and tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “you good?”

you nodded, still a little dazed but steady enough to manage. “yeah. i think.”

he hummed, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip as he opened the bathroom door, ignoring the dirty looks from the small line that had formed outside. “what?” he snapped, his glare daring anyone to say a word.

[pandapetals]

New Beginnings

Eight months after the miscarriage, Logan finds something that brings both of you hope.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, angst, miscarriage mentioned, found family, mentions of death and blood, some fluff towards the end, trigger warning

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

Everything was a blur as Logan ran alongside Ororo through the smoldering remains of the village. The anti-mutant group had left their mark—fires burning through homes, screams echoing in the distance, blood staining the streets. Logan had seen carnage before, more times than he cared to remember, but it never got easier. No matter how many times he witnessed it, the devastation always gnawed at something deep inside him.

“Just get as many people out as possible!” Scott yelled as he dashed past, ushering a group of frightened kids toward safety.

Ororo nodded, extending her arms to summon rain that hissed and sizzled as it met the persistent flames. Logan stood beside her, silent, his keen senses scanning the chaos. But then he heard it—a sound so faint it almost slipped past him. A small, muffled cry.

“Logan, let’s move—” Ororo began, but she stopped when she saw his head snap in the direction of the sound.

"Go on without me," Logan muttered his attention already pulled away.

“Logan—where are you going?” Ororo called, but he barely raised a hand in acknowledgment as he started walking, his steps heavy yet purposeful. The sound���it was faint, a whisper through the destruction—was tugging at him, leading him.

He wove through the ruins, stepping over charred wood and shattered glass, his ears straining. The crying grew clearer the closer he got until he found himself standing in front of a small wooden cabin, or what was left of it. Half of it had collapsed, the other half barely standing, its roof caved in. The cold air rushed through the broken walls, carrying with it the faint sound of a baby crying.

Logan’s breath hitched, a flicker of something unnameable settling in his chest. 

Carefully, he stepped through the doorway, scanning the wreckage. The floor was littered with debris—splintered wood, shattered dishes, a child’s toy half-melted from the fire. His sharp eyes caught sight of a small, woven basket tucked under what remained of a scorched bedframe.

He knelt, heart pounding against his ribs as he reached for the basket. The crying grew louder as he pulled it free. Peeling back the tattered, soot-streaked blanket, he froze.

Inside was a baby—a tiny girl with chubby, tear-streaked cheeks, her face scrunched up as she wailed. She looked so small and fragile. Logan’s breath caught as he gently scooped her into his arms, his large hands cradling her with a care that might’ve shocked anyone who knew him. Her cries quieted almost immediately, her big, watery eyes blinking up at him.

Logan’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. She had stopped crying the second she was in his arms as if some instinct told her she was safe. She blinked again, and for a moment, Logan swore he saw something familiar in her gaze—those wide, hazel eyes, flecked with gold, looking at him like she knew him.

“No… can’t be,” he muttered, shaking his head. His jaw clenched, and he tore his eyes away from hers, staring instead at the blanket she’d been wrapped in. It was ragged and soot-stained, but it smelled faintly of home—of parents who were nowhere to be found.

The weight of the moment pressed down on him. He wasn’t sure if it was the chaos still raging outside, the vulnerability of the little girl in his arms, or the haunting ache of all the children and families he hadn’t been able to save over the years, but something inside him cracked. His protective instincts surged to the surface, raw and overwhelming.

“You’re alright now,” he muttered softly almost as if he were trying to convince himself. His thumb brushed gently over her tiny hand, which instinctively curled around his finger. The baby let out a soft coo, and Logan felt something unfamiliar bloom in his chest.

Ororo’s voice broke the moment as she called from outside. “Logan!”

He turned toward the door, the baby tucked securely in his arms, her little head resting against his chest. “Found somethin’,” he called back, his voice thick with emotion he didn’t quite know how to process yet.

When Ororo stepped inside and saw him holding the baby, her eyes widened in surprise. “Logan…”

“She’s alone,” he said, his voice quieter now, his gaze locked on the infant. “No parents. Nothin’. Just her.” His jaw tightened, a protective growl almost slipping out as he added, “I’m not leavin’ her.”

Ororo’s expression softened, her eyes lingering on Logan in a way that spoke of quiet surprise. Logan stood there, cradling the baby like he’d been doing it his whole life, though his jaw was tight, and his eyes betrayed the storm of conflict raging inside him.

“Alright,” Ororo said gently, her voice pulling Logan from his thoughts. “We’ll see if anyone knows anything.”

Logan gave a curt nod, his hands instinctively tightening their hold on the tiny bundle in his arms. He didn’t mean to grip her so protectively, but the thought of letting her go—even for a moment—sent a pang of unease through him. “Yeah,” he murmured though a strange tenderness lingered in it.

As they stepped out of the ruined cabin together, the chaos in the village had begun to quiet, but the air was still heavy with smoke and the low hum of grief. Logan’s gaze dropped to the baby, her face now peaceful as she slept soundly against his chest. She looked so small, so fragile, and yet she had somehow calmed the moment he’d held her. Her tiny hand curled against his finger like it was her lifeline. He swore, just for a second, that her tiny features reminded him of you.

He shook his head, his brows furrowing. Get a grip, Logan. This wasn’t his kid. This baby was someone else’s, a victim of this senseless attack, and yet... the pull he felt in his chest was undeniable. Protective, raw, and something deeper he couldn’t quite put into words.

When they reached the center of the village, Scott was standing among the survivors, his arms crossed, his expression tense as he organized the final efforts to evacuate. He turned at the sound of their footsteps, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed the small figure cradled in Logan’s arms.

“What’s that?” Scott asked, his voice tinged with confusion as he nodded toward the baby.

Logan’s jaw tightened, but it was Ororo who answered. “Logan found her in one of the cabins on the edge of the village. Did anyone mention a missing baby?” Her eyes scanned the area, her brow furrowed as if hoping someone would rush forward with answers.

Scott shook his head, his expression grim. “No, everyone I helped didn’t mention anything about a baby. Most of the families I spoke to are accounted for.” He paused, his gaze flicking to the baby. “We can take her back to the mansion. Maybe the Professor can help us figure out where she belongs.”

Logan nodded silently, though his grip on the baby didn’t loosen. As much as he hated to admit it, the idea of letting someone else figure this out twisted something deep inside him. She’d stopped crying the moment he’d picked her up, and the thought of handing her off to someone else made his stomach churn. But this wasn’t about him.

“Here, let me,” Logan said, shifting slightly as if to pass the baby to Ororo. “I’ll stay behind, make sure there’s no one else in the village.”

But the moment Ororo’s arms brushed against the baby, her eyes fluttered open, and she let out a piercing wail, her tiny face scrunching up in distress. Logan froze, his heart squeezing at the sound.

“I don’t think she wants that,” Ororo joked softly, her gaze softening as she watched the baby squirm in Logan’s arms.

Logan huffed, his frustration barely masking the tug of something warmer. “Well, I can’t just take her with me,” he argued, though his words lacked their usual bite.

Scott stepped forward, holding his hands out. “Here, let me. Nathan loves it when I hold him. Babies can sense calm.” He smirked, clearly teasing Logan.

Scott took the baby, her cries only growing louder as her tiny fists flailed in protest. Logan’s lips twitched into half a smirk, half a grimace. “Guess calm doesn’t work with everyone, huh, Summers?” he said, his tone edged with dry humor.

Scott’s confidence faltered as he handed the baby back quickly, muttering, “Alright, fine. Not a fan of me, I get it.”

The baby quieted instantly as she nestled back into Logan’s chest, her tiny body curling against his like it was the only place she wanted to be. Logan blinked, staring down at her in disbelief.

“I think she likes you,” Ororo said with a knowing smile, her voice teasing but gentle.

Logan looked down at the baby, his rugged face softening. Her little hand reached out, gripping his finger again, and his throat tightened. “Well,” he muttered, his voice thick, “I can’t exactly blame her. I’m the only one here who knows how to carry her right.”

Ororo chuckled, sharing a look with Scott, an unspoken understanding between them. They saw it too—the way Logan held her, the way he softened just a fraction when she looked at him. This wasn’t just about finding the baby’s family anymore. Something had shifted.

Logan glanced back at the baby one last time before nodding toward the jet. “Alright,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Let’s take her back. The Professor will figure somethin’ out.”

Logan stepped onto the Blackbird, the weight in his arms felt heavier than it should’ve. The baby had settled back into his chest. Her steady breathing was the only sound cutting through the distant echoes of the chaos they had left behind in the village.

But Logan’s thoughts weren’t on the charred ruins or even on the anti-mutant group they had been sent to stop. His mind was spiraling—back to you, back to the loss you had both endured, back to the raw, untended wound that still lingered between you.

What if this baby—so fragile, so small—triggered those memories for you? What if taking her back to the mansion opened up wounds you were still healing from? 

Logan’s jaw tightened, his usual resolve cracking under the weight of his thoughts. He wasn’t sure he could take seeing that look in your eyes again—the same look you’d had when you sobbed in his arms after the miscarriage. The memory hit him like a punch to the gut, and he instinctively held the baby a little closer, as if shielding her from his fears.

“Logan,” Scott’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He was standing near the cockpit, his expression unreadable but pointed. “You coming or are you planning to stay out there?”

Logan grunted in response, moving to take a seat near the back of the jet. He avoided Scott’s gaze, focusing instead on the baby in his arms as she stirred slightly. He muttered something low, soothing, and she settled again, her tiny face pressing against his chest.

Scott didn’t move. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned slightly against the edge of the cockpit door, watching Logan for a moment longer than Logan was comfortable with.

“What?” Logan finally snapped, his voice low but tinged with frustration.

Scott raised an eyebrow, then pushed off the door and walked closer, his movements slow and deliberate. “You’re worried,” he said simply, his tone unusually neutral.

Logan scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t get worried, Summers.”

“Right,” Scott said dryly, taking a seat across from him. “And yet, you’re holding that baby like the world’s about to come for her any second.”

Logan’s grip instinctively tightened, his knuckles going white against the edge of the blanket. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice betrayed him.

Scott’s gaze softened, surprising Logan enough to look up. “It’s okay, you know,” Scott said quietly. “To care. To worry. It doesn’t make you weak, Logan.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hazel eyes narrowing as he tried to deflect. “You sound like Chuck now. I don’t need a lecture, Summers.”

Scott leaned back, his arms crossing loosely. “I’m not giving you a lecture. I’m just saying… I’ve been there.”

Logan’s brows furrowed, his confusion clear even through his gruff exterior.

“With Nathan,” Scott continued, his voice lower now. “When Jean and I were expecting him… I was terrified. I didn’t think I’d be enough for him, for her. After we lost the first one…” He paused, swallowing hard as his usually stoic mask cracked just slightly. “I thought the grief would break us. But it didn’t. We were okay. Eventually.”

Logan’s throat tightened. He looked down at the baby, who was now peacefully dozing against him. “What if she’s not okay?” he asked finally, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. “What if we’re not?”

Scott’s expression softened further. “You and I both know you’re tougher than that, Logan. And so is she. You’ve been through hell and back, and you’re still here. You’ll make it work.”

Logan’s gaze flicked up to meet Scott’s, a rare moment of unspoken understanding passing between them. Scott’s words didn’t fix the knot of fear twisting in his chest, but they helped loosen it—just enough to breathe.

With a quiet grunt, Logan looked down at the baby, his thumb brushing lightly against her tiny fist. “She stopped crying the second I picked her up,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Like she knew…”

Scott nodded slowly. “Maybe she does.”

Logan didn’t respond, his thoughts already drifting back to you. He could picture your face, the way your eyes lit up when you smiled, the warmth you brought into his life without even trying. He couldn’t shake the worry that bringing this baby home would remind you of what you’d lost. But deep down, there was a small, fragile hope—a flicker of light in the darkness—that this could also be something new. Something healing. Something for both of you to hold onto.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair before meeting Scott’s gaze again. “You better not tell anyone about this conversation.”

Scott smirked faintly, his usual smugness tempered by something softer. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

As the Blackbird took off, Logan sat quietly, the baby cradled against his chest. He didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time in months, he was willing to hope. When the mansion came into view, he tightened his hold on the baby, his resolve hardening.

Whatever came next, he’d face it—with you by his side. Because if this little girl was meant to find him then maybe she was meant to find both of you.

𓂃

Once inside the mansion, the tension in Logan’s chest seemed to grow heavier, the walls of the grand space pressing in on him as he cradled the tiny baby against his chest. Scott, Ororo and he stood in the living room, the warmth of the fire in the nearby hearth doing little to ease the weight of the moment.

