#Jubilee Bridge

[richs-pics]

Two wrecks and the Jubilee Bridge, Walney Channel

[insidecroydon]

A proper 'Jeremy Hunt': Mayor Perry breaks graffiti promises

KEN LEE reports from Thornton Heath on a persistent piece of social messaging that just won’t go away Paint job: Mayor Jason Perry is quick to take credit for graffiti ‘blitzes’. But the reality on the streets is far different Offensive graffiti on two council signs on Blakemore Road in Thornton Heath that include the “C” word, and which dozens of primary aged children have to walk past on their…

[hsundholm]

Night in Marina Bay by Henrik Sundholm Via Flickr: Night in the Marina Bay area in Singapore.

[helluvatimes]

Jubilee Bridge

Jubilee Bridge in Covid times. Photo credit: Jonathan Chua.

This bridge was opened the same day the founding Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew was buried. It was his brainchild, one of his many contributions to this island state that he gave his life … and soul … to build. This image was taken just after Singapore exited the so-called ‘circuit breaker’ lock-down in 2020.

A negative exposure compensation of 1-1/3 stops was used here with local darkening of the sky and foreground in post.

[pommedepersephone]

"MOM this is the bridge Helen's boyfriend crossed over..."

[oliveryuchan]

View from Waterloo Bridge, London, 2024, acrylic on canvas paper, 508x405mm, available

[leepaulphotography]

Silver Jubilee Bridge between Runcorn and Widnes, England.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ homecoming

chapter summary: While giving a guest lecture at your alma mater, you run into two people you never expected to meet.

word count: 9.4k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: the ending of this is kind of the set up for every other chapter; you'll see what i mean when you read it :)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, shy!reader, mention of absent parents, oral (f!receiving) fluff, slight angst

series masterlist - chapter 2 → chapter 4

“When two particles interact, they become linked, no matter how far apart they are. Changing one affects the other instantaneously, faster than light…”

Your voice faltered as you glanced at Logan, who sat at one of the desks, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with a small, amused smile. He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he adored you. You could practically feel it radiating off of him.

You froze mid-step, letting out a soft sigh. “This isn’t going to work,” you said, taking off your glasses and rubbing the bridge of your nose.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “What’s not gonna work, sweetheart?”

“This,” you gestured toward him, exasperated but fond. “You’re looking at me like my husband, not a bored college student who probably only showed up because there’s free food after the lecture. How am I supposed to practice if you’re just… swooning at me?”

Logan leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “Swooning, huh? Don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of that before.”

You crossed your arms, trying to appear stern, but the warmth in his gaze made it impossible. “I’m serious, Logan. I need honest feedback, not… whatever this is.”

Pushing himself up from the chair, Logan walked toward you, his hands finding your waist as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Alright, darlin’. Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll make it more realistic for you.”

“Logan—” you started to protest, but he was already heading toward the door, a sly grin on his face.

When he returned, you were taken aback. Logan had enlisted some of the younger students—Rogue, Bobby, and Kitty, among others—and had them seated in the classroom. To keep things authentic, he had provided them with snacks and, you suspected, strict instructions to act as uninterested and distracted as possible. Rogue was already doodling on her notebook, Kitty was whispering something to Bobby, and Jubilee was tapping her pen loudly on the desk.

You frowned, looking at Logan as he leaned casually against the wall near the door. “You know I already teach them, right? This isn’t exactly a new audience.”

Logan shrugged, that trademark smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, but they’re good at actin’ like they don’t care. Go on. You’ve got this.”

Rolling your eyes, you adjusted your glasses and turned back to face the room. The students quieted down a little, though their expressions remained deliberately bored. With a deep breath, you launched back into your explanation, this time ignoring Logan’s soft chuckles in the background.

---

Later that evening, after the impromptu lecture had ended and Logan had dismissed the students, you found yourself in the library, curled up in one of the oversized chairs with a book. Logan entered quietly, his presence impossible to miss as he sat down on the arm of your chair.

“You did great, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and warm.

You glanced up at him, a small smile on your lips. “You think so?”

He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “I know so. You’re brilliant. Just had to make sure you believed it.”

Feeling a little less shy, you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Thank you, Logan. For always believing in me.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Always, darlin’.”

For a moment, the world seemed to still, and it was just the two of you, together in the quiet.

---

“Well, if there are no more questions…” Robert, one of the faculty at Stanford, looked out into the audience, giving a polite nod toward the murmuring crowd. “Alright, thank you, Mrs. Howlett, for coming all this way for us.”

The room began to stir as students shuffled in their seats, gathering their belongings. A few polite claps echoed, mingling with the hushed sounds of conversation. “There are some food and drinks out in the hall if you’d—ah, no point,” Robert trailed off as half the students ignored him, funneling toward the exit.

You stood by the podium, your heart still racing slightly from the presentation. Public speaking wasn’t your forte, but Stanford was your alma mater, and you’d been determined to deliver a polished talk. From your vantage point, you spotted Logan lingering near the back, his arms crossed, a half-smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t bother to hide the pride in his expression.

As the room emptied, Logan made his way toward you. His heavy boots echoed in the quieting auditorium, his presence grounding as always. “Told ya it’d go fine,” he said as he stopped in front of you.

You smiled, still a little flustered. “Yeah, well… you’re biased.”

Logan snorted. “Sure. But it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a surprising gentleness. “Proud of you, darlin’. Bet half of them couldn’t keep up, but that’s their loss.”

Rolling your eyes, you adjusted your glasses. “Thanks, Logan. That was—”

“—adorable? Endearing? Downright brilliant?” he offered, smirking.

“Not what I was going to say,” you replied with a laugh, shoving his arm lightly. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

He stepped aside to let you lead the way, trailing comfortably behind you. Once outside, you were both met with the sharp, sunny California afternoon, a stark contrast to the cool Westchester climate you were used to. The warmth in the air was matched by your mood—light, content, maybe a little relieved.

But before either of you could make it to the parking lot, a voice called from behind.

“Excuse me! Y/N?”

You froze mid-step, the hair on your arms standing on end. Logan instantly noticed your shift, his body tensing as he placed a steadying hand on your lower back. Turning slowly, you were met with the sight of an older couple, a man and a woman in their late fifties or early sixties. The man wore a sharp suit, the woman a tasteful blazer, though they both looked somewhat uncertain, hesitant.

The woman took a step forward. “Hi… I—I know this is sudden, but…” Her gaze searched yours for recognition, but there was none. Her voice softened. “We’re your parents.”

Your stomach dropped.

The words hung in the air like they weren’t real, their weight pressing down on your chest. Your first instinct was to laugh, to brush it off as some cruel joke, but their expressions didn’t shift. They were hopeful. Nervous.

Logan’s hand tightened ever so slightly against your back, a subtle reminder that he was there. You swallowed hard, taking a shaky breath as your mind struggled to catch up.

“I—I don’t…” you stammered. “Why now?”

The man, your supposed father, winced. “That’s a fair question. We—well, we’ve always regretted not reaching out sooner.”

“Sooner?” The word caught in your throat as you tried to process. “I’ve been alive for twenty-seven years. You could’ve called. Written. Literally anything. But you didn’t. And now, suddenly—”

“We’re sorry,” the woman interrupted softly, her eyes glossy. “We want to get to know you, if you’ll let us. Maybe… dinner? Tonight?”

You flinched at the suggestion, glancing at Logan. His jaw was tight, his gaze scrutinizing, but he didn’t speak, letting you handle this at your own pace. For a moment, you wanted him to step in, to tell them off for their audacity. But you shook the thought away, taking another deep breath.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally managed, your voice flat. “Can I… get back to you?”

They nodded quickly, a mixture of relief and sadness flickering across their faces. “Of course,” your father said. “Here—” He handed over a business card, the expensive stock and minimalist design further underlining the contrast between their lives and the one you’d known.

After a few more polite murmurs, they walked away, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

---

Back at the hotel, you paced the room restlessly while Logan sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a mix of concern and quiet protectiveness. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Darlin’,” he said gently, “you don’t owe them anything.”

You stopped, turning to face him. “But what if I do? They’re my parents, Logan. My parents. And I don’t even know why they gave me up. What if it was something… unavoidable? What if they’ve changed?” You ran a hand through your hair, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. “What if I’m just being a coward by not hearing them out?”

Logan stood, crossing the room in two strides to stand in front of you. His hands rested on your shoulders, grounding you. “Coward? No. You’re not that. But you don’t gotta torture yourself trying to fix somethin’ that ain’t your fault.”

His words soothed a little of the storm inside you, but they didn’t erase it entirely. “I know,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “But if I don’t go, I’ll always wonder. I just…” You hesitated, looking up at him. “I don’t want to do it alone.”

His expression softened instantly. “You think I’d let you?” he said, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “If you decide to meet ‘em, I’ll be there. No question. Always.”

The weight in your chest lifted slightly. With Logan, it didn’t feel as scary. You nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it. Dinner.”

Logan pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “Alright, sweetheart. But just say the word, and we’re outta there.”

---

You fiddled with the edge of your dress, keeping your gaze down from your ‘parents’ across the small restaurant table. The world around you was warm and inviting—the soft clatter of plates, the low hum of conversation—but it might as well have been silent. Your parents, the very people who had abandoned you as a child, now sat across from you, smiling as though they’d earned this moment.

Logan, ever your anchor, sat beside you, his hand resting lightly on your knee under the table. The subtle pressure was calming, a wordless reminder that he was here, that you weren’t alone in this. You took a steadying breath and finally looked up to meet their gazes.

“So,” your mother began, her tone almost too casual, as though she were trying to bridge a lifetime of absence with small talk. “How long have you and Logan been together?”

You hesitated, glancing at Logan. He gave you an encouraging nod, his expression unreadable to anyone but you. “About a year and a half,” you said finally. “We got married six months ago.”

“Married already?” your father said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s… fast, isn’t it?”

“Not when you know it’s right,” Logan said smoothly, his voice low and steady. He leaned back in his chair, his arm now draped along the back of yours. Though he appeared relaxed, you could sense the subtle tension in his posture. He was watching them, every word and movement, like a hawk.

Your mother smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And where do you work now? Still at Stanford?”

“No,” you replied, shaking your head. “I teach physics at a school in New York.”

“Physics,” your father repeated, his tone carrying a trace of surprise. “That’s impressive. Your grandmother always did say you were smart.” He sipped his wine, glancing briefly at Logan. “And Logan? What do you do?”

“I’m a teacher too,” Logan said simply, his gaze unwavering.

Your mother tilted her head, clearly not expecting that answer. “Oh? What subject?”

“History,” Logan replied. His tone was polite enough, but you could tell he was tiring of the scrutiny.

You shifted uncomfortably, eager to steer the conversation away from Logan. “What made you decide to reach out now?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended but firm.

Your parents exchanged a quick look, and your mother’s smile faltered. “Well,” she began, folding her hands in her lap, “we’ve been thinking about you for a long time. And after your grandfather passed recently…” She trailed off, her expression turning somber.

Your chest tightened at the mention of your grandfather. Though your grandparents had divorced long before you were born, you’d had a close relationship with him growing up. Although, it had fizzled out when she died, he still made sure to send you letters every holiday.

Your father cleared his throat, his voice gentler now. “He left something for you in his will. A substantial inheritance. We thought it was important that we deliver the news personally.”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“He wanted you to have it,” your mother added quickly, as if that somehow justified their sudden reappearance in your life. “He left… quite a bit of money. Enough to make a difference.”

The words hung in the air like a lead weight. You glanced at him, and his jaw was set, his eyes sharp as they flicked between your parents.

“So, let me get this straight,” Logan said, his voice low and cutting. “You didn’t want her. Didn’t care enough to reach out for twenty-seven years. But now that there’s money involved, you’re here playin’ happy family?”

Your father bristled, his gaze hardening. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” Logan shot back, his tone daring him to argue. “Sounds pretty accurate to me.”

Your mother opened her mouth to respond, but the ringing of Logan’s phone cut through the tension. He pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. “It’s Jean,” he muttered to you, standing. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

As Logan stepped away, your parents exchanged another look before your father let out a quiet scoff. “That’s who you married?” he said under his breath, though he didn’t bother to lower his voice enough for you to miss it.

Something in you snapped.

“That’s who I married,” you said sharply, your voice louder than you intended. Both of them turned to look at you, startled. “The man who’s been there for me every single day. Who loves me, supports me, and makes me feel like I matter. Unlike the two of you, who couldn’t even be bothered to stick around when I needed you.”

