#how are kids NOT going to get splinters from that

[leaderwonim]

THE WORLD NEVER ENDED | JACK HUGHES

pairing. jack hughes x fem!reader (ft. platonic quinn & luke hughes x fem!reader + male!oc x fem!reader)

genre. childhood best friends to lovers, ANGST, fluff, hurt to comfort, reader & jack are both 18-19 in this!

synopsis: Y/N and Jack Hughes have been inseparable since childhood, spending every summer at his family’s lake house—until his hockey career takes off and leaves her behind. As Jack’s life moves forward and Y/N tries to do the same, the distance between them grows in ways neither of them expected. But when their paths cross again at a breaking point, they’re forced to confront everything they never said and the feelings that never really went away.

The lake house never changes. It still smells like pine and sunscreen, the same old dock creaking under your feet, the same late summer breeze curling through the trees. But this time, you’re the only one here.

You let the beer bottle dangle from your fingers, the glass sweating against your palm as you stare at the still water. It’s late. Too late to be out here alone, and your mom would probably kill you if she found out you were underage drinking, but you’ve been doing this since you were kids—sneaking down to the dock past midnight, toes dipping into the water, whispering about everything and nothing at all.

Except this time, Jack isn’t here. Not really. Not anymore.

The last time you saw him was months ago, after another whirlwind season, after Team USA, after everything. He’d come back, same easy smile, same stupidly messy hair, same Jack. And yet, he wasn’t.

He moved too fast, talked too much about things you weren’t a part of, laughed at jokes from teammates you didn’t know. He had an entire life outside of this town, this lake, this dock. A life that didn’t include you.

It wasn’t his fault though, you couldn’t blame Jack for being excited about this whole new chapter in his life, not when he’s worked his ass off so he could secure a spot in the NHL in the future.

You took a shaky breath, watching as the wind blew the waters back and forth, your thought raced with Jack, Jack, Jack. It wasn’t anything new; you had been in love with him since you had learned what the word love even was, when Ellen and your mom teased you two endlessly after your eighth birthday, declaring that you’d two get married when you were older.

And then he left, at age fourteen to go train at some hockey camp over the summer and you started seeing him less and less. Then he left again for USA Hockey, and all that was left of him was the little times he’d pop up on your screen for a FaceTime, or a quick selfie.

You never told him that it felt like the world had ended whenever he left.

❥

The first time you met Jack Hughes, he was seven years old, standing knee-deep in the lake, grinning like he had owned the world.

“You scared to jump in?” he teases, squinting up at you from where he’s splashing around.

You cross your arms, standing barefoot on the dock, the sun burning hot against your skin. “I just don’t wanna get my hair wet.”

Jack laughs like you just said the funniest thing in the world, and before you can react, he launches a handful of water in your direction. It splashes against your legs, cool and shocking, and you gasp.

“You jerk!��� you shriek, but Jack’s already laughing, already diving into the water, swimming just far enough out of reach that you can’t get him back.

You don’t know it then, but that’s how it starts.

The Hughes family’s lake house becomes your second home. Your parents are close friends with Ellen and Jim, and summers are spent tangled in sunburns, mosquito bites, and the smell of bonfires. Jack, being just a few months older, quickly becomes your shadow—or maybe you become his.

You race bikes down dirt paths, climb trees until your hands are covered in splinters, and stay up late whispering under blanket forts in the Hughes’ living room, trying not to wake Luke and Quinn.

“You think we’ll still be best friends when we’re older?” you ask one night, voice sleepy, cheek smushed against your arm.

Jack frowns at you, like you just said something ridiculous. “Duh. Who else am I supposed to hang out with? My brothers?”

You grin brightly, shoving him. “You promise?”

He holds out his pinky. “Promise.”

And that’s that.

As you both get older, things don’t really change. Not at first.

Winters are spent at the Hughes’ house in Michigan, watching Jack skate for hours at the rink, your fingers numb from gripping a hot chocolate too tight. Summers are still for the lake house, where the days blur together in a haze of sun, water, and laughter.

Jack is your best friend. The one who sneaks you extra s’mores when the adults say no. The one who ties your skates when your fingers are too cold. The one who always picks you first for street hockey, even when Luke complains about it. The one who knows everything about you.

And you know everything about him, too.

That he gets grumpy when he’s hungry. That he has to listen to music before every game, or else he feels off. That he’s already dreaming about the NHL, about Team USA, about everything that seems so far away but somehow already feels like it’s coming too fast.

You don’t realize when things do start changing.

Maybe it’s when Jack turns fourteen and starts spending more time away at tournaments. Maybe it’s when you turn fourteen and realize your heart speeds up whenever he looks at you a certain way.

Maybe it’s the summer you turn fifteen and see him talking to a girl from town, and something ugly coils in your stomach. You don’t say anything, though. You can’t.

Jack is your best friend. That’s all. Even if you wish it wasn’t.

When Jack is sixteen, everything does change.

It’s the Fourth of July. The lake house is packed, fireworks already popping in the distance. You and Jack sneak away from the party like you always do, climbing onto the dock and lying side by side, watching the sky.

“You excited for the USA team?” you ask, your voice light, like the thought of him leaving doesn’t make your chest ache.

Jack turns his head to look at you. “Yeah,” he says. “Kinda nervous, though.”

You smile a little, the same smile that had reassured Jack every time he saw it. “You’ll be fine.”

He shifts closer, his arm brushing yours. “You think so?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “You’re Jack Hughes.”

He laughs, but it’s softer this time, almost hesitant. The air between you feels different, thicker, heavier. His fingers twitch on the dock beside yours, and for a second, you swear he’s about to reach for your hand.

But then he exhales sharply, sits up. “We should get back.”

And just like that, the moment is gone.

You stare at the fireworks exploding in the sky, feeling like something inside you is breaking.

Jack leaves for Team USA at the end of the summer.

And you don’t know it yet, but nothing will ever be the same again.

❥

At first, you still talk all the time. He calls after practices, FaceTimes you from hotel rooms, sends you stupid selfies from road trips. And for a while, it almost feels normal. Almost.

But then the calls get shorter. The messages come slower.

You see his name on headlines, hear people at school talking about him like he’s some distant star instead of the boy you grew up with. And suddenly, he feels… far away.

Not just in distance. In everything.

And then one day, you realize you don’t remember the last time he called.

You don’t text him, either. You figured he was too busy anyways—too busy with hockey, with interviews, too busy for you.

His absence leaves a hollow space inside you, one you don’t know how to fill. So you try.

That’s how you end up with him.

Aiden West. Star quarterback. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy smile and dimples that should make your heart flutter.

You meet at a party—one you only went to because your friends dragged you out of your house, tired of you spending your nights holed up in your room, pretending you weren’t waiting for a text that never came.

Aidan’s nice. He’s funny. He buys you drinks and calls you baby and kisses you like he means it.

You tell yourself this is good. That this is what you need.

But when he holds your hand, it doesn’t feel the same. When he kisses you, you don’t melt the way you think you should. And when you close your eyes, it’s not Aidan you see.

It’s Jack. Always Jack.

Quinn comes home in December.

You’re not expecting to see him, not really. Ever since he was drafted, he spent all his time in Vancouver, busy with his own life, his own team. But one night, you walk into the Hughes’ house, and there he is, sprawled on the couch like he never left.

“Quinn?” you blink.

He smirks, sitting up. “Hey, kid.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “You’re, like, a few years older than me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’ll always be a kid to me,” he teases, but then his expression softens. “How’ve you been?”

You shrug. “Good.”

He gives you a look, like he can see right through you. Because of course he can.

Quinn has always been quieter than Jack, more observant. He was the one who bandaged your scraped knees when you and Jack were too reckless, the one who ruffled your hair when you had a bad day, the one who watched you grow up and somehow always knew what you were feeling before you even said it.

And right now, you can tell he knows you’re lying.

“You still talk to Jack?” he asks casually.

You stiffen. “Not really.”

Quinn nods, like that’s what he expected. “He’s been busy.”

“I know,” you say quickly, too quickly. “It’s fine.”

He studies you for a moment. Then, his eyebrows furrow. “You dating that football guy?”

You hesitate. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Quinn tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “You like him?”

You swallow. “He’s… nice.”

Quinn leans back, crossing his arms. “You know, I’ve seen you happy before.”

You furrow your brows. “And?”

“And that’s not what you look like right now.”

The words hit deeper than you want them to. You look away, staring at your hands.

Quinn sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. If you like the guy, great. But don’t force something that isn’t real just because—” He pauses.

You glance up. “Just because what?”

Quinn meets your eyes, and for the first time, his voice is gentle. “Just because Jack hurt you.”

Your throat tightens.

You don’t say anything. You don’t know what to say.

Because he’s right. And maybe that’s the worst part of all.

❥

Aidan is kind when he breaks up with you.

That almost makes it worse.

You can tell he’s been thinking about it for a while. The way he exhales before he starts speaking, the way his hands stay tucked into the pocket of his hoodie like he’s afraid if he moves too much, you’ll see how much this is bothering him.

“You’re not really here, Y/N,” he says, voice steady but laced with something bitter, something tired.

You don’t argue, because you know he’s right.

He sighs, shaking his head. “I like you. I really do. But I deserve someone who looks at me like I’m the only one they’re thinking about.”

Your stomach twists.

“Aidan—”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in, forcing a small smile. “I knew. I think I always did.” He swallows, glancing away before meeting your eyes again. “It was never gonna be me, was it?”

You want to tell him you tried. That you wanted to feel something more, something real. But the truth is, no matter how hard you tried, he was never Jack.

And that was never fair to him.

So instead, you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

He nods, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Yeah. Me too.”

A few days pass, and you still feel hollow, like you’re floating through life without really being in it.

You don’t know why you still go to the Hughes’ house. Maybe it’s habit. Maybe it’s because it still feels like home, even when things don’t feel the same anymore.

Maybe it’s because, deep down, you just need someone who knows you.

Luke opens the door, and before you can even say anything, his face twists in concern.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

You pause. “What?”

Luke steps aside to let you in, closing the door behind you. “You have your sad face on.”

You frown. “Luke Hughes, I do not have a—”

“You totally do,” he interrupts, flopping onto the couch. He gestures for you to sit next to him, and after a moment, you do.

There’s a beat of silence before he says, “Quinn told me everything.”

You freeze. “Everything?”

Luke gives you a knowing look. “Yeah. And I’m not an idiot, Y/N. I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at Jack since we were kids.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Luke sighs, leaning back against the couch. “Look, I know he messed up. Jack is kind of known for that. And I know you’re hurt. But…” He hesitates. “You still love him, don’t you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Luke—”

“Just be honest,” he says gently.

Your throat tightens. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”

Luke nods like he already knew that was coming. Then he pulls something out of his pocket and holds it out to you.

You frown. “What’s this?”

“Tickets,” he says simply.

You blink. “Tickets?”

“To Jack’s game against Finland.” His voice is casual, but there’s something behind it—something careful, like he knows he’s walking a fine line. “I was gonna go, but I think you should instead.”

Your heart stops.

“Luke…”

“Don’t overthink it,” he says quickly. “Just go. See him. Talk to him.”

You stare at the tickets in his hand, your pulse pounding in your ears.

This is a choice. A chance.

And to be completely honest, you aren’t sure if you’re ready.

❥

You end up deciding not to go until the last minute.

The plane ticket burns in your hands, Luke’s voice echoing in your head: Just go. See him. Talk to him.

So you do. You land in Finland, stomach in knots, trying not to think about what you’ll even say to him. If he’ll even want to see you.

But then the game happens. And Jack loses.

The scoreboard tells you everything—3-2, Finland. A brutal, heartbreaking end.

Jack stays on the ice, shoulders hunched, wiping his face as the Finnish players celebrate around him. You can see the way he’s blinking rapidly, how hard he’s trying to hold it together.

It doesn’t work.

By the time he’s in the tunnel for postgame interviews, it’s like the weight of everything finally crashes over him. The cameras capture everything; his red-rimmed eyes, the way his lips tremble when he speaks, the way his voice wavers when he says, “I feel like I let everyone down.”

Your heart cracks wide open. You don’t think. You just go.

You push through the lingering crowd, through the halls of the arena, heart racing. And then—there he is.

Jack is leaning against the wall, head bowed, gripping a water bottle so tightly his knuckles are white. His shoulders shake slightly, like he’s trying to get a grip, but he’s losing the battle.

You inhale sharply, willing yourself forward.

“Jack.”

His head snaps up, eyes widening. And for a second, he just stares.

Like he doesn’t believe you’re real.

“Y/N?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You nod, stepping closer. But before you can say anything else, Jack clears his throat and quickly swipes at his face, straightening up like he’s trying to compose himself.

Then he blurts out, “How’s Aidan?”

You freeze.

Jack lets out a broken laugh, looking down. “Quinn told me you had a boyfriend,” he mutters, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I—uh, I’m happy for you. You deserve that.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening. “Jack—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts, still not looking at you. “I always wanted you to be happy.”

He sniffles, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. He looks exhausted. Worn down in a way you’ve never seen before.

And suddenly, it’s too much.

The space between you. The months of silence. The fact that he still doesn’t know the truth.

You move before you can stop yourself, closing the gap and wrapping your arms around him.

Jack stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath.

But then—slowly, so slowly—it’s like something inside him gives in.

His hands grip your back, his face pressing into your shoulder, and he melts.

You feel his shaky exhale against your neck. The way his fingers curl into the jersey you’re wearing with his name on the back, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel whole again.

“I don’t—” Jack’s voice cracks. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Your throat tightens. “Then don’t. Just just let me be here.”

Jack exhales shakily, nodding against you. “Okay.”

Despite your reassurance, he still feels like he’s falling.

The weight of the loss, the pressure, the expectations, it’s all crashing over him, relentless and suffocating. But in the middle of it all, there’s you.