Jean entered moments later, little Nathan trailing behind her with his usual boundless energy. Her steps faltered slightly when her gaze landed on the baby nestled in Logan’s arms, her expression shifting from surprise to a tender understanding.

“We found her abandoned,” Scott explained, scooping Nathan into his arms when the boy tried to dart toward Logan and the baby, clearly curious. Nathan giggled, squirming in his father’s grasp, oblivious to the tension in the room.

Jean’s eyes softened as they flicked between Logan and the baby, her voice gentle. “She must be hungry. I have some formula left upstairs. I’ll go prepare a bottle.”

Logan gave her a quick nod of thanks, though his eyes never left the baby. As Jean disappeared up the stairs, Ororo stepped closer, her gaze calm and reassuring. “Logan, you need to go talk to her,” Ororo said softly, her hands reaching out to take the baby from his arms.

Logan’s grip instinctively tightened for just a second before he forced himself to let go, his jaw clenching. The baby squirmed as Ororo carefully cradled her, a small cry already forming on her lips. Logan winced at the sound, his protective instincts kicking in again, but Ororo gave him a pointed look. “The baby will be fine, Logan. Go.”

He hesitated, his boots rooted to the floor, but finally nodded, running a hand through his hair before turning toward the hallway that led to your shared room. Each step felt heavier than the last, his mind racing. What if you couldn’t handle this? What if it brought back everything you’d been trying so hard to move past? The thought of hurting you again made his chest tighten.

When he reached the door to your room, Logan paused, his hand resting on the doorknob as if it weighed a thousand pounds. With a deep breath, he finally stepped inside. 

You were sitting at your desk, fingers flying over your keyboard, a mess of papers scattered around you. The faint glow from your laptop illuminated your face, and despite the chaos of the workspace, Logan couldn’t help but feel a flicker of calm at the sight of you.

Your eyes darted up when you heard him, a teasing smile spreading across your lips as you stood. “I was wondering when you’d get back. Started to worry,” you joked, walking over to him. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before pulling back, your hands brushing his arms. “And look at that, you made it back in one piece.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a faint smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The usual gruff confidence you knew so well had been replaced by something uncertain. The shift in his demeanor made your smile fade as you studied him.

“What’s wrong?” you asked gently, your tone laced with concern as you searched his face for an answer.

Logan let out a slow breath, pulling a hand free to rub the back of his neck. “We… found somethin’—someone—on the mission,” he began, his voice low and steady. “A baby. She was abandoned in one of the cabins. There was no sign of her parents… no one claimed her.”

Your heart sank at his words, your body teasing. “A baby?” you whispered.

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again. “I didn’t know what to do, so we brought her back here. She… she’s just a baby, sweetheart. Tiny. Fragile.” His voice wavered slightly, and he took a step closer to you. “When I picked her up, she stopped cryin’. Like she… trusted me or somethin’. I don’t know. It messed with my head.”

Your chest tightened as you watched him, his usual gruff demeanor softened. “Logan…” 

He held up a hand, cutting you off gently. “Look, I don’t want to push anything on you. I don’t want you to think I’m hopin’ for somethin’ or tryin’ to replace what we lost. That ain’t it. I just…” He trailed off, his gaze flicking to the door as if he could still hear the baby’s faint cries. “I needed to tell you. I needed you to know. But if this is too much���if you don’t wanna see her—I’ll understand.”

The room was filled with silence, the weight of his words settling between you. You felt a storm of emotions swirling inside you—grief, confusion, a flicker of something you didn’t dare name yet. “I don’t know, Logan,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can handle it. What if…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, your throat tightening.

“You’re stronger than you think, darlin’,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “And I’m not gonna let you go through this alone. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together. But you need to see her. Just… see her. That’s all I’m askin’.”

You searched his eyes, seeing the quiet plea there, the vulnerability he rarely let show. Finally, you nodded, your voice barely audible. “Okay.”

Logan’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he gave your hands a gentle squeeze. “She’s with Ororo,” he said, his voice steadier now. “She’s… somethin’ else. I think you’ll see what I mean.”

Logan took your hand, his grip firm but tender, as you both descended the stairs. The silence between you was heavy with unspoken thoughts. You couldn’t ignore the flicker of uncertainty stirring in your chest. This was just a baby, you reminded yourself, but the way Logan talked and acted… it felt like something more, something that scared you. What if this was just another path to disappointment? What if the cracks in your heart grew deeper with hope that led nowhere?

Logan glanced at you, his hazel eyes soft, but they carried their own storm. You couldn’t tell who he was trying to reassure more—himself or you. The way he held your hand told you he was wrestling with the same doubts, the same fears.

When you entered the living room, the sight hit you like a wave. Jean sat on the couch, cradling the baby girl in her arms as she gently fed her a bottle. Nathan sat beside her, his wide, curious eyes fixated on the infant. The scene was warm, peaceful even, but it stirred something deep within you.

Jean looked up as you walked in, offering a soft, warm smile. "She’s doing better now," she said, her voice quiet, as if not to disturb the fragile calm. "She’s not crying anymore."

Logan’s presence shifted, his protectiveness already kicking in as he moved closer. “She was screaming her head off earlier,” he said, his voice gruff but lined with tenderness. His eyes were locked on the baby as though she were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

Jean chuckled, adjusting the bottle in the baby’s mouth. "She was until I gave her this," she said, glancing down at the little girl with a fond expression. Then she looked back at Logan, her smile fading slightly, replaced by something deeper. “But I can sense something else. She… wants you, Logan.”

Jean stood, moving to hand the baby to him, but Logan hesitated, his eyes darting to you like he needed your permission. You froze, your breath catching in your throat as your gaze locked onto the baby. There was something about her, something undeniable. You told yourself it was just your mind playing tricks, your heart reaching for something it shouldn’t, but you couldn’t ignore the pull in your chest.

She looked… familiar, even though that was impossible. Her tiny face, soft and full of innocence, and her dark, thick hair—what little there was of it—felt like it belonged. Your throat tightened, and you weren’t sure if it was wonder or fear threatening to choke you.

“Sweetheart…” Logan’s voice broke through your daze, gentle but urging. He had crossed the room to stand in front of you, his body close enough to shield you from everything else. His hazel eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it felt like the two of you were standing on the edge of something monumental.

You slowly nodded and Logan reached out to take the baby from Jean. The moment his hands settled on her tiny frame, she stopped suckling on the bottle and looked up at him. Her wide, bright eyes blinked at Logan, and he swore his heart skipped a beat. They were strikingly similar to his own—soft hazel, framed with a kind of quiet wonder. He tried to convince himself it was just his mind playing tricks on him, a cruel echo of the past, but the connection he felt at that moment was undeniable.

“She looks at you like she already knows you,” Jean said softly, a faint smile on her lips. Her words carried a weight that sent a shiver down your spine.

Logan shifted his hold on the baby, his rough fingers brushing against her tiny hand. “I don’t—” He stopped himself, his voice cracking slightly. He glanced at you again, his vulnerability laid bare. "I don’t know what this is, but it feels… different.”

Jean cleared her throat, her expression shifting into something serious. “There’s something else,” she said, looking between the two of you. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier because I wasn’t sure, but… I’m picking up on something from her mind.”

You blinked, snapping out of your daze. “What do you mean?”

Jean’s gaze softened. “She’s a mutant,” she said gently. “It’s subtle, but it’s there. Her power—it’s healing. When she feels connected to someone, she can heal minor injuries. Cuts, bruises… even small aches.”

You stared at her, the words hitting you like a weight in your chest. Logan’s arms instinctively tightened around the baby, as if he were shielding her from a world that might hurt her. He looked down at the little girl, his thumb brushing gently against her tiny fist.

Healing. It was such a simple, beautiful gift. One that only deepened the pull you felt toward her. Your mind reeled, but somewhere beneath the chaos was a quiet, steady feeling that this—her—was meant to be.

Jean’s voice softened even more. “It happens unintentionally. She doesn’t control it yet, but… she just healed a scratch on Nathan’s arm. I think she’s been trying to connect with you, Logan.”

Logan swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he turned to you. His hazel eyes, filled with emotion, searched yours. “Do you… do you want to hold her?” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly.

You hesitated, your eyes flicking down to the baby nestled in Logan’s arms. She looked so tiny, so innocent, and yet the thought of holding her felt right. Slowly, you nodded, stepping closer.

Logan shifted carefully, cradling her as though she were made of glass before gently placing her into your waiting arms. The weight of her against you was lighter than you expected, yet it felt so significant, like holding something precious that could change everything. You looked down at her tiny face, her round cheeks flushed as her eyes fluttered open. For a brief moment, her gaze darted between Logan and you, her bright hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“She’s so precious,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you adjusted her against your chest. You held her cautiously, almost afraid to move, worried that any wrong gesture would disturb her fragile peace. Your heart hammered in your chest as you braced for her to cry or squirm.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her tiny hand moved from where it had rested near the bottle, her delicate fingers brushing against your shirt before gripping it with surprising strength. You froze, tears welling in your eyes as you felt her warmth against you. Her tiny lips curved into the faintest smile, and you swore it felt like your chest cracked open, all your reservations melting into the air.

“She must like you,” Logan said softly. He stepped closer, his hand brushing over your back as if grounding you both. “Because she wouldn’t even let Scott hold her.”

You let out a shaky laugh, a single sob escaping your lips as you looked down at her. “She’s perfect,” you whispered, cradling her closer. Her tiny fist tugged at your shirt again, and something about her touch sent warmth through you that was hard to describe—comforting, but also terrifying.

Logan reached out, his large, rough hand gently brushing against the baby’s cheek. She cooed softly, leaning into his touch before looking back at you. “See?” he said, his voice tinged with awe. “She’s trying to connect with you now.”

You didn’t respond, unsure of what to say. The weight of it all—the connection she seemed to have with both of you, the impossibility of the situation—felt overwhelming. You wanted to believe this was meant to be, but a flicker of fear lingered in your chest, whispering warnings of heartbreak and loss.

Before you could speak, footsteps approached, and Ororo and Scott entered the room. Ororo’s gaze softened the moment she saw the baby nestled in your arms, while Scott frowned slightly, his eyes flicking between you and Logan.

“What’s going on here?” Scott asked, crossing his arms as he studied the scene.

“She’s… connecting with them,” Jean explained gently, stepping aside to give them a better view. “I think there’s something more to this. She’s a mutant, and she’s already started to bond with Logan and… her.” Jean nodded toward you with a small smile.

Ororo stepped closer, her eyes warm as she looked at the baby. “She seems so at peace with both of you,” she remarked, her voice soft. “It’s like she knows.”

Logan reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as if to steady himself. “She won’t even let anyone else hold her,” he said, his tone a mix of pride and protectiveness. “It’s like… she chose us.”

Scott’s frown deepened, though there was no malice in his expression—only concern. “Look, I get it,” he said, his voice measured. “She’s a baby, and it’s easy to get attached. But you two need to be realistic. We don’t know anything about her parents, where she came from, or even why she was abandoned. This… this could get complicated.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, and you felt the tension in his grip. He was seconds away from snapping back, but before he could, Ororo placed a hand on Scott’s arm. “Scott,” she said gently, “just look at them.”

Scott’s eyes softened slightly as he glanced between you and Logan, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of understanding cross his face. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just saying… talk to the Professor first. Make sure this is something you both really want to pursue.”

You nodded, glancing down at the baby as she let out a soft coo. “We will,” you said quietly. “But… it’s hard to explain. It feels like she was meant to find us.”

Scott met Logan’s gaze, his expression shifting into something more sincere. “If this is what you both want, then… I hope it works out. Just don’t rush into it, okay?”

Logan nodded reluctantly, his protective instincts still flaring, but he squeezed your hand for reassurance. 

Ororo and Scott stepped back, giving you both some space as the baby let out a soft yawn, her tiny hand still gripping your shirt. Logan leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss against your temple. “She already loves you,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

You looked up at him, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Logan," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Scott’s right. We can’t just rush into this. We don’t even know if her parents are alive or—" Your words faltered, catching in your throat as the weight of the uncertainty pressed down on you.

Logan held your gaze, the flicker of emotion in his hazel eyes betraying the composed mask he was trying to maintain. He reached out, his rough hand gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I know,” he said softly. “I’m not sayin’ we just take her and call it a day. I just… I need to know. I need to be sure.”

You bit your lip, glancing down at the baby nestled in your arms. Her little chest rose and fell peacefully as she slept. The sight tugged at your heart, and yet, the weight of responsibility gnawed at the edges of your mind. You couldn’t let emotion cloud the bigger picture, no matter how much a part of you already felt tethered to her.

“Alright,” you finally murmured. “Let’s talk to the Professor.”