Your mother’s eyes widened. “We—”

“No,” you interrupted, standing now, your hands trembling. “You don’t get to explain. You don’t get to waltz into my life after nearly three decades and act like you care. You gave me up. You made that choice. And you don’t get to make me feel guilty for not wanting to play along with whatever this is.”

The restaurant was quiet now, other diners casting wary glances your way, but you didn’t care. You grabbed your bag, your heart pounding. “If Grandpa wanted me to have the money, fine. But don’t pretend you’re here for me. You’re here because you know you have no claim to it, and you’re hoping I’ll feel sorry enough for you to share.”

Your father’s face hardened, but your mother looked close to tears. As you turned to leave, you caught sight of Logan standing just outside the restaurant’s glass door, his expression unreadable. You knew he’d heard every word, his enhanced hearing ensuring he hadn’t missed a thing.

When you stepped outside, his arms were around you instantly, pulling you close. “You okay, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

You nodded against his chest, the weight of the confrontation beginning to lift. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I am now.”

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his grip tightening slightly. “Proud of you,” he said simply, and those three words meant more than anything else in that moment.

As you walked away from the restaurant together, hand in hand, you felt lighter. Logan was your family now, and with him, you had everything you needed.

---

Logan paced quietly near the small dresser in the hotel room, the dim light catching on the hard line of his jaw. You sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing your dress over your knees, the faint hum of the air conditioning filling the space. The weight of the confrontation had lifted slightly, replaced by a strange, bittersweet relief.

“Feel okay?” Logan asked, his voice soft, breaking the silence. He stopped pacing, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he looked at you.

You nodded, offering a small smile. “I think I do. It’s like… I finally said everything I’ve wanted to say for years. I’m not sure I even care about the inheritance. It’s just nice to have it out.”

Logan stepped closer, his movements measured, his eyes searching yours. “You were incredible back there,” he said. “I meant it when I said I was proud of you. Standing up for yourself, for us—it wasn’t easy, but you didn’t back down.”

His words sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the room. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You felt the bed dip slightly as he sat down beside you, his arm coming to rest around your shoulders. He didn’t rush you, just sat there, his presence solid and grounding.

“You sure you’re fine?” he asked again, his fingers brushing against your shoulder in a light, comforting touch.

You tilted your head to look at him, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. “I’m sure,” you said firmly this time, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Especially with you here.”

Logan’s eyes softened, a small smirk forming as he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re stronger than you think, sweetheart.”

His hand slid from your shoulder to the curve of your waist, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your dress. The touch was subtle, almost absentminded, but it sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned into him, your breath catching as his lips found the corner of your mouth.

“Logan,” you murmured, a hint of hesitation in your voice.

“Hmm?” His lips moved along your jaw, slow and deliberate, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re good, right? Tell me to stop if you need to.”

You shook your head, your hands finding his chest. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all he needed to hear. Logan’s lips claimed yours fully, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck. The kiss was slow but deep, his tongue teasing against yours, drawing a quiet moan from your throat. His other hand slid lower, skimming the edge of your dress before tugging it slightly higher, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your thigh.

“You’re wearing this damn thing to kill me, aren’t you?” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough with need.

You flushed, a soft laugh escaping. “It’s just a dress.”

“It’s more than just a dress,” Logan said, his hand gripping your thigh, pulling you closer. His lips moved to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there. “It’s you in it.”

Your breath hitched as his teeth grazed your pulse point, your hands clutching at his shirt. “Logan…”

"Let me take care of you, darlin’," Logan murmured, his voice low and intimate. Before you could respond, he was guiding you back onto the bed, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher. His touch was firm yet deliberate, each movement precise and confident, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

The hem of your dress bunched at your hips as Logan settled between your legs, his rough hands warm against your thighs. His eyes met yours, the intensity there enough to send your heart racing. "Still okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady, but his grip tightened slightly, grounding you.

You nodded, breath hitching slightly. "I’m fine, Logan. Really."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Good. ‘Cause I’m not stoppin’ unless you tell me to."

His hands pressed your thighs open further, his gaze locked on the spot where your panties were already damp. He hooked his thumbs into the fabric and dragged it down slowly, the rough pads of his fingers grazing your skin and making you shiver. The cool air of the room hit you, but Logan’s warm breath soon replaced it, and you squirmed in anticipation.

"Patience," he muttered, his tone edged with teasing as his hands slid back up your legs, spreading them wider. His lips pressed to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving a trail of kisses that grew closer and closer to where you ached for him most.

"Logan," you whispered, your voice barely audible. It wasn’t a plea—it was a need, a longing you couldn’t contain.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I know," he murmured, his breath hot against you. Then his mouth was on you, his tongue moving with slow, deliberate strokes that had your hands clutching at the sheets. Logan worked with a practiced precision, the rough scrape of his stubble against your skin contrasting perfectly with the soft heat of his tongue.

Your head fell back against the pillows as a quiet gasp escaped your lips. The tension in your body began to melt away, replaced by a wave of warmth and pleasure that only he could give. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, keeping you in place as he delved deeper, his tongue exploring every sensitive spot with maddening care.

"You taste so fuckin’ good," he said against you, his voice a low growl that sent a fresh surge of heat through your body. He glanced up briefly, his lips glistening. "Could stay here all damn night."

You bit your lip, your hands reaching down to thread through his hair, the soft strands catching between your fingers. "Logan," you whispered again, more insistently this time. The sound of his name seemed to spur him on, his tongue circling that sensitive bundle of nerves before sucking gently, drawing a shuddering moan from you.

His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you steady as your hips jerked reflexively against his mouth. Logan groaned low in his throat, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through you. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, just kept up the steady rhythm that had your body trembling beneath him.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he muttered against your skin, his voice rough, his lips brushing the slick heat between your thighs. "Love hearing those sounds you make."

You swallowed hard, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. "Logan... please," you murmured, your fingers curling tighter in his hair, urging him closer.

"Please what?" he rasped, his lips pressing kisses along your inner thigh before returning to where you needed him most. His tongue flicked over your clit again, and you nearly cried out, your back arching off the bed.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. "Don’t stop."

Logan smirked against you, his hands shifting to grip your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth. "Didn’t plan on it, darlin’."

He was relentless, his tongue teasing and stroking in ways that made your head spin. The sensation built steadily, your body tightening as the heat coiled low in your belly. You couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel as he worked you over, his stubble rough against your skin and his tongue unyielding.

"Oh- Logan," you gasped, your thighs trembling against his shoulders. He hummed in response, the sound low and guttural, his hands flexing against your hips.

The tension inside you snapped suddenly, and your entire body arched as a wave of heat and pleasure crashed over you. You cried out, your fingers tugging at his hair as you rode out the aftershocks, your thighs quivering in his grasp. Logan didn’t stop until you were squirming, pushing weakly at his shoulders as the sensation became too much.

He finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening as he looked up at you with a satisfied grin. "There’s my girl," he murmured, his voice soft but edged with pride.

You let out a shaky breath, your head falling back against the pillow as you tried to steady your racing heart. Logan moved up the bed, settling beside you, his hand brushing against your arm as he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple.

"You good?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost tender.

You nodded, your breath still uneven. "Yeah. I’m good."

Logan stretched out beside you, pulling you close until your head rested against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding you. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, his other arm draped over your waist.

"Meant what I said earlier," he murmured, breaking the comfortable silence. "You were amazing tonight. Stood your ground, didn’t take any crap. Made me proud, sweetheart."

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you tilted your head to look at him. "Thank you," you said softly, your voice steady now.

Logan leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You don’t gotta thank me for telling the truth."

You settled back against him, your body relaxing completely for the first time all evening. Logan’s hand stayed firm on your back, his thumb tracing idle patterns against your skin as the quiet settled between you.

In that moment, there was no past, no lingering tension from the confrontation earlier. Just you and Logan, tangled together on the bed, his presence steady and unshakable.

---

You walked into the kitchen, the scent of freshly baked cookies still wafting in the air. Your eyes immediately caught Logan, mid-action, reaching for one of the chocolate chip cookies you and Jean had finished less than 30 minutes ago.

Before he could take a bite, you hurried over, grabbing his wrist. "Wait! I wanted that one!"

Logan looked down at you, raising an eyebrow in mild amusement. "There’s more right here, darlin’," he said, nodding toward the plate piled high with cookies on the counter.

You shook your head stubbornly, crossing your arms while keeping your hand on his wrist. "But I don’t want those," you said. "I want that one."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "They’re all the same, sweetheart," he teased, holding the cookie just out of reach and starting to lift it toward his mouth. "Bet you wouldn’t even know the difference."

"I would," you shot back quickly. "That’s the one I want, Logan."

He smirked, his lips curling around the edges of the cookie as if to bite into it anyway, just to prove a point. Your eyes narrowed, and you acted on pure instinct.

Leaning in quickly, you pressed your lips to his, a fleeting but deliberate kiss. The move startled him just enough to loosen his grip, giving you the perfect opportunity to snag the cookie out of his hand.

"Ha!" you exclaimed triumphantly, taking a step back and holding the cookie aloft like it was a trophy.

Logan blinked, recovering from the surprise, and his smirk deepened into a full grin. "Did you just—" he started, shaking his head as his laughter spilled out. "That’s dirty play, darlin’. Using a kiss to steal it? You’re lucky you’re cute."

You bit into the cookie with an exaggeratedly smug expression, savoring the sweet, warm taste. "Lucky has nothing to do with it," you replied between bites.

He stepped toward you, a playful gleam in his eyes. "You know that’s not gonna fly, right? No one steals from me and gets away with it."

You tried to dart around the island, but Logan was too quick. He caught you easily, one arm looping around your waist to pull you close. You squealed, half-laughing, holding the half-eaten cookie out of his reach.

"Let me finish it!" you said, your voice muffled by laughter.

"Not a chance," Logan murmured, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Not after that stunt."

"Logan!" You wiggled in his grip, still laughing, trying not to crumble what remained of the cookie.

He dipped his head closer, murmuring low against your ear, "Fine. You win. This time." Then, with one swift motion, he stole a bite of the cookie you were holding, his smirk more self-satisfied than ever as he pulled back.

"Hey!"

"What? Just evening the score," he said, popping the stolen bite into his mouth.

The playful bickering turned to more laughter as you stayed in the kitchen, Logan’s hold never loosening entirely. Jean walked in a moment later, glancing between the two of you, her hands on her hips.

"You two do realize there’s a whole plate of cookies, right?" she asked, her tone laced with amusement.

"It’s not about the cookie, Jean," Logan replied smoothly, casting you a wink that made your cheeks heat. "It’s the principle of the thing."

Jean rolled her eyes. "You two are ridiculous. But at least now I know who I should’ve made extra for."

Still tucked against Logan’s side, you shot her a sheepish grin. "It’s his fault," you said, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

Jean just shook her head, smirking. "Sure it is," she said before grabbing a cookie and walking out of the kitchen, leaving the two of you tangled together in the aftermath of your very serious cookie standoff.

Logan’s grip stayed firm as he kissed your temple, murmuring, "You’re somethin’ else, you know that?"

"Is that a bad thing?" you teased, nibbling at the remaining bite of your cookie.

"Not even close," he said with a warm grin, his thumb tracing a slow, reassuring pattern against your waist.

---

Logan grumbled at his desk, glaring at the stack of papers in front of him like they owed him money. Being the history teacher wasn’t exactly his dream job, and grading exams just reinforced how much he hated it.

"How the hell do you mess up World War II?" he muttered under his breath, flipping through yet another exam where half the essay was about Napoleon. "Wrong war, wrong damn century."

Arms came around his neck from behind, your soft sleep shirt brushing against his skin. “You’re gonna tear that paper from how hard you’re grippin’ it.”

Logan’s scowl softened as your voice cut through his frustration, and the stiff set of his shoulders relaxed just a little. He glanced over at you, leaning against him with sleepy eyes and tousled hair, clearly fresh from bed. You were wrapped up in one of his old flannel shirts, sleeves hanging past your hands, paired with soft, fuzzy sleep pants. The sight alone made him feel warmer.

“Kid deserved it,” he muttered, though his tone had lost its bite. He held up the offending exam. “Wrote about Napoleon in World War II. Napoleon. You believe that?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, lips brushing against the edge of his ear as you leaned closer. “Maybe they figured he’d make a comeback.”

“Yeah, well, if he did, he’d still lose.” He dropped the paper onto the growing pile with a grunt and tilted his head back to look up at you. “What’re you doin’ up? Thought you were out cold.”

“I was,” you murmured, fingers absentmindedly tracing the line of his jaw. “You weren’t there.”