And when you pull back slightly, just enough to look at him, he realizes you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

Your hands stay on his face, thumbs brushing against his damp skin, and there’s something in your expression, something soft and certain that makes his chest ache.

Then you move closer, tilting your head, and suddenly, suddenly—your lips press against his.

Jack stills.

Then, all at once, he melts into you.

His hands slide to your waist, gripping onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing. Your lips are soft, warm, familiar, but new at the same time, like something that was always supposed to happen but never did.

It feels like breathing again. Like finally getting it right.

But then, Jack realizes and he blinks, something clicking in his mind as he pulls back abruptly, still holding onto you but panting slightly.

“Wait,” he says, voice hoarse. “Aidan.”

You shake your head quickly. “We broke up.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

You exhale, your hands sliding from his face to his wrists, squeezing lightly. “Jack, I tried to move on. I tried so hard.” Your voice wavers. “But it was never him. It was always you.”

Jack’s lips part slightly, his breath hitching.

Then, suddenly, he laughs—a broken, disbelieving sound before his face crumples, his eyes shining again.

And just like that, he’s crying.

He presses his forehead against yours, squeezing his eyes shut as his grip on your waist tightens.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted you to say that,” he whispers, his voice shaking.

You smile softly, brushing his hair back. “I think I do.”

Jack lets out a shaky exhale, his hands fisting the fabric of your jersey, like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go. But you don’t.

Because after everything—after the distance, the silence, the missed chances—you’re still here.

He sniffles, pulling you into another tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder.

❥

Later, when the chaos dies down and the arena empties, you end up in Jack’s car.

The heater hums softly, filling the silence, the city lights casting faint shadows across the dashboard.

Jack sits in the driver’s seat, head tilted against the headrest, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. You’re next to him, legs curled up on the seat, leaning against his shoulder.

It’s quiet.

Not awkward. Not heavy. Just comfortable.

Jack sighs, nudging his cheek against your hair. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

You smile faintly, reaching for his hand. “Me neither.”

He squeezes your fingers, his grip warm and sure. “I thought I lost you.”

You shake your head, squeezing back. “You never did.”

Jack exhales, his body relaxing against yours, and for the first time in a long time, hfeels whole again.

❥

The lake house feels the same the next summer.

The scent of pine and sunscreen still lingers in the air, the dock still creaks under your feet, and the water still glistens under the late afternoon sun. But this time, Jack is here. And this time, he’s yours.

He had turned freshly nineteen last month, but still was the same annoying boy you had known since you were seven.

You sit on the old wooden dock, legs stretched out, the warm breeze tangling your hair. Jack is lying beside you, one arm draped lazily over his forehead, his other hand resting on your knee, tracing absentminded patterns over your skin.

It’s quiet, just the sound of the water lapping against the shore and the occasional laughter from inside the house, where Quinn and Luke are probably chirping each other over something stupid.

Jack sighs, turning his head to look at you. “I missed this.”

You smile, threading your fingers through his. “Me too.”

He studies you for a moment, his eyes soft, warm, completely yours. Then, without a word, he tugs you down so you’re lying next to him, your head resting on his chest.

“You know,” he muses, fingers trailing up and down your back, “last summer, I thought I’d never get this back.”

You inhale slowly, letting his heartbeat ground you. “Me too.”

Jack tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But we made it.”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. “Yeah,” you whisper, smiling. “We did.”

He grins, the kind that makes your heart skip a beat, then flips you onto your back, hovering over you with that look—the one that reminds you he’s still the same Jack, the same boy who used to splash you in the lake, who used to steal your s’mores when you weren’t looking, who used to be your best friend before he was everything.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Luke’s voice echoes from the house, and you both groan.

Jack turns his head, scowling. “Luke, I swear—”

Quinn’s voice cuts in. “Let them be, Luke. They suffered enough.”

You laugh as Jack rolls his eyes. “I hate that he’s right.”

You shake your head, pulling Jack back down. “Just kiss me already.”

He smirks. “Gladly.”

And as his lips meet yours, the sun dips below the horizon and the lake glistens around you, making you realize everything is exactly the way it’s meant to be.

It isn’t until Luke pretends to fake barf that Jack removes himself away from you, opting to chase down his little brother.

“Boys, am I right?” Quinn says, giving you a grin.

You wrap your arms around him, never feeling as whole as you did now.

[not-neverland06]

we're dating? ♡

logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've decided using the same X-men name/powers for the reader in my Logan fics is easier because coming up with superpowers is hard and stupid. They call you flux, like once, it's really just a nickname incoming warning for fluff so bad you'll get a cavity Summary: You're on probation from the team and official house arrest after a little accident with your powers. Logan knows you're going stir-crazy so he takes you to the arcade for some fun. And then your friendship takes a weird turn. (80's timeline in mind, but characters not from the 80’s will be mentioned) Clueless!reader

You’d had an accident, a few weeks ago. Well, accident might be downplaying it too much. You’d destroyed the garden and left a ten-foot crater in the backyard of Charles’ prestigious grounds. In your defense, you had warned them all that it wasn’t a good idea to take your cuffs off. 

The metal bands are entirely necessary to make sure you can’t lose control and wipe out everything around you. Manipulation at an atomic level is beyond fatal. You don’t want to think about what would have happened if you’d had the meltdown and the kids were anywhere near you. 

Charles had been able to shut you down, but now he’s keeping you on probation. You’ve been locked up in the mansion, unable to leave until you managed to get your abilities under control. There’s never been a problem with wearing the cuffs before. You don’t understand why he’s so against them now. 

You’re going stir-crazy. There’s only so many times you can pace your room before you start to lose your mind. He’s not even letting you teach classes anymore. You’re stuck training, all day, every day. 

“Focus!” Charles snaps and you resist the urge to turn his bones liquid. Maybe that would get him off your back. 

Instead of killing your friend, you glare at the large tank of water in front of you. You do what you’ve been doing for the past half hour. It fluctuates from liquid to gas to solid, and then liquid again. An endless cycle of repetition that makes you want to melt your brain so you don’t have to do this anymore. 

You drop your hand and huff. “This is pointless, Charles. What’s this even teaching me?”

He crosses his arms, walks over to you, and pointedly glares at the tank in front of you. You roll your eyes and look back at it. “Shit,” you hiss. In your frustration, the glass has cracked and splintered into dust. Water pools around your stool and leaks through the wood of the floor. You flick your wrist, the glass swirling around you before reforming into the tank. The water follows along, droplets lifting from the floor and dropping back into the container. 

“One moment of frustration, of distraction. That’s all it took.” Charles shakes his head and walks back over to his desk. He picks the cuffs up and you slip them silently back onto your wrists. “How can you be trusted to protect your team on the field if you can’t control this? What are you going to do when you’re panicked and fighting for your life?”

Shame bubbles in your gut. It makes you nauseous and forces your eyes to the floor so you don’t have to face him. He sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezing gently. You glance up at him briefly and he offers a strained smile. 

“This is for your protection, as much as you hate it, Flux. It’s necessary.” You scoff at the use of your X-Men name. Not much of an X-Man if you’re not even on the field anymore. 

“Right,” you mutter. “Thanks for the lesson in incompetency,” you don’t let him respond and slam the door to his office closed behind you. You feel bad the second you get outside and onto the porch. He doesn’t deserve your bitchiness. It’s your own fault you can’t get a handle on this. You don't have anyone to blame but yourself. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, throwing yourself into a rocking chair and running your hands over your face. The once comforting weight of your cuffs is now oppressing. It just feels like a constant reminder of your failure. You should already have a handle on all of this, but you struggle to even manipulate water. 

“Rough day?” You don’t open your eyes as Logan walks by. He takes a seat on the rocking chair beside you, letting out a low groan as he stretches. 

You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at the sunset so you don’t have to face him. You’ve already dealt with enough dejection today. You don’t need to look at him and be reminded that you want him in a way you can never have. 

“Mhm,” you hum, propping your head in your hand as you watch the sun disappear behind the clouds. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange that seem too hopeful for how you feel right now. 

Logan chuckles, the sound low and gravely. It makes your heart stutter in your chest and you cringe in embarrassment. You know he can hear the way your heart practically beats free of your ribs when you’re around him. You’re sure with that nose of his he can smell some sort of hormonal change in you every time you lay eyes on him. 

You swear you’ve never felt this way about a man before. You haven’t had many boyfriends before, it’s not really common among mutants. Not many people are accepting of you when they know what you are. And some people are too into you. 

But you've had crushes, and none of them have been as bad as this one is. You want to gnaw on him. It sounds fucking insane every time you think about it. But when you train with him and he tears his shirt off, you want to sink your teeth into him and never let go. 

You feel feral around him, a side of you surfacing that you’re not used to. Maybe it’s because of his mutant abilities. They are very animalistic, it’s easy to blame that on how desperately you crave him. 

You hate being around him and despise not being in his presence. It’s conflicting, and more often than not you sound like a bumbling idiot when you speak to him because your brain is going in a million different directions. 

You hear the familiar click of his lighter and then he shifts again. You risk a peek over at him and regret it the second you do. His head is tilted back, eyes closed in relaxation as he stretches across the porch. Smoke leaks out of his lips as he groans in satisfaction. 

You have to pick your jaw up off the floor and make sure there isn’t drool on your chin. This is insane. You’re a grown woman, how does he have this much of an effect on you? He’s not even doing anything! He’s just sitting there and you want to jump his bones. 

You whip your head around, mumbling incoherently to yourself to get it together. Logan peaks an eye open and you miss the mischievous tilt to his lips. “Something wrong?”

I need to have sex with you or I’m going to explode. 

You stutter for a few seconds, getting your mind back together. “Just training with Charles,” you mutter. 

He sits up a little straighter and quirks a brow. When you don’t continue he sighs. “And?” He prods, impatient for your answer. You hope you’re not reading into it, but you think he’s been as disappointed by your absence from the team as you are. He always complains about being partnered up with Scott. You like to think it’s because he misses you. But you’re probably just delusional. 

“And, nothing,” you sigh. Your hands flop against your legs and you glare at the bands on your wrists. “No progress. I still can’t control them without these on, and my abilities are watered down and useless with the cuffs.”

Logan huffs, you’re caught off guard by the sudden warmth on your thigh. You glance down, eyes widening ever so slightly when you see his hand on your leg. It nearly covers the whole thing and when he squeezes your thigh you think you’re going to pass out. 

You’re friendly. But you’ve never been touchy. At least not like this. The placement of his palm is very intimate and you are struggling not to just get on your knees and profess your undying love. You take in a deep breath, looking up at him so you can get your heartbeat under control. 

But looking at him just makes it worse. Because there is so much faith and fondness in his gaze as he looks at you. His lips are tilted up, eyes soft, and you’ve never had someone make you feel so warm and secure from just a look. 

“You aren’t useless,” he tells you. He squeezes your thigh again before he retreats back to his chair. You have to clamp your jaw shut so you don’t beg him to keep touching you and never stop. “You’re just stuck in this house all day. You’ve got nothing to do but sit in your failure.”

You scoff and throw yourself back in your seat. “Don’t remind me. I’ve begged Charles to let me out.” Your gaze drifts to the crater in the backyard. Some of the kids have been working on filling it in, but whatever energy you’d let go of has left a permanent mark. “He refuses to give me permission.”

Logan laughs, the noise teasing and a little mean. Your brows furrow and you glance over at him with a questioning look. He tilts his head in disbelief like you’re an idiot. “Seriously, Flux? Just fuckin’ leave, who gives a shit?”

“Uh,” you think on it for a minute before weakly settling on, “Charles?”

His face falls and you sink lower into your seat. He looks out at the yard, gaze distant. His jaw clenches a few times before he puts the cigar out on the ashtray beside him. He gets to his feet and you think he might just leave. Instead, he turns towards you. 

You’re caught off guard by the little smirk on his face. “Wanna have some fun?”

Only an idiot would say no. 

You grin and place your hand in his, yelping slightly at how easily he pulls you to your feet. You stumble into his chest and are hesitant to back away when his hand drifts to rest on your waist. He looks down at you, smiling, he squeezes your waist once before he backs up. 

“Come on, kid.” He tugs you inside the house, leading you downstairs to the garage. You already know what he’s going for before the door is even open. 

“Didn’t Scott tell you to leave his bike alone?” Logan takes a step inside. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, the happiness on his face. You never see him like this around the others. 

You hate thinking like that. Placing too much importance on your relationship with him will only lead to heartbreak down the road. But, you never see him act the way he does with you with anyone else.

“Since when have I ever listened to Cyclops, sweetheart?” 

“Good point,” you mutter, moving to stand next to him. 

He straddles the seat and looks over expectantly at you. “Don’t you need a helmet?”

You shake your head, “Oh, no, it’ll ruin my hair.” You laugh but he gives you a deadpan look. You don’t regenerate the way he does. An accident would be a lot more fatal for you than it would be for him. You huff, “Relax, Lo, I can use my powers.” When he looks like he’s not going to drop it, you let some energy swirl around your fingers. It solidifies the air around your skin, you reach up and flick at his skull hard enough to hear the metal ding. 

He grunts, glaring down at your hand while you grin. “See,” you whisper, sliding onto the back of the bike and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m perfectly safe.” He shakes his head and starts the bike. 

The ride to the arcade is spent in silence. Logan always seems to break every speeding law known to man whenever he takes Scott’s bike out. You’re not sure if he does it to purposefully piss the man off, but it makes you cling to him like a wild animal. You feel like if you hit one speed bump you’re going to go flying. 

By the time he parks your legs feel like jello. He laughs a little at the way your face has blanched. Again, he offers you a hand and holds the door open to lead you inside. You’re trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this whole thing is odd. 

You guys are friends. And you’re friendlier with each other than most of the mutants in the school. But this feels different somehow. For one, Logan kind of despises the arcade. It’s an amalgamation of bad smells and loud noises, and it overwhelms his already sensitive senses. You’ve heard him complain about the smell of body odor and fake cheese enough times when you went on a field trip with the kids. 