Logan nodded, his jaw tightening as if bracing himself for what was to come. He placed his hand lightly on your lower back, guiding you toward Xavier’s office. Every step felt heavier than the last as if the weight of the decision ahead pressed harder with each passing moment. Logan remained quiet, his usual gruffness replaced by an uncharacteristic tenderness, his hand never leaving your back.

When you reached the Professor’s office, Logan knocked once before pushing the door open. Xavier was already waiting, his hands folded in his lap, his expression calm yet curious. His gaze softened the moment he noticed the baby in your arms.

“I was wondering when you’d come to see me about the baby,” Xavier said, his voice soothing.

Logan furrowed his brow, his grip on your back tightening slightly. “You already know?” he asked.

Xavier gave a small smile, tilting his head slightly. “You can’t bring something so… profound into this mansion without me sensing it. Please, sit.”

You and Logan exchanged a glance before settling into the chairs in front of Xavier’s desk. The baby stirred slightly in your arms but didn’t wake. Logan leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together.

“We found her during the mission,” Logan began, his voice low but steady. “She was alone in a cabin. No sign of her parents, no one claimin’ her. Jean says she’s a mutant. She’s got some kind of… healing ability.”

Xavier’s eyes flickered with interest as he leaned forward slightly. “Healing, you say?”

Logan nodded, his jaw tightening. “She’s connected to us. She won’t let anyone else hold her without cryin’. It’s like…” He trailed off, struggling to put the inexplicable connection into words.

“Like she’s meant to be with you,” Xavier finished softly, his gaze shifting to you.

You swallowed hard, the knot in your chest tightening. “We just… we need to know if her parents are out there. If they’re alive. We can’t—” Your voice broke slightly, and Logan’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing soothing circles over your knuckles. “We can’t just assume it’s up to us.”

Xavier regarded you both for a long moment before nodding. “Of course. If her parents are still out there, it’s only right to find them. But to do so, I’ll need to delve into her mind, to see if there’s anything she remembers—even subconsciously.”

Logan tensed beside you, his protective instincts flaring. “Is that safe for her?” he asked, his tone edged with worry.

Xavier gave a reassuring smile. “It won’t harm her. I’ll only be looking for surface-level memories, nothing invasive.”

You hesitated before finally nodding. “Alright. If it helps us figure out where she belongs… do it.”

Xavier wheeled closer, his calm presence filling the room. He reached out gently, his fingers just brushing the baby’s forehead. For a moment, the room was silent, the air heavy with anticipation. Logan’s hand tightened around yours, his tension palpable as he watched the Professor.

Finally, Xavier’s eyes fluttered open, a mixture of emotions crossing his face. “Her parents…” he began, his voice tinged with sadness. “They called her Laura.” 

You felt your breath catch, the name settling in your chest like a quiet weight. “Laura,” you whispered, looking down at the baby in your arms. It felt right as if the name had always lingered in your mind. 

Logan’s jaw clenched, his protective instinct only growing stronger. “What happened to them?” he asked, his voice rough.

Xavier hesitated before continuing. “It wasn’t clear, but they were in danger. As you saw, the anti-mutant attackers destroyed their village. They were trying to protect her, keep her safe by hiding her.” He paused, “They…they loved her very much.” 

A tear slipped down your cheek as you looked at Logan, his expression a mixture of grief and determination. “So, what now?” you asked quietly.

Xavier straightened slightly. “I’ll use Cerebro to search for any other relatives or connections, but… if there’s no one else, the decision will fall to you.”

Logan’s hand tightened on yours, his hazel eyes meeting yours with an unspoken question. You felt the same pull you’d felt from the moment you held her—a sense that this was more than coincidence. It felt like fate.

𓂃

Logan and you sat side by side on the worn couch, the soft glow of a table lamp casting a warm light across the living room. In the bassinet beside you, Laura slept soundly, her tiny chest rising and falling with each delicate breath. The peaceful silence of the room felt surreal, as though the universe had pressed pause, just for the three of you. Neither of you had left her side since Logan had brought her into the mansion, and despite the chaos of the day, the thought of her being here had begun to settle into something strangely comforting.

You glanced down at your intertwined hands, your thumb idly tracing circles against Logan’s rough, calloused skin. “I–I don’t know how to put this,” you began, hesitating as the words lodged in your throat. You swallowed hard, glancing at Logan. “Is it… weird that I feel like she looks like us?” Your voice was soft, tinged with uncertainty.

Logan turned his head toward you, his hazel eyes catching yours. “It’s not weird,” he murmured. “When I found her, I thought the same thing.” He shifted slightly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I thought she looked like you—right from the start.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips, but it wavered. “And her eyes,” you whispered, glancing at the bassinet. The baby’s tiny hand had curled into a loose fist, resting against her cheek. “They mirror yours. It’s like… like she’s already part of us.”

Logan exhaled deeply, his free hand running through his hair. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he admitted. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, but this… it’s different.” He paused, his gaze shifting to Laura. “When I picked her up, it was like somethin’ in me just… clicked. Like I had to protect her. Like I couldn’t walk away, even if I tried.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your fingers squeezing his hand. “It feels so strange, doesn’t it? Like we’re meant to have her here but at the same time… I don’t want to let myself hope too much. What if it’s not meant to be?”

Logan tilted his head down, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. “I get it,” he murmured. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself either. But…” He hesitated, his voice faltering for a moment before he continued. “She’s here now. And she’s safe. That’s what matters.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but they weren’t entirely from sadness. “It’s comforting, isn’t it?” you said softly. “Like maybe… maybe this is how it was supposed to happen. I know it doesn’t make sense, but it feels like she’s already a part of us.”

Logan nodded, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. “It’s scary as hell,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But yeah… it feels right.” His eyes softened as he glanced at the bassinet again, his lips curving into a small tender smile. “She’s already got me wrapped around her little finger.”

You softly laughed, your voice laced with emotion. “She’s got me too,” you whispered, your head still resting against his shoulder.

“There you are,” Xavier’s calm, measured voice broke the silence as he wheeled into the room, his sharp eyes softening as they landed on the bassinet. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I see you’re both smitten by her.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, though the emotions flickering in his hazel eyes betrayed the vulnerability behind them. “Guess you could say that,” he said. He glanced down at the sleeping baby, gently stroking her cheek. “She’s got a way of growin’ on you.”

Xavier nodded knowingly, folding his hands in his lap as his expression grew more serious. “I’ve completed my search using Cerebro,” he began his tone gentle but laced with the weight of what he was about to say. “I… wasn’t able to locate her parents. From what I could glean, it seems they perished in the attack on the village.”

Your breath hitched, your hand instinctively moving to cover your mouth. Logan froze, his jaw tightening as he looked down at Laura, his thumb brushing softly over her small fist. The room seemed to hold its breath.

“There’s more,” Xavier continued, his gaze steady. “I reached out to some of the survivors from the village. They… were hesitant at first, but once they understood she was safe here, they gave their approval for her to remain at the mansion. They believe this is the best place for her.”

A mix of emotions swirled in your chest—grief for the loss of her parents, relief that the villagers had entrusted her to you, and something deeper that felt like fate settling quietly into place. 

“She’s really alone, isn’t she?” you whispered, your voice breaking as you looked at Logan.

Logan let out a heavy sigh, his grip on Laura’s tiny hand tightening ever so slightly as though he could shield her from the cruel reality of the world. “Not anymore,” he said firmly, his voice low but resolute. He looked up at Xavier, his gaze fierce. “She’s got us now.”

Your heart swelled at his words, a tear slipping down your cheek as you reached over to squeeze his free hand. “Logan,” you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion. “Are you sure?”

He turned to you, his expression softening as his thumb brushed your knuckles. “I’ve never been more sure of anything, sweetheart,” he said, his voice raw but filled with conviction. “I don’t know why, but… she feels like she’s already ours.”

Xavier watched the two of you quietly, his wise eyes filled with something akin to approval. “Raising a child is no small task,” he said after a moment. “But I see the love and determination in both of you. I have no doubt that Laura will thrive here under your care.”

Logan nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “We’ll do whatever it takes. She deserves a chance—a family.”

“And she’ll have one,” you added, your voice steadier now as you gently placed your hand on Laura’s tiny foot, marveling at how small and fragile she was. “We’ll make sure she’s safe and loved.”

Xavier’s smile returned, a quiet, knowing warmth radiating from him. “Then it’s decided,” he said simply. “Laura will stay here, and she will be raised with the love and care she deserves.”

Logan glanced down at Laura, taking her into his arms. She stirred slightly, her tiny fingers curling around the edge of his flannel shirt. He let out a soft chuckle, his voice a low rumble. “Looks like you’re stuck with us, kid.”

You laughed softly through your tears, leaning your head against Logan’s shoulder as you both gazed down at the baby girl who had already stolen your heart.

𓂃

You had never realized how fast time flew by until a week had blinked by, each day blurring into the next as you and Logan adjusted to life as new parents. Caring for Laura had turned your world upside down in the most beautiful, chaotic way. The first few days had been a scramble—borrowing whatever Jean and Scott had left over from when Nathan was a baby: oversized onesies that swallowed Laura’s tiny frame, an old bassinet, and some hand-me-down bottles. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked… until Logan decided to take matters into his own hands.

One evening, after realizing you were running low on baby supplies, Logan announced with a gruff determination that he was going to the store. You’d laughed at his insistence, thinking he’d return with just the basics. Instead, Logan came back armed like a man ready to conquer fatherhood: bags overflowing with formula, diapers, blankets, and enough baby clothes to fill an entire dresser.

“Logan,” you said, half-laughing as you rifled through one of the sacks, pulling out tiny shoes, a pack of pacifiers, and a set of colorful bibs. “I don’t think we need all of this. Did you leave anything in the store for anyone else?”

He smirked, leaning casually against the kitchen counter as if he hadn’t just wiped out an entire baby aisle. “Figured better safe than sorry, darlin’,” he said, crossing his arms, clearly proud of himself.

You paused when you pulled out a purple onesie with pandas on it. It was so adorable it made your heart squeeze. “Okay,” you murmured, holding it up. “Maybe we did need this one.”

Logan’s smirk softened into a grin, and he pushed off the counter to walk over to you, slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest. “Knew you’d like that one,” he murmured.

You tilted your head to look up at him, your smile growing as you held up the tiny panda onesie again for emphasis. “You’re such a big softy, you know that? You act all tough, but then you come home with this,” you teased.

Logan smirked, leaning down to press a warm kiss to your temple before resting his head on your shoulder. His arms around your waist felt protective, anchoring you in his steady presence.

“What? No comeback?” you quipped, arching a brow as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “Usually, you’d try to deny it. Something about your ‘gruff reputation’ or whatever.”

To your surprise, Logan didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, a small, genuine smile played on his lips as he glanced at the onesie in your hand. “Doesn’t bother me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Maybe I need to be soft for my girls.”

The simple words hit you like a wave, stirring something deep in your chest. My girls. The way he said it—so natural, so full of love—brought tears to your eyes before you could stop them. You quickly blinked, but Logan wasn’t one to miss much.

“Hey,” he said softly, tilting his head to look up at you, concern flickering in his hazel eyes as his arms tightened slightly around your waist. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, the tears threatening to spill as a soft laugh escaped you. “Nothing,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… hearing you say that.”

“Say what?” he pressed gently, his rough fingers brushing a stray tear from your cheek.

“‘My girls,’” you repeated, the words catching in your throat. “It just… it feels right. I don’t know, Logan. I didn’t think I could feel this happy again. Not after—” You paused, swallowing hard as the weight of everything you’d been through together settled between you.

Logan’s expression softened, and he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin. “You deserve to be happy, sweetheart,” he gently said. “We both do. And this… all of this? Feels right to me too.”

You leaned into his touch, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I love you,” you whispered, the words carrying every ounce of gratitude and affection you felt for him.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I love you too,” he said, his voice rough but tender.

You both stood there for a moment, wrapped up in each other and the quiet joy of the life you were building together. Nearby, Laura stirred in her bassinet, letting out a tiny, contented coo that made you both glance her way.

Logan chuckled softly, his hand moving to rest over yours on his chest. “Looks like someone’s tryin’ to remind us who’s really in charge around here,” he joked, his tone warm.

You laughed, wiping the last of your tears as you turned to look at Laura. “She’s already got you wrapped around her tiny little finger, doesn’t she?”

“Not just me,” Logan countered, raising a brow. “You’re just as bad.”

“Fair,” you admitted, leaning your head against his shoulder as you gazed at her. “But if being soft means loving her and you with my whole heart, I guess I’m okay with that.”