Logan stilled for a moment, his sharp gaze catching yours even upside down. That quiet admission—so simple, so soft—always hit him deeper than he cared to admit. He reached up, catching your hand in his larger one, and brought it down to rest against his chest.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, voice lower now, rough around the edges like it always was when he spoke to you. “Go back to bed. I’ll join you in a bit.”

You stayed still, your other arm still looped around his neck as you leaned more of your weight against him. “You’ve been at this for hours,” you said softly, glancing at the remaining stack of exams. “You’ll fall asleep right here at the desk.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Logan said with a slight smirk, but when you didn’t let go, he sighed. “You don’t quit, do ya?”

“Not when it comes to you,” you answered with an ease that made his chest tighten.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he turned in his chair, his hands landing lightly on your waist to steady you. “Alright, darlin’. You win.” He stood, forcing you to step back slightly, though he kept one hand on your hip as if afraid you’d float away otherwise. “But if I see Napoleon showin’ up in another World War II exam, I’m quittin’ this job.”

You grinned, taking his hand as you tugged him toward the bed. “I’ll talk to Scott. Maybe he’ll give you a raise.”

Logan scoffed. “Yeah, I’ll hold my breath.”

The bedroom was dimly lit, moonlight spilling through the partially open curtains. You crawled back onto the bed first, curling up under the comforter as you waited for him. Logan, meanwhile, paused just long enough to strip off his shirt, leaving him in just his sweats before he settled in beside you. The bed dipped under his weight as he pulled you close, his arm sliding under your head to tuck you against his chest.

You melted into him easily, your cheek pressed to his bare skin as you sighed contentedly. “See? Isn’t this better than failing kids for Napoleon?”

“I wasn’t failin’ him,” Logan murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Gave him a mercy D.”

You couldn’t help but giggle quietly, and Logan felt the sound reverberate against him. “Mercy D,” you repeated. “You’re such a softie.”

“Watch it,” he warned, but there was no heat in it. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns along your back through the flannel, and for a while, the room settled into silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of blankets and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

You broke the quiet first, your voice soft and muffled against his chest. “Why do you still do it?”

Logan blinked, looking down at you. “Do what?”

“Teach history.” You tilted your head slightly, “you don’t seem to like it much.”

He exhaled slowly, his hand stilling on your back. “Someone’s gotta do it. Better me than some idiot who doesn’t know the difference between Normandy and Napoleon.”

You smiled faintly at that. “Fair point.”

Logan’s voice softened as he continued. “Most of these kids—hell, they don’t know half of what happened before they were born. I figure if they’re gonna learn somethin’ about the past, it might as well be from someone who’s lived a lot of it.”

You looked up at him then, your gaze searching his face in the dim light. Logan didn’t look away, but there was something guarded in his expression, like he wasn’t sure why he’d admitted that much.

“You’re a good teacher,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his chest.

Logan snorted. “Yeah. Tell that to the kid who thinks Napoleon was stormin’ the beaches at Normandy.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest before settling back down. “Well, I think you’re great.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but his arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to your hair. “Get some sleep, darlin’,” he murmured. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You smiled against his skin, letting his warmth lull you back to sleep. Logan stayed awake a little longer, though, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as his fingers traced absent patterns against your back again. He didn’t say it out loud, but moments like this—the quiet, the warmth of you beside him—were the reason he stuck around at all.

For someone who’d lived lifetimes, this was the only one that mattered.

---

As you were walking from your classroom to your office, Jean called out your name telepathically, “someone’s at the front door for you.”

You frowned and made your way over to where a man in casual clothing stood outside. “Hello?” You asked, Jean holding the door only halfway open.

“Are you Y/N Howlett?”

“Yes.” You responded, moving slightly closer to Jean for comfort.

The man held out an envelope, “you’ve been served.”

You stared at him, stomach dropping at the words. Slowly, you reached out and took the envelope, the weight of it far heavier than just paper. Your fingers barely curled around it before the man turned and walked away without another word, leaving you and Jean standing in the doorway.

Jean looked at you, her brows furrowed in concern. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice carefully even.

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes still on the envelope as if opening it might explode your entire life apart. "I..." You glanced at Jean, trying to ground yourself in her steady presence. "I don’t know."

“Come inside.” She placed a hand on your back and guided you gently through the door.

Once inside, she closed it behind you and walked you to one of the couches in the main hall. Her calm, methodical movements gave you enough time to focus. "Do you want me to stay while you open it?"

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yeah. Please."

You tore open the envelope, unfolding the crisp papers inside. The legal jargon was an immediate headache, but the gist hit you quickly enough.

Your parents—parents you’d met just once at Stanford, a month ago—were contesting the will of your grandfather. You skimmed the words, anger brewing beneath the shock. The lawsuit wasn’t about you. It was about the inheritance your grandfather had left to you. Money you hadn’t touched—didn’t want to touch. Money your mother and father were determined to get their hands on.

“What is it?” she asked gently, leaning over a bit.

You sighed, lowering the papers slightly. “They’re suing me for the money my grandfather left. The same money they showed up to tell me about last time.” You shook your head, blinking furiously to keep your frustration and embarrassment in check. “I told them I didn’t want it. I never even filed anything to claim it.”

Jean frowned, her gaze hardening in sympathy as she processed what you said. “That’s awful, Y/N. I mean… that’s your family.”

“Not really.” You laughed bitterly, though the sound lacked humor.

Jean put her hand on your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, we’ll figure this out. Do you want to talk to someone about this? Scott can—"

"Logan," you cut in, almost reflexively.

Jean paused but nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay. Do you want me to get him, or—?”

"I’ll go." You stood abruptly, still clutching the papers. “Thanks, Jean. For… sticking with me through that.”

“Always.” Jean watched you head out before leaning back on the couch with a worried sigh.

---

Logan was in the garage, predictably half under his motorcycle. He was wiping his hands with an oil-streaked rag when he heard you approach. As he sat up, he took one look at your face and tossed the rag aside.

“What happened?” he asked immediately, his voice rough but threaded with concern.

You held up the papers wordlessly, struggling to hold his sharp gaze. He took them from your hands, skimming through quickly, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the contents.

“Christ,” he muttered after a long moment, his fist tightening slightly around the edges of the papers. “They’re suin’ you? For money that’s yours?”

“Money I didn’t even want,” you added, sitting heavily on the bench by the wall. Your hands tangled together in your lap, a nervous habit you couldn’t quite break.

He looked at you, anger darkening his expression, but it wasn’t directed at you. It never was. “They think you’re some kid they can push around,” he growled, folding the papers and setting them down before crouching in front of you. His large hands found yours, prying them apart gently. “But you’re not. You’re a hell of a lot stronger than they give you credit for, sweetheart.”

Your chest tightened at the way he spoke to you, so firm yet so gentle all at once. “I don’t want to deal with this,” you admitted, your voice small. “I don’t want the money, Logan. I never did.”

“You won’t have to.” His grip on your hands firmed, grounding you. “We’ll fight this. They ain’t takin’ a damn thing from you.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words soothe you, though doubt still nagged at the edges of your thoughts. “What if they win?”

Logan’s jaw flexed, his sharp features hardening with resolve. “They won’t.”

“Logan, I—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice low but insistent. He pulled you forward slightly so that your knees brushed his shoulders. “Trust me, Y/N. This’ll get sorted. I ain’t lettin’ them screw you over, okay?”

You searched his eyes for any trace of uncertainty but found none. Logan, as always, was unwavering.

“Okay,” you said softly, exhaling as you leaned your forehead against his.

The moment stretched quietly before he broke it, pulling back just far enough to press a kiss to your temple. “C’mon. Let’s get this over to Chuck. He’ll know what to do.”

You hesitated, though his calm tone bolstered you. "You don’t think it’s… embarrassing?"

Logan leaned back on his heels slightly, cocking an eyebrow at you. “Embarrassing? Dealin’ with greedy parents? Not even close.” His smirk softened into something fonder. “You ain’t gotta hide stuff like this from me, darlin’. Or from the team. We’ve all got somethin’ messy in our pasts. Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

His reassurance worked its way past your anxiety, easing the knot in your stomach a bit more. "Okay," you whispered again, squeezing his hands. “Let’s talk to Charles.”

Logan stood and pulled you with him, his arm immediately going around your shoulders as he guided you inside. Whatever fight lay ahead, you knew you weren’t facing it alone.

---

Logan leaned against the dresser, shaking his head. “No.”

You gave a mock pout, holding up the pastel blue sweater that matched your sundress. “C’mon, Logan. It’s just for today.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the dresser with a look of pure defiance. “No way. Not wearin’ that.”

“It’s Easter,” you reasoned, trying not to laugh at the sheer stubbornness etched onto his face. “The kids are excited, and it’s a pastel color. You’ll look festive. Besides,” you added with a teasing tilt of your head, “it matches my dress.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Festive? Darlin’, I ain’t the ‘festive’ type.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” came Jean’s voice from the doorway. She leaned against the frame with a smirk, her arms crossed. “I think you’d look great in it, Logan. Adds some softness to your usual gruffness.”

Logan shot her a glare that only made her smirk widen. “Nobody asked you, Jeannie.”

You hid your smile behind the sweater, trying to keep the peace. “Jean, don’t make it worse,” you murmured, though your tone was light.

“I’m just saying,” Jean replied with a playful shrug before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you alone with Logan again.

“See? Even Jean agrees,” you said, holding the sweater out to him again. “Come on, Logan. Just for a little while?”

He huffed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re not gonna let this go, are ya?”

You shook your head, your smile growing. “Nope.”

Logan stared at you for a long moment, his expression softening despite his obvious resistance. It wasn’t the sweater he was giving in to—it was you. With a grumble, he snatched it out of your hands. “Fine. But if anyone takes a picture, I’m burnin’ it.”

You bit back a laugh as he pulled the sweater on over his usual white undershirt. The pastel blue clashed hilariously with his rugged demeanor, but you had to admit, it looked... sweet on him. The way it matched your dress only made it better.

“There,” Logan said, tugging at the hem like it might suffocate him. “Happy?”

“Very,” you said with a warm smile, stepping closer to adjust the sweater’s collar. “You look good.”

He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t stop you. Instead, his hands found your waist, pulling you close enough that you had to crane your neck to look up at him. “You owe me for this,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his tone.

“Oh, do I?” you teased, resting your hands on his chest. “What do I owe you?”

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’ll find out later,” he said, his voice low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Your cheeks flushed, but you managed to keep your composure. “Well, let’s see if you make it through the egg hunt first.”

He groaned, pulling back enough to look at you. “Wait. Do I gotta do that, too?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, laughing when his head fell back in exaggerated defeat. “The kids will love it. And you look adorable.”

Logan shot you a flat look. “Adorable?”

You grinned, standing on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Yup. Now come on, let’s go before Rogue eats all the candy.”

Logan shook his head, muttering something about how he’d never live this down, but the small smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t really mind. Not as long as it was for you.

---

You and Logan sat across from the lawyer Charles had recommended. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of papers as the lawyer flipped through the documents. Logan leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, a scowl set deep on his face. You sat with your hands folded tightly in your lap, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose as you watched the lawyer with a mixture of apprehension and exhaustion.

“Well,” the lawyer finally said, setting the papers down on the desk in front of him. He adjusted his own glasses, his expression professional but sympathetic. “The good news is that the will is clear. Your grandfather left the inheritance to you and only you. Your parents’ claim has very little legal ground.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, but the tension in your chest didn’t fully ease. “But they can still drag this out, can’t they?” you asked quietly. “Even if the claim isn’t strong?”

The lawyer nodded. “Yes, they can file motions, request hearings, and essentially make this as difficult as possible for you. It’s not uncommon in cases like this.”

Logan growled low in his throat, his impatience bubbling to the surface. “So what do we do to shut this down for good?”

The lawyer glanced at him, unfazed by Logan’s tone. “There are a few options. You can contest the claim in court, which could take time but would likely result in a ruling in your favor. Or,” he paused, looking at you, “you can choose to forfeit the inheritance entirely. That would require specific legal filings, but it would end the dispute.”

You blinked, the weight of the decision settling heavily on your shoulders. “I don’t want the money,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I never wanted it. I didn’t even know about it until my parents showed up at Stanford.”

Logan’s hand slid over yours, grounding you. “You don’t have to decide now,” he said, his voice softer than before.

The lawyer cleared his throat, his expression cautious. “There is one other matter to consider. If you choose to forfeit the inheritance, it wouldn’t simply revert to your parents. According to the terms of the will, the funds would be held in trust for any future heirs—your children, specifically.”

