#mikoto drabble

[bandousama]

Hiii:3 hope you doing ok! I would like to do a req with mikoto x reader if you can :) some fluff please ^-^. You dont have to do this req but thank you!

୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ‘growing love’

ft. mikoto suoh x pregnant! reader * ˚ ✦

a/n: hii ^-^ omg, yes i can! apologies if this feels rushed, wanted to have it out for you right away. hope you enjoy ~

mikoto's usually gruff exterior softened as soon as he discovered his s/o was pregnant. he became endlessly protective, often hovering around to ensure she was comfortable and well. whether it was rubbing her feet or bringing her favorite snacks, he was determined to show his love and care for both her and their unborn child. he also became even more affectionate, constantly showering her with gentle touches and tender gestures, silently expressing the depth of his love and devotion.

one night, as they cuddled on the couch, mikoto gently rested his hand on her growing belly, a tender look filling his eyes. "hey there, little one." he murmured, his voice softer than usual. "you gotta take it easy on your mommy, okay?"

y/n rested her head on his shoulder, a warm smile on her face as she felt his gentle touch. "you're going to be a great dad." she whispered, intertwining her fingers with his.

"damn right i am." mikoto replied, his lips curving into a smirk.

as the months ticked by, mikoto's protectiveness only grew stronger. he would insist on accompanying her to doctor's appointments, silently holding her hand as they listened to the reassuring heartbeat of their baby. mikoto would spend countless nights by her side, soothing her as the pregnancy took it’s toll on her body.

"hey, i'm right here." he would murmur, running his hand through her hair or rubbing her back as they lay in bed. "i've got you."

on days where y/n’s nausea was at it’s worse, mikoto would surprise her with ginger tea and dry crackers, knowing they helped ease her discomfort. he would also pamper her with gentle massages, his strong yet gentle hands seeking to soothe her aches and pains.

as the due date approached, mikoto became even more jittery. he spent hours decorating the nursery, determined to create a safe and soothing space for their baby. while the room was simple, it was done with love and care. during the last few weeks, he would lay his head on her lap, talking to her belly with a mix of nervousness and excitement. "hey, little one." mikoto said, his voice filled with tenderness. "you're almost here, and you've got us all wrapped around your tiny little finger."

as mikoto finished talking to their unborn child, he looked up at y/n fondly. "you know, this whole waiting thing is driving me crazy." he admitted, his voice tinges with a hint of anticipation. y/n chuckled softly, her hand gently caressing his cheek. "trust me, i can tell." she teased, a warm smile on her lips. "but our little one will be here before we know it. and then we'll be a family."

[good-beanswrites]

john x fuuta ?👉👈 or 090309

I love the dynamic between them all, thank you for the request! I went with an earlier meeting for them (well, one of the first times Fuuta's aware of speaking with John, at least). As much as I joke about Fuuta being starstruck by his strength in the attack, I tried to take a more serious route for the "something to rely on" vibe.

John’s eyes flicked over Fuuta, sprawled out on his bedding and looking up expectantly.

“Man, you look like shit.”

Fuuta scowled deeper. “I asked for the reason you’re here in the middle of the fucking night, not your opinion.”

“That is the reason I came.”

Somehow, amid all the other things he had to worry about given the horror of the past few days and exile that followed, Mikoto had still found the time to lose sleep over Fuuta’s condition. John had always liked the guy, but he wasn’t in the business of watching over people he didn’t truly care about. He didn’t know what Mikoto saw in him to cause such an overreaction.

Though, with the futon dragged to the bars of the cell, and bathing him in the dim light of the guard’s tower, it was becoming clear that Mikoto’s concern was indeed warranted. Fuuta appeared deathly. The fresh injuries had been bandaged, but there were stains where blood was beginning to seep through. His eye – the one that had survived the ordeal – was bloodshot and rimmed with dark bags. His hair was as tangled as the rumpled hoodie it poked out of.

Fuuta was still staring in anticipation. It took John a moment to understand why. 

“You recognize me.”

“No shit. Mikoto came in here like a fumbling idiot earlier today. He wanted to make sure I was okay or whatever. Like I’d be okay after what happened!” He paused, a clanging from someone else’s cell briefly distracting him. “But you… the way you carry yourself… it’s different.”

“Not that different. I’m here for the same reason.”

The plan was simple. Once Fuuta slept, Mikoto would relax, and everyone would be happy. If it turned out to be his injuries keeping him awake, John didn’t mind crushing Fuuta’s pride and explaining his weakness to the doctor to get more painkillers. If it was noisy neighbors, he’d teach one of those girls a lesson the following day. If the problem was just plain insomnia, well, John’s swinging arm was still completely functional...

“I just want to make sure you’re sleeping.”

“Don’t tell me you’re as disgustingly sentimental as him.”

John’s expression twitched. He didn’t appreciate the condescension. That was Mikoto’s most admirable trait, after all – offering help to others even when he was falling apart himself. He was so selfless, so self-sacrificial. It was no wonder John felt compelled to do the same for him. But Fuuta…

“Ugh, he’s always trying to be buddy-buddy with everyone around here, it makes me sick. Nice words don’t do shit. Look where his friendship with Kotoko got him, eh? That’s what these fools still don’t understand – you need to face these things head-on.”

“Oi, don’t be hard on me just for caring.” He didn’t say it as any sort of gentle encouragement; it was a command, and Fuuta understood. He snapped his attention away from where he’d been peering around the bars. “The world needs more people with that kindness. That optimistic view of life, of others, no matter what – it’s why I’ll do everything I can to save me.”

Silence stretched after the intense comment. Fuuta was looking away again, and John couldn’t read him. When he did speak, his voice came out more defeated than expected.

“Tch. Well. Not all of us have that luxury.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

His eyebrows raised.

Cheeks reddening, Fuuta hurried to add, “I mean someone to have your back like that. I wish I could be half as relaxed as that, but I can’t afford to let my guard down. I need to be strong myself, I don’t have anyone else to take care of my problems for me.”

It hit him suddenly, that everything came down to that. Relief washed over him, now that a clear, easy, (and nonviolent) solution had presented itself.

“What if you did? I could take over your little sentry duty for the night.”

“W-what do you –?”

He gestured to where Fuuta was laying. “No need to play dumb. You’ve been keeping an eye on everything, even the other side of the guard’s tower. The sounds from around cell eight have caught your attention. You’re positioned so you can see cell six, but haven’t moved all the way over, because cell ten has easiest access from the right.”

“The others would say it’s pointless, or that they’re handling it. I’m not buying it, though. I don’t care if they say it’s crazy of me to do.”

“I think…” John’s posture softened. “I think it’s very selfless of you.”

He was constantly amazed at Fuuta’s tendency to react to everything as if it were some world-shattering statement just told to him.

“So?” He prodded before Fuuta’s expression could grow any more wide-eyed. “How about it?”

 “I mean… they told me about the attacks… what you did…”

John set his jaw. No matter how many times it had happened in the past few days, it still stung to see how quickly people turned against him because of the fight. He thought they all had come to terms with each other’s capabilities for violence, but as usual, the moment he showed his true face, the world turned against him.