Laura’s soft cries broke the cozy quiet of the room, causing both you and Logan to freeze mid-conversation. Her tiny whimpers filled the space, and you immediately started to move, but so did Logan.

“I’ll get her,” Logan said gruffly, already reaching toward the bassinet.

“No way!” you countered, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “It’s my turn. You’ve been hogging her all day, Logan.”

“Hoggin’ her?” Logan repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in mock indignation. The corner of his mouth tugged into that familiar smirk, the one that told you he was about to start trouble. “Darlin’, I’m just better at keepin’ her calm. You know it.”

Your jaw dropped as you swatted his arm. “Excuse me? She literally fell asleep on me last night—not you, Mr. ‘Magic Touch.’”

Logan chuckled, a warm, low sound that sent a shiver down your spine even as you glared at him. “I’m just sayin’, sweetheart,” he teased, crossing his arms casually, “She knows who her favorite is.”

“Oh, please,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes at him as Laura’s cries softened into tiny whimpers, her big, round eyes blinking up at the two of you. She lay there, her little fists flailing as if she were judging the both of you for taking too long.

Logan knelt first, his large hands moving instinctively as he reached to scoop her up. “There, sweetie,” he murmured, his voice dipping into that rare softness he reserved for the two of you. Laura stopped whimpering almost instantly, her tiny hand gripping his finger like it was the only thing keeping her from crying.

You couldn’t help but feel your chest tighten at the sight. He looked so at ease with her, holding her close like she was the most precious thing in the world. But you couldn’t resist teasing him.

“Okay, tough guy,” you said, crossing your arms with a playful smirk. “Don’t think I didn’t notice her crying stopped the moment I got closer.”

Logan glanced up at you, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. “Is that so?” he rumbled, swaying gently as Laura let out a tiny coo. “’Cause from where I’m standin’, she looks pretty content right here.”

“Uh-huh,” you quipped, stepping closer and reaching out to take her. “Let me see my girl. You’ve had her glued to your chest for hours.”

Logan hesitated for a beat, his arms tightening ever so slightly around Laura. “Careful,” he said, his tone laced with a teasing edge. “You don’t have the ‘magic touch,’ remember?”

You rolled your eyes, gently easing Laura into your arms. “Watch and learn, Howlett,” you said, cradling her against your chest. She snuggled into you without protest, her little face scrunching up before settling into calm contentment. “See? I’ve got the magic touch and the magic cuddle.”

Logan let out a mock scoff, standing back up to his full height as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, though the faint grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. “Guess I’ll let you have this one.”

“You’re too kind,” you teased, swaying gently as Laura’s eyelids fluttered shut again. “But don’t think I didn’t see you hesitate.”

Logan smirked, his hazel eyes warm as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and full of affection. “I still love you.”

Your heart swelled as Laura nuzzled closer against you, her tiny hand gripping the fabric of your shirt. Logan’s hand came to rest at the small of your back, his thumb brushing slow, soothing circles.

“I think we’re doin’ alright at this parenting thing,” he murmured, his forehead resting against the side of your head.

“Yeah,” you whispered, looking down at the peaceful bundle in your arms. “We’ve got this, Logan.”

Logan let out a soft chuckle, his eyes fixed on you and Laura with a tender expression. “Damn right we do,” he agreed.

 𓂃

Later that night, the two of you sat on the floor of your bedroom, surrounded by scattered pieces of what was supposed to be a crib. The instruction manual lay open between you, creased and smudged, as though it had endured as much frustration as the two of you.

“I’m telling you, this piece goes here,” you said, holding up one of the wooden slats with the confidence of someone who had been wrong twice already.

Logan scoffed, squinting at the manual like it was written in another language. “Darlin’, that ain’t even close to the right piece. Look at the damn diagram.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Logan, I know how to read a diagram. You’re the one who started screwing things in backward.”

“That was one time,” he grumbled, reaching for the screwdriver as if it might magically fix his earlier mistake.

“One time too many,” you shot back, smirking as you handed him the correct piece. “Face it—you’re not as handy as you think you are.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, and he shot you a mock glare, his lips twitching with the faintest hint of a smile. “Keep talkin’, sweetheart. We’ll see who’s laughin’ when this crib doesn’t collapse under her.” He paused, muttering under his breath. “Should’ve just built one from scratch with my own hands.”

“Oh sure,” you quipped, biting back a laugh as you imagined it. “Laura might be in college by the time you finish it.”

Logan shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose like he was trying to keep from laughing. But the small smirk tugging at his lips gave him away. “Real funny. Keep it up, and I’ll make you do the next one solo.”

“Next one?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s survive this one first.”

Finally, after an hour and a half of bickering, laughter, and a few colorful mutterings from Logan, the crib stood fully assembled. The two of you stepped back to admire it, a mix of pride and relief washing over you.

Logan slipped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his side. You leaned your head against his chest, smiling at the crib. “We did it,” you murmured softly, pride tinging your voice.

“Damn right we did,” Logan replied, his voice warm and a little smug. “Told ya I could build it.”

You tilted your head up at him, smirking. “Sure, tough guy. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Before Logan could fire back with another quip, Laura let out a soft whimper from the makeshift bassinet you’d borrowed from Jean. Logan immediately moved to scoop her up, cradling her against his chest. She blinked at him, her little face scrunching for a moment, and then… she smiled.

Your breath hitched. “Did she just—”

Logan’s eyes softened as he stared down at her, his tough exterior cracking completely. “Yeah… she did,” he murmured, his voice almost reverent.

You stepped closer, wrapping your arm around Logan as you both gazed at Laura. Her tiny hand reached out, her fingers brushing against yours. “She likes the crib,” you whispered with a laugh, tears prickling in your eyes.

“Or maybe she’s just glad we stopped fightin’ over it,” Logan said, his tone teasing but his smile tender.

You leaned into him, your heart swelling with love for the little family you were building. “Either way,” you said softly, “this is perfect.”

Logan kissed the top of Laura’s head and then yours, his voice low and steady. “Yeah… it is.”

𓂃

“Mrs. Howlett!” one of your students practically yelled, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the classroom. You paused mid-sentence, marker hovering over the whiteboard, and turned around, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, Sarah?” you asked, fighting the urge to smile as Laura, strapped to your chest in a carrier, let out a tiny coo. Her big, curious eyes darted over the room full of students, clearly more interested in them than the lesson you were trying to teach.

“Do you have to keep teaching? Me and Jamie really want to hold Laura. Pleeeease?” Sarah begged, her hands clasped together in an exaggerated show of desperation. She even threw in puppy-dog eyes for good measure, which made you chuckle.

You’d warned Logan about this—the students were bound to be curious, not just about Laura, but about everything. Your sudden shift to "Mrs. Howlett" in the past year had set the rumor mill spinning since you’d decided to stop using your maiden name finally. Now, with a baby in tow, their curiosity had skyrocketed. You didn’t mind it, though. You loved bringing Laura to class, and even more, you loved the way your students doted on her.

Still, you sighed playfully, adjusting the baby carrier as Laura babbled softly. “Sarah, for the last time, you can’t just skip lessons to play with Laura.”

Sarah pouted. “But she’s so cute! How are we supposed to concentrate when there’s a literal baby here?”

“How about this,” you said, gesturing toward the question box sitting precariously on your desk, already overflowing with tiny pieces of paper. “You put all your burning questions in the box. At the end of class, I’ll pick four to answer.”

“Mrs. Howlett!” groaned Fiona, a redheaded girl who always managed to speak her mind. “No offense, but you barely ever answer the good ones. Last time, you skipped like ten!”

You bit back a laugh, pretending to be affronted. “I answer plenty! Sometimes your questions are…well, very personal.” You gave a mock glare at the question box, knowing full well there were probably a dozen slips in there asking about your marriage to Logan. Or his claws. Or why he rarely smiled in photos.

Laura let out another soft coo, her tiny hands reaching for nothing in particular. You glanced down at her and smiled. “What do you think, Laura? Should we humor them?”

As if on cue, Laura smiled, her little nose scrunching up in a way that melted your heart. The class collectively “aww’d,” which made you laugh.

“Alright, fine!” you relented, walking to the front of your desk and leaning against it. “Just this once, I’ll answer some questions. But let’s make it quick, okay?”

Hands shot up across the room like fireworks. You scanned the sea of excited faces and pointed to Sarah, whose arm flailed the hardest. “Alright, Sarah. What’s your question?”

Sarah’s face lit up as she glanced between you and Laura. “So…where did Laura come from? I mean, I didn’t see you pregnant or anything.”

The room fell quiet, everyone leaning in, clearly hanging on your answer. You smiled softly, glancing down at Laura before meeting their curious gazes. “Well, Mr. Howlett and I…adopted her. She needed a home, much like some of you did when you first came to the mansion.”

The room was still for a beat, the weight of your words sinking in, until a voice in the back muttered, “Man, I wish you two had adopted me.”

That sent the whole class into laughter, including you. “Oh, trust me,” you said, grinning as you adjusted Laura in her carrier. “Taking care of Mr. Howlett and Laura is already a full-time job.”

“Do you call him ‘Mr. Howlett’ at home?” someone else chimed in, causing a wave of giggles to ripple through the room.

“Absolutely not,” you said with mock horror. “I call him Logan. Or ‘tough guy.’ Or, if he’s being grumpy, ‘big softy.’”

“Grumpy?” Fiona raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Yeah, that checks out.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, laughing as the teasing spiraled. “One more question, and then it’s back to the lesson.”

Another hand shot up, and this time it was Jamie. “Does Mr. Howlett ever hold Laura? Like, is he actually good with babies?”

You couldn’t help but grin at that. “Oh, he’s amazing with her. You should see him—he sings to her, reads her little books…” You trailed off, your heart swelling as you thought about Logan cradling Laura so carefully in his massive arms, his rough hands handling her with a tenderness that never failed to take your breath away.

“Whoa,” Jamie said, clearly stunned. “Mr. Howlett? Singing? That’s…hard to imagine.”

“It’s true!” you said with a laugh. “But don’t tell him I told you. He likes to keep up his ‘tough guy’ image.”

The class dissolved into laughter again, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for their lightheartedness. For a moment, the weight of everything you and Logan had been through felt a little lighter.

“Alright, enough questions,” you said, clapping your hands. “Let’s get back to—”

Before you could finish, the door to the classroom creaked open, and there stood Logan, his towering frame taking up the doorway, an eyebrow raised as he looked around. Laura perked up immediately, letting out an excited babble.

“Doesn’t sound like anyone is learning in here. All I heard was laughter echoing down the hall,” Logan said in his usual gruff tone, his voice cutting through the chatter as he leaned against the doorframe. The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away, softening the impact of his words.

“She’s teaching us about Laura!” Sarah defended immediately, her hands thrown in the air like she’d been caught red-handed.

Logan raised a skeptical brow, his arms crossing over his broad chest as he stepped into the classroom. “Yeah? Sounds more like you’re all just nosy.”

The room erupted in laughter, a mix of guilty chuckles and unapologetic grins. Logan made his way to you, his hand finding its way to the small of your back. Laura let out an excited coo from her carrier, tiny hands reaching in the direction of Logan’s voice.

“Alright, which one of you’s been askin’ all the embarrassing questions?” he asked, his gravelly voice layered with mock annoyance, though his hazel eyes gleamed with amusement.

Fiona immediately pointed to Sarah, who gasped in betrayal. “Hey! Everyone’s been asking questions!”

“It’s true,” you admitted with a smirk, leaning slightly into Logan’s side. “You walked in just in time for the chaos.”

“Chaos?” Logan repeated, his lips quirking into a grin as he glanced down at you. “Darlin’ sounds like you’ve lost control of your classroom.”

You nudged him with your elbow, grinning. “I wouldn’t say that. I just know when to pick my battles.”

“She means she gave up,” Sarah chimed in, earning another round of laughter from the class.

Logan snorted, shaking his head. “Sounds about right.” He looked down at Laura, still squirming in her carrier, her little hands stretching toward him. “Alright, kid, what’s all this fuss about?”

“She likes you better,” Fiona blurted out, earning a chorus of agreement from her classmates.

You rolled your eyes, unbuckling the carrier and gently lifting Laura out. “Don’t inflate his ego anymore, guys. It’s already big enough.”

Logan raised a brow, his hands automatically reaching for Laura as you passed her over. She settled into his arms instantly, letting out a contented little sigh that made the entire class melt into a collective “aww.”

“She’s got good taste,” Logan said with a smirk, adjusting her in his arms like a pro. “She knows who the favorite parent is.”

You gasped in mock outrage, placing a hand on your chest. “Excuse me? I’m the one who feeds her and rocks her to sleep at 3 a.m., mister.”

“And I’m the one who changes her diapers,” Logan countered, earning a groan from the students.