Your head snapped up, and you stared at the lawyer in disbelief. “Future children?”

He nodded. “Yes. It’s an unusual clause, but your grandfather was quite specific. If you don’t claim the inheritance, it remains part of the family estate and will be managed until it can be passed down to your descendants.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, and you glanced at him, your cheeks warming at the faint surprise in his expression. You hadn’t explicitly talked about children with him yet, though the thought had crossed your mind more than once.

“That’s… a lot to process,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t even know he thought about me that way. We weren’t close at the… end.”

The lawyer offered a small, understanding smile. “It’s not uncommon for people to make decisions like this in their wills, even if they weren’t directly involved in someone’s life. He may have wanted to ensure you were cared for in some way.”

You nodded slowly, your thoughts swirling. Logan leaned forward, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “Let’s say she forfeits. What’s to stop her parents from tryin’ to get their hands on the money anyway?”

“There are legal safeguards in place,” the lawyer replied. “The trust would be managed independently, and your parents wouldn’t have access to it. It’s airtight.”

Logan grunted, seemingly satisfied with that answer, but his focus shifted back to you. “What do you wanna do, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to where his hand still covered yours. “I don’t want to go to court,” you said softly. “I don’t want the money, and I don’t want to fight with them. If it can go to… someone else, to the future, then maybe that’s the right thing to do.”

Logan’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his voice steady. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

The lawyer nodded. “I’ll start drafting the necessary documents. It’ll take a little time, but once it’s filed, your parents won’t have a legal leg to stand on.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the meeting wrapped up and the lawyer left the room, Logan turned to you, his expression softening. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your chest still felt heavy. “Yeah. It’s just… a lot.”

He pulled you into his arms without hesitation, holding you close against his chest. “You did good, darlin’,” he murmured against your hair. “Don’t let this mess get to you.”

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace chase away the lingering tension. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“For what?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look down at you.

“For being here,” you said, your gaze meeting his. “For always being here.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, crooked smile. “Where else would I be?”

You laughed softly, the sound shaky but genuine, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead before leading you out of the room.

As the two of you walked into the kitchen, Logan pulled out a bottle of mango juice from the fridge and poured you a glass. His movements were calm and deliberate, a quiet reassurance that everything was going to be okay. He set the glass down in front of you, leaning against the counter as you took a sip.

"You doin' alright now, sweetheart?" he asked, his gaze steady on you.

You nodded, holding the cool glass in your hands. “I think so. I just hate that it had to come to this.”

Logan reached over, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Ain’t your fault. They made their choice, and you made yours. That’s all that matters.”

You managed a small smile, his support giving you the courage to push forward. But the lawyer’s earlier words lingered in your mind, and after a moment of hesitation, you decided to voice the thought that had been nagging at you.

“Logan,” you said, your voice soft, “did it… bother you? What he said about the inheritance going to future kids?”

Logan arched a brow, folding his arms across his chest as he watched you. “Bother me?” he repeated, his tone questioning.

“Yeah.” You looked down at the mango juice in your hands. “We’ve never really talked about that, and I just—”

His hand was under your chin before you could finish, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Does it bother you?” he asked, his tone gentle but intent.

You bit your lip, feeling your cheeks warm. “I don’t think so,” you admitted. “I mean, I’ve thought about it before, but I didn’t want to push. I wasn’t sure if that was something you…” You trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.

Logan’s lips curved into a small smirk, his gaze softening in a way that was meant just for you. “Darlin’, I’ve thought about it plenty. Didn’t bring it up ‘cause I didn’t know if you were ready for that kinda talk.”

A soft laugh escaped you, nervous but sweet. “Guess we’re both good at overthinking things.”

Logan’s hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer until your hips bumped against the counter. “I’m not the kind to plan much of anything,” he said, his voice dropping to that rough, affectionate tone that always made your heart flutter. “But you… you make me wanna think about things like that.”

Your chest tightened with a mixture of nervousness and joy as you briefly rolled your bottom lip between your teeth. Logan’s other hand brushed against your cheek, his thumb sliding lightly across your skin, grounding you in a way only he could.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, his voice low and filled with warmth, “you don’t gotta look so nervous. We’re on the same page.”

You let out a soft, shaky laugh. “I know. It’s just... I didn’t think this conversation would come up like this.”

“Didn’t exactly expect it over lawyer talk,” Logan admitted with a small smirk. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you just a bit closer. “But you think too much sometimes. There’s no rush, no pressure—none of that. But if you’re askin’ if I see it... yeah. I see it, sweetheart.”

Your gaze flicked up to his, caught in the sincerity of his words and the steady way he was looking at you. His eyes, weathered from lifetimes of heartbreak and battle, were now soft and filled with something you could only describe as hope.

You smiled, this time more genuine, a warmth spreading through you. “Me too,” you murmured.

His lips quirked into that crooked grin you’d come to love, and his hand slid to the back of your neck, tugging you forward until your lips met. The kiss was slow and unhurried, a promise sealed in silence. When he pulled back, he kept you close, his forehead pressed against yours.

“No better time to start than now,” he rumbled, the faintest hint of a playful edge slipping into his tone.

Your breath caught, your cheeks instantly flushing. “Logan,” you whispered, voice laced with equal parts shock and anticipation.

He chuckled, that deep, throaty sound sending shivers down your spine. In a swift, effortless move, he lifted you off the ground, one arm supporting your back while the other braced under your knees. You gasped, your hands instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Logan!” you squeaked, your heart racing as he carried you like you weighed nothing.

“What?” he teased, his smirk widening as he began walking out of the kitchen. “Thought we were on the same page.”

You buried your face against his neck, laughing softly. “We are,” you admitted, your voice muffled against his skin. “You just caught me off guard.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

As the two of you reached the bedroom, the door creaked as Logan kicked it open, a certain ease in his movements that you envied sometimes. He set you down gently on the bed, leaning over you with a wolfish grin that made your heart do a somersault.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer again, no teasing this time. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing the edge of your glasses like it was instinctive for him to touch you this way.

The love in his voice and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world—stole whatever doubt you might have had. You nodded, your hand curling around his wrist to keep his touch against your skin.

“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling. “I’m sure.”

Logan kissed you again, deeper this time, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go. And for that moment, nothing else in the world mattered.

this is still 2005! next chapter is also going to be 2005 and then after every chapter will be spanning 1 year!

(although i am now realizing that my timeline is a bit off but just roll with it)

[buckets-and-trees]

Room to Grow

Characters/Pairings: husband!Lloyd Hansen x curvy Millennial female!Reader Word Count: 1.6k Summary: An ordinary day of domestic life with Lloyd. Only you're "in trouble" again, and that trouble leads to a surprising turn of events.

Content/Warnings: use of pet name "Pumpkin," established relationship, explicit smut (vaginal intercourse, clit play, light biting, unprotected sex, implied oral - male receiving), light dirty talk

Notes: Remember last October when I wrote three drabbles the same way (soft, soft!dark, and dark)? Well, then last week I answered some asks that got me thinking about you and soft Lloyd - first, one about a neighbor leaving Lloyd a Christmas gift and then about some of my characters around Christmas time. So... they have more story now.

A/N: The first offering in my Birthday Jubilee collection!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“God damnit, Pumpkin,” Lloyd huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You bite your lip to keep from smiling as you set down the brown paper bag with actual groceries onto the counter. Next to that, you carefully unload the two new plants you’d been carrying in the other arm.

“You are not allowed to go to the store unsupervised anymore! You get new plants every time, without fail!”

“Not every time,” you say, turning to look at him with the most innocent face you can muster. “Only maybe three out of four times. Sometimes only half the time.”

He puts his hands on his hips and cocks his head to the side, frowning, but you don’t see actual fire behind the frown, so you put your hands on his shoulders and raise up on your tiptoes to swiftly kiss his cheek.

You grin broadly as you settle back to your normal height in front of him.

“I’ve never seen an aralla fabian stump, and look at how gorgeous and big this calathea is! And they were both such a good deal!”

Lloyd rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches up. “And where do you plan on even putting these?” He glances around the apartment, which has become a veritable jungle. “There’s no room.”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

“You are intolerable,” he says, and swats your ass as you maneuver around him to put the eggs in the fridge.

“And yet you put a ring on this finger anyway!” you reply, flashing your left hand.

Lloyd's eyes narrow, a predatory glint appearing as he stalks towards you. "I did, didn't I?" he purrs, backing you against the refrigerator. "And do you know why?"

You swallow hard, feeling heat pool in your belly at his proximity. "Why?" you manage to squeak out.

His large hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Because you're mine," he growls. "Every stubborn, plant-obsessed inch of you."

Before you can respond, Lloyd's mouth is on yours, hot and demanding. You melt into him, fingers clutching at his shirt as he presses you more firmly against the fridge. His knee wedges between your thighs, and you can't help but grind against it, seeking friction.

Lloyd breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down your neck. "What am I going to do with you, Pumpkin?" he murmurs against your skin.

You tilt your head, giving him better access. "I can think of a few things," you say breathlessly, rolling your hips against his thigh.

Lloyd chuckles, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "I bet you can." His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips. In one swift motion, he lifts you up, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist.

He carries you to the kitchen island, setting you down on the cool surface. His eyes roam over you hungrily, and you feel your pulse quicken under his intense gaze.

"These clothes," he says, tugging at the hem of your shirt, "need to go."

You raise your arms obediently, allowing him to pull your shirt over your head. He makes quick work of your bra as well, tossing it aside carelessly. His hands immediately come up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Lloyd leans in, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss as his fingers work at the button of your jeans. You lift your hips, allowing him to tug them down along with your underwear. He breaks the kiss to pull them off completely, leaving you naked and exposed on the kitchen counter.

His eyes rake over your body, drinking in every inch of you. "Fucking beautiful," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You reach for him, tugging at his shirt. "Your turn," you say breathlessly.

Lloyd smirks, stepping back just out of your reach. He slowly unbuttons his shirt, maintaining eye contact as he reveals his muscular chest inch by tantalizing inch.

You bite your lip, watching hungrily as Lloyd strips off his shirt. His toned chest and abs are on full display, and you can't help but reach out to run your hands over his warm skin. Lloyd allows it for a moment before catching your wrists and pinning them behind your back with one large hand.

"Patience, Pumpkin," he growls, his free hand working at his belt buckle.

You squirm on the counter, desperate for his touch. "Lloyd, please," you whimper.

He chuckles darkly as he pushes his pants and boxers down, freeing his already hard cock. "So needy," he teases, stepping between your spread legs. "Is this what you want?"

He rubs the head of his cock against your wet folds, and you moan, trying to push your hips forward. But Lloyd's grip on your wrists tightens, holding you in place. "Ah ah," he tuts. "Not yet."

You whine in frustration, but Lloyd just smirks, clearly enjoying your desperation. He continues to tease you, running his cock along your slick folds but never quite giving you what you need.

"Lloyd," you plead, voice breathy. "Please, I need you."

His eyes darken at your words. "Tell me exactly what you need, Pumpkin. I want to hear you say it."

Heat floods your cheeks, but the ache between your legs overrides any embarrassment. Besides, he’s your husband and you’ve let him do things to you you’d never dreamed of.

"I need you inside me," you gasp. "Please, fuck me. I want to feel you stretching me open, filling me up. I need it. I need you."

A low growl rumbles in Lloyd's chest. "Good girl.”

Lloyd's eyes flash with desire as he finally relents, pushing into you with one smooth thrust. You cry out at the delicious stretch, your head falling back as he fills you completely.

"Fuck, Pumpkin," Lloyd groans, releasing your wrists to grip your hips. "So tight for me, always so perfect."

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close as he starts to move. His thrusts are deep and measured at first, but quickly pick up speed as your moans of pleasure fill the kitchen.

"Yes, yes, just like that," you pant, meeting him thrust for thrust. The edge of the counter digs into your thighs, but you hardly notice, lost in the exquisite friction of Lloyd moving inside you.

Lloyd's mouth finds your neck, sucking and biting as he pounds into you relentlessly. One hand snakes between your bodies to rub circles on your clit, and you cry out at the added stimulation.

"That's it, baby," Lloyd murmurs against your skin. "Let me hear you."

Your nails dig into his back as the pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Lloyd's thrusts become more erratic, his breathing ragged against your neck.

"Come for me, Pumpkin," he growls. "I want to feel you clench and cream my cock."

His words, combined with the relentless stimulation, send you over the edge. You cry out Lloyd's name as your orgasm washes over you, your inner walls gripping him like a vice.