Of course Fuuta could never relax knowing such a violent and unpredictable person was sitting right beside him through the night. It was a miracle he hadn’t panicked immediately at the sight of yet another cold, towering figure appearing at his door in the middle of the night.

John stretched his right arm across his chest. It looked like his original solution still stood. Fuuta said problems should be faced head-on. Surely he’d understand this was for his own good.

“…Yeah, okay.” Fuuta gave a decisive nod. He beckoned with a jerk of his head. “I trust you.”

“I –” John blinked. “What?”

“You understand me. You understand what it takes to be in a place like this.” His gaze flit away momentarily. “You’re incredibly strong. You’re prepared, and have good instincts, and your confidence is –" Noticing how intently John was listening, he interrupted himself to bark, “but don’t think I couldn’t handle this on my own! It’s only because you offered, and it’s a smart move. I’ll just sleep for a bit, we can take shifts. Wake me in three hours, okay?”

“Fine by me.” A little lying was definitely better than what else he’d had in mind.

Fuuta moved his futon over a few feet so John could settle into his carefully chosen spot on the ground. Everything was all set to begin keeping watch, until a new sound rose up to drown out the other noises in the panopticon – soft snoring from beside him.

He glanced over in disbelief at the instantaneous security Fuuta had sunk into. All the tension had melted away from his face and shoulders. He lay completely at peace.

John had achieved his goal. He should be celebrating. Instead, he couldn’t help heaving a heavy sigh.

How did he end up with two self-destructive idiots to watch over?

[nonbinary-itachi]

The first time Mikoto noticed anything amiss, it was in the bright eyed way Itachi described his new friend, Shisui. Shisui was four years older and already a genin (which she knew meant he'd already seen the horrors of the war). She considers briefly that he was simply an imaginary friend, but Itachi had never had any before and she recognizes that name as the current Uchiha prodigy.

Well, crap.

At least Itachi wouldn't be alone and isolated the way she had been.

When she finally meets Shisui, her opinion stays the same. He's a polite boy with eyes far too knowledgeable for a mere nine year old. Her investigation had revealed that he'd not only seen the war, but fought in it, losing his entire genin team in the process. He was later taken on by Inoichi Yamanaka, and remained with him to this day.

She knows, the moment she sees Itachi look at him with those big doe eyes he'd inherited from her, that one day, she'll be fighting tooth and nail to allow him to marry the boy he so obviously loves.

A few months later, a girl stops by asking about Itachi. They're classmates in the Academy, and she was hoping to do their homework together. Watching them work together, she has a brief moment of hope that he's different. Unlike her, he won't know a life of sneaking around, stealing kisses in back alleys to avoid people's judgment. However, she doesn't see the same light she does when he talks about Shisui, and she resigns herself to her fate.

Itachi would not be forced into a marriage against his will the way she had been. Not as long as she was alive to stop it.

(Not that she hadn't come to love Fugaku in her own way, but she'd never love him the way she'd loved Kushina once. A long time ago.)

As Itachi ages, she realizes she's right. The light he held when talking about his new friend never dims, and in fact grows stronger and stronger. All she has to do is mention his name, and Itachi will perk up no matter how rough a time he's having. No matter how distracted he is.

She knows he loves Shisui just as much, if not more than, she'd love Kushina, and it hurts her heart to think about the trials he'll face because of it.

When he's fourteen, Itach sits her and Fugaku down at the kitchen table, Sasuke away at the Academy. He seems unusually anxious, and she suspects she knows what this is about. Has been waiting for his day since he was four years old.

"Mother, Father. I-" He starts, hesitating. He glances at them both anxiously before ducking his head so his bangs cover his eyes. She glances at Fugaku, who she suspects also knows what he's trying to say. Itachi swallows. "I'm... gay. I-I don't like girls. Not... not that way."

She smiles warmly at him, considers telling him she's the same but doesn't want to take way from his moment. "That's okay. It doesn't change anything."

Beside her, Fugaku nods. "We still love and support you."

Itachi's shoulders sag in relief as he processes what they've just said. "Thank you." If his eyes look glossier than usual, she pretends not to notice. If her own feel the same, well, hopefully he'd extend the same courtesy.

Four years later on Itachi's eighteenth birthday, she throws the same elaborate clan wide party she always throws despite knowing how much he hates it. It's too loud with too many people, and it overwhelms him, but the elders insist on it. Just like every year, Itachi insists on making himself scarce during it.

This year, Sasuke's genin teammates are here, and she's distracted by all the chaos Naruto brings with him. Just like Kushina all those years ago. The thought warms her heart.

The crash that sounds from her living room a few seconds does not.

A few hours later, even she's overwhelmed with the amount of ass kissing she's had to do among the elders. She steps out onto the backporch, breathing in the warm June air. It wasn't unbearably hot this time of night, and the cool air feels pleasant against her flushed skin.

"-go somewhere else?" She hears Shisui's voice, softer than usual. A short pause later, she hears, "You sure? We can sneak off off to my place. No one will be none the wiser." There's a touch of annoyance in his voice, and she can't blame him. For something that was supposed to be celebrating Itachi's continued existence, the guests aren't paying much attention to him.

"I know," she hears Itachi reply, just as soft. "But this technically my party. I don't want Mother to feel bad if she notices our absence."

She peeks around the corner and finds the boys entwined on the porch, Itachi's head against Shisui's shoulder. Their fingers resting together between them. She considers coming out of hiding and telling them to go, that she'd distract anyone looking for them, but she finds herself rooted in place, feeling like she wasn't meant to be hearing this. Seeing this.

Shisui hums, tilting his head to press a kiss against Itachi's head. She leaves then, not listening to anymore of their conversation.

Now that Itachi is of legal age, she suspects it won't be long before Itachi announces their relationship. After all, despite the Mangekyo, Shisui wasn't blind yet, and Itachi was a very attractive young man. They're already close, so it feels like it's just a matter of time.

Four months later, she's seated across the table with Fugaku yet again, though this time Shisui is with them and looking anxious as all hell while Itachi stares more defiantly. Mother, Father," Itachi starts again, just like that day four years ago. "Shisui and I are dating." If Shisui scoots away from Fugaku, she pretends not to notice.

Beside her, Fugaku blinks. "Well, it's about time you told us," she says before he can interject.

Both give her an incredulous look. "What?"

"How long has it been?" She asks, directing her gaze at Shisui.

"Uh," he looks at Itachi, who simply smiles reassuringly. "Three months?" He tenses, prepared for her or Fugaku to blow up at him for dating their precious son.

"Uh-huh."

"Well, congradulations," Fugaku finally says.

She suspects Shisui would look less surprised if someone told him the Nidamine had been resurrected and wanted to take him on as an apprentice.

As the boys leave, she takes a sip of her tea. "How long have you known?" Fugaku asks once they're out of hearing range.

Mikoto smiles. "I don't know what you're talking about." At his unimpressed looks, she rolls her eyes. "Fourteen years. How did you not notice?"

While he struggles to reply, she thinks about how to broach this subject with the clan elders. She refused to have Itachi forcibly wed to someone he didn't love, but how was she going to win that fight?

Three years, a war, and too many close calls later, Mikoto puts the same hairpin she'd worn on her own wedding day in Itachi's hair. It'd been a long, painful three years, full of hardship and suffering, but it was worth it.