“Too much information!” Jamie called from the back, covering his ears dramatically.

Logan chuckled, his rough voice softening as he glanced down at Laura. “Fine, fine. What other questions do you kids have? Let’s get this over with.”

The room practically vibrated with excitement as hands shot into the air. You stifled a laugh, folding your arms as you watched Logan dive into the chaos he claimed to avoid.

“Okay, you,” he said, pointing to Sarah with his free hand. “What’s your question?”

Sarah hesitated for a moment, clearly giddy about being chosen. “Um… is it true you guys are married? Like, actually married?”

Logan raised a brow, glancing over at you. “You wanna take this one, sweetheart?”

You grinned, stepping closer to him. “Yes, Sarah. We’re actually married. It’s not a rumor.”

“Is it weird being married to Mr. Howlett?” Jamie chimed in, clearly emboldened by Sarah’s question.

“Not weird,” you replied with a teasing smile. “But it’s definitely… an adventure.”

“An adventure?” Logan repeated, mock-offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged playfully. “Oh, you know… trying to figure out how to live with someone who’s so grumpy all the time.”

The class erupted into laughter, and Logan shook his head, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well, try livin’ with someone who steals all the covers.”

“Oh my God, Mrs. Howlett, you do that?!” Fiona gasped, clearly scandalized.

“Allegedly,” you said with a laugh. “Next question!”

“Does Laura have powers?” Jamie asked, his tone more curious this time.

Logan glanced down at Laura, his expression softening. “She’s a little young to tell, but… yeah, she’s got somethin’ special.” He looked at you for permission before continuing. “She’s got a gift for healing. Helps with small cuts and bruises, but it’s not somethin’ she controls yet.”

The students murmured among themselves, clearly intrigued.

“So… she’s like a mini-Wolverine?” Jamie asked, grinning.

“More like a mini-angel,” you corrected, smiling as Logan gave you a knowing look.

“Alright, kids,” Logan said, shifting Laura in his arms. “That’s enough questions for today. Let your teacher get back to whatever it was she was supposed to be teachin’.”

The students groaned in protest, but you clapped your hands. “You heard him! Back to work. Logan, you wanna stick around and help teach?”

Logan smirked, already heading for the door with Laura nestled against his chest. “Nah, I’ll leave the teachin’ to you, darlin’. I got my hands full.”

With that, he was gone, leaving you with a classroom full of students buzzing with excitement—and your own heart full of warmth.

[natsuminmin]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆ WHITE LIES -> michael kaiser fic !!!

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOW PLAYING . . . ILYSB - STRIPPED by lany.

synopsis; in which you wonder when and what made kaiser want to propose to you, his darling partner cw: fluff, mentions of marriage/engagement, unproofread + lowercase, slight spoilers for his backstory, implied f!reader but can be interpreted as gn!, self-indulgent, perhaps ooc kaiser (lmk if i forget something!!!)

"ain't never felt this way . can't get enough so stay with me"

silence had fallen beneath your shared bedroom as you found yourself staring at the glinting sapphire on your ring finger, a sign of his devotion. had he been staring at you instead of the book he was reading, he'd see the gears turning in your head as you spoke:

"micha, why did you propose?"

"what?" kaiser turned to face you, the book forgotten as he placed it on the bedside table. when he processed your question, he scoffed.

"that's a stupid question. because you love me and i love you, obviously."

"No, duh! I meant like…what made you want to propose now?"

"oh, you should've worded it properly then, schatzi."

"don't be a prick, micha. well? the answer?"

a cocky grin graced his lips when he heard your snappy retort. he was silent for a while as he reminisced, his fingers sneakily trailing downwards to wrap around yours.

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

the reason he proposed wasn't something exceptional, he thought.

it was on a random night, where the both of you were sitting in a comfortable darkness in the living room. his eyes trailed to your adorably scrunched up face as you tried to figure out how to share the screen of your phone to the tv so you could watch the show you had picked for movie night.

"this is stupid," you muttered under your breath "why does this site ask for so much…."

then you reached out for him, tapping on his shoulder and begrudgingly asking for his help. he recalled how badly he had wanted to release such a snarky remark, but held it back in the form of a nasty smirk. he didn't want to ruin movie night before it even started.

you had looped your arm around his without so much as a warning, as he messed with the buttons on your phone so he could get it connected. finally, he succeeded, bristling proudly as he set your phone down the table and turned his attention to the sappy romance movie you picked.

safe to say, he quickly got bored of it. so instead, he trailed his eyes downwards to you.

you, who was oh so engrossed in the movie, didn't even notice the intense gaze he inflicted on you. his gaze flickered to the lack of space between them, noticing the way your arms had interlocked with one another.

"wait...when did she..?"

he wasn't one to be unaware of what was touching his skin. he was an alert man, any single piece of physical contact never flew past his head. 'to hurt or be hurt,' he's learned at least that much from his scumbag of a father.

then it dawned on him.

he didn't notice because he didn't have the sinking feeling of nausea that always made itself known whenever someone touched him. your innocent caresses no longer triggered his fight-or-flight.

Instead, he felt...normal? Normal as in the way a whipped lover would feel when his partner flustered him. he felt his heart racing, but not from anxiety. it was from embarassment that a simple touch from the person he loved had him this riled up. He felt.....

...comfortable.

At that moment, kaiser made up his mind. he was going to put a pretty little ring on your finger, something that highlighted how precious you were to him (perhaps a blue stone...yes, he'd love to see his favorite color on you every single day), and marry you for good.

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

he would never tell you that.

he didn't realize how badly he spaced out when you snapped your fingers in front of him.

"yo, kaiser. cat got your tongue?"

he clicked said tongue with irritation at your casual tone, wrapping his arms around your waist as he buried his nose between the crook of your neck.

"don't call me that. you know that's going to be your last name too, right?"

"please quit trying to change the subject, love. "

"fine, but only because you asked so nicely, schatzi." he murmured softly against your skin as he began recounting about some random date you had at the beach; blabbing about how the sun hit your hair perfectly, he got jealous of all the other couples proposing, its about time anyway, the view was pretty and so were you, all that cheesy stuff. he felt slightly guilty for not telling the truth, but he'd like to keep his sweet little revelation all to himself.

Besides, a little white lie never hurt sometimes.

"oh, my heart hurts so good . I love you, babe, so bad"

a/n: aaaaaaa first fic ?! thank uu so so much for reading! honestly, don't think so much of this lol, i wrote it at 3am while i was 'studying for finals.' i hope someone noticed in the middle of the fic but this was heavily based on brooklyn99 when peraltiago got engaged AHHH also i feel the title white lie was so fitting because....white = marriage usually...heh...get it...

[themareverine]

Only When It's Right | Logan Howlett x fem!OC

synopsis: "Does it always feel like this?" He chuckles, "Only when it's right, honey," dips low, worships her like every fucker in Alberta only prays to. "Only when it's right."

warnings: X1 Logan, mentions of noncon touch, gunfire, Logan being a little toxic.

a/n: DON'T ASK ME WHERE THIS CAME FROM IT'S JUST HERE, OK YOU'RE WELCOME. I’m going back to DOFP!Logan, now, byeeee.

He finds her underneath the stars. In the shimmer of a trying drizzle, between two headlights milking out a backdrop of what appear to be stacked logs. Sleeping giants in the ghosttown the lumberyard has become, dead with afterhours asystole. Chill in the air shows him his breath, and Logan can see the air through the high lamps on her parked Wrangler.

Guiding his truck along washed out ruts and lumberyard paths better navigated with heavy machinery, he pops the gearshift into park.

Sees her standing between the two milky swaths of light that cut across witchy darkness, legs akimbo. Arms drawn out into a diamond in front of her, hands wrapped around the fat grip of what he thinks is a Glock 43, but won't know until he eyeballs it, close and personal.

Figures she'd be somewhere, off alone. Probably to think. Girls don't claw through incidents like the one he'd witnessed hours before and get out without thoughts spinning their pretty little heads, and — he hasn't known her long, hell no. Doesn't have to. But what he knows of this particular case can be boiled down to two very simple little things.

She's a runner, and she's an overthinker.

He slaps the truck's door closed with a thunk, rattles the whole damn thing as he leans back through the open window to flick on high beams. Slips hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, retrieving a cigarette and his light. Probably mostly pointless, since it's trying to rain, but — Logan's never really cared.

The end of the cigarette smolders to life in a plume of fierce amber as he comes up on her, carefully. She's noticed, of course. Clocked him the second his headlights cut up next to hers, a quick glance over the shoulder. He'd never be able to miss those sapphire eyes for anything, even in the blanket of night.

Pop pop. Two shots, right after the other. Pause, follow through, recollect. Logan can see her take a breath, watches how her shoulder ripple with the muscle movement. Notices the exhale, watches how her wrist flicks with just the tiniest effort to pull the trigger back — click.

Empty. "What are you doing out here, Logan."

It isn't a question as she turns on her heel, pistol coming to her side. Mostly-wet curls hang loose, frizzed from where she's attempted to tie them back under the ballcap. A ratty Wyoming homage that's darkened with rain and wear, she wears it when she doesn't want to muss with hair, which is all the time.

A coveted possession, really, Logan's seen her change it out with others it a handful of times, but it's her favorite.

Girls. "Gotta have a reason?" He shrugs a shoulder and slips into one of the cuts of headlight, following her to the hood of the Jeep where she's got the pistol's case and a box of rounds perched in the wet air, "Just in the neighborhood, kid." Watches her pluck the greasy cleaning rag from the case, skip it over the water pooling along the blued steel.

Her ocean blues cut up to him like they are hot knives, slicing through butter his flash has become — the corner of her mouth ticks up, just so. Cheeks a pleasant red from the snap of cold in the air, a dewy film has risen up on her glasses, glistens as the light catches it at the right angle on the high of her cheekbones.

And she almost looks like creamy starlight, fading in and out of midnight smoke in the air that signals fire.

Logan decides immediately that she is definitely not a kid. The name no longer sticks.

"Ain't really a neighborhood," her hand gestures beyond, a nod of her head following to the darkness beyond the headlights spotlighting them, "but whatever. If you came to talk, don't bother. Heard it all before."

And she thinks she knows. Maybe she does. There's really only a handful of things you could ever say to a soul that's been publicly castrated, humiliated and backed into a corner. He'd seen grown men go weak in the from less, but women — women. They were a different breed. Stand there and let you skin them alive without so much as a flinch, probably smile. Offer you the knife.

She'd simply just stood there, quiet, and managed to gracefully change the subject like some untouchable thing.

Clearly, she isn't as untouchable as she wanted everyone — including him — to think.

"Not here to talk, champ. There a law against checkin' in on people?"

She snorts. "This is Canada, right? Ya'll have more laws than God." It takes work not to smile, and Logan fails, managing a smirk. "And after what just happened in there? Yeah, there is." Her eyes lift to him, icy flash arctic enough to stop his blood. "Don't bother playing dumb with me, Logan, I know you ain't stupid."

"Never with you, darlin'." Pausing, her hand stops mid-air. Logan watches her weigh the weight of the world in her eyes, fighting the urge to look at him. Loses, she does — she sums him up, quickly.

Popping out the magazine, she begins loading. Falls back against the brush guard of the Jeep, booted feet crossed at the ankles as she works bullets with raw, chilled fingers.

"Just further evidence to me that it doesn't matter how hard you work, how much you change, it's never enough for them."

The way her eyes move beyond him, into the ether — he gets it.

Vitriol snakes in and out of her words from her back teeth, which, if clenched any tighter, the bones of her jaw would rake together in a song that would wake the dead. Taking a drag on his cigarette, wishing to God it was a cigar, he nods. Understanding. Because if anyone understood what trying to be different — with living among the unlivable — means, it's him.

Wolverines, after all, don't exactly live in society. "He was an asshole," coming up beside her, he kicks back against the brush guard himself, cigarette hanging low in the corner of his mouth as his hands slip into his pockets, this time his jeans. "Most men are, you probl'y know that."

Snapping the magazine back into place, her head doesn't lift from considering her boots, strewn with mud and water stains from the wet dirt. "Yeah. Just didn't appreciate the way he grabbed me, either."

That was news. How'd you miss that, Logan? "That asshole touched you?"

"Mhm. Hips. It's whatever."

His brow snaps up. "It ain't whatever, sweetheart. It's fuckin' pathetic," the edge of his tone is almost bitter, like the cold blade of a knife. "I would've seen 'im, would've driven him through the fucking floor."

Another long drag on his cigarette does little to soothe the itch in his blood, instead just sends his pulse pistoning between his ears. Kicking his foot over the other, he settles against the Jeep a little harder, feels it sway with his weight.