Lloyd groans, burying himself deep inside you as he follows you over the edge. You feel the warmth of his release as he pulses inside you, his hips jerking with aftershocks.

For a moment, you both stay still, panting and clinging to each other as you come down from your shared high. Lloyd's forehead rests against yours, his breath warm on your face.

"I love you," you murmur, nuzzling his nose with yours.

Lloyd's lips curve into a soft smile. "I love you too, Pumpkin. Even if you do insist on turning our place into a god damn greenhouse."

You giggle, running your fingers through his hair. "You love it. Admit it."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't deny it. He helps you down from the counter, steadying you when your legs wobble slightly. As you start to reach for your discarded clothes, Lloyd scoops you up in his arms.

"Where are we going?" you ask, giggling as Lloyd carries you naked through the apartment.

"Shower," he says simply. "We're both a mess, and I'm not done with you yet."

Your pulse quickens at his words. "Oh?"

Lloyd's eyes gleam wickedly as he sets you down in the bathroom. "Nope. And we need to make the most of this shower while we can.

“Wait, what?”

He shrugs. “Well, since you insist on bringing home new plants all the time, we’re clearly going to need a bigger place.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, a mix of excitement and uncertainty fluttering in your chest. "A house? Really?"

Lloyd turns on the shower, steam quickly filling the small bathroom. He guides you under the warm spray, his large hands running soap over your skin. "Really," he confirms, a smile playing at his lips. "I know a guy in real estate. He's been sending me listings for weeks now."

"Weeks?" you sputter, both from shock and from the water cascading over your face. "You've been planning this?"

Lloyd chuckles, working shampoo into your hair. "You didn't think I'd let you keep cramming plants into this shoebox forever, did you?" His fingers massage your scalp, and you can't help but moan and lean into his touch. "Clearly we need room to expand. Maybe even a real garden."

The idea makes your heart race with excitement. "A garden? With actual soil and everything?"

Lloyd laughs, the sound echoing off the shower walls. "Yes, Pumpkin. Actual soil. Maybe we can even get you one of those fancy greenhouses."

You squeal with delight, throwing your arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses.

“Get you real dirty, fuck you beneath the begonias or something, how does that sound, Pumpkin?”

“How does that sound? Let me show you, Mr. Hansen,” you say, as you sink to your knees in front of him.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Credit for this little idea fully goes to @stargazingfangirl18 who planted the seed in my head after I shared I'd just indulged in buying FOUR new plants while at Trader Joe's this past Monday... though I don't think she expected this! 🤣

all Welcome Home, Pumpkin stories

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[chaoticrockmusic]

X-Men Christmas Scenarios

Scott Summers (Cyclops): Decorating the Tree

The living room was filled with the scent of pine and the soft hum of Christmas music. You were perched on a step stool, reaching to hang a snowflake ornament on one of the higher branches. Scott stood behind you, holding the box of decorations, watching you with an amused but cautious expression.

“You know,” he said, “if you fall, I can’t catch you. I’m holding fragile glass ornaments here.”

“You could try to catch me,” you shot back, placing the snowflake and hopping off the stool. “Besides, I’m nimble.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Nimble enough to handle the tinsel? Because last year, it looked like a five-year-old threw it on the tree.”

“Hey!” You grabbed a handful of the shiny strands. “It’s called artistic expression. Watch and learn.”

He didn’t have to watch long before you gleefully tossed the tinsel into the air, letting it cascade haphazardly onto the branches.

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. “You cannot be serious.”

“Dead serious,” you said, smirking as you grabbed more tinsel. “And if you don’t like it—”

You flung another handful, this time deliberately aiming for his head.

Scott sighed dramatically, pulling a stray strand off his visor. “You do this to torment me, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.” You laughed, leaning in to kiss his cheek before grabbing another handful of tinsel and sprinting to the other side of the tree.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler): Christmas Morning Surprise

The soft glow of fairy lights framed the edges of your room as you stirred awake, blinking against the dim light. Before you could properly sit up, a burst of brimstone filled the air, and Kurt appeared at the foot of your bed, arms overflowing with brightly wrapped presents.

“Guten Morgen! Merry Christmas!” he exclaimed, his tail wagging behind him like an overexcited puppy.

You sat up, rubbing your eyes. “Kurt, it’s barely six in the morning.”

“But it’s Christmas!” he insisted, depositing the pile of gifts at the foot of your bed. His golden eyes sparkled with excitement as he plopped down on the edge of the mattress, bouncing slightly. “Come, open them! I cannot wait to see what you think.”

You yawned, smiling at his enthusiasm. “You carried all of these in one trip?”

“Of course! I teleported. Efficient and festive,” he said proudly, his tail curling in contentment.

You reached for the first gift, marveling at the careful wrapping. “You wrapped these yourself?”

His ears turned a deeper blue. “Ja...well, mostly. Jubilee helped me tie the ribbons.”

As you opened the first present—a beautifully carved wooden trinket—you couldn’t help but laugh. “This is amazing, Kurt. Did you make this too?”

He beamed. “Ja, but there’s more! Keep going!”

You shook your head fondly, already knowing this would be the best Christmas morning you’d ever had.

Logan (Wolverine): Building a Fire

You found Logan crouched in front of the fireplace, carefully stacking logs with an intensity that made it look like he was preparing for battle rather than a cozy evening. His plaid flannel shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, revealing his scarred but capable hands.

“Need some help there, lumberjack?” you teased, leaning against the doorframe.

“Not unless you can make the wood light itself,” he shot back without looking up.

“Matches are a thing, you know.”

“Matches are cheating.” He struck a piece of flint against steel, and sparks flew. After a few more tries, the fire roared to life, casting a warm glow across the room.

“Very impressive,” you said, walking over and sitting cross-legged on the rug. “What’s next? Are you going to chop more wood with your claws?”

He smirked, finally turning to look at you. “If you ask nicely.”

Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a Santa hat and plopped it onto his head. He frowned, his hand immediately going up to pull it off.

“Leave it,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “It’s festive.”

“It’s ridiculous,” he grumbled but didn’t take it off.

You tilted your head, grinning. “You secretly love Christmas, don’t you?”

“Don’t push your luck, kid,” he muttered, but there was a twinkle in his eye that told you otherwise.

Peter Maximoff (Quicksilver): String Lights Disaster

You should’ve known asking Peter to hang the lights would end in chaos.

“Peter, slow down!” you yelled, watching as he zipped back and forth across the room, leaving a blur of glowing string lights in his wake.

“This is efficient,” he called back, draping the lights haphazardly over the furniture. “You said you wanted them up fast, right?”

“I also said I wanted them to look nice!”

He stopped abruptly, standing in the middle of the room with the lights tangled around his torso. “Nice is overrated. Messy is more... artistic.”

You crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look. “You’re tangled, aren’t you?”

Peter looked down, as if just noticing the strands wrapped around him. “Uh...no?”

“Uh-huh.”

He sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Fine, maybe a little.”

Laughing, you walked over and started untangling him, trying not to laugh too hard when he pouted like a child.

“You know,” he said as you freed him, “if you’d just let me do my thing, we’d already be done.”

“And if I let you do your thing, the mansion would probably catch fire.”

He shrugged, smirking. “Worth it."

[canastadisastrous]

You know what? The xmen film franchise isn’t perfect. Xmen will never be perfect. But I’m glad that it exists.

There’s something so specifically heartwarming/gut wrenching about watching the new Deadpool and Wolverine film, and seeing all of these discarded characters given another chance. We never would have gotten any of that without the shit show that was Fox’s Xmen films, and I’m happy that I got to sit through shit films like Apocalypse and Origins: Wolverine just to have glowing moments like the og sabertooth actor taking action one more time. The scrapped Gambit film became a beautiful cameo for Channing Tatum and it couldn’t have been better

I’m glad that every deadpool film lead to this, because no other character could have bridged this into the MCU in this way. I’m happy that the MCU exists, even if I don’t follow it much nowadays, because without it I would not have gotten to see yellow suit wolverine on the big screen. Thank you Hugh Jackman for coming back (even if Disney‘s gonna make you do it until you’re 90) thank you Ryan Reynolds, Channing Tatum, Jennifer Garner, Wesley Snipes, Dafne Keen, thank you to everyone involved in the making of a film which was more of a celebration of the X-Men and the insane, broken, but beautiful history they have. Thank you to every actor who ever played an X-Men character ever. Thank you to both Jubilees from different timelines even though it made absolutely no sense

Thank you for existing, X-Men franchise

[richs-pics]

A few night pics from Walney Channel, Cumbria

[icarusredwings]

Team Leader.

A Worst wolverine's flashback fic.

Ft. Poolverine and a very confusing situationship. (COUGH scogan- mainly scogan COUGH)

~5k

Cw: Fightin n’ fuckin, internalized homophobia, prediscussed Cnc, Wrestling, Switching, Brat taming(?) Dominance play, Affair, pet play if you squint, rough feral floor sex, Handcuffs, cloth gags, degrading, no after care.. Logan just wanted a kiss.. angst

“Yeah.. Scott begged me to wear that suit..”

“Oh?” Wade asks, smirking as he leans over the table, watching as Logan takes another shot, honestly he's not sure why he just doesn't chug the bottle at this point. This was his second one for tonight, they were splurging after a particularly rough day, and of course, Wade was curious. And Logan was in the mood for reminiscing.

“What else did he do?”

“Well…there was this.. thing..”

___A very… very…long time ago___

Walking into the mansion, the team was pooped, costumes ripped, hair a mess, sweating to death, and ultimately…. defeated.

Cyclops, who had dust and dirt alike all over him, looking about as rugged as he'd ever get, clapped his hands.

“Alright gang, Good work out there.”

“Gang? What are we? Mystery incorporated?” Jubilee asks, who had cracked her sunglasses, lost an earring, Her jacket had tears in it and was already in a sassy mood from the failed mission.

He sighs. “Sure. If it makes you happy.”

“Does that make Jean Velma or Daphne?” Wolverine spoke up, covered in greasy sweat, his outfit practically in shambles. He had even lost a glove. Hank wouldn't like that. This was his 3rd one this month that has gone missing.

Cyclops pinched the bridge of his nose. “Logan, don't start..”

“Hey, I'm not the one calling us ‘gang’. Besides, that mission was shit, Scott and you know it.”

“I think that would make me Daphne.” Jean mumbled after some thought, Smiling a bit at the idea while Ororo groaned, heading up towards her room. She knew that they would start fighting any second and she was far too tired to deal with it. Oh well. Let the boys be boys. It made them happy to duke it out once in a while anyway.

“Jean, don't encourage them..” His posture was as if he just rolled his eyes. Not like anyone could see it though.

“I mean- We're both red heads, right? And if you're Fred, That makes me Daphne.” She explained, Logically of course, like always.

Logan smirked, putting a hand on his hip. “Yeah. You're pretty like her too, Red.”

Jean gave a small giggle, patting her boyfriend on the shoulder. “Alright. You two play nice.” She says “I'm going to check in with the Professor.”

He sighs, putting his hand on top of hers when patted. “Alright. Try not to make him too disappointed in us.”

“It's kind of hard to lie to a telepath but I'll do my best.” She agrees, starting to walk away.

Both men stared as she walked away. Scott gave a huff out of his nose, noticing. “Say, Jubes, does that make Logan the dog?” He asks as Logan growls. “I'm not a damn dog.”

Jubes blinked, looking back between the two and then to Jean down the hall. “I uh…I gotta shower before Hank clogs the drain with fur….Bye!” She says before running off, wanting to get a shower in before the boys got ugly.

Most times she would be up to watch a good fight, they've been at it for a week now, But today? She just wanted to be clean and maybe take a nap. One girl could only handle so many sparkles and fist fights.

“I'll take that as a yes. I'd say that you should shower too but wet dogs stink.” Scott muttered.

Grabbing his collar, Logan practically snarled in his face. “If you ever call me a dog again, Ill-”

“You'll what? Bite me? Last time I checked, dogs that bite get euthanized.” His hand came up to the sides of his head, as if threatening him.

Gritting his teeth, Logan let go, Crossing his arms.

“And besides if you haven't forgotten, Ascot boy, the guy got away. Who's fault is that? What kind of leader calls shots that get people killed?!”

“No one died, Logan! We're Xmen! We don't Kill people.” He said, making Logan point at him, the other hand in a fist.

“You lasered a whole building down! Dozens of people got injured!”

“Don't remind me! Do you think I like that on my conscious? We just need to get better. Train more.” Starting to walk away, he groans, shoulders dropping, saying this last line as if he's already thought about what he's done today and how he could have prevented it.