She puts her hands on his shoulder and lean in to press a kiss against his cheek. "Are you ready?"

He looks up at her and beams. Genuinely beams. It was a look she never thought she'd see again on him after Shisui was nearly killed on a mission. "I've never been more ready."

She smiles warmly. She'd known this day was coming for decades now, yet she still feels tears in her eyes as Itachi and Shisui recite their vows together. Beside her, Fugaku's eyes look just as watery. She doesn't think she's ever been more proud of her baby boy.

[snkts]

The Good Fight - Ouija & Siren

“Ah, Logan. There you are.” Charles says from Cerebreaux. His voice bounces off the walls of the room. It’s almost a perfect sphere, and it turns into an echo chamber. “Welcome home.” 

“Hey, Chuck.” Logan puts his hand on the back of Charles’ chair. “Got here as soon as I could.” Charles looks up at him with a smile.

“I appreciate your haste, old friend. I hate to interrupt your vacation, but this is a rather pressing matter.” 

“It’s fine.” Logan shakes his head. He’d been minding his own when the call came in, standing at one of his favourite seedy bars (Tony Slim’s, an unknown and unwashed gem) and playing pool. A good way to unwind and destress after missions and mansion life. (Yeah, yeah, he knows, what a hard existence he’s leading now.) But his comm had gone off, and that was more important. He’d always be there when his family needed him, and they needed him now. “Tell me about the kid.” 

“Right.” Charles looks back at the display. Rendered in blue light is an array of photographs of a young girl - a yearbook photo, family portraits. Beside them all is a neat rectangle of statistics and flashcard-style information. “Her name is Samantha Everett, from Chicago, Illinois. She just recently turned seven years old-” 

“So I’m guessing she didn’t go out for a pack of smokes.” Logan shoved his other hand in his pocket. 

“Doubtful.” Charles typed in a few commands, enlarging some of the photos. 

“Seems a little young to be getting her powers.” Logan remarked, frowning. “What kinda baggage are we looking at?” 

“Surprisingly, none.” Charles said. “We’ve already conducted interviews with her parents, teachers, and even her babysitter. As far as anyone knows, she’s a happy, healthy little girl.” 

“I’m gonna want to talk to ‘em myself.” Logan said, chewing the inside of his cheek. Charles nodded. 

“And you will.” Charles shifted, reached into his pocket, and withdrew a paper-wrapped plastic straw before holding it out. “They’re eager to meet with you.” Logan blinked at the straw, then accepted it. He raised it in a silent ‘cheers’, removed the wrapper, shoved it into his pocket, and stuck the straw between his teeth. It wasn’t nearly as good as a cigar, but if he wasn’t allowed to smoke in here, it was better than nothing. He crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels, chewing on the straw. 

“So, happy, healthy little girl just up and vanishes.” He mused. “With no sign of a struggle.”

“None.” Charles confirmed. “And before you ask, there’s been no sign of her on Cerebreaux, either.” He reached up and removed the helmet, resting it in his lap. “Wherever she is, she’s not using her abilities.” 

“You said she’s a telepath?” 

“Something tangential.” Charles put the helmet away and wheeled backwards out from the desk. “When my gift manifested, I was the only one hearing voices. If other people had reported the same, I may have felt less…” 

“Alone?” Logan supplied. Charles hummed and nodded. 

“Yes.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Logan plucked the straw - now thoroughly mangled - from his mouth. 

“Well, Charles?” He turned towards the door. “Might need half an hour for this one.” Charles chuckles and follows him across the catwalk. 

“Don’t tell me, you’re slowing down in your old age?” He asks, grinning and arching a brow. Logan scoffed. 

“Watch it, Junior.” But he’s laughing, too. 

***

The Blackbird touches down in what looks to be some sort of baseball field. Nothing too fancy. The sort of thing that made Little League teams feel important, but that's about it. Logan stepped off the gangplank, one hand in his pocket and the other hanging loosely at his side. He glanced around as his boots met the grass. It's empty aside from a small group of people - five of them - huddled a ways away from the jet. He could smell their anxiety even from where he stood. It was brought over to him by the breeze that ruffled the grass and plucked at his hair. The parents he would’ve recognized even without the family photos. The mom had the same straight ash-blond hair as her daughter. She got her daddy’s nose, though. The other hint that they’re the parents are the eyes. Not just the colour, though it’s the same green-hazel on the dad as stared back from the school photo. The dark bags and red rims tell it all. The scent, too. The salty, sickly-sweet smell of grief and tears. That wasn't something you could fake easily. The other three were a separate family unit. A girl - maybe seventeen, eighteen at the oldest - and her parents. Her hair was red and tightly braided, a similar shade to her father’s short crew cut. She kept clutching and releasing the too-long sleeves of her sweater. Nervous. Not afraid, nervous. And judging by how frayed her sleeves were, she’d been doing this a lot - it wasn’t a ‘new’ nervous, not brought about by his and Charles’ arrival. Her mom was a different story. Her hands were on the girl’s shoulders, and her freshly-manicured nails dug into the mint-green fabric as the two mutants approached. Logan furrows his brow but says nothing. Charles does the talking for him. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Everett,” he begins. “I’m-” 

“Professor Xavier!” Mr. Everett let go of his wife and stepped forward, shaking Charles's hand in both of his. “Thank you so much for coming. We still haven't heard anything. We’ve been worried sick, and we didn't know who else to call-”

“There's always the MRA.” The redhead’s wife sniffs. Logan scoffs and rolls his eyes. 

“Not if you wanna see her again.” He says. Mrs. Everett’s heart rate spiked. 

“What?” She gasps, hand flying to her mouth. The redhead’s wife’s had a fast pulse the whole time. She shifted closer to her husband, pulling their daughter along with her. Her husband, the red head’s, scent shifted from anxious to aggressive to anxious again when Logan grinned at him. Big man didn't feel so big after all. Still big enough to open his mouth, though.

“And you are-?” The redhead clutches at his wife and daughter. 

“Logan.” Logan replies. He turns his body to face the redhead square. “Who’re you?” The redhead clenched his jaw in an attempt to rally and puffed out his chest.

“I’m Lyra’s father.” The effort to put more bass in his voice was noticeable. Logan blinked at him, one brow raised to indicate how little that meant. He glanced at the girl, then at Charles. 

“Samantha’s babysitter.” Charles supplied.

“Ah.” Logan nodded. He’d figured, but it was good to get the confirmation. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Everett.” Charles wheeled forward to once again take charge of the conversation. “Logan is the one I told you about over the phone. You would be hard pressed to find a better tracker.”

“There isn’t one.” Logan said, crossing his arms. “Doesn't matter where she is, I’ll find her.” Mr. and Mrs. Everett smiled.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Everett says, reaching to hug her husband’s arm. 

“If there’s ever anything-” Mr. Everett begins, but Logan cuts him off with a raised hand. 

“Save it for when the kid’s back watchin’ Saturday morning cartoons.” And then he rocks his weight back, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Now, how’s about we get outta this field and talk somewhere more private?” 

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Mr. Everett nods. “We actually live just across the street from the stadium. That’s why we suggested meeting here.” The couple turns to go, Lyra and her family at their heels. Charles and Logan follow behind, Logan matching his pace with Charles's, never straying from his side. It takes a concentrated effort to let Charles into his mind, but he can manage enough to get his point across. 