Color creeps up her neck, her eyes drag away down to the toes of her boots in the mud, playing with a little stone. "Nobody's ever done that for me, Logan," she chuckles, looks beyond the headlights, to the log backdrop before them, "but the thought is nice. Thanks."

Pushing herself from the Jeep, she moves back between the cuts of light, not giving him room to respond. And he isn't sure if he would, should. They're friends, colleagues.

She works the cage, ringmaster and snatching cash from easy-as-candy-from-babies gamblers and the entertained.

He takes the hits. Watches her parade around in her jeans that fit tight and fucking amazing, cowboy boots, and that ratty ass ballcap. All moxie and gusto, she was born for a stage, he thinks. Recall reminds him that she naturally belongs in places he only tolerates, everywhere he's fought tooth and claw to struggle.

Effervescently, she does it with an air that's almost sick. And she's never made a big deal of sexualizing her way in and out of pocketbooks — came with the gig, the cage. Even for an unconventional, curvy little thing like her.

Hammed it up, actually, stuffing money in her tits, in painted-on jean pockets that cut her curves like a damn roadmap. Had become a persona, a sort of calling card — you bet right, you get to choose where your cash came from.

Like some all-curves, sapphire-eyes fucking ATM.

Her alias. It wasn't supposed to work for him.

The guys around the cage had started calling her the Honeybadger — because while she was sweet to look at, sweet to touch, there were teeth. Claws. A ferocity that trembled beneath the surface like spidering ice.

More than once, Logan had seen her shove off over eager hands. Threaten a man within an inch of his dick.

Honeybadger and the Wolverine. Pff.

Sounded fuckin' ridiculous, like some circus sideshow. People liked it, though. Rolled off the tongue good. Made him a shit tonne of cash, she never complained about her cut, either. Her theatricality cocktailed with his unbeatable, unkillable mutation made for one hell of a gig.

Half the time Logan wasn't sure if crowds were betting to see him throw cuffs, or because she was so damn pretty. Ultimately it didn't matter, the circumstances.

What mattered was the way he almost came un-fucking-glued in that damn bar, watching that fuckin' toad make eyes at the sweet little thing he'd been dreaming about for four fuckin' months.

Her, someone who, over their knowingship, had become his friend. An unlikely ally in the fight to outlive this Canadian log town and its phantom populace. Somewhere along the lines of her life, God had taught her to hang the moon and stars, stop the world every time she smiled. And she was a prized student, he knew — divine, probably.

Aphrodite waters of a kind he'd never tasted, but thirsts for. Enough to make his heart stop, his lungs more adamantium than his bones.

Logan didn't usually go for girls like this. Sweethearts. He went for the poisonous, the dangerous. Ladies of the neon, the women who lurked on corners or hung on your arm, drunk and doe-eyed in that fuck me kinda way. Not the soft and sweet honeychilds of the sunkissed morning, who looked good in sundresses and lipstick and challenged the glory of the very stars.

Always a man who could never burn, he didn't mind the taste of the hot and heavy, the pits of the noncommittal.

Liked the quick fucks and heavy makeup of drunken nights and neon, the veil that hid away the person, instead just another nameless, same-face Barbie doll to ease his desires.

Vixens and painted women tasted a kind of good that he'd learned to crave over the long, cold years of outliving. A stable sex diet, for sure. Where there was one, there would be another, and the universe never stopped churnin' out tit.

He'd be fucked before he ever considered anything lasting. With someone worth a shit, any of his tries. Questions if anyone like that even exists on this rock, anymore.

And Logan shouldn't be so pissed at how nonchalant she is about being touched, but he is. Feels his guts fill with that molten hot rage that gets him in trouble, that stokes the fires of his mutation like a damn forge. All he can think about is hammering that fucker through the damn floor, send him to hell in tiny little pieces the devil wouldn't even know how to sort.

Crushing a mental picture of that asshole's hands on her, in all the wrong places that guys know, his jaw tightens. Only a little, only to the point of boneshattering.

Pretty sure he could rip the brush guard right off this Jeep and eat it for breakfast and not even feel it.

Beyond the reach of headlights, Coke cans and water bottles lay littered along the muddy earth before the backstop of logs, a handful or so still propped up in various places. Challenges. Thinking about her crawling up there to place empty cans and other trash pieces for target practice eases some of the roil in his blood, the rage creeping up in scarlet at the corner of his vision.

It takes her a minute, but she spends another twelve rounds, hot brass kicking to the ground at her feet. Pop pop pop. One by one, shots ring off aluminum cans, crumple plastic bottles. Sends them to the earth in a rain. Others hit the logs, hard thwacks that bury deep.

She ain't a tough shot, by any means. He'd seen a lot of gunfire in his years, fucking centuries, knew men who weren't as precise. Had watched them die.

She sends the magazine out of the grip, back into her hand as she turns around, smiling at him a little crookedly as she looks up over the rim of her glasses, almost coy. As if she's proud of herself.

His brow lifts, amused. Mostly impressed, a little turned on.

She comes back to lean against the Jeep, closer this time. Close enough that he can smell the tinge of sweat lingering under her clothes from a night of work. If he's careful, he can taste the salt he knows skips around her tongue, from a let's do shots, Lo! tequila. Unmissable, that perfume she swears to God never stays around but is triggering every animal instinct he has.

Turning, she gently tosses the pistol back to its case. Flips the lid closed with a flick of her fingers. Crossing her arms over her chest, she props one foot back on the grille of the Wrangler, head angled just enough for Logan to catch sparkling traces of the air's moisture on her cheekbone. It's almost fantastic, he thinks. Fairytale. That shit they put in movies.

It goes straight to his cock.

"I've never been touched like that before, Logan," and it couldn't be more out of nowhere if it materialized right in front of them. Blinking, Logan finishes his cigarette. Outs it on the heel of his boot, flicks the end away as if it's plague. It isn't far removed, but she doesn't seem to care.

It's probably more information than he needs to know. What did they call it? TMI. Yeah, too much information. But somehow such a turned stone leaves him curious, like a cat with a mouse. Could beg at her feet like a slavering dog for more, if she'd be willing.

For months he'd watched her, trailblazing up and down the floorspace of his cage like some kind of goddess, deserving of high worship. Figured it came natural, because for someone like her, it should.

What a fuckin' shame. "Yeah?" God, the things he could do to her.

"Mhm. And now I'm not sure I want to be, if — if that's what it's like."

And all at once, the air is sucked out of the world that's opened up between them. She's quiet and small, shrunk into herself with hunched up shoulders and lowered eyes, like some kind of whipped dog that's done inexcusable wrong.

It so isn't her.

Supposed to burst with life, make him question the cold black void in his chest. She's supposed to sing when the earth sits at her feet, like spring waits for the cold of winter to flatline into a dead carcass of itself. Should light up the room with her all-sunshine, big voice that shakes him all the way down, makes him forget his own fucking name.

Whatever this broken, insecure shadow of a thing she is, it's — it's a crime against the world.

Makes him want to fillet any single soul that would even fucking breathe in his direction.

Brow cutting into a hard line, he reaches between them and takes her chin in his hand. Forces her attention on him.

He's done this before, from place of posturing, hamming up audiences and getting her to simmer the fuck down, doll! when she's too deep into the booze or angry, feasting on souls.

But now, it feels different — his fingers burn with a fire he's never really understood, the stuff they write about. He can feel electricity in her blood, the painful thud thud thud of her heart against the bones in her chest.

But she doesn't make to move away. Doesn't even fucking flinch.

Interestin'.

"That ain't what it feels like," his tone drops to that whiskey dark that tastes good, that rattles up his chest. Echoes off bone, had gotten him more than one fuck in his life. And it works, too. Always has.

Will it work with you, honey?

Swallowing a little breath, "It isn't?" slips off her tongue like wet sin. Compliments the little flutter of her eyes, how she shifts nervously under the weight of his attention.

The long column of her throat constricts on the words, like a serpent squeezing for purchase any sense of the moment, anything to hold. Punches him in the gut something beautiful. And if he were a lesser man, he'd throw her right up against the fucking headlights of this Jeep and show her what he means.

But that would defeat his whole damn point. Easy, Logan. You sick fuck.

But she looks so good, standing there. In comfortable jeans and a sweatshirt and jacket, slick with the attempts of rain hanging in the air. That Wyoming cap that blocks out the night, casts long shadows over her eyes. Somehow darkens the depths of sapphires that already don't have ending.

Lifting his other hand, he rubs a fallen curl between his fingers before the pad of his thumb gently skips over the curve of her bottom lip. Chapped, like his. Plush. Fucking edible.

Managing a chuckle, she shifts on her feet at the low of his tone. Nervous. It's delicious.

Leans in close, and Logan can almost feast on the dew of her skin. And he knows exactly what he's doing, what they like. Whether they're a siren of the night or Sunday morning's pretty skirt in church, women really just all want the same damn thing. To be chased. Desired, lusted for. The hunt.

It's all part of the chase, honey.

"Mhm-mhm," off a chuckle, one that ticks up the corner of his mouth into a keen, quicksilver smirk. "Not when it's right, when you wan' it. Feels good." Drinking in the design of her face, every lash and little thing that makes her her, his head angles just enough. Oh, just enough —

"So fuckin' good, honey." Fuck, he is breathless. That never fuckin' happens.

Logan expects her to pull away. But her pupils dilate to the wide of the moon, drinking in light like thirsting men on the Sahara. He's never seen such visible lust in the face of the opposite sex, hasn't ever felt its jaws snapping the air like hungry wolves.

Pretty sure this is as close to being eye fucked as it came, but he wasn't complaining.

She should walk away, the way he's looking at her. Like her soul is on sale, like she's the last fucking pair of tits the world will ever produce. And Logan would encourage her, any other time, to leave his sorry, lustful ass in the mud and go on with her life. Find someone worthy of everything God's given her. But at his base, he's a selfish man. Greedy. Hungry.

Too busy being split open by her eyes, sapphire knives that cut him between the ribs and drive a stake straight to the heart like the fucking Dracula he is, trying to suck the life out of her.

Waiting for the impact of the moment to lay her out like a stoned Goliath, he doesn't realize his breath comes shallow and heavy. Doesn't bother feeling the snap of cold wind chasing the heat off his skin, how her eyes skate over his features. Or even how she's managed to turn into his touch, how she's pulled to his side like an adrift little thing on cosmic shores.

And if she misses the let me show you pacing the lines of his better judgement, she's got one hell of a poker face to take to Vegas. He can feel the little shifting of her jaw in his fingers. How her tongue skates along her back teeth, her breath catching in the back of her throat. The pulse in her blood spins like a wicked thing, heart jackhammering through her ribs as if it's trying to cut to hell.

She doesn't feel cold, but her eyes snap with a fierce chill he's never seen before. Isn't sure if it's confidence, or fear. But he likes this look on her, this feral little thing so worthy of the name every man this side of Alberta wants to fuck into her.

Honeybadger. It's so ridiculous that he'll fuck the name out of her himself.

Sweet like smooth, golden honey from the vine. Forbidden fruit in the Eden he would move mountains to taste.

And just as damn savage.

For what he assumes is the first time in her life, she doesn't say a word.

Instead, she lifts a hand to snag nails through his facial hair, eyes traveling the planes of his face like he's something to remember. He might be, for the first time in his life. And it feels like white-hot fire, the slip of her skin against his, such perfect fire that he would willingly burning at the stake of her feet without hesitation, fight. Keening into her touch, his hand slips down the column of her throat, to tip her chin up just enough to compliment the angle of his.

Her other hand pulls him closer by the front of his jacket, her melding against him in that perfect way God had in mind when he created Eve straight out of Adam's marrow.

You could stone the crows, she kisses him first. Tentative and slow, like milking starlight out of the hand of God. And he was fucking right how she tastes like salt and tequila and sweat, her scent so overwhelming that he could drown in her and die a happy, fucking thrilled, man.

All the way down to this core he feels her, almost chokes on just how fucking far her tongue shoves down the back of his throat.

And if he could feast on it the rest of his living days, he'd still starve to death.

World spinning by in a haze of color and lust, he isn't thinking clearly when he pins her up against the grille of the Jeep, pelvis to pelvis, every ounce of blood in his body rushing straight to his cock that's already hard enough to drive her to God. Grips the slick cool of the brush guard with all the resolve of the world, absolution a thin veil between right and wrong, black and white and oh my God, how she tastes.

His arms haven't visibly shaken with restraint in any sort of timeframe that he recalls, most certainly not in the arms of a woman.

He'll take back everything when she pulls at his hair, nails all but driving canyons into his scalp.