“What we need is a better leader.” Logan grumbled, causing him to turn around.

“What? Like you? Oh- Sure. Yeah. That'll go great. You can't lead this team Logan.” He says this as if it was a well known fact. As known as the ocean was blue like Wolverine's frozen glare.

“Yes I can! and I'd be a way better leader than you!” He snaps.

Eyeing him with what Logan could only assume was a glare, Scott scoffed. “Sure Scooby. You keep thinking that.” he goes to walk away again but Logan grabs him, turning him around as he holds him once again. Pulling him down to his level as he bared his teeth to him.

“Don't you ever call me that again. Who made you the boss anyway!? I can do what I want when I want. I don't remember signing a contract saying I'd obey a tightwad with his spandex up his ass!”

“The professor did! And if you have a problem with that you can take it up with him. Now get off of me!”

Shoving him away, He did let go, grunting some in displeasure seeing him actually walk away this time. So.. like a dog… he followed.

“Why don't you do it yourself.”

“What?”

“In the wild the strongest one is the leader and I know damn well that I'm bigger than you.”

Scott let out a laugh. “Ha! That's funny. Sure you're heavier than me but being a leader takes more than strength Logan. Even you should know that.”

“Are you saying you're stronger than me?”

“Maybe I am. Now move.”

Getting to his room, Scott turned, only for Logan to stand in front of it.

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“You heard me! Don't play stupid now! Prove it you coward!” He tells him.

Scott grunts, trying to find a way around him but couldn't. “Come on, you're being childish.”

“Then prove it! If you're such a good leader then why are you wussing out? Hm?”

“Logan! I'm not playing with you. Some of us have important stuff to do, move!”

Maybe it was the fact Logan was so slippery from the sweat. Maybe it was the fact that half their outfits were gone, lost somewhere in the city rubble. Maybe it was the fact that Scott knew he wouldn't go away until this was settled but he had gone to move him aside, only to be practically kicked through the door frame.

Falling onto his carpet, he grunted, sitting up on his hands.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“I said prove it! And if I'm such a dog, It should be easy to show yer pack leader, right, Lasik?”

Scott glared, thinking for a minute. “Fine. But don't go crying to the Professor with your tail between your legs when I'm done with you.”

Kicking the door closed behind him, Logan smirked, unsheathing his claws. “Let's go, Pretty boy.”

So that's how we got here.

The majority of their costumes further ripped off, everything the two owned out in the open, wrestling to pin the other. Except it was more than that. The constant switching of positions and reluctant trade off of those in control.

Holding his hips back with an arm, and a hand around his throat, Logan kept the pace decent. He always did. Panting smirky huffs by his ear, Scott was trying to push him away, only for him to growl and nip his finger.

“Ouch-Logan! O-off!”

“I told you I'm stronger than you.”

“Stronger…Y-yes-” He started, Trying to keep standing up on his hands. The second he let his chest touch the floor he'd be done and he knew it. “But, This isn't the woods anymore pal!”

Attempting to pull the hand away from his neck, It only tightened, unsheathing those claws of his. “Going somewhere? You sure thought so huh?”

“Oh please! Like you'd have the balls-” a soft yip came from him as something hit his skin from behind. The blush once on his cheeks now spreads to his ears and throat like some kind of disease. One that unfortunately was incurable.

Smirking, The man scoffed. “You were saying?”

“Shut up.. god you're such a child. Let go!”

“Make me.” He growls, shifting his weight to pull him up, locking the arm around him and headlocked the other. Sure it was a bit tricky but seeing Scott squirm like this and willingly spread his knees wider made him feel successful in this battle of dominance.

Bouncing his hips up, A little giggle came from him as he reached an arm down, palming at him through the half pulled down briefs. “Where's those leadership skills now, bub? Hm?” Snarling against his skin was so fun, the temptation to sink his fangs into him, though he knew he wouldn't enjoy it, and explaining to Xavier why his star student had 4 massive holes in the side of his neck was NOT on his bucket list.

“Quit that. Don't you growl at me!” He says, trying to slip out of his grip but the more he tried the more Logan just held him tighter. God his hands were so well placed too, firmly keeping him in place to be bucked into like some kind of bitch.

Yeah well, Charles didn't raise no bitch. He raised a leader. Someone confident enough to understand the importance of the waiting game. How to deal with meat headed fools who gave their trust away far too easily when the entire world was in drought.

Closing his eyes, He tried to focus. Alright, think… Yeah that'll do. Leaning his head back onto his shoulder, letting out a few huffs, letting his arm sneak up behind his head. Gripping a fist full of hair, He let the other hand come to the arm that was holding him.

Leaning forward, he let himself fall a certain way that made his mouth fall open. “Logan..”

“Heh.. That wasn't so hard, was it?” He whispers, loosening his grip so he could put an arm forward on the floor. “See? I told you I was stronger than you.” He purrs with a sense of pride, becoming gentle with his touches, passionate even now that he thought Summers had submitted.

If we're being honest, he had no clue of this plan was going to work or not. Logan was right, he was stronger than him. That's always been one of his flaws. Despite how strong he truly was, how defined and well stretched his muscles were, Logan could throw him around like a raggedy ann doll, have his way with him however he wanted.

Scott swallowed, shaking his head. No. This was more than a test of strength and he knew so. He knew that Logan was trying to humiliate him. As easy as it would be to stay here and let him mate with him like a feral dog, he knew Logan would walk- No. Strut around the mansion all cocky and cause more problems amongst the team. It's just how he was.

Let him get away with it once? Shame on you. Because he wouldn't ever let you put him in his place a second time. He'd bring it up over and over again, brag and tease you constantly at every corner. That wouldn't be good for the team dynamic.

With a hiss through grit teeth, Scott quickly took hold of him with both hands, Throwing him over his shoulder, slamming his knees onto his forearms before he could try to scratch him.

“Yeah, You're right. That wasn't hard.” He smirks, turning back to look at the baffled face. Okay maybe trying to make a point while your ass was in front of his face wasn't the best plan but it worked didn't it?

Jumping up, he flipped him over, grabbing his arm as he sat on his back, his leg up on the other hand. Flexible fucker wasn't he?

“Now. Are you going to listen or do I have to prove it more?”

“Just because you got your leadership patch in boy scouts doesn't mea-” Gritting his teeth, He was jerked up onto a singular hand and his knees. You could tell that part of him had melted into such rough treatment, letting a couple of grunts escape as he closed his eyes, a small smirk on his face.

“What was that, short stack?” He asks, being sure to slam into him a way that makes his body jolt forward. “Losing your touch, Lo. Maybe stay off the syrup.” Logan turned to look at him with a snarl, glaring at the comment. Scott knew how he liked to sweeten his whiskey (and practically everything else) with Canada's delicacy.

“Oh, You're so fucking dead!”

Coming down the hall, Ororo was trying to comfort Jean about the mission. “It was hard on all of us, No? Just because you're a telepath doesn't mean you could have prevented it.” She smiles. “Yeah.. I hope the professor finds a foreseer soon. A little heads up would be nice.” The two giggle as Jean sighs. “I should go comfort Scott. He’s been really stressed out recently.” At first Ororo nodded, but getting closer to the door, This changed.

“Hey.. you know.. We should go get something from the city. Rouge took Jubilee so it would just be us sisters.” She grins, trying not to look so nervous about all of the grunts and muffled argument that was coming from the other side of the door.

Jean frowned. “Oh, They're fighting again… I really should-”

“Jeanie, Honey. Boys are just like that sometimes. You know how the lower species is. Always fighting like apes.” She put an arm around her shoulder, starting to lead her away with that innocent big sister's grin.

“Ha! Yeah I guess you're right. And it's like.. I'm not their mom right?”

“Exactly! You shouldn't have to keep them from fighting.”

“You're right. Gosh, Ro, you're such a good friend.”

Nodding, she glanced back at the door over her shoulder. “Oh, you have no idea.. Let's just hope they are finished by the time we return..”

The rug burn that Logan was getting on his cheek would be all worthwhile, especially like this? An arm put behind his back and a hand keeping his skull pressed against the carpet? He'd be a massive liar if he said this was new. Scott was always this way. You had to get him riled up just enough to take all that stress in his lower back and put it to good use, such as pounding Logan against the floor.

To smell his sweat, hear his mutters of passive agressive dirty talk, feel just how tight of a grip he had on his wrist, twisted just right so if he unsheathed those claws of his, they'd be going directly into his back.

Scott was clever like that. Such a teacher's pet. If he truly had wanted, Scott would be across the room by now, his face imprinted into the wall, but God did Logan love a quick witted idiot. He loved the tug of the fistful of hair.

He loved how confident he was afterwards, his chest puffed out and his mind clearer than ever. The private teasing he got from him in the halls, whispers of triumph and smart ass smirks directed at him whenever together. It made his stomach turn, his face heat and look away with his arms crossed to keep from his heart contained in the metal cage he's made for it.

“Not much to say now, Huh Logan? Not as tough as you thought?”

Letting out a little growl, it turned into a groan way quicker than he appreciated.

“What did I say about growling? God, you're so disobedient.”

A whine.

“Aw, don't tell me you've given up already? I thought wolves were stronger than that.”

“I-im not a wolf..”

“I don't know, Lo. You're sure acting like a pathetic pup.”

And there were those butterflies again, that shock that ran up his spine, smirking somewhat like an idiot as a snort of laughter escaped.

“There's a good boy. Maybe if you behaved like this more often we'd get along just fine.” He whispers, Sitting up as he lets go of his head and arm, now focusing on his hips.

All these thoughts were gradually getting beat out of him, replaced with newer, worse thoughts. He could feel himself going under in the sense that Logan could barely understand what was being said to him, hearing his voice in general was enough, even if the words slurred together into a quiet murmur of white noise that he enjoyed a little too much. He had to do something. Anything to get him out of his head before he wound up a drooling brain dead mess on the carpet.

Stretching his arms out, he let out a large groan as if signaling he was almost there, fully submitting under him.

“Shh. Someone might hear. Gotta get you a muzzle.” He whispers, Holding him by the front of his thighs.

Whining, He tries to push himself back more, one hand clawing the carpet, the other pulling a scrap of Scotts suit to his mouth, shoving it deep behind his canines, groaning into it as he breathed in the scent.

“Good thinking, Lo. You aren't as dumb of a mutt as I pinned you for.” For this, he was given an affectionate slap on the ass, a soft moan coming through the cloth.

Deeply breathing out as he pulls out just enough for the tip to still be in, quickly spitting on his hand but Logan was trying to crawl away. Before he could lather him with the saliva, Logan had tried to get up, making it only two steps away. Grabbing his leg, Scott jerks him back.

Rolling them over, Logan growls at him, about to unseath when an arm shoved his head against the side of the metal bed frame.

“Where do you think you're going? Huh? I already told you, you aren't tucking your tail out of this one. You wanna act like this? Fine. I'll tame you. Train you. You'll be my obedient pet one way or another.” Scott sneers.

Logan's eyes widen, frowning for a second as he realizes that somehow, out of nowhere, Scott had cuffed his hands, chain around the leg of the bed. Wait, when did he? How did he?

Before he could complain, His back arches slightly, putting his head back with a groan. “Fuck-”

“Watch your mouth, Mutt!” He says, shoving the cloth back in his mouth, getting bit. “Oh you bitc- fine! You wanted it, you're In for it now. Remember this when they ask why you're limping. You fell down the steps because you're a dumb mutt, got it?”

Logan nods, having trouble focusing, squirming and trying to tug at the cuffs.

“Don't even. They're vibranium. Like I said. Leaders have plans. Brute strength won't help you here, so what's your plan?”

Examining the cuffs, he notices a small J engraved into the bottom. It's now that Logan's dick twitched, his heart clenching as he smiled. Vibranium was so expensive.. and he bought them custom just for him. That must mean he cares about him, right?

“Why are you smiling? I'm about to win. Think, Logan. Remember the rules.” The rules were simple. Whoever came first loses. Practically anything else is on the table. Or.. in this case.. carpet.

The fingers that pressed into him, wet and warm, made him clench, earning him a stretch. “Quit moving. Lay down. Roll over. Stay.” He teases, slamming in again.

Logan's head goes back with a moan, drowned out by the cloth.

“Good booy, Lo. Now stay. And hush. Let your leader take care of it.” He says, smirking as he leans over him, noses an inch from each other. Logan wants to kiss him. Scratch that. He wants Scott to kiss him. He wants him to hold him and abuse his prostate like he was in a rut.