Babysitter’s parents seem shady, he thought. I don’t trust them. 

They do not trust you either, old friend. Charles’s voice in his head. They’re quite suspicious of the both of us. 

Figures. Logan struggled not to scoff out loud. Think we’re gonna have to worry about a phone call? 

Perhaps we will. The thought has crossed their minds once or twice. Charles mused. We’ll have to be alert.

Always am. Logan returned, then relaxed as his mind closed and he put more of his focus into the world around them. The wind through the faint trees scattered at the park’s edge, and the residential yards across the street. Birds chirping - robins, sparrows, chickadees. The hum of insects, the rustle of their footsteps, the sound of a dog panting a few streets away. A nice, quiet neighbourhood. So painfully upper-middle-class that the lack of white picket fences felt like an oversight. Given the time of day, most people were out, as demonstrated by the many empty driveways. Didn’t stop a few nosy neighbours from peeking through their blinds, but that wasn't surprising. As long as they kept out of his way, Logan would pay them no mind. 

They approached a quaint little two-story bungalow, white siding and blue shutters, flower boxes under the window. The path up to the front door was cobblestone, greys and sandy browns framed on either side by perfectly manicured grass. There was a single step up to a small concrete porch that was barely larger than the front door. Logan lagged behind just long enough to ensure Charles got up alright before joining everyone inside. 

“Nice place.” He comments. Mr. Everett shoots him a long-suffering look. 

“The next door neighbour is HOA president.” He said. Logan let out a noise that was half sympathy, half amusement.

“You poor bastard.” He says, shaking his head in sympathy. Mr. Everett nods, and his shoulders relax a bit. Good. If they were calm, they’d give better intel. Might be easier for Charles to sort through, too. They stepped through the foyer to the family room, wide and spacious, a cream carpet, white walls that were covered in photos and paintings. There’s a fireplace, and the mantle is covered in more pictures, some figurines - animals, mostly, one or two that looked like Disney princesses. At least one that was some unrecognisable lump of clay, probably made by a grade schooler. Three guesses who, and the first two don’t count. 

“What about you?” Logan asks. Lyra’s parents look up from where they’ve settled themselves on a loveseat. “You live around here?” 

“The street behind this one.” Lyra speaks up suddenly. Logan shifts his attention to her. She’s small, and skinny. A smattering of freckles across her nose. Her hair pulled into two braids, done tightly and bound in elastics. And still pulling on her sweater sleeves. It’s a miracle the damn things hadn’t fallen off. “And a few houses down. I used to come in through the back gate when I…” She trailed off and looked around, realising people were staring at her. She ducked her head to hide from the attention. Logan glanced at Charles, then stepped around the glass-topped coffee table to crouch in front of Lyra. 

“It’s okay, darlin’.” He says gently. “Anything you can tell us helps. That gate you mentioned - anyone else use it?” 

“Just us.” Mrs. Everett comes out of the kitchen with a tray of glasses. Lemonade, by the smell of it. Store bought - too artificial to be home-made - but a nicer brand - real lemons and sugar. “There's a lock on the back. We have the key, Ted and Aimie and Lyra have a key,” she nodded to indicate Lyra and her parents, “and my mother has a key. And Jack’s father.” After setting the tray down, she put her hand on her husband’s arm. 

“But neither of our parents live in town.” Mr. Everett - Jack - says, bending over to lift some of the glasses from the tray. He passes one to Charles, who accepts it with a smile and a quiet ‘thank you’, then one to Lyra’s father, Ted. Then he passes a glass to his wife, then Aimie, then holds one out to Logan. Logan eyes it, then looks back at Jack with a raised eyebrow. 

“Wouldn't happen to have a beer, would’ya?” He asked. Jack sighs and pushes his free hand through his hair. 

“I could go for a beer.” Jack mumbles. He turns and heads past a marble-top counter into the kitchen. There's the sound of a fridge opening, a clinking rustling noise, and Jack returns with two bottles held between his fingers.

“Cheers.” Logan says as he accepts his drink. Jack nods. 

“We have a bottle opener around here somewhere…” He turns, and Logan huffs. 

“So do I.” His claws extend with a snikt from them and a gasp from the humans. He wedges the blade under the bottle cap and twists his wrist. The cap flies off. He catches it, retracts his claws, and stuffs it in his pocket as he tips the beer back. 

“So.” Charles says pleasantly, sipping his own drink. “What can you tell us about your daughter?” 

“Oh, uh…” Mrs. Everett blinks, closing her mouth. Then she collects herself. “Well, she’s very shy. She has some friends, she does well in school… She’s a normal little girl.” Logan didn't miss the look Ted and Aimie exchanged. He glared at them. 

“Got something to say?” The edge in his voice made them flinch. 

“Just that-” Aimie starts, then stops. Ted puts his hand on her shoulder. 

“Normal little girls don't do the things she does.” He’s trying to be defiant.

Cute. 

Logan growls. In the same moment, Mrs. Everett stands. 

“There is nothing wrong with her!” She snaps. 

“Marcy-!” Jack cautions, putting his hand on her arm. 

“Everyone, please!” Charles spoke up. Logan settled somewhat and took another swig of beer. The humans quieted too. Charles paused to have a sip of lemonade. “I understand that emotions are running high right now. A child has been taken. It is only natural that you might feel stressed or defensive. But the best way we can help you right now is through rational discussion. The more information Logan and I get, the sooner we can ensure Samantha is brought home safely. That is what we all want, correct?” A silence. Jack and Marcy nod, Lyra nods, and after a beat, so do Ted and Aimie. Charles nods as well. “Very good.” He set his glass down on the coffee table, minding the coaster. “Now, let us resume our discussion. We’ve brought up Samantha’s gift multiple times, now. Could you explain to us what that is?” Marcy nodded, then slowly pried herself off of her husband and sat in an armchair. Jack rested his hands on the back of the chair. 

“We thought it was Lyra, at first.” Marcy begins. 

“But it wasn’t.” Aimie says, grabbing at her daughter’s hand. Lyra looks up at her, then back at the floor. Logan grunted. 

“Wait your turn.” That quieted Aimie down, even if her face looked like she wanted to say some non-PTA-approved words. Tough luck. Marcy, by contrast, smiled. Her shoulders loosened and her heart rate slowed just a touch. She was grateful. Another good thing. 

“She told us she heard voices. And we were alarmed, but-” 

“Not-” Lyra started, then clamped her mouth shut as her scent spiked with fear. But Logan just looked at her and tilted his head curiously. She swallowed and tried again. “Not voices. Just one voice.” 

“Whose?” Logan asked, facing her fully. She started pulling at her sleeves again, letting go of her mother’s hand in favour of fiddling. 

“My Nana’s.” She says, then blinks. “Um, my grandmother on my mom’s side. Her name was Nancy, and she, um…” 

“My mother passed five years ago.” Aimie said, putting her arms around her daughter’s shoulders. 

“Heart failure.” Ted supplies. Charles nods and folds his hands in his lap with a sympathetic hum. 

“I’m sorry. And you said you heard her voice, Lyra? Could you elaborate on that?” He asks, and she nods. 