Secondly, he’s being more touchy than he normally would. You’re not complaining. You weren’t exactly hugged a lot as a kid, mainly just passed between different mutant fetish clubs. Logan isn’t known for handing hugs out so easily. But right now, he doesn’t seem to be ready to not have at least one hand on you. 

Maybe he’s just cheering you up. You need to stop drifting so far into your mind and just enjoy the night. “Alright, what’s first bub?”

You grin and drag him towards the claw machine. “I’m horrible at these things,” you inform him as you put your quarters in. “But, I hold out hope that one day I’ll be able to actually beat this monster.”

Three failed attempts later, it’s become embarrassingly clear that you will never beat the claw machine. Logan isn’t even trying to hide his amusement as you become increasingly more frustrated. There’s a certain point where this game stops being fun and starts to be an affront to your character. 

Logan peers into the machine and asks, “What are you going for?”

“The pigeon,” you mutter. Your tongue pokes between your lips, and your eyes narrow in concentration. You aim the claw over the pigeon perfectly and slam your hand down on the big red button. 

You’re allowed five seconds of celebration before the damn thing slips out of the claws grasp and tumbles into the pile of stuffies below. “Dammit, Bart,” you let the ridiculous name you’ve come up with for the toy slip.

Logan snorts, leaning against the glass while you jam another quarter in the slot. “Bart?” He teases. 

You shake your head and give him a look out the side of your eye. “What, you think I call myself Flux because I’m good at coming up with names?” You give up after the last failed attempt and turn to face him with a huff. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Tough luck, kid.” He slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you towards the concession stand. 

“Shut up,” you laugh, slapping lightly at his chest. 

The rest of the night is nice. He doesn’t play much except for the strength-oriented games. And then you kind of just exploit him for more tickets. By the time you get back to the mansion, you’ve forgotten all about why you were upset in the first place. 

Nothing had gone wrong, you didn’t have a total meltdown and wipe out the entire arcade. You don’t know why Charles was so afraid of letting you out. 

Logan walks you back to your room, his hand heavy on your lower back as you head up the stairs. You’re talking endlessly, filling up any gap of silence with rambling you’ve lost track of. You don’t know what it is about him that invites you to yap the way you do, but you’re always embarrassed by it the second he leaves. 

You reach your door and smile up at him. “Thanks, Lo.”

He gives you a soft smile, his eyes wrinkling endearingly at the corners. He reaches up and brushes some hair off your shoulder. There’s a certain shift in his expression that has your breath stopping short. Whatever else you were going to say to him tumbles off into an incomprehensible whisper. 

He leans down and every inappropriate thought you’ve ever had about him suddenly surges to the front of your mind. Your lips part in anticipation, thinking he’s going to kiss you and your fantasies are going to come to life. 

His lips brush against your cheek so gently you almost don’t feel them. “‘Night Flux,” he leans back and your body goes with him. He backs off with a smile, walking down the hall to his own room. You feel dazed, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as you fan your cheeks and try to come to terms with what just happened.

He didn’t kiss you, but you oddly aren’t disappointed. You go to bed that night with a lovesick grin on your face. Well, you would have. Were it not for the annoyingly British voice ringing out in your head, “Training’s at four tomorrow morning. Consider it your punishment for sneaking out.”

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. Stupid fucking telepaths. 

You thought the arcade was a one-off moment. But Logan keeps sneaking you out of the mansion. Charles hasn’t officially lifted the house arrest, but he’s given up trying to keep you inside. Besides, you’ve essentially got a chaperone since Logan is always with you. 

You make lunch for the two of you and he’ll take you out to the woods for a picnic. Or you’ll go to the movies together. Sometimes you don’t even do anything, just linger around each other. You enjoy the company, and you love having these quiet moments together with no one else around. 

Your favorite part of all of this has to be the way he’s started touching you. He’s always got a hand on your leg or back. And if he can’t do that, then you’re tucked into his side. It’s feeding into a starved part of you that you’ve left neglected for far too long. 

It’s only been about two weeks of these fun little adventures and odd behavior. You’re dreading the moment they’ll stop. You’re not sure when Logan’s going to deem you properly cheered up, but you’re hoping it’s not anytime soon. 

There have been a few more moments where you think your friendship might turn into something more, and every time you’ve been interrupted. You’re actually starting to feel a little edged. You’ve been considering just grabbing him and planting one on him. But every time you think about it you get sick to your stomach. 

You don’t want to make a move on him and end up getting rejected. You know he’s just being a good friend and taking care of you so you don’t end up spiraling too far in your head. It’s happened before, when you’ve been struggling with your abilities. He’s just keeping you from shutting down again and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable because you’re hopelessly in love. 

When you walk out of your room this morning you’re immediately smacked in the face. “What the fuck, guys?” You yell at the two kids running past your room. Not the best language for someone who's supposed to be a role model. You can’t be bothered though, not when they’re running around throwing pink rolls of streamer at your face. 

“Sorry!” Mary calls over her shoulder, laughing as she pins a heart up onto the wall. You’re sure Charles won’t appreciate the hole in his old ass mahogany wood. It’s only as you watch her run down the stairs that you register just what is going on. 

There is pink and red everywhere. It looks like Dollar Store Cupid has thrown up all over the mansion. You’ve been so caught up in your attraction to Logan that, ironically, you’ve forgotten what month it was. 

You grumble bitterly to yourself as you trudge down the stairs. Another Valentine’s Day alone and single. How lovely. You spot two kids giggling to themselves by the banister, they lean in like they’re going to kiss and you gag. “Hey!” You snap, and they jump apart, eyes wide with fear. “Quit it, get out of here.” They scramble off and you feel just a little bit vindicated. 

“Not a fan of young love, Flux?”

You groan and roll your eyes, turning around to find a very smug Scott watching you bully teenagers. “Shut it, Summers,” you warn. You point an accusing finger at him and he raises his hands in surrender. Faux innocence played across his insufferable smirk. “When you’re in a committed relationship, you don’t get to judge me.”

His brows turn down in confusion, “Wait, but aren’t you and Logan-”

He’s cut off by the sound of a loud crash down the hall. You both turn around just as one of the classroom doors slams open. A bright pink explosion hurtles from the doors and a throng of coughing students follows. 

Jubilee walks out a minute later, a guilty expression on her face. “Sorry, I was just trying to make it more Vanetine-y.” 

You glance over at Scott, grinning widely at him while you pat his shoulder and walk past him, leaving him to clean up the mess. “Enjoy the young love, Summers.”

You actively avoid Logan all day. You’re already facing constant reminders of how lonely you are. You see kids walking around with baskets of bears and chocolates. Or you catch them passing notes in class with scribbled hearts all over the front. 

There’s only so much a girl can take before she loses it. The last thing you need is to be faced with the man you have the worst unrequited crush on in history. But he doesn’t seem to get the hint. He’s everywhere you go, popping up around corners and trying to catch your attention. 

You keep brushing him off and pretending like you have something urgent you’re going to be late for. Eventually, though, he was going to catch up with you. 

It happens in the kitchen. Most of the kids are in their rooms or the library. The noise has died down and you’re alone. You grumble to yourself, ripping down a pink streamer that keeps drifting across the top of your head and pissing you off. You grab a frozen meal from the fridge and are about to microwave it when he speaks. 

“Huh, thought you’d want something a little more romantic than a frozen burrito.” 

You gasp, clutching your chest and whirling around on him while your heart races. “Logan, Jesus, you scared me.” He’s frowning at you, eyes glaring at the frozen package in your hand. “Um,” you toss it back in the freezer but the look on his face isn’t going away. “Yeah, I might just go with cereal instead.”

He looks at you and then glances behind him. You peer around his shoulder but you don’t see anything. Without much warning, he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the stairs. “Logan?” There’s no point in trying to resist him, he could just toss you up the stairs if he wanted to. Still, the silence is kind of creeping you out. 

You call his name a few more times but give up when he makes it clear he’s not going to be answering you anytime. There’s a rotten feeling in your stomach. You have this awful idea like you’re in trouble for something. Like a little girl who's gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar too many times. 

He stops you in front of his door and nods towards it. “You want me to go inside?” He crosses his arms and glares down at you. You huff and mutter, “Jesus, fine.” What the hell is wrong with him?

You grab the doorknob to his room, glaring at him while you do. You throw the door open dramatically, taking a step inside and surveying the area. “Wow,” you suck your teeth and shake your head. “You have not decorated at all.”

“Shut up, smartass,” he mutters in your ear. Chills prick at your skin from his proximity. A shudder goes down your spine as the low tone of his voice reverberates through you. “Look a little harder.”

You roll your eyes but acquiesce. Another run over the room finally shows you what you missed. You gasp and rush towards his bed, “Holy shit, Bart!” He chuckles behind you as you pick the stuffed pigeon up. 

“Went back for him after we left,” Logan tells you. 

You glare at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How many tries did this take you?” He mouths a smug one and you roll your eyes in irritation. You look back down at the pigeon and smile.

He smells like the inside of a claw machine. His head is sewed on crookedly and you’re pretty sure he’s missing an eye. But he’s absolutely perfect to you. You’re about to thank Logan when you spot something metal wrapped around the stuffie’s neck. “What’s this,” you mumble to yourself. 

You slide your fingers under the chain and tug it off Bart’s neck. Logan’s dog tags dangle off your fingers and you stare at him in shock. A sudden cold dread washes over you and you find yourself immobile. “Logan,” you trail off, an unspoken question following his name. 

He smirks, walking towards you and slipping the tags out of your hand. “I wanted you to have this,” he says, his voice low like this moment is too precious to break, “so you know you’re not alone. You’re always so afraid of what’s going to happen if you lose control out in the field. But you forget, you’re not alone. You have me, you’re always going to have me.” He places the tags over your neck, untucking your hair from the chain. 

You don’t even have words for him. It’s such a deeply personal gift. But this also feels incredibly intimate. There’s no possible way for you to reason this away. This isn’t something “just friends” do. 

He seems to prefer your silence, anyway. One of his hands drifts from your neck and cups your jaw. With the utmost tenderness, he lifts your face to his. “Wanted to do this for a while,” he whispers. You almost ask what he’s talking about, but his lips are already covering yours. 

It’s incredibly soft, this kiss, softer than you’re used to. He’s barely putting any pressure on you and it makes you realize that you’re still not moving. You’re just standing there in shock, eyes wide open while the man you’ve wanted since you’ve known him kisses you. 

You drop Bart to the floor and your arms come up to twine around his neck. You finally close your eyes, let your body melt into his knowing he’ll catch you. The second you reciprocate he really kisses you. Neither of you hold back, each of you pouring all the pent-up desire you’ve felt for each other. 

You’ve spent so long dancing around this, around each other. It’s like a missing puzzle piece is returned to you as Logan holds you. You feel full, complete, warmer than you ever have before. 

You part from him - needing air - painfully slow. You don’t want to spend a second away from him now that you have him. You wish you didn’t have to breathe. Wished you could have kept kissing him and never stopped. 

Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss against your forehead like he can read your thoughts. You can feel the dorky smile that’s about to split your cheeks. You bite your lip, hoping it might suppress it, but you know it’s pointless. 

You look up at him with a cheeky twinkle in your eye. “Are you asking me to be your Valentine, Lo?”

He scoffs and pulls away from you slightly. “Do you have to ask your girlfriend to be your Valentine?”

Your eyes widen and your mouth opens and closes rapidly. “I- Well- I mean,” you take a full step back from him and shake your head. “What?” You finally settle on. “I mean, I’m not objecting, at all, but what?”

Logan tilts his head, a disbelieving look on his face. “What do you think we’ve been doing the past three weeks?”

You shake your head, stuttering and struggling for an answer. “I don’t know. I thought you were being a good friend!”

He smiles, there’s no irritation on his face at your cluelessness. If anything he seems to be more endeared to you. “You think I take all my friends on romantic picnics in the woods?”

You sigh, letting out a long disappointed breath. You can’t believe you’ve been so blind. When you think about it, his behavior lately makes a lot more sense. You’re not sure how you were able to trick yourself for so long. 

“Well,” you start, walking back towards him as he pulls you into a hug, “certainly not Scott.” He huffs and shakes his head. You give him a sheepish smile, brows knitted together. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

He just presses another kiss to your temple and shrugs. “It’s alright, sweetheart, you can make it up to me by being my Valentine again next year.”

There’s something unspoken in his voice. A promise that he’s planning to be around for a lot longer than a year. You smile at him, silently promising the same. “Only if you’re mine.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

a/n: i’m gonna gag actually. Made myself cringe there at the end. I want a valentine next year so bad, it’s sad. But what’s the point of a valentine if it’s not going to be Logan?

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Lying

One day, Billy realizes he can just lie. To press, to the JL (only when they really ask about his identity), and to world. And the best part is that almost no one can prove him wrong, because what’s Black Adam or someone else going to do? Prove him wrong? (I kinda already talked about this but meh) Like here’s something I can see Billy maybe doing because one time and one time alone, a reporter asked and he quotes:

Reporter: “Captain, I’m sure many people are speculating, and I’m sure it’s a question asked often, but who is your Missus Marvel?” *holds mic to Billy’s face*

Marvel: “…Huh?” *Has confused expression* “Can you repeat that?”

Reporter: “Who is your Missus Marvel?”

Marvel: “Uh… Ma’am, there is no—” *Does air quotes* “—Missus Marvel.”

Reporter: “Then who is the mother of Captain Marvel Junior and Mary Marvel?”

Marvel: “Uuuuh… Me? Technically? They’re both made from parts of me, but not parts *gestures to his lower region* of me, no.” *He shook his head.* “If I remember correctly Mary was made about 10000 years ago when one of my arms were chopped off. (He’s lying through his teeth right now. The only reason he hasn’t been caught is because of Achilles allowing him to bullshit his was through without blinking.)