The pheromones ran through his nose as his chest heaved. He couldn't breathe, Light headed and dizzy. Or maybe it was how he looked at him when balls deep like this. Shit. He hates him. He hates him so goddamn much, and yet still he shakes with pleasure, jolting himself up off the floor while the man uses him like some kind of whore. Logan couldn't believe that all he had to do was rough him up a bit to get this kind of treatment.

He's spent so much time tripping over his lewd words in the hallway, dropping down on his knees in the shower, watching him bare chested and sweating in the danger room, Aching to be touched like this. And now he had it. This wasn't the first time, but the last time he had got too excited and came way too early.. something told him that this time Scott would stay after. He had so much energy, and putting it all out on him? It made Logan’s whines jump an octave.

Each thrust was rhythmic, the force, the length of pulling out, the angle. It was all planned. And this is why Scott was the leader. He was the guy with the plan.

“Stop tightening like that or I'll leave you here, chained up and desperate.” He grunts, swinging an arm under him to help him stay arched. With the extra support, He lets himself be limp in the upper body, biting his lip.

Leaning down, he nips at his abdomen, a soft chuckle coming up as Logan whimpers. “But you'd like that, huh? Tied up and sticky. Fucking sicko.”

He groans, each mean word causing a twitch. Putting his legs up to his chest, he spreads wide, Scott pushing up the buckle of his knee, the other holding his inner high, moaning lowly.

This is what Logan had wanted. He never wanted his hips to leave, he wanted- No. Needed Scott to use him to his own disgusting desires, fuck him every chance he got, every time he misbehaved, every time he sniffed even A hint of attitude in his voice.

The sloppier things got, the closer he got, Connecting their foreheads, eyes closed, Logan's grunts and huffs of air meeting with his grumbles of dominance and pants. It was all so warm. so beautiful. Perfect.

Spitting out the cloth, he went to say something but Scott only shoved it back in. “Shut up. Dog's can't talk.” He says, the way his stomach was tightening showing how close they both were. Whining, Logan spits out the tattered rag again, “Scooby can.”

“I thought you weren't scooby?” He smirks, a groan following, putting his face into Logan’s shoulder, bouncing a bit rougher.

Letting his mouth fall open, He moans, hands subconsciously jerking at the cuffs. This would be the time he'd scratch his back and clamp down around his waist and if it wasn't for Scott's body pushing his leg up still, he'd hold him so tight that he couldn't even think of leaving.

“Ooh fuck- fuck fuck fuck! Scott- s-Scotty fuck- please. Don't-”

“Are you finally going to behave? Huh? Mutt?”

Logan nods quickly, feeling his toes curl. “Y-yes.”

“Good boy, Logan.” He tells him the amount of rising warmth in his stomach running up his spine. Tears came to the corner of his eyes, gasping, keeping his head touching the ground as he jerks up, jolting a few times as sticky stings paint his chest, his stomach getting extra heat from the inside and out as he sits back up on his hands. “Shit-!

His claws pop, a bit of drool seeping out the corner of his lip, the stuffed feeling of artificial affection staying only a moment. Pulling away with a pop, Scott smirks, Smiling that shitty way whenever he gets his way. “God, Look at you.. Pathetic.. obedient..”

‘Mine' he hoped he'd say.

“All messy.. filthy mutt..”

Leaning up to unlock the cuffs, Logan is still buried, letting the metal sink back into his skin as he collapses, chest rising and falling against the floor, staring up at him with a pointy grin.

Bringing a hand to his cheek, Scott caresses him with a playful laugh. “You know.. you don't have to act out to get my attention. You could just.. ask.” He says softly.

Nuzzling into his hand, Logan smirks, Just now coming down from that beautiful cloud in the sky. “I'll remember that.” Taking hold of his arm, he pulls him closer, arms trying to wrap around his neck, a kiss to seal the deal on what so far has been a fun time for him.

“Woah- what are you doing?” He sits up, putting his hand on his shoulder as if pushing him away.

Logan frowns. “I was..” in An instant he felt shame fill the once warm spot in his stomach, twisting and coming up to his lungs. It was hard to breathe. Hard to think. Here was this beautiful man sitting infront of him, still fresh with the after glow, and yet… He didn't want to kiss him. Deep in his chest, he felt a pang.

“I… I thought..”

“Thought what?” The tone is condoncending, almost teasing. As if Scott was in disbelief of what he was hearing.

Leaning against the bedframe, naked and cold, Logan looks away. “...I thought were gonna kiss… Or.. somthin’..”

The laugh he coughs up is enough to make Logan want to puke, crossing his arms and closed his legs, pouting as he stares at the floor, the patch of cloth still there.

“You thought-? Logan. I'm getting married.”

It was a slap in the face. The ultimate humiliating moment.

“I'm engaged. And certainly not to you.”

“....”

“Look, What we have is fun but.. It ain't nothin.”

‘Nothin’...? Was it nothing in the danger room? Was it nothin in the shower? Nothin in the black bird?

Was it nothing on Jean's bed?

He tries to hide the gloss in his eyes as he glares at him.

And that's when I realized… I was the fool..

“...Im tellin'er…” He growls, tired of being the fool. Tired of sneaking around. Tired of betraying one of the first people to hold his head in their hands so gently.

“You wouldn't tell her anything.” He says, scoffing.

Logan had heard the foot steps, but didnt bother telling him. Why should he?

“Tell me what?- Scott?! What are you doing!?” Red stood there with a random mall dining hall cup in hand, some kinda fancy juice. She was mortified. Next to her, Ororo held a blue drink, matching Jean's red one. “Oh good goddess…”

“Jean!?” He cried, jumping up to run after the crying girl. “This is all your fault! I should have known. You just wanted to come between us so you can have her for yourself!” He scolds him, pointing at him like the master of a dog who was caught digging in the garbage.

That was the day.. I decided.. I'm done being his mutt.

“.....I just wanted a kiss..”

___The preset___

A tear drips into Logan’s shot as he stares at the table, glaze eyed and glossy with salty thick streams. “...The J was for Jean…”

Logan shakes his head softly. “I tried to be obedient.. I thought… I thought maybe he'd..”

He shifts his head, trying to hide it in his hand, face palming a few times. “I'm so stupid Wade… so stupid.. To think that.. that maybe..” The man sniffled, his crow feet getting tighter as he thought more about it.

“Oh, No, honey. He didn't even kiss you? Com’ere. I'll give you all the kisses. Promise.”

Shimmying himself into Logan's lap, he nuzzles against Logan's gray streaked chops, Grabbing his face and kissing him all over. Through the tears, Logan lets out a soft snort.

“Thanks, Wade..”

“Loagie?”

“Hm..”

“Do you want engraved Handcuffs? They probably won't be vibranium cause I told T'challa that Suri and I could be twins. Apparently she took great offense to that so now I'm banned from Wakanda.”

“You don't have too..”

“L or W?” He asks, in a serious tone, wrapping his arms around his neck. He was patient while Logan thought, checking his eyes for sincerity.

“But-”

“Or H? For Howlett?”

He smiles, a blush rising up his ears, and not cause the whiskey. “...Logan.”

“Oooh, whole name? Do you know how much engraved metal costs PER letter? Now who went and spoiled you, huh? Mr. Fancy feast cat food.” He scoffs, chuckling.

“You did.”

“Oh yeah… I did do that, didn't I? Anything for my, Peanut.”

The rest of the evening, Wade didn't let him go unkissed for A total of every 5 minutes, smooching him anywhere he could reach.

“I'll kiss ya, baby. Always.”

[honey-crypt]

could i possibly get a fic about sebastian helping adhd!farmer through their rejection dysphoria? i leave the rest up to you, go wild <3

- 🪩

★ like the stream - sebastian x adhd!farmer ★

word count: 1.5k

warnings: rejection sensitivity dysphoria episode

summary: it's the day of the flower dance! you're prepared to ask your friend sam to be your dance partner when you're met face to face with a kind but otherwise hard rejection from the other party. Unable to cope with the rejection because of your RSD, you find yourself spiraling when another friend of yours, Sebastian, finds you alone and distressed in the depths of Cindersap Forest.

a/n: hi hi request #2 for my write-a-thon! hope this is an okay fic, i made sure to do some research on rsd and adhd (beyond my personal knowledge of it) for this fic :D

Today had to be perfect. 

That was what you repeated to yourself, as you made your way towards Cindersap Forest for the Flower Dance. You double, even triple, checked that you had everything ready for today. It may have taken two or ten sticky note reminders, but you knew that everything was in the right place. Your outfit? Check. Your flowers? Check. Your confidence to ask Sam to be your dance partner? Check!

As you got closer and closer, the sound of upbeat classical music grew louder and louder. They should really install a better alternative to this, I don’t know George crosses this, you thought to yourself while crossing the bridge over to the festival. An open green space greeted you with the residents of Pelican Town scattered about. You exchanged pleasantries with your fellow townies, making a beeline to your friend group by a secluded corner of the festival. 

“Hey (Y/N)!” Abigail gave you a small, half salute, “Didn’t think you were going to make it.”

“I lost track of time,” you confessed, “Nonetheless, I made it!”

Your two other friends, Sam and Sebastian, paused their side conversation at mention of your arrival. Sam offered you a dazzling smile that made your heart flutter, “(Y/N)! Good to see you!” and, much to your disappointment, he gave you a friendly side hug. You forced a smile in return and responded, “Yeah, for sure. I’m just glad I made it before the dance started.”

“Would’ve sucked ass if you missed it,” mused Abigail. Sebastian didn’t respond, staring silently at you. A frown graced your lips, What’s his deal? you questioned. Your chest, however, had a different reaction, tightening up at the sight of Sebastian’s deadpan. He’s probably just having a bad day, you reassured yourself, He’s not mad at you. He’s not mad at you. 

“I’m gonna grab some of Gus’s drinks,” you perked up at Sam’s voice, “You guys got a preference for what?”

“Ooo, get me the Tulip Jubilee,” requested Abigail.

“The Blue Jazz Drop for me,” you eyed Sebastian when he spoke up. Sam looked at you expectantly, “How about you, (Y/N)?”

“Oh, uhhhhh…” you mentally thumbed through your options, “No preference, just grab me something you think I’ll like,” you adjusted your collar with your free hand, “I trust your judgement.”

“Will do!” Sam responded with a double thumbs up before leaving for the food and drinks table. You let out a deep sigh and fiddled with the flower in your hand, a small but homegrown tulip. Abigail quirked an eyebrow up at you, “Something on your mind?”

“Oh! Well,” you cleared your throat, “Just thinking about the dance.”

“Fingers crossed that you don’t have to dance with Clint like last year,” snorted the purple-haired goth. You grimaced at the memory and scanned the crowd for the aforementioned blacksmith, seeing him talk poor Emily’s ear off, “Anyone but him,” you grumbled.

“Which reminds me,” your friend directed her attention to Sebastian, “Dance partners this year?” to which the black-haired boy nodded quietly. You stared at him with narrowed eyes, Why are you so quiet today?

“Back with the drinks!” your blonde friend announced to the group, two drinks in hand and two held tight against his chest. Sam passed out the drinks and informed you, “I got you the Sunflower Tonic.”

You pressed your lips against the cup and took a sip, the sweetness of the drink evident, “This is good,” you let your friends know.

“Ew, mine’s too sour,” sighed Abigail, her lips puckered. She held her drink towards the group, “Any takers?”

“I’ll try it,” answered Sam. He grabbed the drink and sipped it, his face grimacing, “Yikes. Too sour,” before handing it in front of you, “Want a taste?”

You felt flushed at the idea of sipping the drink after Sam and seized the opportunity, accidentally taking a big swing of it. Immediately, you gagged at the taste, “Ugh! My tongue!” and spat out what little liquid was left in your mouth. Sebastian finally took the drink and drank it without any sign of sourness on his face, “Yeah, this is bad,” he stated, “I’ll stick with my drink,” the emo resumed his Blue Jazz Drop. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Mayor Lewis’s voice echoed awkwardly through his microphone, “The Flower Dance will begin shortly! Last chance to find yourself a partner!”

You heard the man, this is your last chance! you grasped your flower and waited until Abigail and Sebastian went ahead to pull Sam aside, “Hey Sam, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Yoba, his sunshine demeanor was too much. 

“Would you like to be my partner for the dance?” you held up the tulip. Sam’s sunshine self dimmed into a clouded version, “Oh, (Y/N), but Penny asked me to dance while I was getting the drinks. I’m really sorry.”

The sound of your world cracking rang through your ears, as you stood motionless in front of Sam, “Oh! I, uh…” tears pricked at your eyes, “I gotta go.”