“I was walking Sammy home from school like I do every day. We have one of those weird schools where it’s mostly a high school, but then there’s a bit at the back for the elementary schoolers.” 

“It’s a private school.” Jack cuts in. “It’s smaller, but they teach the kids how to sign, and Sammy’s mute, so we thought it’d be good for her to be around people who could actually communicate.” 

“Mute, huh?” Logan chewed at his lip. “So, chances are she didn’t call out when she got taken. Keep going, kid.” Lyra nods, even though she keeps her eyes on the floor. 

“We got to the back gate, and I unlocked it for her. And she always wanted a high five before we said ‘bye’. It’s our thing.” She twisted the fabric some more. Her breathing hitched. “So I did, and…” She sniffles. Logan tilts his head and crouches down, setting his beer on the table. 

“And what, darlin’?” He asked. (Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charles lean forward and slide a coaster under the beer bottle.) 

“I heard my Nana.” Her voice was even quieter now. “Loud and clear. She told me to tell my grandpa not to go in his car, because his breaks were broken. And I got freaked out, so once Sammy was in her yard, I closed the gate and ran home.” 

“She told us about what she heard.” Ted says quietly. “At the time, we thought maybe it was some kind of divine intervention.” Logan cast a glance back at Charles, who nodded subtly. That fucking figured. When mutants do weird things, it’s a curse, a disease, something to be fixed and cured and punished. But when it was their own kid? It was an act of God. A miracle. (Until it got too much to handle - then it was back to being a curse again.) 

“I didn’t know what to think.” Aimie says. “I just mentioned it to my dad because I was worried. He checked the breaks to reassure her, but-” 

“But they were actually broken.” Logan finished. Aimie nodded. 

“Just like she said.” 

“We didn’t know about any of that at the time.” Jack said, squeezing the back of Marcy’s chair tightly. “We thought it was strange that Lyra didn’t come say hello like she normally does when she drops Sammy off, but thought maybe she was just busy. Nothing to comment on, you know? So I picked Sammy up to hug her hello, and one of my old war buddies was suddenly talking about being cold.” 

“Us Army,” Charles offers. 

“Canadian Special Forces.” Logan said. 

“Marines.” Jack replies, easing his grip. “Swanson was his name, Fred Swanson. KIA. He just kept saying, ‘It’s cold here, kid.  It’s real cold’.” Marcy reached up to put her hand on her husband’s. She gave his fingers a squeeze. The tense look on his face and shift in his scent hinted that he needed the comfort. 

“Do you believe he was speaking to you?” Charles asked.

“No.” Jack didn't hesitate. “Fred never called me ‘kid’. We were the same age. He called me Jackie.” 

“I heard my grandmother.” Marcy said. “She was just singing. The same songs she used to sing when she was gardening.” 

“I see.” Charles frowns. “And what did you do?” 

“Got us out of the house.” Jack shrugs. “I thought we were hearing things. I thought- I thought maybe there was something wrong with our carbon monoxide detector. So I got us out and called the emergency number to get someone to come check it, and everything came back clean.” 

“But it kept happening?” Logan prompted. Marcy, Jack, Aimie, and Ted nodded. 

“Not the same voices.” Marcy said. “Different ones, every time.” 

“And it was every time.” Jack picks his beer bottle off the counter he’d set it on and takes a pull. “Every time we touched her, or she touched us. It didn’t stop. I would’ve thought I went crazy if Marcy wasn’t hearing it too.” Logan frowned, looking over at Charles. 

“That’s not a telepath.” He says. 

“No, it isn't.” Charles steeples his fingers and furrows his brow. “At least, not the typical sort. I can understand how that might have been troubling to you. Did you tell anyone else?” 

“We called around to different resources.” Marcy said. “That's how we found out about your school. We emailed you not long after.” Charles nodded but said nothing. 

“So how else do you factor in?” Logan looks to Lyra. 

“I was the last person to see Sammy before she vanished.” She said, her voice cracking. “But I didn’t do anything! I swear, I-” Charles held up a hand. 

“It’s alright, Lyra.” He soothes her, cradling his glass of lemonade. “I know for a fact you did nothing wrong. This is just part of our investigation.” Lyra nods again. “Just tell us what you saw.” 

“She was just playing in the backyard.” Lyra said, graduating to chewing on the ends of her sleeve. “I was worried. She hadn't been to school in a while and nobody knew why, we just heard she was sick.” Logan and Charles glanced at Jack and Marcy. 

“We pulled her out of school.” Marcy said, fiddling with one of her earrings. “We didn't want people knowing she was a mutant until we had the, ah, resources, to handle her- gift.” 

“So I hadn't been walking her home, and it kinda felt… It was weird. I guess I missed her.” Jack smiled at this, sad though it was, and Marcy reached out to take Lyra’s hand. Lyra accepts the gesture in spite of the look Ted and Aimie exchange. “So when I was passing by their house, I just… Looked over the fence.” She grimaced and let go of Marcy’s hand. “Oh, god. That makes me sound like a creep. But I looked in, and I saw her, and she was just playing. She had her dollhouse and her bike and a few other things. And she was just playing. So I called to her and waved hello and she waved back. I tried to get her to come high five me, like we always did, but she didn’t want to. Guess I know why.” She shrugs and pulls her knees to her chest, locking her arms around her legs. “We had a conversation for a little bit. Nothing really important. I was asking how she was feeling, she was telling me about the story she came up with for her dolls. Something about a senate that got infiltrated, and trying to find who the bad guy was. She did that one a lot. And then I got a phone call, and I looked away for a bit, and when I looked back, she-” Lyra’s voice broke and she buried her face in her knees, holding herself tighter. “She was gone.” 

“Who called you?” Logan asked. Lyra kept her face buried and shrugged. Logan waited. Eventually, she spoke again. 

“Brian Casey.” She mumbled. When she looks up, her face is bright red, and her pulse is elevated. “He’s, um, a boy from school. We talked for a minute or two, and I turned to wave bye to Sammy, and I didn’t see her.” 

“Was there anything strange about the phone call?” Charles asked. Lyra nodded. 

“Yeah. I asked Brian about it the next day, and he had no idea what I was talking about.” Her face twisted into a frustrated frown. “But I know it was him. We even talked about a chemistry assignment we’d done together.” 

“But he denied it the next morning?” Charles pressed. 

“According to him, it never happened. … And there was nothing in either of our call logs.” Charles and Logan stared at each other. They both nod. 

“That’s all I need to hear.” Logan crossed his arms and rocked his weight back on his heels. Then he looks back to Jack and Marcy. “You got anything important to her I can take with me? A stuffed animal, a blanket…?” 

“Part of Logan’s gift is enhanced senses.” Charles explains. “Bloodhounds are quite envious of his ability to follow a scent.” 

“If it’s something that makes her feel safe, it might help me get her to come out if she’s hiding.” Logan adds. 

“Oh.” Marcy says as the humans glance between each other. Then she stands up. “I think I know just the thing.” She steps around the chair, manoeuvres around Charles with a quiet ‘’scuse me’, and heads up the wooden staircase by the door to get to the house’s second level. Logan tilts his head, following her footsteps, the creak of the door, the pad of socks on carpet, her mumbling, the quiet ‘there you are’ when she finds what she needs.  And then she retraces her steps and joins them in the sitting room again.