Reporter: “I- I see.” *stunned*

Marvel: “And then Junior’s a…” *snorts* “…leg.” *Muffles a laugh into his hand not realizing no one will get his joke besides Freddy and Mary*

Reporter: *confused by Billy laughing but doesn’t say anything* “Interesting… Are Mary Marvel and Marvel Junior your only children? Spawn? Wards?”

Marvel: “Oh, yeah. I could more though. Like, watch this.” *Literally breaks off his ring finger, splintering the bone and everything without a single flinch. Then drops the finger on the ground and it morphs into what looks like a four year old Marvel. Billy picks him up and holds him like a parent would their toddler.* “It’s super easy.” *He’s even doing the slight bouncing that parents do when they hold their kids.* “But I don’t know… now that I’m holding this one, I’m starting to get attached. We might keep him.” *looks down at the mini Marvel, who in turn looks back at him.*

Reporter: *still horrified she watched a man, if he even is one, snap one of his fingers off like nothing. Said man’s finger nub is also still exposed to the world in all its disgusting glory. Safe to say she’s looking a little green* “O- Oh really?”

Marvel: *moves Mini Marvel around in his grip, and then suddenly throws the toddler like a paper airplane. Thankfully, instead of falling on the ground and splattering like meat pie, Mini Marvel takes to the skies is flying over the nearby crowd and such. Marvel turns back to the reporter.* “Yeah, but before that happens, he’ll have to develop a consciousness and personality. It took a bit for Mary and Junior to develop their own. Now they have their own likes, dislikes, and feelings. Who knows how long it’ll take the little guy.” (Again, he’s bullshitting this completely. He’s mishmashing Solomon’s wisdom on golems with things he makes up on the fly)

Reporter: “That’s… amazing.” *looks greener now. Looks to cameraman and motions for him to cut the feed. As soon as he does, her hand moves to her mouth.* “Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.” *runs over to nearest trashcan*

Marvel: “I guess that’s my cue to leave.” *starts to float off the ground* “Thanks for having me, miss!” *Marvel then whistles and Mini Marvel immediately stops entertaining the crowd and flies over to Billy and they fly off into the sunset.*

Elsewhere… Mary’s working an odd job for some money when she sees a tv on the news channel. She nearly has a heart attack because for three brief seconds she thought her dad was holding a young Billy in his arms like he used to. Then she blinked a couple times and realized it was just Billy as Marvel with four year old dressed like him. Fawcett kids really love Captain Marvel, huh?

(Oh yeah, and as for how he made Mini Marvel, he’s my hypothesis. When he broke off his finger, he destabilized its form and it reverted back to a part of living lightning for a brief couple of moments. Then, in an effort to not return back to the rock, as it could sense part of itself still nearby, it stabilized itself once more and forced itself to take the form of a miniature Marvel) (and if anyone makes sense of that, I’ll be darned)

[awearywritersworld]

"do you like me?" "nope."

gojo satoru x reader summary: even yuuji realizes that gojo has a crush on you, but you're oblivious as ever w/c: 1.1k tags/warnings: ft. yuuji and megumi. fluff. super light angst. lots of banter. a lil mutual pining. yuuji and gojo being chaotic. gender neutral reader. a/n: not sure how this turned out, but it was fun to write! masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

"(l/n)-sensei!!"

you're trying to relax and really, fifteen minutes is all you want, but these days that seems impossible.

you turn your head toward the sparring field just in time to see yuuji fly into a tree about 30 yards away. megumi is already on the ground struggling to get up.

meanwhile gojo is prancing, literally prancing, in the opposite direction. you walk toward the group with a mixture of annoyance and disappointment playing across your features, all your hope for some peace and quiet crushed.

"that was awesome!" the pink haired boy shouts from amid a mess of leaves and branches.

gojo gushes over the praise, his hands pressing against his cheeks. "thank you, yuuji! it's nice to know someone around here appreciates my unmatched strength."

"i don't remember offering to be a part of the demonstration," megumi grumbles, finally rising to his feet.

his demeanor is less than pleased and you glance at him sympathetically before turning to gojo. "you do know that you're an adult, right? like, as in, a fully grown man."

"(y/n)-chaaaaan, you're always so mean to me," he whines, grabbing your hands dramatically. "what have i done to deserve such cruel treatment?"

"today or in general?" you pretend to think for a second. "i seem to remember you waking me up at seven this morning so that you didn't have to go to your meeting with masamichi-san alone-"

"he was mad at me for skipping the last one i had!"

"-and then you hid my phone for almost an hour because i wouldn't give you my last candy bar-"

"i was starving, (y/n)-chan! it wasn't my fault, you know that!"

"-and then you destroyed that tree, which i really happened to like by the way."

his gaze flickers toward that direction, the splintered wood a sad remnant of what it used to be, then throws his arms in the air. "this is so unfair!"

"(l/n)-sensei! did you see?" yuuji calls out, already fully recovered and bounding toward you.

"i sure did." you chuckle at his tattered clothes and unfazed attitude.

"what'd ya think?"

you really can't bring yourself to scold him, not with all the excitement in his voice. "oh, it was certainly something."

"did you hear that, gojo-sensei?" yuuji lights up.

megumi disguises his laugh with a cough. "i don't think that was a compliment."

the boy visibly deflates so you ruffle his hair. "it was pretty cool, i just don't want you getting hurt." that earns a grin, to your relief.

"so i get yelled at, but you're nice to him?" gojo pouts indignantly.

"yes."

"ugh! this is killing me, (y/n)-chan!" he announces before promptly knocking you to the ground, the action something between a hug and a tackle.

"gojo, get off of me!" you yell, though there's a hint of laughter in your voice.

"i can't! not until you forgive me!"

your giggles ring through the air, music to gojo's ears, and your hands push him away as he tries to tickle your sides. you look like two kids, rolling around in the grass and shouting at one another.

yuuji leans in toward megumi, his voice hushed as if he's about to reveal the world's biggest secret. "i'm starting to think there's something going on between those two."