Your surroundings began to blur and any outside noise turned into static, as you made your escape from the Flower Dance and deeper into Cindersap Forest. The bum bum of your heart and the swoosh of your blood pounded against your head. 

I hate him.

He hates me.

No, he just made a promise!

No, he thinks you’re the worst!

It was like being trapped on a carousel, your thoughts and emotions spinning around and around. Soon, you found yourself by a small stream, laying on the ground by it with sprawled out limbs. Tears rushed down your face and you heaved dryly, as your brain failed to comprehend Sam’s words and intent.

Oh, (Y/N), but Penny asked me to dance while I was getting the drinks. I’m really sorry.

You sat up, nearly flinging yourself forward towards the stream, and started to bite at your nails, “He hates me. He hates me. I hate myself. I hate myself. I-”

“(Y/N)?” 

You jerked your head to the left, Sebastian standing a few feet away from you. As he approached you, you hastily wiped your face with your sleeve, tears and snot staining the fabric, “Leave me alone,” you sniffled.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?” he asked you, sitting down beside you with his knees to his chest. The tears resumed and coated your cheeks in the salty liquid, “I hate myself, okay?! I fucking hate myself, Sebastian!”

Sebastian tilted his head in confusion, “Why do you hate yourself?”

“Because I’m obviously such an awful person that Sam doesn’t want anything to do with me!” you cried out. Your friend frowned deeply, “(Y/N), you know that Sam usually dances with Penny at the Flower Dance.”

That made your blood steam, “I wanted it to be DIFFERENT, Sebastian! I wanted him to dance with me!” you heaved at Sebastian. He fell silent and fished out something from his suit pocket, a red tangle fidget. Your friend let it out to you and you snatched it without hesitation, fidgeting with it while you sobbed. You tried to get back to reality, but with each passing moment, the idea of returning to the present grew farther and farther away. Everything was hurting, your mind and your body, everything was hurting so much.

“I’m sorry that you’re hurting,” whispered Sebastian. You looked at him with watery eyes, “I can’t control this,” you admitted. He nodded quietly and held out a hand, to which you grasped and squeezed. Sebastian continued, “I know that these kinda things are a lot for you. I know that your mind is telling you a lot of awful stuff right now because of what Sam said, huh?”

“Yeah…” you squeezed his hand again. Sebastian added on, “I didn’t mean to watch, but I accidentally saw the whole situation go down. Sam looked upset when you ran away.”

“Well, he can shove,” you grumbled. Sebastian snorted and retorted, “He’s the one who wanted to check on you, but I told him that you seeing him while you’re in a RSD episode wouldn’t be that helpful.”

You moved closer to Sebastian and laid your head against his shoulders, “I hate my brain.”

“I get it, you’re not alone,” hummed the emo, “Isn’t this stream pretty, though?” he redirected your focus on the stream, the gentle rush of water humming against the swaying trees, “Maybe, just for a second, we can be like the stream.”

You closed your eyes and focused on the sound of the stream, envisioning yourself as one with the water. A sense of peace washed over you and you exhaled, still picturing yourself as the stream. It felt like an hour or so went by before you opened your eyes again, “I’m the stream,” you stated to Sebastian. 

“You’re the stream,” he repeated back, holding you close, “You’re the stream," your heartbeat and breathing returned to normal.

"I'm the stream."

[dewdr0pz]

Ok so hear me out

Wilbur and Y/n arguing.

Then y/n wanted to k!ll herself but..

Guess what Wilbur did...

He moved the knife away and kisses her...

💔 There’s a Reason London Puts Barriers on the Tube Line 💔

Summary: You & Wilbur have a massive argument & all of your su!c!dal thoughts came back, so you ran to Jubilee Line to do your deed. What you forgot is that Wilbur can track your phone.

A/N: Hello! Tysm for the ask! I changed the story up a bit so that the reader doesn't use a knife since knives kinda trigger me :/

word count: 796

proofread: nope

tags: @vibestillaxxx@joviepog@ax-y10@themonsterunderurmom @wilburstan@smolsleepykitten@funnyreally2009@crows-death@dykepunz@aresriiots@0miamor0 @cathers-world@defonotval@chipch0p@mazzistar16@unmellowyellowfellow@justalittlebitofchaos@thosecolorfulsheets@vopix@taylors-version-from-the-vault@aine-lasagna@merianakross@veeislost@urfav-sapphic-siren@shazbaz58-blog @wifiatthetrainstation@mcr-pr-fob@shd454@universe-friday@rqvii@idioticion@m0thza (let me know if u don't or do wanna be tagged!!)

warnings/cw: the reader has su!c!dal thoughts, two attempted su!c!des, mentions of an overdose, arguing/yelling, swearing

This was the worst argument you'd ever had with him in your three years of dating him, & it made your head hurt & your chest feel tight. You had attempted to kill yourself two days ago by overdosing on your anti-depressants.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Wilbur shouted. "Are you fucking stupid, Y/N?! You could've seriously hurt yourself!"

"That's the point!" You shouted back. "That's why I did it! & I already told you I didn’t want to talk about it, yet you kept insisting!"

“That’s because I fucking care about you!” Wilbur yelled. His fists were balled & his eyes, like yours, were bloodshot.

"Well, did I ask for you to care about me?” you cried.

He let out a loud groan of anger & pinched the bridge of his nose. "God, I fucking hate you."

Your eyes widened in shock. He'd gotten angry at you before, of course, but he'd never said that he hated you before. "You don’t mean that," you murmured as more tears rolled down your damp cheeks.

"Right now, I do," he said icily. "More than anything in the world.”

You glared at him. "More than the I love yous?”

His eyes met yours & his expression softened slightly. “…You’re being unfair."

"How the hell am I being unfair?!" you exclaimed. "You're being the unfair & shitty one here! Instead of asking me if I'm alright, you just--you just get mad at me! & when I say I don't want to talk, you keep pressing & pressing & pressing!"

"It's not my fault nor my problem that you're a depressed bitch who doesn't do anything to try & improve their mental state!" he yelled.

With burning tears in your eyes, you started to tie your shoes. Wilbur sighed & said, "No, please don't leave, I-"

"Just shut up," you snapped before you walked out, slamming the door behind you. You started to walk through the rain to Jubilee Line, which would take about forty minutes. You stepped in a few puddles on your way, which drenched your shoes & legs, & you forgot to grab a hoodie, so your entire body was soaked in rainwater.

When you finally arrived, tears rolled down your cheeks & mixed with raindrops as you remembered the song that Wilbur had written a year or two ago. He was rambling on & on about how crappy the mental health was in London & how the city was doing nothing to help their citizens, & how he'd see people kill themselves on Jubilee Line & nobody would say anything or try to stop them, & instead of trying to help the people by improving their mental health services, the city just built barriers on the tube, & the barriers didn't really do anything. & you told him that he should write a song about that. Within an hour, he'd written a song about it, & for the majority of that hour, he would tell you how much he loved you & how creative you were.

You walked up to the barriers & saw that the next train was arriving in five minutes. You kicked with all of your might on the glass until the glass broke. You smiled sadly. The barriers, like Wilbur had said, were shit.

You took a deep breath & held back your tears. You took a step forward.

You were about to fall onto the tracks.

This was it.

It would finally work.

You heard a familiar voice scream your name from behind you.

& then somebody pulled you back & hugged you. It was a sobbing Wilbur.

"L-love, I don't ever want you to die, please...don't die..." he said between his sobs. "I-I'm sorry for yelling, I'm sorry for hurting you, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean a fucking word, I don't hate you, I never would, darling..."

You pressed your face into his chest & sobbed with him as you both murmured apologies to each other. He pulled you away from his chest only to pepper kisses all over your wet face.

"Please, don't go...I just need to feel your arms around me, mon amour, that's all I've ever wanted," he cried. "I don't want to lose you."

"I'm sorry," you whimpered. "I'm sorry for-"

He cut you off with a kiss. When he pulled away, he cupped your face & said, "You have nothing to be sorry for, Y/N. You're the one who's struggling & I didn't even think about that, & I was such a dickhead to you."

"So you don't hate me?" you said with a sniffle as he wiped your cheeks.

"I would never hate you," he whispered. "C'mon, let's go home. I think there's a lot that we need to talk about."

[defjux]

Here are 81 of my favorite albums of 2024 If you noticed the lack of hip hop albums on here, that's because i already posted a separate list for hip hop which you can find here if you're interested. Chart with album titles included I probably listened to the Chelsea Wolfe album more than anything else here but the cure album was such a pleasant surprise for me that I had to put it as number 1. I thought it was a great year for music overall though. I'm really happy with the first few rows on here and those are for sure the albums i'd recommend the most, even though i think everything on here is worth checking out. If you believe there's something i might've missed or your favorite albums of the year aren't on here, let me know! Feel free to leave your own list in the comments, i'd be interested in seeing it. As always, i'll make it so the album titles are a hyperlink that'll take to wherever you can hear it. Peace. 1. The Cure - Songs Of A Lost World 2. Chelsea Wolfe - She Reaches Out To She Reaches Out To She 3. Iglooghost - Tidal Memory Exo 4. chat pile - Cool World 5. Frail Body - Artificial Bouquet 6. Whirr - Raw Blue 7. OKSE - OKSE 8. Blood Incantation - Absolute Elsewhere 9. Trauma Ray - Chameleon 10. Gouge Away - Deep Sage 11. drive your plow over the bones of the dead - Tragedy As Catharsis 12. Thou - Umbilical 13 . Moor Mother - The Great Bailout 14. Terry Green - PROVISIONAL LIVING 15. Krallice - Inorganic Rites 16. Nala Sinephro - Endlessness 17. Punchlove - Channels 18. Beth Gibbons - Lives Outgrown 19. Tenue - Arcos, bóvedas, pórticos 20. Crumb - AMAMA 21. Hammok - Look How Long Lasting Everything Is Moving Forward For Once 22. Infant Island - Obsidian Wreath 23. Meaningful Stone - Angel interview 24. Kamasi Washington - Fearless Movement 25. Arooj Aftab - Night Reign 26. Ulcerate - Cutting The Throat Of God 27. Camila Bañados - Viento 1. 28. Nilufer Yanya - My Method Actor 29. Oranssi Pazuzu - Muuntautuja 30. Mary Halvorson - Cloudward

31. Nails - Every Bridge Burning 32. Godspeed You! Black Emperor - NO TITLE AS OF 13 FEBRUARY 2024 28,340 DEAD 33. showmore - Liquid City 34. Blushing - Sugarcoat 35. Magdalena Bay - Imaginal Disk 36. Lip Critic - Hex Dealer 37. Joel Ross - nublues 38. State Faults - Children Of The Moon 39. geordie greep - The New Sound 40. Candy - It's Inside You 41. SATOKO SHIBATA - Your Favorite Things 42. Julia Holter - Something in the Room She Moves 43. Gigan - Anomalous Abstractigate Infinitessimus 44. Knoll - As Spoken 45. Jaubi - A Sound Heart 46. Cindy Lee - Diamond Jubilee 47. Blind Girls - An Exit Exists 48. Julie - my anti-aircraft friend 49. Milton Nascimento & Esperanza Spalding - Milton + esperanza 50. Hiatus Kaiyote - Love Heart Cheat Code 51. Isleptonthemoon - Only the Stars Know of My Misfortune 52. Liana Flores - Flower of the soul 53. SML - Small Medium Large 54. Maruja - The Vault 55. Spirit of the Beehive - YOU'LL HAVE TO LOSE SOMETHING 56. Fievel Is Glauque - Rong Weicknes 57. Leaving Time - Angel in the Sand 58. Rita Payés - De camino al camino 59. TURQUOISEDEATH - Kaleidoscope 60. Babii - Daredeviil2000 61. Jessica Pratt - Here In The Pitch 62. HERIOT - Devoured by the Mouth of Hell 63. Dim - planted in the soil 64. Contention - Artillery From Heaven 65. Convulsing - Perdurance 66. The Body & Dis Fig - Orchards of a Futile Heaven 67. Uboa - Impossible Light 68. Melt-Banana - 3+5 69. DIIV - Frog in Boiling Water 70. Amiensus - Reclamation: Part 1 71. Ginger Root - Shinbangumi 72. Hannah Frances - Keeper of the Shepherd 73. Ravyn Lenae - Bird's Eye 74. Garden Home - Garden Home 75. Aara - Eiger 76. graywave - Dancing in the Dust 77. Martha Skye Murphy - Um 78. Mo Dotti - opaque 79. Luna Li - When a Thought Grows Wings 80. Pluma - Não Leve a Mal 81. Twine - New Old Horse