“Here.” She held out a shapeless, threadbare blob of fabric that had, at one point, been a plush lion. “This is Thimble. I-” She flushed. “I had a hard time saying ‘Simba’ when I was little. Sammy sleeps with him every night.” 

“That works.” Logan reached out and took the toy in one hand. He glanced over to Lyra and added, “You said the last place anyone saw her was the back yard?” Lyra nodded. Logan smirked. “Half an hour.”

“What?” Ted asked. Logan was already moving past them to the sliding glass door in the back of the kitchen. 

“That’s how long it's gonna take me to find the kid.”

“But she's been missing for three days.” That was Jack. Logan didn't turn around.

“I know.” He said, pushing the door open. “That's why I gave myself extra time.”

****

Finding the scent had been easy. It was all over the place. And yeah, it matched the scent that clung to the toy, Thimble, so he had double confirmation it was her. The artificial fruit scent of children's shampoo, goat’s milk, sidewalk chalk, grass and dandelions, petrichor, something not-quite but similar to ozone, the worn rubber of her shoes that was just a bit burnt from the lights that would come on when she stomped, bananas, washable markers, and granite. A little bit of sweat, which made sense if she’d been playing outside, but no fear. Highly unusual for a kidnapping victim. Her scent travelled alongside another, one he didn't recognize. That was bad enough. What made it even worse was that it carried traces of a scent he DID know. Oily-slick and painfully artificial, like pouring cologne on a chemical spill. Rot and rebirth, cold metal, blood. 

Sinister. 

If he was involved, a half hour search was probably too long. Fucking hell. His Harley, retrieved from the jet, roared down the street. The suburbs had long since fallen away. The buildings here were crowded together, businesses hunched under apartments and jostling for an inch of breathing room. He wrinkled his nose and growled. He hated places like this. Noisy, smelly, chaotic headaches. The perfect places to get lost in. well, not on his watch. 

The trail led him to a bus terminal. It was empty now, but they had definitely been here. Logan cut the ignition and kicked the stand into place, swinging off the bike. He glanced around and sniffed the air. Yup, there was Sammy’s scent, and the other one, too. Leather and hand sanitizer, hair gel, gunpowder and gun oil (the good stuff, too, nothing cheap), lemon and honey and tea leaves, wintergreen mint and nail polish, glacial ice, adrenaline and blood and Sinister. Who the hell was this? And where had they gone? 

There was a schedule on the wall. Laminated paper, sun-bleached but legible, detailing the routes each bus took. Logan grunted and ripped the sheet off the wall. Could be useful. He studied it a moment longer, then looked up and around. … There was a newspaper stand across the street. Logan was quietly amazed that those still existed. It was a hole-in-the-wall, probably part of the convenience store with the barred windows, with road sign-yellow paint on the counter and the signage. A far cry from the Everett’s suburb. Logan cast a quick glance in either direction then crossed the street, taking off his helmet and cradling it under his arm. The kid leaning against the counter can’t be more than late 20s. Long hair, stubble that was probably meant to be a beard. He had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and fixed Logan with a disinterested stare as he approached. His nametag introduced him as Jeremy, and that he was a ‘proud employee’ of Luckee Mart. Congratulations, Jeremy.

“Hey.” Logan said, stopping in front of the counter. Jeremy said nothing, only raised his eyebrow. That was fine; Logan would do the talking for both of them. “I’m looking for a kid. You seen this girl?” He slaps Sammy’s school photo - printed off before they even left the mansion - down on the counter. Jeremy props his face on his fist and looks down. 

“You a cop?” He asks, and Logan grimaces before shaking his head. 

“Hell no. Private investigator.” He taps his finger against the photo. “Her parents really want her home.” Jeremy looks down at the photo. His brow furrows, his heart rate picks up, and his scent shifts to nervousness and fear. Oh, okay. He was about to start lying. He takes a drag of his cigarette and holds it out to the side, tapping the ash off. 

“Never seen her.” He said, leaning his weight to the side in an attempt to appear casual, confident. Logan sneers. 

“Listen, bub.” He says. The cockiness vanishes from Jeremy’s face when Logan lifts him, one handed, by the front of his shirt and snatches the cigarette away. “You can keep talking outta your ass if you want, but I got three things you should consider first. One.” His first claw slid out, close enough that the flat pressed against the punk’s cheek. “Two.” The second claw slid out along the other side of his face. “Three.” the third, central, claw extended just enough to press into the soft underside of Jeremy’s chin. Jeremy’s eyes were wide, frantic, and brown. Same brown as his hair. Same brown as his jeans were gonna be, too. 

“Wait! Wait wait wait, shit man, wait! You’re a- You’re a fuckin’ mutant?!” 

“Nothin’ gets by you.” Logan grunted. “Where's the girl?”

“She took a bus!” Jeremy yelped, scrabbling at the counter and Logan’s wrist. Logan growls his frustration and tightens his grip. 

“I know that, numbnuts.” He snapped. “When and what direction?” 

*I don’t know!” Jeremy tilted his head back even further, trying to get as far away from the claws as he could. “I-I was just coming back from my lunch break, so I dunno, like- Noon? Noon-ish? And they went off towards McKellen street– Uh, that way!” He pointed. 

“They?” Logan pressed. Jeremy started to nod, then thought better of it when he felt cold adamantium against his neck. 

“Yeah, she was with someone. A woman. She was kinda freaky-looking, but still a babe, y’know? Really tall, hair slicked back, some kinda… Body armor type deal. And she was strapped, man, like- Guns and shit? I was surprised they let her on the bus. You ever seen Kill Bill? Or the Matrix? Like that- Hey!” Logan shakes him once. 

“Focus, kid!” He snaps. “How long ago was this?” 

“I dunno!” Jeremy shakes his head frantically. “I dunno! Two days ago? Three? Something like that!” Logan growls his frustration and drops Jeremy back down, retracting his claws. He wasn’t going to get anything else from this guy. No point wasting his time. He kept the kid’s cigarette, though, and held it between his teeth, inhaling deep. Then his frown deepens as he lets the smoke out from his lips. 

“What is this? You smoke Pall Mall?” … He still took another drag as he referred back to the bus schedule. Logan shook his head. “Switch to Camels. You’ll thank me later.” He rolls the bus schedule up and stuffs it into his belt to hang onto, just in case, and makes sure to swipe the school picture as well. He crosses the street again, puts on his helmet, and swings onto his bike. The engine takes just long enough to cut on that Logan gets to hear Jeremy’s bewildered ‘What the fuck just happened?’ as he drives away.

*****

They’d left the city.  They hadn’t gone far, but they were past the limits. He’d picked up the scent at one of the bus stops marked on the map. That hadn’t been difficult. There was only one bus that matched Jeremy’s estimated scheduling: the 632. From there, he’d figured out the stops in order, and had taken alleyways and side streets to check each one off faster until he hit paydirt. Then it was just tracking. Tracking, and breaking a few traffic laws. Not like he cares - if the cops ever got on his tail, they'd have to catch him, first. 

“Hey, Chuck.” Logan said, flicking his comm on. 