It comes naturally, his fingers burying into the thick flesh of her thighs. Hauling her up to the hood, the Jeep racks with her weight, headlights swaying as she reaches for him like he's the last hold on the crumbling rock of resolve, of composure.

And the poor thing shakes, hardly breathing — any second now he could expect her to burst, but instead, she takes his face between her hands, nails biting into his facial hair as she leans down to brush foreheads with him, taste him. He lifts his head, brushing hot breath against her racehorse pulse, the nuclear explosion of her lungs battering against his ribs a delightful way to wonder about the grave.

Pulling back enough to look her in the eye, he smiles. Cool, cleancut. Enough to rip her heart out, he sees it. It's balanced and bleeding between his fingers, his own plaything. Wolverines and Honeybadgers — it's laughable, really. If it wasn't so right.

"How's it feel?" It may as well not even be there, almost carried away by the little hitch of her breath when he skates his mouth against her jaw, bites softly at the pulse in her neck. "Feel good, honey?"

Her nose nuzzles his facial hair. "So many feelings, Logan," and it's barely there, a whimper. A hint of an idea. "Does it always feels like this?"

Lacing fingers through hers, he presses a kiss to the heel of her hand, slow and deliberate. Relishes in the faraway taste of steel, bullets. Gun oil and sin. Props a foot up on the Jeep's guard, steps up like it doesn't even matter.

And oh, if she doesn't know what she's doing she'd burn in hell for lying, the way she leans back on her elbows, like a graceful little thing. Staring up at him like he's heaven descended.

A rush of power he can't explain fills his blood, before he drops low and crawls over her. Chases her up the hood until they're both at the windshield's glass, breathless and hazy.

He chuckles, "Only when it's right, honey," dips low, worships her like every fucker in Alberta only prays to. "Only when it's right."

@sidkneeeee

@thevoicefromanotherworld

@misscrissfemmefatale

@eternallyfrustratedwriter

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@laaadygisbooornex3

@itsafullmoon

[quxyivs]

The other half of me

Popular Boy! Lee Know x Loner Photographer! Black fem reader

Summary: Lee Know the schools heartthrob, Mr perfect, the pretty boy, sees you getting bullied by his ex and decides to step in. He offers to take you to the nurse and when you two meet again after you rejected his offer her learned that he doesn’t have to lie to himself when near you (College AU)

Troupe- Heartthrob x Loner (kinda)

Trigger Warnings! Fluff and angst, crying, cursing, bullying, a tad bit of fighting, blood (lmk if I missed anything!!)

You were sitting down in your seat on the train looking down at your camera as you made your way to school. When the train finally stopped you stood up and walked over your bag and camera in hand. You connected your Bluetooth headphones as you began walking out the train station and toward the campus.

You were eventually across the street from the campus. You looked at the gates and you took a deep breath before walking across the street and making it to the other side of the road. When you made it to the other side you walked towards the entrance, not before the same group of girls came beside you pushing you over and knocking you down causing you to hurt your leg.

“Fuck-!! Ow!!” You said as you sat up holding your bleeding knee. “Aww is the baby gonna cry? Gonna cry!! Grab her camera and take a picture too!!” Amia, your main enemy laughed loudly as another girl, Jio, grabbed the camera. When she picked it up you quickly stood up and snatched it back. “Leave me alone!” You said clenching your camera. “Who do you think you’re talking to!?” Just as Amia was about to slap you, Lee Know, the school heartthrob stopped her hand.

“Amia what the hell are you doing? Leave her alone.” Lee know said looking at Amia with a stern voice standing there waiting for her to leave. “But-!!” “Go.” “UGH!!” Amia stomped off with her friend mumbling underneath her breath. Lee know turned around coming closer towards you to get a look at your face before you backed up. “I didn’t need help..but thank you..” You said as you looked away from him and back away. “You’re welc-shit you’re bleeding come here let me help.” He reached out to grab your arm when you snatched it back from him. “Don’t!!..Don’t touch me. I can do it myself.”

You grab your bag from off the ground and limp to the nurses office. She wasn’t surprised to see you as this was normal for you by now. She sat you down on a chair as she disinfected the wound. As you sat there patiently waiting for her to finish the door to the office was opened again and in came Lee know. You were about to protest and tell him to stop following you when you saw him sit on the chair need the window and just look outside. Completely ignoring your presence.

You could tell he seemed a bit out of it so you decided to maybe snap him out of it. “What’s little Mr. Perfect doing here? Thought boys like you were too good to get into fights.” You said sarcastically rolling your eyes as you looked at him waiting for his response. “Well seeing as defending you got me dumped, I thought I’d come check in you.” He said honestly making you feel bad.

“Oh..I-I’m sorry I didnt…”

“It’s fine. She was annoying and bitchy anyways..just using me for my popularity and money..” For the first time in forever you felt like you knew him..? You and Lee know never spoke. Never even a wave but here he was pouring his true emotions out to you. You looked at him softly. “So why’d you get with her..?” You said softly but also sounding concerned. “My parents forced me to do it. They force me to do all of this.” He admitted as he looked at her.

You two made eye contact but it felt deeper than just a glare. “So you don’t want to be the schools ‘Heartthrob’ the ‘popular boy’ the-“ “Guy everyone wants to become because I’m rich and get girls? yeah. I hate it, wish I could just be left alone, kinda like you.” He said chuckling to himself dryly.

“..Why would you want that.. I mean being alone is well, lonely of course.. No friends and everyone thinks you’re just a weirdo. Being like this sucks.” You say chuckling as well looking down at your leg as the nurse walked in. “Oh? Is something wrong Lee know?” The nurse said looking at your leg and wrapping it as she spoke. “No just came in here to get away.” He said his voice quiet, almost like he wanted to go unheard.

“Well good thing I just went to restock….” She paused briefly. “You know.. you two are really the same.” She said with a soft smile as she finished wrapping your leg throwing away some of the bloody cotton balls. “How? We’re polar opposites.” You two said almost at the same time and then made eye contact.

“That’s how.” She giggled. “Well you two need to get to class now yes?? I’ll write you both a pass!” You awkwardly shifted in your seat before standing up preparing to leave as she finishes writing the note you find yourself gazing in Lee know’s direction. As you look at him, you find yourself lost in his presence. The way the sunlight hits all his features perfectly, the way his eyes shimmer, his slightly pink cheeks.. You find yourself unable to control your movements and you take out your camera and snap a picture of him. When the picture comes out the Polaroid you shake it and then look at it. Gorgeous. Pure perfection. You then snap out of your head when you hear the nurse snap.

“Stuck in la-la land over him aren’t we?” She chuckled. Nervous that you had been called out you just run out the room with your camera but dropping the picture. Lee know saw that you dropped something and he stood up to pick it up when he saw that what you dropped…was a picture of him.

He smiled and picked up the photo. The nurse who was watching it all smiled too as she crossed her legs

“Seems you found your other half.”

“Seems so..”

.

.

.

A/N- AH I spent SO long writing this!! I hope you guys like it!!! Lmk if you want this to be a series too(*≧∀≦*)

[irondadfics]

hiiiii do u have any fics where peter is in a depressive episode?? ty for all u do :))

do these fit what you’re looking for?

mind the tags everyone

Sorry There's No Way Out (But Down) by natasha_romanoff_official (ashadeofgreen)

Peter attempts suicide. He tries to text Ned goodbye from a burner phone. He remembers the wrong number, and accidentally texts Tony. TW: suicide attempt

i'll put down my roots when i'm dead by peterparkersbff

Tony pauses for a moment, humming thoughtfully as he watches Peter and carefully considers his next words. “Ever tried lobster flavored ice cream?” he asks. And the question is odd, so out of the blue, that it has Peter blinking rapidly and snapping back to reality from whatever plane of existence he’d been on. “What?” Or, Peter’s had it in his mind for weeks that he’s going to die splattered against the pavement on some random street in New Jersey. Tony has some objections.

Peter Parker Has A Gun by orphan_account

Peter Parker has a gun, not Spider-Man. Tonight it's Peter Parker with a gun and he's wondering if he's going to pull the trigger as he looks down the barrel. Here Peter Parker sits, streetlights and moonlight and the ghostly blue glow of his phone lighting up the barrel of a gun – safety off.

5 times Peter was saved by orphan_account

...and the one time he saved everyone    -in other words strong boy peter parker saves everyone who took time to save him when they didn't have to

5 Times Peter Didn't Say He Was Struggling…And The One Time He Did by Bladam_Shevine

Chapter 5 & Chapter 6 probably fit the most

Peter had a knack for keeping things to himself, causing an unnecessary amount of stress for a graying Tony Stark.

Happy, in a Crying Sort of Way by LordOfThePoptarts

Peter Parker would say there were a lot of positives to getting bit by a radioactive spider. Better stamina, super strength, super healing, precognition, and getting to meet Iron Man would just be some items of note on the long list of pros. There were plenty of drawbacks too though. He couldn't eat anything with peppermint in it anymore, and he couldn't thermoregulate, but the one con that bothered Peter the most was that normal medication no longer worked on him because of his metabolism. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem except for when he got hurt on patrol and needed painkillers of course, which okay was pretty often, but Peter could deal with a lack of painkillers. Sure, it hurt and was painful, but the wound was always gone in a day or two, because hey super healing. What he couldn't deal with was when his antidepressants stopped working.

[inkshadow]

it's good that she picks up on the likeness, dax entirely too eager to fill her up and have her keep everything he gives her stuffed inside for the remainder of the evening. would she let him? — remains to be seen but precedence shows that they take more than they ask. the hook of her arm to keep him close allows for him to bury his face in her neck, hot heavy breaths kissing at her skin while he continues to plow her from underneath. he's so focused on the climb to both of their climaxes that the moan of his name totally shatters his concentration in, strangely, the most positive of ways. hips pick up their pace, dax's fingers forced to sink into her hips to keep both of them steady, the tip of his cock grazing over that spot over and over until finally her release triggers his own. "t-tessa, sh-shit —" the knot in his core finally snaps and he plugs her up deep, his thick cock painting her inside walls with a warm load. "so... so fucking good..." dax huffs out slowly, letting his forehead cling to the dampness on her skin as the rest of his body tries to catch up to the incredibly disruption of his orgasm.

it's entirely a mistake, she thinks, to pull his fingers away and subsequently leave tessa to her own spoken devices. because she instantly takes hold of the opportunity, desperate and encouraging moans now freely flowing. "shit, dax, so fucking good and deep inside me, like you're tryna fill me up..." the hand that isn't currently marking up his thigh — seeking to leave bruises he'll find tomorrow and be forced to think about her — moves to grope at her breast, fingers pinching and toying at her clothed nipple, the sensation causing her to squeeze around him again. the combination of overwhelming pleasures sends her up and pressing flush against his back, hand that'd been assaulting his thigh moving up to wrap around the back of his neck. lets out a strangled moan as her eyes roll, thighs shaking and spasming around him. doesn't want to succumb to his demands, but unfortunately, her body doesn't get the memo. "fuck fuck fuck, beckham, i'm gonna — " it's all the warning she can give before she's pulsing and spasming around him, the sheer force of her orgasm causing her to fold over him.

[phatcatphergus]

Hey all, idk who has personally used a chainsaw before but there’s some things I want to throw out there that are very important to remember. Chainsaws (at least the ones I’ve used I’m not an expert lmaooo) have pull cords and sometimes it takes a while to get the shit started. Once it’s actually going it’s on a low rumble and the chain isn’t moving until you pull the trigger and then it starts roaring and spinning the blades to cut shit. The thing is that you don’t want to turn it off even when you’re doing something else for a second because it’s a pain to turn back on, so usually you just hold it and let it rumble until you need to cut something again.

So I offer: tubbo holding a rumbling chainsaw constantly until he gets threatened and he pulls the trigger and it gets insanely loud and the blades start spinning and spewing smoke as he charges at them

[beanghostprincess]

Just thinking about the fact Sora died because of the poison she drink to save her kids, because she is gentle and kind. And her only son who the desesperate act work is as kind as her.

But the StrawHats don't know she did that, this is something he don't have the courage to tell. And they know even less that Sanji is ready to do the same.

He isn't pround of that, but he ends up discovering the poison she drink and even have the recipe of how to do it. Because the germa soldiers teached them this and others poisons.

And this little fact is like a silent threat, a thing that if the crew discovers this, would be attentive about anything he drinks until they're certainly he's not gonna do the same thing his mother did.

And when the StrawHats learn about this fact, the exactly thing he expected happens, he notice Chopper and Robin always near the kitchen with the excuse of how's there was calmer, Nami and Usopp start to do his drinks for him or always are looking him while he's doing it, the others does things too. And Sanji notices all of this.