his friend looks at him as if he's grown a second head. "you're just now noticing?"

~~~

you're making dinner in your apartment while gojo sits on the kitchen floor, his legs splayed out and taking up nearly half of the small room. his blindfold had been discarded at one point or another, something he made a habit of doing when it was just the two of you.

"what are we having tonight, chef?"

"me? i'm having braised chicken thighs. i'm not sure about you though," you tease.

you didn't invite him to dinner, he just kind of followed you back to your place after sparring practice. you don't really mind, you never do, not that you'd ever admit it out loud.

"you wouldn't give me your candy bar and now you won't have dinner with me either? today is the worst! is this still about the tree? i told you i was sorry-"

"geez i was just kidding!" you cut him off. "of course you can have some, but only if you get the flour off the top shelf for me."

"i guess that's a fair trade," he reasons, rising to his feet lazily.

the cabinet is just to your left, so his body presses into yours as he reaches up, the contact making your heart flutter.

"thanks," you exhale when he sets it down within your reach.

he doesn't return to his sitting position, just leans against the counter and watches you carefully stir the ingredients in the pan.

"do you like me?" he inquires suddenly.

"nope."

"hm, do you like like me?" he suggests, a small smirk playing at his lips.

"gojo, that's honestly defamatory."

he rolls his eyes playfully. "c'mon, be serious."

"you be serious," you challenge the usually facetious man.

"i am."

resting your spoon on the pan, you turn to face him, unsure if he's just messing with you like always. the room is silent, save for the faint popping of oil, as he waits for you to say something.

"why do you wanna know?"

"'cause i like you, why else?"

your hands gather the fabric of your apron nervously, crumpling it between your fingers while you avoid his gaze. his words strike you as entirely implausible. after all, he's gojo and you're, well, you.

"you... you shouldn't joke about stuff like that."

he laughs at you and it breaks your heart a little, but then you feel two lithe hands on either side of your face. "(y/n), look at me."

you do, albeit apprehensively, and his eyes bore into your own with an intensity you aren't familiar with. it makes your knees feel weak. a smile tugs at his lips before they capture your own, the movement slow and soft.

your fingers reach up to wrap around his wrist, an attempt to steady yourself against him, before one of his hands travels down to your hip and gives it a light squeeze.

you taste so sweet, feel so perfect in his hands, that gojo kicks himself for waiting so long to kiss you. his lips move to the corner of your mouth, across your cheek, then begin to work their way up your jaw. he hums against your skin, satisfied with the breathy noises he's pulling from your throat.

then, the smell of burning invades your senses and you pull away from each other with wide eyes, exclaiming in unison. "the food!"

[bambiesfics]

Cock in a Gloryhole - Ellie x reader

𝜗𝜚 Author’s notes ✦ public sex, reader deepthroating Ellie’s cock (strap-on), Ellie cums untouched, Ellie yearns for readers lips, very hyper-sexual descriptions. Ellie’s strap is almost exclusively referred to as a cock/dick/etc, pining, missed connection. This is a filthy fic.

Ellie’s a slutty gay and very judgmental.

!!! [please help palestine] !!!

kisses u. ⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡.

Ellie slid her converse off of the toilet handle. The brazen girl fished for her pants’ zipper. She held her cock in one hand, and fought with the zipper with the other. The cheap metal wasn’t fastening over the straps on her hips, it was catching on her harness. “Jesus fuck. Now? Seriously?”

She rolled her eyes and smoothed her bangs down. After a few beats, the bored brunette circled the stall, then slumping against the chipped navy door. Cock in hand, balls barely zipped up. She chuckled to herself, there was probably some stupid fucking metaphor for that out there somehwere. She wasn’t going to step out like that, with the veins of her dick saying “hi” over her half zipped pants? Fuck. No. It wasn’t in the cards. But the zip wasn’t budging. Ellie felt a scowl forming; The kid was pissed. She didn’t have time for this, not now. Not when there was a gorgeous service teller at the center that she’d been mentally undressing for the better part of her visit. A woman who belonged on her knees, in front of Ellie. A woman with the perfect mouth to suck dick clean. Ellie toe’d her converses on the dirty grout lines hatch marked across the tile floor. The repetition of it lulled her into a meditation as she contemplated how to escape this awkward mess she somehow tripped headfirst into. Getting into awkward shit like this was her forté, but the benefits of packing far outweighed the headaches.

The stall next to her swung open, the clacking heels were rhythmic and sharp. Feminine little steps. A woman sat down, and did her business as she hummed. Ellie scaled her eyes along the bathroom wall that separated her and the lady. The wall was grotty. Old and well worn from years of servicing and decades of business. The maintenance was abysmal on its best day, and it made for a pleasant surprise when Ellie’s eyes zero’d in on the hole carved out haphazardly. There were still pieces of drywall sticking out past the lament of duck tape all around the hole. Ellie chuckled grimily, just high enough that the woman paused her rustling once the realization that she wasn’t alone had settled. The prick-fucking developers who were responsible for this project definitely forgot to remodel this bathrooms stalls’ when they added a new male bathroom to the bottom floor of the building. The little glory hole had a glaring missing chunk of ‘wall’ from its separation of the two stalls, and it’d had that for years from the looks of it. It had a bunch of old thin splinters of amber oak and drywall sticking out. The eyesore pointed to the empty hole like a pair of flashing neon arrows pointing to a seedy Las Vegas strip club.

Ellie doubted it got used much, if at all. If any of the prissy women who sat down to release themselves understood why there was a giant fucking hole the size of a two baseballs stacked vertically in their bathroom stall. Nah, Ellie mused. They definitely just kept their gaze straight ahead if they noticed anything amiss. A prim attempt at respecting the other woman’s privacy. Except, the irony was in the fact that, the point of that hole carved in the wall, the hole yelling “FUCK ME,” was to trample all over another stranger’s privacy. To proclaim yourself a king with a heavy cock and see if they’d submit to it.

Ellie stroked her cock, squeezing the base then working her way to the tip, warming it up in her hands. She unzipped the rest of her pants, and let the balls spring free. The balls dropped a little past the zipper, it took the edge off the pressure in her leather jeans. Mmm, now this felt right.

She took a tentative step forward, debating her next step. But then she rolled her anxiety off her back. Undulating those fast twitch muscles that lined her back to stretch and warm, to relax. It wasn’t that serious. Call it “part of the plot,” call it whatever you want. But what Ellie wanted to do was going to be insanely amusing. She needed the amusement if she was gonna be stuck here until her zipper decided to cooperate. Ellie’s converses padded to the wall, it’s toe box lined up with the bottom of it. Nosing against the edge. She lined up her cock with the glory hole and slowly fed the hole inches of her cock, until she bottomed out and her balls were trapped between her hairy pelvis and the wall. She held her breath. Her palms scaled the wall. The woman on the other side gasped, Ellie could only imagine how she clutched her hand to her chest and scrambled to pull her bag up over her shoulder. Ready to run to building security and report the “creep” in the ladies bathroom stall. The creep was Elizabeth “I <3 pussy” Williams with her cock fucking a glory hole. This would make for a hilarious prank to joke about with Jessie later. Jesse would think Ellie was bustin’ his balls, making up some new lie to fuck with his head. And she’d revel in the way his face would drain of colour once he realized she wasn’t.

Ellie grasped the base of her cock and lifted it up a little bit, practically taunting “yoohoo!” With the motion. Letting her heavy shaft say “hi” to the poor woman who was facing it head-on. She grinned again, and prepared herself to tuck her dick back in her pants like a good boy and behave.

But then she heard clothes rustling, and the tug she felt on her harness made her eyes fly open. Her heart rate picked up. Blood was rushing in Ellie’s head. She didn’t actually expect a sweet lady to open up her lips and suck her off. But the eager lips on the other side, started sucking her cockhead before she could process it. The woman bubbled saliva onto Ellie’s tip to aid in the lubrication. Then the lady sucked Ellie’s fat cock in all the way to the hilt, until her nose bumped the soft skin shove Ellie’s groin. All that could be seen were puffy red lips and the tip of the girl's nose. But it made Ellie fucking sprung. Her mind was clouded with raging lust as the moans of “…fuck baby..” whimpered from Ellie’s lips. The rest of the sentence would’ve concluded with “…I didn’t expect you to actually blow me.” If Ellie could think straight.

The girl on the other side of the stall was enthusiastic to have cock in her mouth. She was sucking up and down Ellie’s full length. Using her sloppy saliva to help her lips slide up and down the length. Ellie shoved her pelvis into the wall until both of her hip bones were bruised and beat grinding against the wall. She was greedy to feel more suction. Ellie’s chubby cock had a puffy head, and a fat veiny shaft. Her cock was the color of obsidian, just like Ellie’s harness. And her wrinkly fat balls held her squishy testes. The ones she forced all girls to palm for reality’s sake. For all intents and purposes; this was Ellie’s fucking cock. And so she could feel it when the woman on the other side gagged on her dick so eagerly, it was as if she was desperate for Ellie to paint her throat in warm cum.

Ellie started moaning the more she heard the woman on the other side gag on her. She could just imagine the way her dick was creating an imprint in her throat, sliding down and bulging. Ellie was large, she’d seen her do that to a girl before. She couldn’t help but whimper at the image of a sweet girl impaling her dainty throat around Ellie’s thick piece, in a seedy business bathroom. God what a beautiful fucking piece of ass must on the other side of the stall. A girl with the lips of a killer, sloppy and greedy. Hungry to suck off a creep. Probably with a perfect vagina to match; a hole just as sloppy, just as greedy. A hole only fit for a King to thrust into. Good thing Ellie thought of herself as a King too. Ellie decided, as she watched your red lips deepthroat her length, that the very moment the girl on her knees was done digging her tongue into Ellie’s cock slit, she’d knock down the door of the stall you were in, and ram into your glossy pussy over the toilet. You would coat Ellie’s cock in the sticky saliva held inside your puffy little hole too. Two sets of lips for Ellie to abuse.

Ellie bit her fist to prevent herself from choking out a moan. God. You popped your lips off, and stroked up Ellie’s dick with your little fist. Up and down and up and down, before you put it back in your mouth to deepthroat one more time. You wanted to nose against the pale girl's skin again, feel her bush tickle the tip of your nose. Smell the soft patch of hair, the salt of her skin. The sexy art of her bush and happy trail. Ellie yelled out a hoarse “Fuck-k!” And you could tell she came. She soaked her black Klein boxers. Maybe she came from those eager motions grinding her harness against her swollen pink clit. Or maybe she came untouched, hole spasming scarily just because of how aroused Ellie was by you. You placed a gentle kiss on her cockhead with your red lips. Ellie bit down her fist, hard. She broke skin, and drew blood.

If you could’ve, you would’ve loved to have Ellie’s real cum dribbling down your tongue instead. You stood up to pull your panties flush against your plump cunt. Finished with your prior business. There was slick dripping in between all of your puffy folds, and you knew your panties would stay wet the entire rest of the day from just the way they were suctioned to your cunt alone.

You stepped out to wash your hands, heels clacking with an air of comportment. You waited for the girl whose cock you inhaled, to come out of the stall and address you. But she never came. Her back was pressed against the wall. Instead she slid down to collect herself. So you fixed your blouse, hid your cleavage, touched up your smeared lipstick after rubbing it all off on Ellie, and massaged your nipples so they wouldn’t poke so prominently through your blouse. You shimmied in your tight skirt and clacked out of the bathroom. Leaving the girl hiding in the stall, to catch her breath and will the staccato of her heartbeat away. Ellie wasn’t new to coming untouched, but coming from the visuals and motion of a stranger sucking her cock clean? That — that was a new one. She gulped and adjusted her boxers, because fucking Christ, they were heavily soaked from her own slick. With shaky hands the pale girl fished for her leather pants zipper. Pleading with the bitchy, cheap, metallic hardware over and over, until it finally pulled all the way up.

A rapid river of relief washed over Ellie, she couldn’t afford to be stuck in there anymore. Ellie stumbled out of the washroom, hoping to find you. She snapped her head back and forth, then stumbled around in circles trying to catch a flash of sloppy red lips. She thought of going to people and asking if they’d seen a lady with puffy red lips strut by. But then thought better of it. The idea sounded dumb as rocks, even to her own horned-out brain. Ellie rubbed her cock through her pants, feeling phantom sucks from memory. You were burned in her brain, forget the cute teller from earlier. You were her new Madonna, her new whore.

In your honour, she’d stroke her g-spot to a hot strap blowjob video tonight, to keep the memory of your filthy cocksucking mouth fresh.

Ellie hoped if there ever was a next time in that glory hole for her, that you’d line your little greedy hole right up in front of the glory hole in the stall, so Ellie could make you drip your cream down her cock. She’d love to pull her dick out of you, just to marvel at the beautiful rings of milk wrapped around her veiny shaft from your own sopping cunt. Ellie savored the idea of the screams she’d rip out of you, the cries and pleads you’d wail for her ears only. She’d rip you apart, and that would be the fucking cherry on top of her fucking birthday cake.

If she got the cake, she’d love to write “Ellie ‘Hung’ Williams” on the face of it just for shits.

[turtleblogatlast]

❕Rise comic spoilers❕

I am very unwell about alternate Leo.

[ cw: death / parental death / family death / implied traumatic experience / ]

I am going to be fervently talking at length about the fact that Leo mentioned he was sent bouncing across the universe and was missing for months. Like- at the time, Leo most likely would have been anywhere from 16-19 when an accident by his own weapons forced him into isolation.

He already knew his dad was deathly ill too, so how much more desperate was he to get back home, knowing he was on a timer? Moreover, what if Splinter held off on passing on for as long as he could, waiting for Leo to return, only to inevitably be unable to hold on any longer?

How did the others feel, as they were forced to grieve their father while their brother was who knows where? Hell, considering this is Leo - the one who already went through the Prison Dimension, who was already in a place his family couldn’t easily reach - how traumatic was it for all of them?

And god, Leo. What did he go through, all throughout the universe? What horrors did he come across? How lonely was he, so far away from home? For so long? At best, there’s some time dilation, and he himself didn’t realize months of time were passing - but even then, his wording implies at least some instances of him being physically somewhere else that he knew was very far away, so at the very least…he had to endure some time isolated from his loved ones.

It’s also interesting how the good future’s Leo still has the same (top surgery) plastron scars that bad future Leo does. I’d say things are destined to repeat, but his arms seem fine! We don’t get a good look at his shell or legs though, so it’s very possible one or both of those has an injury. Can’t imagine he doesn’t have much to show after being alone in the vast universe for potentially months on end as a teenager.

At least present Leo didn’t have to go through this, but…we don’t know what was up with his portals. We don’t know if it’ll still happen at some point. At least he got to say goodbye to his dad, but is he safe? The implications are harrowing.

This poor kid. This poor family just can’t catch a break.

[tblsomedoodles]

Here's an art/info dump about this stupidly cute idea that's been rotating in my brain for three day.

(the first comic here is just how they first met. they ended up in the same alley, pestering the same cat without noticing. Then the cat left and they notice they're not alone lol)

(Second is Donnie 'talking' with Mikey for the first time. He only uses Mind Mend to communicate and is just as surprised as Mikey to find it worked on him. (it has only worked with Leo before this))

I'll put the rest under a break b/c i will be going off about this and i don't want it to take up your entire feed.

I'm jokingly calling this "Mikey's Imaginary Friends" though that might change if i continue this.

Basically it's this, the twins grew up with Draxum while Raph and Mikey grew up with Splinter. Neither set knew about the other (b/c splinter though they were dead and didn't want his two remaining kids to worry about it, and Draxum was too focused on fixing his lab to pay much attention to the twins.) So, imagine Mikey's shock when, at age 8, he's out exploring topside (having snuck out) and runs into two more mutant turtles (who also snuck out and are exploring.) Thus begins an ongoing sneaking out to meet up thing between the three b/c Mikey's excited to have new friends and the twins are just as fascinated with Mikey as he is with them.

And before you ask, "hey, why doesn't Mikey tell his family about the two other turtles?" he does. Raph thinks he just made up some imaginary friends so he plays along but doesn't believe they're real. Splinter, on the other hand, thinks he's talking to Hamato ancestors due to some very big miscommunications (that i'll probably draw out at some point b/c it's silly)