“Logan!” Charles's voice is bright and pleasant. “I was wondering when we might hear from you. Good news, I imagine?”

“Yeah.” Logan took a right turn. “I’m close. The scent's blowing pretty fresh. I’d say I’m roughly three minutes out from her location.” 

“Already?” That was Jack’s voice, muffled by distance. Logan grinned. 

“I told ya, thirty minutes to find her.” He says. He slows his bike and comes to a stop, bracing his feet on the gravel road. “But your police force must be shit. Nobody checked the…” He squinted at the weather-beaten sign in front of him. “Steel mill?” 

“He’s at Flagship?” Jack still sounds surprised. “But…”

“But why would she be there?” Marcy’s voice, equally surprised. 

“No idea.” Logan grunted. “But as long as I get her back safe and sound, who cares? I’ll call back when I’ve got her.” He shut the commlink off. If he was being honest, the ‘why’ did matter, and he was curious about it, but he was on a time crunch - both for the limit he’d set for himself, and the kid’s safety. They could chat and theorise when she was home. 

He elected to leave his motorcycle behind. It would make too much noise on the approach. Best to go it on foot. He circled through the grass, stepping past what remained of a chain link fence and avoiding the main entrance. That'd be too obvious. Besides, the scent didn't lead to there. Whoever took the kid also didn't use the front door. 

That was interesting. 

They skipped most of the broken windows, too. Could be a couple reasons for that. Reason one: The kid couldn’t get that high. That would suggest that whoever took her wasn’t carrying her - which in turn suggested Sammy had gone willingly, or had been coerced to follow. Reason two: For whatever reason, the KIDNAPPER couldn’t get through the windows. Could be because they were too big to fit. At first listen to Jeremy’s story, that didn't sound right. He’d described a woman, and those windows were pretty damn big. But Logan didn't know this person. If they were a mutant, and he was assuming they were until otherwise proven wrong, they might have some sort of shape shifting power. Maybe the woman wasn't their real form. Maybe they had increased weight for another reason (better not be chomping his flavour).

Maybe they just couldn't jump that high. 

He stopped just behind the steel mill, staring at what probably used to be a loading bay. He was around a corner, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Coast looked clear. He could hear talking, but it was too distant to be at the door. He counted one voice- No, wait. … Why did it sound like so many more people all of a sudden? He swore, he SWORE he’d only heard two heartbeats a moment ago. Only two sets of breathing. And he didn't smell sulphur, so what in the fuck-? He narrowed his eyes and sniffed the air once, twice. Three times. He smelled rust, and dirt, and decay, mould and mildew and wildlife, petrichor and rotting paint, crumbling wood, and… 

And…

What the fuck? 

Why did it smell like the forest? … And why did he recognize those voices? 

This is a goddamn trap. 

He growls low in his chest, bares his teeth at nothing in particular. This is a trap, and it makes no sense. The people he hears, smells, can't possibly be there. And if there's a trap, that means whoever was behind this - whether they were just in league with Sinister or it was the man himself - knew someone was following them. If it had been tailored to him, they knew he was coming, specifically. But he was three days and a few police calls behind, and he'd gotten on the trail as soon as he'd heard all the relevant Intel. How could they know…? 

Fuck it. Screw the door, screw the loading bay, he was going in through one of those windows after all. He retraced his steps at speed - if they knew he was here, there was less point in being stealthy - braced his feet against the concrete and jumped. His hands caught the edge of the window. Glass bit into the leather of his gloves. Sliced into his hands. He swung up and over, using the windowsill as a pivot point. By the time he let go, the cuts were already healed, and he landed on the ground and woke up.

… Had he been sleeping? It felt like he had. Logan screwed his eyes shut and groaned, grinding his face into the heel of his hand. His head hurts. He hears the sound of chatter, and opens his eyes. … He's on a bench. On a bench, at the institute. His favourite bench, the one near the treeline. He frowns. Breathes in. The air is clean and fresh. Wasn't he just doing something? Or had it been another dream? Another nightmare? Another lost memory trying to bleed through to the surface? He blinked a couple times, trying to clear his vision. Something flew at his head- His arm snapped up- snatched it out of the air-

A frisbee. 

Bright red plastic with a black ‘X’ emblazoned on the top, marking it as property of the Institute. 

“Sorry, Logan!” A young voice called. Logan looked up, still clutching the frisbee. There, waving and giggling sheepishly, was a group of familiar faces. Pyro, Drake, Rogue, Kitty, Jubilee, and Colossus. Kitty was the one who had spoken. She stopped waving to rock onto her toes, then back down. “Can you throw it back?” He studies it a moment longer - does the weight feel different, or is he still waking up? - then shrugs and gives it a toss. It flies in a clean, precise arc, and Drake jumps to catch it.

“Thanks!” He yells back. Logan nods. 

“You need t’ work on your aim, petite.” That voice is also familiar, and he looks over to see Gambit propped against a lamp post, shuffling his cards. “You missed.”

“She throws better than you, Gumbo.” Logan huffs, standing and stretching. His back pops and he grunts. 

“You break Gambit’s heart, homme.” Gambit says, pausing his shuffling to put the back of his hand to his forehead. “I bake for you, and you talk t’ me like dat?” Logan rolls his eyes, but the ghost of a smirk belies his amusement.

“Don’t forget who pulled your ass outta the deep freeze, ‘homme’.” He crosses his arms loosely and looks back at the kids. “Whadda’ya want?”

“Gambit? He wants for nothin’.” Gambit returns to his cards. “Storm was lookin’ for you, though.” 

“Storm?” Logan glanced over, and Gambit nodded. Logan let out a curious hum, then set off back towards the mansion, tossing a ‘thanks’ over his shoulder. As he stepped out from the shade, he was awash in warm, buttery sunshine. It was warm enough to be nice, but not overbearing, and the breeze that carried the scent of flowers and fresh-cut grass was the perfect equaliser between hot and cold. The lawn crunched under his boots as he walked. The voices of the frisbee game drew slightly softer as he approached the front of the grounds. There was a deeper sound. A low, baritone rumbling, growing louder and louder and Logan sprang back just as a red sports car zoomed into the circular driveway. 

“Jesus, Slim!” Logan shouted, regaining his footing. “Eyes up!” 

“Oh, man, sorry Logan!” Scott climbed out of the car with his shoulders hunched and his hand in front of his mouth, the universal posture for ‘I fucked up’. This was echoed in his scent, which was spiked with adrenaline and worry. “I didn't see you there. It’s just, Jean and I were planning this field trip for the kids, to the natural history museum. There’s this travelling exhibit that's coming to town, one about folklore and sea monsters and how that connects to different real-life sea creatures, and we thought it could be a creative tie-in for the mutant history class and how-”

“What Scott means is,” Jean steps out of the car and cuts Scott off with a hand on his shoulder and a fond smile. “We’ll pay more attention next time. Are you alright?” 

“I’m always alright, Red.” Logan said, then glanced to Scott, who was fiddling with his glasses nervously. “But I’m holding this against you, next time ya try to kick me outta the pilot seat.”

“That's fair.” Scott’s shoulders relaxed and his grin became more casual. “Sorry again, Logan.” Logan turned to leave, but only managed a few paces before Jean spoke up again. 