It's needed months to calm the crew, but still after they stop, all of them always have this fear in the back of they're minds (Luffy even goes as far as asking Law to do a check up on Sanji the next time they meet), that he will do this, but they want to believe he will not. They really want to.

(Just a thought that come to my mind yesterday, and I wanted to share, y'know? Based on some headcanons)

Oh, damn. This honestly hits close to home and it's really interesting so I wanna talk about it. But, you know, it's a serious topic so:

TW // Suicide, poison, self-harm, depression, etc etc you know the drill about Sanji and his issues. I don't go deep, tho, so It's not THAT explicit but could be triggering.

I think that after WCI and Wano, they'd all be worried. Sanji has always been pretty self-sacrificing with everyone and he doesn't value his life in the slightest. He doesn't show signs at first of being actively suicidal but the way he treats his own life makes it clear that he gets into self-sabotaging situations to the point of it being considered self-harm or even passive suicidal behavior. He just- Doesn't care about dying because he puts others first all the time. He has been doing that forever and Skypiea is just one of the times he does that. But, y'know, they never notice that. At least not everyone. I think Zoro is the first to know because of Thriller Bark, honestly. That's one of the biggest signs imo. But then they're separated and it's not like they can talk about it. Then two years happen and uh, shit goes downhill after that because WCI is just utterly traumatizing for Sanji and Wano makes everything worse to the point of asking Zoro to kill him if he loses himself. And we always say that's really gay (because it is) but we ignore the whole point of Sanji genuinely asking somebody to kill him without any fucking hesitation. And he spends all of Wano having the biggest crisis of his life wondering if he's human enough or worthy of being in the crew and???? What the actual fuck. Anyway, I think the crew ends up finding out about everything and I don't believe Sanji is well mentally after all of this. I know they don't write it like this because things are happening and they have to go to Egghead, but I think Sanji would end up really fucked up after WCI and Wano to the point of being worrisome.

If they do find out about the poison thing and Sanj's suicidal thoughts (honestly, I don't know how they would even find out about it unless Reiju tells them or Sanji snaps and yells about that, but, y'know. The point is that they know and Sanji is getting worse) I think you're completely right and they'd be all over him. Because that's exactly what happens when somebody acts this way. They look after him to a suffocating extent and watch his steps. They take turns to watch him. They prepare his drinks. They even make up something so he doesn't have to be on night watch so he can sleep, because he's probably not sleeping either. Or eating well, for that matter, which is what makes them all worry even more in the first place.

And hear me out, because I think he would try to do it. Like- Commit, I mean. Not gonna get into the topic too deep but I think he'd try and I think it wouldn't work because somebody would help him right away and I think he'd try to play it off as a mistake and a misunderstanding, but everyone would know. And he'd just try to ignore their pep talks and interventions.

This is projecting from personal experience and everyone goes through these things differently, but God, I think he'd fucking hate it if they looked after him. Because he knows he won't do it again. At least he doesn't want to do it again. But everybody keeps looking after him like he's about to break at any moment and it's so damn annoying to not have any type of privacy because they think he's gonna off himself the second he's alone. And he gets why they're doing it and appreciates their efforts to look after him, but acting this way is not the answer to his problems. It's just asphyxiating and it isn't helping him get better. You know how the crew is, they're NOT subtle and careful with anything and they're just-- They have good intentions but it's suffocating and he can't handle it anymore.

And I think he'd snap. I actually want to write a fic about this if you let me use your idea (I will credit you, ofc) because I think it'd be great to make him snap at Nami, specifically, and then regret it completely.

Long story short because this is getting long: I think Brook and Robin would end up talking things out with him because they're the ones who understand him the most in this situation. He'd apologize to Nami but also everyone else would apologize too for acting this way, they were just worried and wanted to look after him. I think, after this, the only ones watching Sanji would be Brook and Robin and they'd do it carefully, supporting him and helping him get better. And the whole crew would be next to him along the way but doing it with less assertiveness and just gentler.

I think the concept of Sanji thinking about death so often is great because it adds depth to his character and it's not a crazy thought. I think it's pretty damn canon, actually. At least him being careless about his own life.

[specialmouse]

You know .

[ocelotegg]

the notes on that post about the vietnam war veteran going back to vietnam for vacation and getting pranked by the tour guide are driving me CRAZY. "what if he was drafted and he has ptsd" was he drafted to vacation 60 years later. or did he go back of his own free will knowing full well this could be a triggering environment for him? it's almost like he has agency and has chosen to fly to vietnam and take + pay for this tour through an area with VC tunnels and then proceed to be so shocked and offended by a (relatively tame) prank that he yelled at the tour guide For Ten Consecutive Fucking Minutes

[chenyuvale]

.. i feel nauseous

[linc-karo-27]

The more I hear about that set the more I assume it was a melting pot of stress and tempers and arguments. And ngl it doesn't surprise me. This is what I was wondering.

Do I condone what I feel th**trebo*rd thread suggested (without evidence of any kind not even mild context which is needed when this is not a common view of someone even from DM) of someone being nasty and short with crew?

No

Not at all - that isn't adult behaviour. You're better than this. This is not acceptable at all. Especially from someone who's usually "drama free".

Do I genuinely wonder if this was caused by set and/or was a result of winding up?

Yes.

Yes I do. If I spent 12-16 hours a day in what seemed to be a melting pot of mess and stuff and wound up enough someone did something trivial, I'd snap at them.

But until evidence is coming out of what happened (bar the one line of "X is equally as a diva as Y") I'm saying from the context it was a one off/happened now and then from the person not always being there. aka. it kicked off a lot but wasn't constant and it was just a coincidence it was a lot while there were there.

But yeah. The amount of mess so far that press tour is gonna be bribe central.

edit: I THINK *THAT* ATTITUDE ARTICLE IN 2018 (MAYBE 2019) WAS THE ANSWER - WATCH IT BE HIS WEIRD "RITUALS" BECAUSE HE WAS JUST VERY STRESSED THERE BECAUSE IT WAS A PRESSURE COOKER.

[todayisafridaynight]

Prior to sending the ask I was just guessing what matrophobia meant based on the root words but I looked it up after and went ohhhh and then you confirmed that extra dimension to it and I went OHHHHH

I think that gets to the heart of what I've been thinking about, that bittersweetness, because despite his best efforts... of course he could never end up anything like Yoko, but he still ended up with an abusive "household." Because in addition to Masato ending up how he did, he has to see those same situations play out, feel that same tension in the air between Jo and Ichi, over and over for almost a decade straight.

Like, in a way, he's forced to put himself in Toshio's shoes when that happens. He can't really get through to Jo, in the same way Toshio can't get through to Yoko, but he can try to step in before lasting damage is done, and he can try to make it bearable for his son. You know. Have a nice talk. Treat him to Peking duck. I'm SO normal about the (drawn-out) parallels of those scenes

So then with Jo... he kind of does become his father, even if he never wanted to (no one wants to), both through his ruinous neglect of Masato at birth and through how he comes to look at discipline and corporal punishment. I'm sure it's not lost on him in Masato's case (owww), but with Ichi, it's not like he has any reason to see him as his son... But How Far Can That Take You.

Because it's like, at the start, he was openly beating Ichi in front of Arakawa and not letting up much when Arakawa intervened. But then you have The Yubitsume Scene and Arakawa walking in on All That and... he looks sorry. Sorry for being caught, probably, but sorry nonetheless. Like... what changed between then and now... have you two had a Heartfelt Conversation... do you know where Arakawa got that scar... are you unable to change your "nature" even then...

Side note bro your SHOE is the size of his TORSO I promise you do not need to kick him with all the strength you've got like what the hell is this 😭😭😭

BUT ALL THAT ASIDE thank you so much for delving into the symbolism! Wonderful read. I don't really have an eye for symbolism, so that makes it all the more enjoyable to revisit the comic and everything with what you've gone into. I think a lot of your experiences resonate with mine, so conversely I'm not sure what others would take away from it, BUT I think there's enough there that's so insightful and evocative that it's effective without personal experience. I don't think there's anything I could add, so. Yeah. For once I am happy to sit back and take it all in... On that note, definitely looking forward to your next comic!

AUUUGH YEAAAH YEAHEYA HYEAH THAT EXACTLY OUUUGH OWIEE OWW.....

that's literally it though. like no extra notes. except The Obligatory Few i dont think it was an accident that arakawa is set up as the beginning of the game's 'protagonist' and planting that 'troubled family' taste first thing in our mind. i remember how i felt when i first saw arakawa walk in on jo and ichi and then arakawa taking ichi out for dinner i was just like🧍‍♂️Girl No The Cycle.... It's Continuing...... //screams// LIKE UGH IT WAS SO GOOD BUT ALSO OWWW STOPPP and then on the REPLAY it just hurts more cause with the added context to jo's character its like Oh No...... You're Your Father's Son....

and youre right: jo doesn't have an implicit reason to see how he treats ichi is wrong, hence he similarly doesnt have any reason to stop- not unless arakawa intervenes of course (and i will stand outside my window thinking of the possibility arakawa ever did try to have A Conversation with jo... arms folded behind my back and all like Man™️....)

oh but yeah, absolutely no problem ! im lowkey of an egotist so i do like to talk bout the stuff i make. More In Depth (though thats obvious considering the fuckin essays in the tags i always leave ☠️☠️) gerjlgaELKjg. so i was happy to explain ♪(´▽｀) !! what i like about symbolism is that it can be intentional or not, and the fun is always finding it just by chance. i cant explain it properly, but i just think its a neat 'seasoning' of sorts to drawings (❁´◡`❁)

[quxyivs]

HELOOOOO UR WORK IS ABSOLUTELY AMAZING I LOVED THE CHAN ONE CAN YOU DO LIKE MORE ANGST 9th member LIKE TBH IM OUT OF IDEAS MYSELF MAYBE SOMETHING LIKE THE 9TH MEMBER GETS YELLED AT OR SMTH IM ABSOLUTELY 👍 stupid ANYWAYS U ATE

TY FOR THE REQ LUV!! THIS IDEA IS AMAZINGG

Mistakes

OT8!Skz x 9th member reader (fem implied)

summary- During practice for a solo you keep messing up and everyone keeps yelling at you so you just go off the radar for days until they find you.

Trigger warning- Overworking, Bruises, Crying, Screaming, Use of Noona, cursing and a cliffhanger ( lmk if i missed anything)

You were practicing over and over again. Your body was sore and stiff. You could barely do anything. You tried to move and you collapsed to the ground. The members were watching which made it worse. “Noona you need to take a break-“ “No she doesn’t. The last thing she needs is a break. Get up. Cmon we don’t got all day to watch you goof around” Minho said harshly cutting off Jeongin as Chan agreed. “You should’ve been had this down. Cmon go again.” You shakily tried to stand up but couldn’t and fell back down holding your bruised leg.

“God you can’t even stand?! I’m sorry but what are you even good for? This whole week you’ve been doing nothing right!! You couldn’t sing properly you couldn’t dance right either!! What’s not clicking in your tiny mind that we don’t have all fucking day to watch you fool around?!” Minho snapped and the others expect Han, Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin joined in also scolding you.

Lazy this.

Lazy that.

Lazy. Lazy. Lazy.

“OH MY GOD SHUT THE FUCK UP!!” You snapped catching everyone off guard. “Y/N THIS Y/N THAT!! IM FUCKING TRYING!! I AM!! MY LEG IS BRUISED!! I’VE BEEN PRACTICING ALL DAY WHILE BALANCING MY FAMILY ISSUES BUT YOU FOUR OBVIOUSLY DON’T CARE!! I- I HATE ALL OF YOU SO FUCKING MUCH!!” As the words leave your mouth you look up to see everyone’s eyes widened in horror. It was definitely too late to go back now.

“..Felix take her home. Everyone go home. Now.” Chan said harshly causing everyone to pack up as Felix helped you up and took you home. He helped you into the shower and into the bed. “Y/n I-“ “Just leave..please..” You said weakly. Felix looked at your tired face and nodded before leaving. The moment he left you began crying loudly screaming how you were nothing and were ungrateful.

3 days had passed and no response from you. You didn’t show up to practice anymore and you didn’t call or text any of the members out of concern they go to your house to see you. Chan took a deep breath before knocking on the door. The door opens and… “I’m sorry I think you have the wrong house.” It was an older lady. Looked about 60-65. The boys looked at each other. “Where’s Y/N?? Y/N L/N?” Chan asked concern oozing throughout his tone. “She’s gone”

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IM SORRY BUT I FELT LIKE A CLIFFHANGER WAS DEFINITELY NECESSARY!! LMK IF U WANT A PART TWO<3

[eat-rock]

bad day for tourette’s: my brother learned how to snap and will almost definitely be making it his newest stim