Twins background wise, i'm still thinking through a lot of it, but i'll put my thoughts down anyways.

Draxum knew that training the twins at a young age would be counterproductive, so he doesn't train them beyond some basics a few times a week. Other than those sessions, he leaves them alone with their less-than-stellar caretaker, in favor of rebuilding his lab. The caretaker doesn't do much for them beyond give them food and very basic school like lessons. Beyond that the twins are left on their own.

they come to the conclusion that the only people that will care for them is themselves. They discover Mind Meld very early as a result of this and will not talk verbally b/c they found out early on with their caretaker, that if they tried to talk, they were just ignored anyways, so what's the point.

(I'm also thinking Donnie might be deaf or hard of hearing in this, with the pair of them using Mind Meld as a way for him to temporarily hear through Leo and thus keep Drax from finding out. but i'll have to do some more research before i decide for sure/figure out the specifics)

as for Meeting Mikey

That's why they became so fascinated with mikey. B/c mikey was the first person that treated them like a person and not a job or an incomplete experiment. (He's also so happy and bright, they can't avoid getting drawn to him lol)

Mikey's probably the only one they verbally start talking to, even after they teach him mind meld. (though Leo's the one to pick up on that more than Donnie. Donnie doesn't do much talking at all outside mind meld).

They also come out of their shells (hehe) a lot as they interact more with Mikey. Before they met him, they acted more like automatons, even when alone. The more they socialize with Mikey, the sillier these two get. Leo learns about puns and starts going mad with them, Donnie starts happy stimming about thing (which he has either been suppressing or just never had the urge to do before.) Basically they stop acting like little creepy statues and start acting like kids.

Honestly, it's just a cute idea with the kiddos meeting each other and Mikey inadvertently socializing his not-well-socialized brothers.

(also, the twins wear masks b/c Donnie doesn't like the smell of the city and he's worried about germs. Not for any ninja reasons, what so ever.)

Alright, that's it for my info dump. maybe more later? Maybe not? Depends on how much longer these kids keep my attentions (though right now, they're doing a pretty good job at it lol)

[revelboo]

Your content is literally so good-- I'm seeing a lot of earthspark sprinkled in and so I throw my hat into the ring for some earthspark soundwave if you've got any ideas. He's so...aggressive and those curves can not go to waste. Peak slaying content

He is quite lovely…

Son Of A Gun

TF Earthspark Soundwave x Reader

• When you find the thing in the woods at the edge of your property, it’s damaged and you think it’s a kid’s toy. A toy that probably costs more than you make in a month considering it’s your size with cannily made joints and clever wings. A giant drone shaped like a bird. Smiling, you head back to the barn to find the wheelbarrow and steer it back down the hill into the woods, leaves and sticks noisy under your boots as you end up tipping the wheelbarrow on its side and awkwardly shoving the thing in. Righting the wheelbarrow after is even more of a struggle before you finally get it back up and you’re exhausted by the time you get back to the barn with your find. Something this expensive has to have GPS, so you’re sure its owner will come looking for it. Until then, you want to mess with it.

• Growling to himself as he picks his way through the woods, branches scratching at his plating, Soundwave tries to get a lock on Lazerbeak’s location. Ever since arriving on Earth, he and Frenzy have been more independent, relying on him less and less. No longer needing him and it leaves him feeling aggravated and unsettled. Because he knows that it’s not really that they don’t need him, this distance is because of the accident. Silently punishing him for his failure. But Lazerbeak had pinged him after getting in a fight with two of the terrans. Hurt badly enough to request help and there was no denying him. Because it’s a chance to mend the break between them. To fix things.

• Wrestling to get the drone out of the wheelbarrow, its head lifts, optics glowing. “Frag, you’re going to rip a wing off,” it groans and you backpedal, banging into a toolbox in your retreat. Head tipping to stare at you as you suck in a breath, it shifts. That’s not a drone- it’s one of them. A Cybertronian. An Autobot, though or a Decepticon? “Do you come in peace?” You ask and it’s head swings to stare at you. Maybe trying not to laugh, because that’s not at all what you meant to say, but you’d never been great under pressure.

• “Sure. Whatever,” it mutters, stretching out a wing and groaning. Making you fidget nervously, wanting to help but unsure how to. You can at least make it comfortable you decide, running for the house and grabbing a blanket and a pillow. The look the thing gives you is equal parts disbelief and amusement as you offer it the pillow and it lifts up enough to lay on it with a “Why the frag not,” and lets you drape the blanket around it. “Most of you lot run when you see a Cybertronian. It’s Lazerbeak, by the way.”

• Lazerbeak isn’t where he’s supposed to be. Head turning, he spots the human dwelling on the outskirts of the woods and the open barn. Striding out of the woods, his servos flex. Because if one of those squishy little savages has hurt him, he’s going to enjoy ripping them limb from limb.

• You probably should be booking it as far as possible and calling the cops, you’ve just never seen a real Cybertronian before outside the news. And that’s usually the giant ones duking it out. This one’s not as intimidating and honestly, it’s kind of awesome to be up close and personal with an alien. “You’re not that scary,” you admit, hearing it vent at you in exasperation as you tuck the blanket around it.

• “Heads up, the guy behind you definitely doesn’t come in peace.” He hears Lazerbeak say as he leans down with a snarl. Sees the human standing over his injured cassette and lunges through the too small door, wood splintering. Screaming like he already has his servos around your little neck, you run to the other side of the building, tripping over a pile of extension cords in your terror. Turning to study Lazerbeak sitting in the wheeled contraption in a nest of soft things, he turns his attention back on the human. What were you planning to do to him? Dissect him? Enslave him? “Maybe don’t stomp this one, boss? I’ve always wanted a pet,” Lazerbeak says, wings flapping for balance as he tries to see the human cowering in a corner.

Next

[pandapetals]

New Beginnings

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

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

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

divider credit: @enchanthings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scott nodded slowly. “Maybe she does.”

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

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

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

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

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

𓂃

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𓂃

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𓂃

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 𓂃

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath hitched. “Did she just—”

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

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

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

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

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

𓂃

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The students murmured among themselves, clearly intrigued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[laswells-ashtray]

I personally really like the idea of the Shadows being kinda like Phillip's lil family. So...

On an op before 141, the fucker gets injured pulling a Shadow away from a rotting patch of wooden floor while sweeping an old church. He lands himself a fractured ankle, splinters quite literally up the ass, and bruising like a bitch after falling through the floor himself.

So nothing too bad.

He comes off the comes off the painkillers to a hoard of puppy-eyed men in various stages of uniform dress.

Blah blah blah fluff happens

His ass hurts. It shouldn't be his first thought but his ass hurts. The same way it did when he took a drunken tumble down a flight of stairs as a teenager and bruised half of his damn body. He knows that after that shitshow of a job [that they'd been paid an abysmally low amount for given the conditions] he had showered, changed into sweatpants, taken some good quality fucking painkillers and he conked out on the closest surface.

Which he now realises is the old ass couch they all collectively refuse to get rid of despite its various stains and the knife stuck in one of its legs. He blinks before rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. There are at least five Shadows around him, maybe six. They might be multiplying.

Oz catches his eye and he looks far too amused for someone that still owes him ten dollars and a Costco hotdog, but he'll bring up that bet later.

"Feeling alright, commander?"

He stares back at the man with an unamused look, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He was being watched like he was holding a bag of fries and he'd just stepped into pigeon territory.

"Fuck are you starin' for? Oz, if there's a dick on my face-"

"There isn't, couldn't take one of the kids into doing it. Just wondering if you're hungry because you took those painkillers on an empty stomach then passed out half-dead."

Damn right, none of the younger Shadows would draw a dick on his face. They were too scared to, Oz? Not so much but he was stuck with the shithead at this point.

"Could go something. Mind telling me why you've got a small army of Shadows present for this conversation?"

"Well, Petrillo was here to look at your ankle while you were too unconscious to notice. Garfield is here to try and talk you into buying Chick-fil-A with company money. And-"

"My name isn't Garfield-"

"You hate Mondays. Anyway, and the kids are here because they've never seen you land on your ass like that before and wanted to check how you're doing but they're too scared to ask for themselves."

That checks. He looks around at the three younger Shadows who have all now decided to stop staring at him and instead at the floor.

"Christ, I'm fine. If you can't take a fall like that then you can't do the fucking job. And I'll pay for the Chick-fil-A but I ain't going to get it, drag your lazy ass to do it."

Only then does he notice the fact that there's a bag of frozen peas under his ankle.

[jacaerysgf]

Can you write cregan x reader where the cregan's son calls the reader mother for the first time it's very emotional because she hasn't been able to get pregnant.

c.w: inaccurate tl of events, slight angst, fluff, not proofread, drabble !

a.n: this was such a cute little thing to write as i take a break from my more angsty, enemies to lovers slow burn fics 😭😭 tysm for the request <3

Your hands hurt. You’re sure you have probably over ten splinters in your hands, some of your fingers are covered in bandages and you feel like your fingers are stuck in place from how long you had been working on it but it was worth it.

The way his face lit up when you presented it to him for his nameday. He grabbed it from your hands eagerly and held it up closer to his face to admire it. “Its a direwolf!” You bend down to be eye level with the young rickon.

He was not your birth son, you were not cregan’s first wife. Arra was his birth mother who died on her birthing bed, but you met cregan years after he had healed from the loss and he quickly became infatuated with you, asking for your hand and you were married when rickon was five.

You loved the boy like he was your own, you would sit and read to him, you would play with him when cregan was too busy. He was adorable, having rickon in your life made you want to have more kids. It had been a struggle, its been over a year since you and cregan have been trying for a child and nothing.

You cried a lot, whenever you would leave the checkups from the maesters and shake your head it breaks your heart too see cregans face. You feel terrible and all you want is to have children. If rickon is truly the only child you end up having you would be content, as rickon is such a sweet child but your heart did long for more.

“Yes it is, Happy nameday sweetie.” You place your hand affectionately on his cheek and he beams at you, wrapping his arms around your neck. “Thank you mama.”

You freeze as you feel him grinning into your neck. mama. He’s never called you that before. He knows you're not his mother, He has always just called your name, or at least he tried to, coming up with a strange combination of sounds. But never anything paternal.

You feel you eyes well up with tears as you wrap your arms around him tightly, pressing a kiss into his curly hair. “I love you.” “I love you too mama.”

You look up at the door when it opens, seeing cregan look upon to the two of with alarm at your tear covered face. “Is something wrong?”

Rickon escapes your grip and turns to his father with a grin, obviously to the amount of joy he’s caused you, holding up the wooden toy you had hand carved. “Look what mama gave me!”

Cregan looks at you and takes a deep breath, “Yes it is wonderful, have you thanked your mama?” “yes papa, can i go play?” Cregan nods and rickon turns to you, giving you a wave before he runs out the room with a giggle.

You sniffle as cregan comes to sit on the floor next to you. “He calls you mama.” You laugh as a smile graces your face, “I am so happy, i love him like he is my own.” Cregan cups your face and brushes your tears off your face. “One day we will have more i promise you.”

“You say that as if it is your fault.” “You believe it to be yours?” “Why would it not be my fault? The baby would sit in my womb, it is nobodies fault other than my own.” He presses one of his palms against your stomach and kisses your cheek. “We will keep trying my love.”

[tizeline]

So, in canon rise all of the turtles growing up know about how having Donnie's shell unprotected, probably from some childhood incident. And we can see in the show anytime Donnie's shell is bare; they all rush to protect him. How would they react to Donnie getting hurt because of his shell in this AU? What do they think of his battle shell? I assume they don't even really register Donnie as a softshell turtle because of his battle shell. Would this add to Raph's whole overprotective big brother instinct thing he gets because he catastrophizes Donnie's whole situation.

Also during the finale, we see that the lair gets trashed and has a huge cave in. So obviously Splinter, Donnie, and Sheldon would need to find a new place to live. Would the Drax fam help them build a new home? Are we going to see Donnie's reaction later to his home being destroyed, because losing your childhood home and your safe space must be awful. So, to maybe add a cute little twist, would Donnie, Splinter, and Sheldon live with the Drax fam for a little while?

Another thing, since Leo is obsessed with Sonic, Donnie should totally be obsessed with Wicked the musical. Another green person who sings on Broadway with similar themes of being outcasted and caring about how other people perceive them and using that perception to base their own self-worth, and she's also ostracized from society? Elphaba is written for Donnie. Donnie's theatre kid heart is an Elphaba stan and no one can convince me otherwise.

Donnie's brothers are very protective of him in this AU largely because he was separated from them for such a long time and they're afraid of losing him again. That being said, I think him having a soft shell also fuels this overprotectiveness. They do know that he is a spiny softshell before reuniting with him, Draxum told them about it, and that very much reinforced the whole "helpess victim in need of saving" type view they already made up in their imaginations of Donnie. (Not only is he in the clutches of the evil humans, but he's even more vulnerable than his hard shell brothers!) And remember that Donnie's battle shell in the AU isn't really armour the way it is in canon, it's main function is as a jetpack and maybe, like, a backpack (it has storage space). It doesn't cover the lower half of his back, so his soft shell is still visable and as such vulnurable. Donne getting hurt because of his lack of armour (biological or technological) would definitely freak his brothers out even more, but they're already pretty careful with him honestly.

Anyway, you are completely right about Donnie, Splinter and Shelldon moving in with the Draxums when their home in the sewers is destroyed XD It's kinda awkward, but at that point the Draxums and the Hamatos have learned to get along a lot better. But yeah, losing his home is very hard for Donnie, he's definitely the type of person who doesn't deal well with sudden big changes like that. I do wanna depict this part of the story eventually, but it's probably gonna be a while until then.

And god yeah, Donnie is ABSOLUTELY a huge fan of musicals lmaooo! He acts so overdramatic and theatrical all the time and the show makes it clear several times that he loves music so yeah, total theater kid. I haven't actually seen Wicked so I can't really meaningfully comment on the concept of him being a fan of that specific musical, other than omg yes Elpheba being an outcast and also GREEN he totally projects onto her.

[vivwritesfics]

Hungry Like The Wolf

Chapter Eleven

She hadn't seen her best friend, Lando, in years. She didn't run into him the last time she was visiting her father and she doubted she'd see him this time. Things were different now. She wasn't aware of his furry little problem. Just like she wasn't aware of the vampires plaguing the town.

2K

Vampire!Oscar x Reader x Werewolf!Lando

Warnings: Horny (no smut, not yet), negative views of poly relationships (not my own views)

Series Masterlist

Feel free to buy me a coffee ☕☕

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Lando and Oscar had tried to be polite, tried to be normal about things. They went to the front door, knocked, and waited for it to be opened.

He had to make things right, Lando knew. He had to fix things with her before he inevitably made things worse.

While they were waiting for the door to open, they heard a noise. Both boys knew they wouldn't have picked up on it if they weren't... you know. But they both heard it, clear as day. "What the fuck?" Lando hissed as he looked at Oscar.

The front door opened as they disappeared around to the back of the house. "Hello?" They heard Mr Wolff call as he peered out into the night. He muttered something, something that sounded like damned kids.

But neither Lando nor Oscar were too concerned with what Toto Wolff had to say. No, they got to her window and immediately knew what was wrong.

"Seriously, what the fuck!" Lando shouted as they stared up at her, hanging from the window.

She tried to get some sort of grip on the wall, tried to find some sort of crevice to place her foot on, but there was nothing. "Don't worry about it. Can one of you just climb up here and help me?"

In the blink of an eye, Oscar was in her bedroom. Lando climbed up the tree but Oscar wrapped his arms around her and hoisted her up and back into the bedroom. "What on earth were you doing?" He asked as he pulled her inside and gently set her back on her feet. Immediately he had a hold of her hand, checking for any splinters or anything.

She shrugged her shoulders, stepping out of the way for Lando to climb his way in. "You guys disappeared out of the window and I wanted to follow," she mumbled as she folded her arms and sat on her bed.

In defeat, Oscar held his hand up. She was being as stubbornly annoying as Lando, but at least Lando had an excuse.

But Lando was just standing there, hands in his pocket, not saying anything. God, it was so damn exhausting. Oscar released a sigh and threw his head back. If left up to the two of them, nothing was going to get fixed.

"Lando has something he wants to say," he said as he leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest.

Lando sucked in a breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, nails digging into his palms. "I..."

The words died on his tongue. I'm sorry. It was so simple, two little words and he would be done. Why wasn't he saying it? The way she was looking at him, so ready to forgive him, but Lando just couldn't see it.

He was so damn infuriating.

Oscar released an exhausted sigh. "Lando probably should explain how the full moon affects people like him. He should probably explain to you that he's dealing with heightened emotions and that is why he snapped earlier. He got scared by the thought of you leaving and..."

The two of them were looking at him, waiting for him to continue. "AND..." He prompted again, eyes flashing at Lando.

"And... I'm sorry," Lando finally repeated. His gaze dropped to his shoes. "The way I lost it was stupid. I mean, we're adults now and we can drive to see each other and now that you've got us, you can't leave for four years at a time."

A laugh left her lips. She unfolded her arms and stood from her bed. "You got that right," she said and strode towards him, arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him in closer.

Oscar watched as they, quite literally, kissed and made up. "You guys are something else," he mumbled as Lando leaned back, almost tumbling out of the window. But Oscar was behind him in a second, a steadying hand on his back, keeping the two of them safely inside.

But then they were turning towards him, on him in seconds. Thank God he was strong, steady on his feet and not human. The both of them demanded his attention, and Oscar was only happy to give it.

"Promise me you only snapped because of the full moon?" She mumbled as between kissing Oscar's cheek and neck. Kissing a vampires neck, it was a little funny, wasn't it? His puncture wounds had long since disappeared, not marring his skin like the movies made out it would.

Lando let out a hum, pulling away from Oscar's lips. "Promise," he said, fingers threading through her hair and turning her towards him. "All rational thinking goes out of the window when there's a full moon involved."

Don't tell them about the horny phase. Don't tell them about the horny phase.

He kissed her again, hands cupping her face. The whine it pulled from her was so damn sweet, it had Oscar holding back a shudder. And he wasn't even the one pulling those noises from her. He could only begin to guess the affect it was having on Lando.

But Lando pulled away from her, surprising them both. "Should we continue that date?" He asked, looking from her to Oscar.

The three of them climbed onto the bed. Oscar first, shuffling over to the other side and realising he probably should have just climbed in that side. And then her. She was supposed to climb into the middle, to lay between her two boys.

But she left that space free, left it for Lando. He swallowed thickly as he climbed between the two of them, settling down as Oscar put his arm around his shoulders. This was not going to help stave off the horny phase.

She picked the movie. Head on Lando's chest, she scrolled through her streaming services until she found something old. Another movie Oscar had seen in the cinema, this time in the seventies.

They were both tired, Oscar could tell that much. Maybe it was the way their voices were muffled and barely there. Maybe it was the way their eyes started drooping. But it also could have been the onslaught of yawns.

"You can sleep," he said, squeezing Lando's shoulder.

It wasn't permission; they both knew they didn't need permission, but they fell asleep not long after that. The two of them turned towards him, Lando curled against his side, her wrapping herself around Lando's back like a koala on it's mothers back.

Oscar made the great effort of kissing both of their heads and turned his attention back to the movie. He hadn't seen it since the seventies, hadn't cared to watch it for a second time, but he wasn't going to tell them that.

He watched them, watched as they slept. She gripped Lando's shirt so tight, almost as if she was afraid he'd disappear out of the window again if he let go.

But then the bedroom door opened.

If he'd been concentrating, he would have heard Toto coming. It would have given him time to jump out the window, or hide in the closet. Something so this looked normal. Because this wasn't normal, not even by their standards.

Toto stared at him. He stared at Toto. Like a deer caught in headlights, Oscar could do nothing else but stare. Even when Lando made that slightly distressed noise, he couldn't move to give him any sort of comfort (which was fine, because she moved closer, unconsciously pressing her face into his back).

Toto cleared his throat, but it wasn't loud enough to wake either of them. "I've leave you to it, then," he whispered and pulled the door shut.

His words might have seemed hushed and calm, but he certainly wasn't. But that was a conversation he could have with his daughter the next day. Or maybe the day after, the poor man needed time to process.

***

Let me tell you about the horny phase.

It wasn't a fun horny phase, wasn't sudden bursts of passion that overtook Lando, that led to them falling into the bed and messing up the sheets. No, it had him agitated, an itch under his skin that he couldn't quite scratch.

She wasn't helping, but she didn't know. Like that afternoon, when she was picking out an outfit for their café date. "I'm gonna roast in this," she said, changing out of the old man cardigan she had been wearing as Lando and Oscar climbed through the window.

He released an inhuman noise as she stood in front of her wardrobe, trying to pick something new. But that noise soon turned into a whimper as Oscar grabbed his arm, his free hand touching the back of her neck. "Calm yourself," he cooed.

But Lando was fidgeting, squirming in his seat. "Sweetheart, hurry up and pick something," Oscar called.

"One second," she called back, waving them both off without a care in the world.

She didn't know that Oscar had to climb on top of Lando, pinning him to the bed. Lando squirmed beneath him, seemingly enjoying it. "Stop," Oscar commanded and Lando stilled.

His lips, so sharp and so deadly, were so close to his neck. Lando tipped his head to the side, giving him more access.

He'd never tasted werewolf before. Would it be different to human? His teeth were so close to the skin, close enough to pierce. He touched, teeth grazing him, but Oscar pulled back. No, he couldn't. Not now.

"You're killing me, Lan," he mumbled and pressed his face against his shoulder.

Lando bucked his hips up. Well, as much as he could with Oscar pinning him. It was the smallest bit of satisfaction, but it was enough.

But then she turned around. "Oh," she said as she pulled her shirt down over her chest. "What's... what're we doing, guys?" She asked as she sat down beside them on the bed.

Immediately, Lando was reaching for her. His hand touched her hip before Oscar pulled him back. "C'mon," he said, his grip on Lando so damn tight. "Tell her what's going on."

When you looked at the two of them, it came as something rather unexpected, that Oscar was the one taking charge. But Lando was loving. He was loving it. He grinned as he wrapped his legs around Oscar and tucked his head against his neck. An act, one of innocence.

Oscar simply rolled his eyes. "You know how he was... emotional the other day?" He asked and she nodded. "Well, after the emotions comes the arousal," he explained.

Her eyes went wide. "A horny phase?" She asked quietly, fiddling with her fingers in her lap.

Lando giggled. It was that shrieking giggle she'd heard so many times growing up. But it was so damn unexpected, hearing it then, it that... setting. He reached his hand out again and, this time, Oscar let him.

At first, it was sweet, the way he kissed every single one of her fingers. But then he was nosing at her wrist before attempting to pull her into the two of them.

Oscar rolled away, but he kept one leg over Lando, keeping him from jumping at her. But Lando still lunged. He tried to dart towards her, nearly knocking his head into hers. He would have, too, probably would have knocked them both out if it wasn't for the way Oscar was holding him.

"No, no," she said as she settled on top of him as best she could with Oscar on the other side. "Let him go, I wanna see what he does."

"No way," Oscar answered instantly. But, the moment she pushed him, he rolled away, willingly. "What am I gonna do with the two of you?" He mumbled, his smile incredibly fond for the situation.

But neither of them cared as they sank into each other.

Taglist: @biancathecool

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[rocketbirdie]

Weird thing that bothered me about Rebirth and I want to hear other people's thoughts.

Um... Why did they gentrify Gongaga? I can't be the only one who feels cheated by the chummy suburban development vibe in Rebirth.

OG Gongaga is an isolated village deep in a jungle. It's possible to completely miss the first chance to visit, because it's practically unheard of. All the young folks fled to the big city. A reactor blew up and killed most of the inhabitants, leaving the town in a state of decay. The houses are falling apart, the people are desperate, it's derelict and miserable.

An understated theme in the OG is how life is difficult without modern technology. Avalanche sets out to destroy these reactors without considering the consequences for their own futures, thinking "well it won't be easy but i'm sure it'll be fine." Gongaga is the story's way of showing you just how fine everything is going to be— despite being in a lush rainforest, long since violently cut off from Shinra's influence, these people still suffer immensely.

I wanted to see it in hd so bad honestly. The splintered rotting wood, the furskin rugs, the dirty brick walls. The unspoken yet unignorable trauma. The mournful purple twilight that quietly hangs over the whole village. I wanted to see the survivors' spiteful determination to make things work without mako.

Instead we got a squeaky clean Crisis Core rendition of Gongaga, with its down-to-earth upbeat stardew valley soundtrack and generic hard workin' country folk. The houses are like... twice the size i expected them to be. Neat and tidy, no holes in the roofs, no dishevelled interiors. No sign of struggle. Everybody is content at worst.

The reactor may as well have never exploded. Nobody talks about it. We hear some bullshit about Shinra trying to "make amends" or compensate people for the damages, and that's about it. Apparently everybody's just fine with this, because all of the original version's resentment and grief is gone.

Don't even get me started on the barker stationed at the town entrance. "Come experience nature's bounty!" Man... why are we treating it like a goddamn hippy tourist attraction. OG Gongaga would have had someone knock this kid's teeth out.

Idk I'm just sad. The melancholy is what made Gongaga so memorable despite its bump-in-the-road identity. I wish we could have gotten that instead of one big callback to CC.

[goodlucktai]

9, raph and leo?

dialogue prompts

9. “I know, I know it hurts.”

x

When Raph was eight years old, the twins decided they needed their own bedrooms and, like with all other things they had ever decided, they made it everyone else’s problem. As a united front, the two of them had the capacity to wear down a squad of Navy Seals in a manner of days, let alone one overtired single father. 

The campaign for separate bedrooms turned out to be a long con. Donnie had been denied an evil science laboratory by Splinter multiple times, on the grounds of it being dangerous, and Donnie being seven, and evil being bad. But a room of his own could be whatever he wanted, and he wanted a lab. 

It took most of a week for Splinter to discover that the twins were still doubled up in the room that was ostensibly Leo’s while Donnie’s was being used for nefarious purposes, but by then Donnie had installed an electronic lock on the door that he built out of components gutted from old kitchen appliances and was fully ready to die on that hill. 

While Pops and Donnie were locked in a contest of wills that would ultimately go in Donnie’s favor (because Splinter’s achilles heel back then—and even now—was that he thought little turtles at their most sulky and unreasonable were just adorable) Raphie had looked at Leo with a confused frown on his face. 

“How come you went along with it, Lee? You didn’t even get your own room.”

Leo shrugged, bright gold eyes shining with interest as he watched his twin and his father argue back and forth. He was following it carefully, probably ready to join in if it looked like Donnie was going to lose—more engaged than he ever was playing video games or flipping through comics. 

At the time, all Leo said was, “Just wanted to see if I could.”

Raph thought it was because he was a troublemaker, and he maintained that idea up until Mikey—intuitive beyond his years, even as a sweet little six year old—said he figured it was just that Leo’s head went as crazy fast as Donnie’s did, only in ways that didn’t involve breaking and building things. 

A full decade later, Raph knows Mikey was right on the money. Looking back, he sees a kid who was wickedly smart and terribly understimulated. Leo didn’t create trouble for the heck of it, he just liked having problems to solve. He wanted conversations and tricks and puzzles, he needed hoops to jump through like dolphins did on TV, or else he’d get cranky and sneaky. 

Their world became a much simpler, more peaceful place once Leo got his first phone and discovered an online chess app with a leaderboard. 

All this to say, Leo has had a mind for strategy since before he could talk in full sentences. He’s a natural-born leader, and after the failed Krang invasion, he really stepped up and took it seriously. Raph is so proud of him he doesn’t have words big enough to contain the size and shape of it all. It isn’t as hard as he had imagined it would be to let go of the reins and give Leo the room he needs to shine. 

Some days are better than others. For the most part, Leo says jump and his brothers don’t even ask how high, they just shoot for the rafters. Their teamwork is cohesive, as solid as it was when they initially realized their ninpo, and Raph thinks he’d feel sorry for the Shredder if that guy showed his face in their town again. 

But there are also days like today, when Leo says something that Raph’s big brother meter pings as Leo being silly, stirring shit up for lack of better thing to do, and he doesn’t linger on it past that initial knee-jerk impression. 

They’re working with a group of mutants out of Hell’s Kitchen, mutants who are walking the line between vigilantism and outright crime. They’re rough around the edges, but good-natured for the most part. The turtles kept bumping into that other group as they crisscrossed around the city until finally their leader, Old Hob, said, “Why don’t we just get on the same program instead of stepping on each other’s heels?” and a tentative partnership was formed. 

It’s been a week since then, and in that time Raph and his brothers have been firmly adopted by the grown-up mutants, who ask pointed questions about what time they went to bed the night before and whether or not they had a decent breakfast and how their online classes are going. 

“This must be what having overbearing aunties is like,” Donnie said to April on the phone none-too-quietly, and Sally, feline mutant and aforementioned overbearing auntie, knocked her knuckles on his battleshell reprovingly. But that about summed it up. 

There was one spanner in the works, and that was Liam.  

——

“Anyone else getting bad vibes from that guy by the way?” Leo says one day. 

There’s something performative about it, his usual pomp and charisma with a plastic edge. Mikey tilts his head like a service dog who just caught the scent of a potential medical emergency. Donnie looks up from his phone, eyes keen the way they only are when he and his twin are about to communicate with the telepathy they’ll deny they have.

But Raph is having a bad pain day, and his well of patience for shenanigans is much shallower than it normally is. 

“Leon, don’t start,” he says, rubbing the slider’s head playfully to take any sting out of the dismissal. “If I have to put up with any middle child nonsense today I’m gonna scream.”

There’s a beat, his second-youngest brother visibly hesitating on a mental fork in the road. He’s gotten so good about being forthcoming but his first impulse is still to play along, deny, conceal-don’t-feel. He still has this idea in his head of what a good leader is supposed to be, and he’s still willing to whittle parts of himself away that don’t fit that mold. 

To his credit, Leo tries again. “I don’t like him,” he says with less certainty. 

“You don’t have to be best friends with the guy,” Raph replies. There’s enough warning in his tone that Leo knows to drop it. “Just get along until we go home.”

He works his shoulder, trying to do something about the solid ache it’s become, and Leo’s eyes drop to the mass of scarring there and then flit away. He starts to outline the route their patrol is going to take, reaching into his belt bag for the jar of Tiger Balm he’s taken to carrying with him and handing it over to Raph as he talks. 

Raph smiles, the warmth in his chest ballooning up to swallow the impending impatience and annoyance brought out by pain. That warmth stays with him through their whole run, even as Donnie video-calls April and deadpans “POV you’re tailing some guy who didn’t get the memo that armed robbery is cringe as hell,” even as Mikey goes out of his way to jump and tumble off a fire escape in time to give Mondo a high-five as he skates by in the opposite direction, even as Leo progressively gets quieter the closer they get to their two AM check-in at the Mutanimals’ railyard base.

Looking back, Raph can count all the red flags he missed and hates himself a little more for each one. Leo sometimes causes problems for fun, and he likes to see what trouble he can get away with or get himself out of, and he is a downright menace to society when he’s bored—but he’s good. He’s sweet, and charming, and wants to help. He wouldn’t have raised an issue with the other group of mutants, potentially cutting ties with useful allies, unless he had a decent reason to. 

And that reason, Raph discovers that night—after information has been exchanged and all that's left is to hang out at the base watching TV and playing table tennis until Splinter inevitably texts to remind his sons of their curfew—is Liam. 

He doubles back into the meeting room where he left his phone and sees the goose mutant has put himself between Leo and the only exit, head lowered on a serpentine neck, beak open to show a flash of sharp teeth in a display that Raph’s animal hindbrain reads clearly as threat. 

His grip on the doorframe causes it to crack. 

“Leo,” he says in a voice he doesn’t recognize. 

His little brother’s head jerks up, half-hopeful, half-disbelieving. Later, Raph will hate himself for putting even a sliver of doubt in Leo’s mind, for unknowingly invalidating his feelings. Leo should never be surprised that his big brother showed up for him. He should never have been left to fend for himself in a situation that made him uncomfortable, especially after he found the courage to be upfront about it. 

“C’mere,” Raph says, lifting an arm—a little turtle’s cue to tuck themselves safely against Raph’s side. 

Whatever his expression is doing, it’s caused dead silence to blanket the room like a foot of packed snow. Liam looks markedly unhappy to see Raphael standing there, but Leo runs to meet him. 

A strategist, a faceman, a leader, and barely seventeen years old. 

“We were just talking,” Liam says with a lightness that rings as false. 

“Next time I find out you and my brother were just talking, I’ll wring your skinny neck,” Raph replies, matching his tone. Liam may be twice Raph’s age, but he’s half Raph’s size, and Raph has gone head-to-head with the Krang general and the Shredder and walked it off each time. Raph is fully prepared, in this moment, to murder this fucking goose. 

Leo taps on Raph’s carapace, just as one of his violent inner voices is lifting its head in the back of his brain and considering making an appearance. On Leo’s end, a warning that someone else is coming from down the hall. On Raph’s end, a reminder that his first priority is the one he’s holding. 

He turns, keeping Leo beside him, in time to see Hob appear around the corner. The cat mutant stops dead in his tracks, slitted eyes moving from Raph, down to Leo, to the doorway beside them, and back again.  

“Problem?”

“We’re going home,” Raph says, a rumble in his voice he wouldn’t know how to temper even if he wanted to. “And we’re not coming back. Don’t call us unless someone’s dying or there’s another alien invasion.”

“Knock on wood,” Leo mumbles near-silently. 

Old Hob doesn’t answer right away. It’s impossible to tell what the older mutant is thinking on a good day, outwardly recalcitrant and unfriendly, even though he has never snapped at Mikey’s cheerful rambling or Leo’s wheedling attempts to goad him into yet another chess match or even Donnie’s accidental ninpo-related shortage of every appliance in the Mutanimals’ kitchen. He and Sally and Ray and Herman all go out of their way to make their base comfortable and accessible to the turtles and Mondo and Pete, like it really matters to them that the younger mutants have a safe place tucked away that they can fall back on. 

And Raph had appreciated that, up until now. Up until they proved it wasn’t safe, actually. Up until he’d seen a grown man leering meanly at his baby brother, just because he thought he could keep getting away with it.

When Hob does speak, all he says is, “Get home safe, boys.”

Raph shoulders around him, and collects Donnie and Mikey from the main room immediately. Mikey says, “Woah, are you guys okay?” and Donnie shoots a poisonous look behind them, like if he glares hard enough he can see back in time to what happened to put those expressions on Leo and Raph’s faces. 

“We’re peachy, Miguelito,” Leo says, disquietingly convincing. “Just had a difference of opinion with our hosts is all.” 

“Stay out of Hell’s Kitchen from now on until I say so,” Raph adds sternly. 

Raph tells dad about Liam when they get home, because there is no universe where that doesn’t happen, and Leo immediately gets hauled into Splinter’s room for what sounds like a very serious conversation. Raph, Donnie and Mikey cluster shamelessly outside the door to eavesdrop, and some frightened thing in Raph’s heart lets out the breath it’s been holding when Leo says, “Nothing happened, papa, I promise. He was just weird.”

“Let him be weird to my Baby Blue one more time and I will show him exactly why your father was the undisputed Battle Nexus champion,” Splinter says. He cups Leo’s face and rubs his thumb over a striped cheek, as if he’d like to keep his son right there where no one had the capacity to hurt him. “Thank you for telling us. I’m so proud of you. I will actually kill him if he looks at you again.”

Leonardo smiles brightly, daddy’s boy of the family and glutton for attention that he is, those leftover dregs of anxiety in his eyes finally melting away. 

“I think we should let dad kill him,” Donnie announces, eyes icy, tone flat. 

“Nah,” Mikey says, disingenuously cheerful. “Next time we run into Liam I’m setting him the fuck on fire!” 

“Language,” Raph scolds by rote, but his heart isn’t in it. 

He can’t get that scene he walked in on back at the railyard out of his head. He can’t help thinking what if something worse had happened because I didn’t listen? 

It feels like there’s a ghost in his chest, rattling his heart. He’s haunted by the what if. 

——

After dinner, Leo looks at Raph meaningfully and points at the infirmary. Doctor Leo’s orders supersede all others, 100% of the time, so Raphael sighs and surrenders his controller to Mikey’s grabby hands without bothering to make the token argument. He keeps driving Princess Peach off the track anyway. 

“Have you been stretching?” Leo says, feeling along Raph’s upper arm, where the muscles are visibly knotted. Even his careful touch hurts—that whole side of his body is tender with pain. Raph can’t help but flinch when his shoulder spasms and Leo hisses. “Shit, sorry, I know, I know it hurts. God, Raphie, you gotta say something before it gets this bad. I’m not afraid to bench you, big guy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Raph says, amused by his little brother’s no-nonsense tone, warmed by the care Leo always takes with his family when they’re sitting in his infirmary and putting their hurts in his hands. 

There’s nothing performative about him here. It’s just Leo, stripped of every false layer. 

“Let’s try to massage it out,” Leo says, all his attention bent to the task. “Then we’ll apply heat.” 

Raph hums, watching him work. His arm radiates pain, and he has to grit his teeth as Leo goes to work on the knots and the ache flares close to unbearable and wanes to a dull throb and then flares again. 

“Hey,” Raph says before he can overthink it any more. “What would you have done if I didn’t see you and Liam?”

Leo pauses, but only for a split-second. He’s as good as cornered here, because there’s no way he’ll leave Raph when he’s in pain, and there’s nowhere to hide. Thankfully for Raph’s sanity, he doesn’t try to pretend he doesn’t know what they’re talking about, even if he takes a long moment to finally answer. 

“Would’ve made Angie make me a Portal Promise to never be alone with him,” Leo admits. Flushing slightly, he mumbles, “It’s, uh, a thing we do—we both make portals, you know, so—it just means we have to keep that promise no matter what happens or what rules we have to break, and we won’t get in trouble later as long as we’re honest.” 

Raph’s heart hurts. His little brothers are so sweet, and people exist in the world who would hurt them, and he has no idea how to reconcile that. He hates that both things could be true at the same time. 

“Tello doesn’t need to be encouraged to stay away from people, and I’m pretty sure he can read my mind? But I would’ve told him anyway,” Leo goes on. “I tell him everything. I’d try to word it so he didn’t get angry enough to do something drastic, like, cut the brake lines on Liam’s Toyota Corolla. And I’d have to make it sound like you and I were on the same page, otherwise he’d go to you about it, and you’d—uh, be annoyed that I didn’t drop it, I guess.”

Getting impaled by the Krang hurt less than this, Raph thinks. He feels sick. 

“Leo—”

“I know,” Leo says quickly, a little too loud. “I know that I don’t always take stuff seriously. It’s not your fault for thinking—you know. You didn’t do anything wrong, Raphie. I just gotta grow up.”

This kid, who—like the rest of them—has already matured well past his age, well before he should have had to. Who’s terrified of letting his family down, who has so much he thinks he needs to live up to. Any perceived failure weighs on him like the death penalty, and Raph knows he had a hand in that. 

He needs to listen. Even when he’s aching and short-tempered. Even when Leo is talking around something that scares him. Maybe especially then. 

“Can we make a deal?” Raph says, reaching up to hold Leo’s hands still under one of his own. Leo is staring hard at Raph’s plastron and doesn’t seem willing to lift his eyes for love or money, but he jerks his head in a nod. “Next time I’m not hearing you, and it’s something serious like today was serious, tell me, and I’ll stop.”

Leo’s mouth twists a bit. If it were for anyone else’s sake, he’d get in Raph’s face and make himself heard no problemo, but it’s an entirely different story when it’s his own safety in question. That part of Leo that wants to always rely on his brothers is constantly at war with the part that believes he’s not supposed to need anyone’s help anymore. 

It would be impossible for him to plant himself like a tree and refuse to be budged and demand Raph’s attention if he thought for one second that it would make Raph angry at him. 

“What if we came up with a code word?” Raph offers, squeezing Leo’s hands. “If I’m being a stubborn punk, you can tell me the code word, and I’ll listen, and I won’t get mad. Even if it turns out to be a mistake or a misunderstanding. Okay?”

He finally gets a peek of gold as Leo dares to make eye contact. He looks embarrassed, like they’ve made a huge deal out of this for no good reason, and hiding inside his shell until everyone promises to pretend like nothing happened is looking more tempting by the second. 

But he’s Leo, their fearless leader. He stared down that portal into the prison dimension without flinching. If he can do that, he can do anything. 

“What word?” he finally says. 

“You pick,” Raph tells him. 

A smile creeps onto Leo’s face, picking its way carefully across shaky ground. 

“‘Goose’,” he suggests.

"‘Goose’ it is," Raph replies firmly, committing it to memory.

He lifts his good arm and drags his little brother into a solid hug, ignoring the twinge in his back and side. Leonardo scrambles to return the embrace, shoving his face against Raph’s unscarred shoulder and clinging for all he’s worth. Which is a lot. He’s worth so much. 

Later, when Raph’s got the electric heating pad on his arm and he and Leo are watching TikTok compilations to pass the time, Mikey comes through the infirmary door at top speed, waving his phone above his head like a maniac. 

“Look what Mondo sent me!” he shouts at full volume. “I put it in the group chat!”

The video shared in the Mad Dogz chat shows Liam being kicked out of the railyard, his bags tossed into the road. Sally is going off at him at the top of her lungs, and Hob is standing by with his arms folded like he’s fully ready to let her maul the guy, and the rest of the grown-up mutants are making it pretty clear with their body language that the goose isn’t welcome anymore. 

“Dunno what they saw on the security cam, but they effin’ hated it,” Mondo says in the recording, unbothered by the absolute chaos unfolding in front of him. “Good riddance, Liam sucks. Oh, Mikester, Hob wants to know if you guys’ll be back in the Kitchen for Herman’s D&D oneshot on Saturday so he knows how much food to order. He said you should bring your dad around this time—as if we need another boring old man in the group, ugh. Anyway, let me know and I’ll pass it along, dude!”

A weight Raph hadn’t even realized he was still carrying melts off his shoulders. Leo huffs under his breath, a disbelieving little laugh. 

“Can we go, Raphie?” Mikey asks with wide eyes. “Don worked so hard on all our character sheets. He even 3D-printed custom figurines.”

“My bard is going to carry this team,” Donnie says loudly from the next room, because he’s never met a private conversation he wouldn’t shamelessly listen in on. 

It’s so important to the Mutanimals that their young friends feel safe with them, and here’s proof of that in Mikey’s hands. Raph doesn’t fully understand why they care, but he’s grateful that they do. It didn’t hit him until now how much it hurt to have the railyard taken away—and how relieved he is that they can go back, after all. 

He squeezes the arm he still has around Leo’s shoulders, prompting his brother to look up at him. 

“What do you say, Fearless?” he says warmly. “Your call.”

Raph’s listening this time. 

[imagionationstation]

Something I was thinking about today:

The claim that Splinter “never feeds his sons human food” and they have to discover it upon reaching the surface is a curious one.

It makes sense given common information.

Let’s use our big brains. Reason out some more info.

Info like… Splinter must have looked up information about turtles before buying four baby turtles.

However, after getting turned into a rat and ending up a father to infants on the run from aliens, he probably never got the chance to go to the library or use the Internet to look up information on how to feed a half-human half-turtle hybrid baby.

(Not that the Internet had forums for that yet. Was the internet prevalent in 2012…?)

So he just. Fed them turtle food and hoped for the best.

(The Japanese are know for eating insects. And algae is commonly used in all kinds of their recipes. For Americans, it sounds crazy. For Splinter, it was just an adaption of his own diet in the hopes of providing his mutant children with safe, normal turtle food.)

By the time they were kids, they’d probably just gotten used to a routine. We really have no proof that algae and worms is bad for the turtles. Tastes yucky? Maybe. But humans eat plants and bugs too.

Splinter was likely just working with what he knew.

But I don’t think they only ever ate algea. Don’t get me wrong-

The theory is totally understandable. I was onboard for this claim for a while myself. Then, I rewatched Lone Rat and Cubs. (Bebés 🥰🥰)

And he definitely introduces them to foods.

I’m seeing noodles, gyoza, (bamboo stick?), and he also throws down something yellow that I can’t recognize. We also see him collecting bread for them and dangling food over the little piranha children.

He continues to collect products for them. Maybe not the healthiest because he’s literally raiding trashcans but… He’s trying.

And then we have some popcorn proof that he’s still introducing them to human foods when they’re kiddos, with Mikey happily snacking on some while they’re in the dojo.

During the series, we see very little new introductions to foods. They eat romen, icecream, popcorn, and drink milk, tea, and other human things without so much as batting an eye.

Ergo, they’ve had human foods. They’ve just never had pizza.

Why do they act like such goobers when introduced to pizza?

BECAUSE THEY’RE GOOBERS, YOUR HONOR!!!

Though- they actually act similarly when introduced to pizza gyoza.

They hesitate. And then something explodes with how tasty it is.

But because this list is far to short to be a proper analysis, there’s also the point to be made for the first episode where they have an entire kitchen set-up going around them.

And I’m no New York Subway expert, but do they normally have kitchens set up within them? Probably not.

Which means that Splinter (and/or his sons) must have set this up. Why set up pantries, a fridge, and a stove if you did not intend to house foods or make foods to cook on them?

After all, the food on the plates appear fresh and raw.

They have an algae pool for harvesting in the lab. Why would they need to create an entire kitchen set-up simply to prepare them?

Also, they know how to use chopsticks for big and small foods. If they’d spent their entire lives eating small foods, it would be a teenie bit difficult to change the method of picking up a fatter breading than a tiny greenery or worm. Especially with mutant hands.

But they don’t hesitate. As if they have picked up larger foods before.

Also, also, they know what a cake is. What it’s supposed to be made out of. Hence why Leo knows what “icing” is.

I’m not normally that excited to taste something that I’ve never tried before (unless someone is hyping me up). It feel implied that they have and that’s why they’re disappointed that Mikey made one of not-cake substances and why Mikey looks like he has regrets.

Also, also, also- considering Splinter eats the algae and worms too, I don’t believe that he has the turtles on a purely algae based diet because he’d have to stick himself on one too. Man’s not a fan.

And he knows that other foods exist. So. Why would he?

In other words, my favorite analogy:

I hate Spinach salad. My mother used to make us eat Spinach salad.

Were there better things to eat than Spinach? Yeah.

Did mom even listen to that point? Nope.

But was it still technically good for me so I was forced to stomach Spinach salad until I was old enough to design my own diet?

You betcha. And I hated every minute of it 👍

So, to end this, I have to say that while algea and worms could have been (at maximum) a common meal for the turtles, I don’t think it was their only meal option. I’m not necessarily saying it was the best idea or the tastiest meal for a birthday-type celebration, but the turtles definitely had outside food exposure.

Do with this knowledge what you will.