“Actually, we were hoping to run into you.” She said, taking an imploring step forward just as Logan turned back again.

“Almost did.” He huffs, and Scott sulks. Jean ignores them both and continues. 

“We were hoping to ask if you and Mariko would like to chaperone with us.” 

“Mariko?” He repeated, breath caught in his throat. No. No, that wasn't possible. He couldn't ask Mariko, because she was-

Just fine. She was fine. She was fine because she'd been there when he'd gone back to her home. She’d been waiting, safe and sound. And he’d dealt with the other Yakuza, and everyone else, and she’d finished disentangling her family from crime. It had been a long and arduous process. Some people had resisted at first. But in the end, she’d persisted, and eventually succeeded. The Yashida clan was respected under her lead. And she’d come to visit as a vacation from the constant work that came with running a family.

“Yeah.” Scott nodded. “The kids really like her. And, besides, we know she’s not going to be here much longer before she goes back to Japan. We thought she might like seeing a bit of American folklore before she goes home.” 

“She might.” Logan nods slowly, then screws his eyes shut and rubs at his temple again, teeth grit tight. “I’ll- I’ll ask.” 

“What's wrong?” Jean asked, signalling her concern in the tilt of her head and the furrow of her brow. Logan shook his head and stepped back. 

“Just a headache. I’ll be fine.” He says, muffling a growl in the back of his throat. “If I see her around, I’ll ask.” And now he did walk away. His head hurt more now. This isn’t right. None of this is right. It doesn’t make sense - why doesn’t it make sense? He was still glaring at the dirt when little footsteps scurried by him. A young girl, running across the lawn. She was about seven or eight, with straight, ash-blond hair and… Green eyes. She was very familiar. Of course she was familiar, she was a student, wasn’t she? Had to be. But there’s still  something– Movement behind– He turned– 

Caught Victor Creed’s arm by the wrist. (Wait-) Victor looked down at him with a bemused expression. 

“Uh, boo?” He blinked, waggling the fingers of his free hand in a half-assed parody of an old-school movie monster. Logan released his arm, and Victor let it drop to his side. “Hell’s got you all jumpy for?” 

“What the fuck, Creed?” Logan grumbled, loosely crossing his arms over his chest. His head felt like it was about to split open. 

“What?” Victor sniffed, adopting a similar posture. “Can’t a guy come ask if his partner wants to go for a hunt?” Logan tilted his head in confusion. 

“Hunting? Now? … What time is it?” Both he and Victor looked up at the sun. It hung contentedly in the middle of the sky. The ferals looked back down as Victor pulled a smart phone from his pants pocket. He tapped his thumb on the almost comically undersized screen. 

“Three-thirty.” He says, stuffing the phone back and away. Logan took a half step back. He scratches at the back of his head, then twists his hand in the hair that grows from the nape of his neck as though that can hold the sides of his skull together when it feels like they’re trying to rip apart. 

“I… Have a class to teach.” He says it slowly, like he's trying to remind himself of the fact. It’s three thirty, and he's pretty sure it's Friday, so-

Victor laughs.

“Boy howdy, that must’ve been some nap.” He grins and picks at his fangs with a claw, peeling off a shedding layer. “You put your brats up to it, remember? Said they gotta… Earn their stripes, or, somethin’. I wasn't listening.” He pulls his hand away from his mouth to examine his nails. Satisfied, he gives his claws a quick extension-retraction, then props his hands on his hips and grins. “And before ya’ ask, yes, you're still on Earth, but Bugs Bunny is president.” Logan turned and walked away, shaking his head. 

“Thank God I’m Canadian.” 

“You guys got Daffy.” Victor called to his retreating back. “And what about our hunt?”

“Later.” Logan replied, waving him off. “I gotta find Storm.” And so, he continued around the perimeter of the mansion. With every step, his head hurt more and more. Maybe this was why he'd asked the kids to cover for him. He was so distracted by the pain in his skull that he only narrowly avoided Lockheed, swooping low to bring something to Kitty. Logan didn't know what it was, and shot a few curses at the tiny dragon as it flew off. Maybe Kitty oughtta invest in some pint-sized glasses. He’s still grumbling to himself when he rounds another corner, and what he sees is enough to  dissipate his bad mood instantly. 

There they were.

His kids - or, three of them, at least. The ones that looked like him. Akihiro, Laura, and Gabby. Even from here, he could hear what they were saying. It was a tracking lesson. Laura and Akihiro were explaining how to read broken undergrowth to determine approximate weight, speed, and direction of moving prey. Gabby was holding up Jonathan, who was chittering contentedly. Apparently, she was gonna take the oversized rat and they were both gonna hide themselves somewhere in the woods. It was a good drill - real world practice in a low-stress setting. He’d done it plenty of times before. Sometimes they’d have to find him. Sometimes it’d be someone else. Sometimes he’d just stash a random object and have them bring it back to him. And now his kids were using the same lesson. 

So they did listen to him, after all. 

And seeing that - seeing them, happy and safe and together - brings a smile to his face, even despite the throbbing behind his eyes and what the FUCK was wrong with his head?! He snarls to himself, squeezes his eyes shut, and shakes his head, clutching at the roots of his hair. His vision blurs and he squints. … That girl’s there again. The little one whose name he can't remember. She's hiding behind Mikoto, clutching at her leg and peering out. Mikoto doesn't react. That's weird for a lot of reasons. Mikoto liked kids - she was great with the younger students. He’d heard her refer to herself as their ‘big sister' countless times, and they adored her right back. She’d never ice one of them out. And, hold on, why was the kid even in that class? The rest of the students there were teenagers, and if they were doing field tests, this was steering towards the advanced track-

“Logan! There you are.” A voice interrupts the latest snarl of frustration before he can finish it, and he looks up. There's a trace of desperation in his eyes as he seeks her out. Her.

Storm.

Ironically, she'd always been a calming presence in his life, from the moment he met her. Her and Charles, who, speak of the devil, is at her side. They approach him with smiles that falter when they catch sight of his expression.

“What's wrong, old friend?” Charles asked, steepling his fingers in his lap. Logan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I dunno, Chuck.” He took a moment before looking up again. “My head fuckin’ hurts, and I swear, something just ain't right about today. Can't put my finger on it.” Storm frowned in sympathy.

“You're stressed, Logan. This is exactly why we suggested you take the day off.”

… Oh yeah. They had told him to do that, hadn't they? Said he’d been pushing himself too hard and no matter how he argued - and he’d argued - they’d insisted. And now he was here. … Was that right? It felt- At least, it made-

“You still seem tired. Though I’m not surprised to find you watching over the students again, I assure you, Logan. They will be fine while you take some time for yourself.” Charles’s expression is equal parts fond and exasperated, the guiding hand that he always is. So why does this…? 

“Cajun said you were looking for me.” Logan mumbled, once again blinking against the discomfort.

“I was.” Storm confirmed. “Though I told him not to wake you if you were resting. I hope he listened.”

“Does he ever?” Logan rolled his neck to one side. It doesn't help. Storm tutted and rolled her eyes.

“That man.” She huffed. Logan grunted. 

“What'd ya need, Storm?” He asked. She blinked and stood a bit straighter.

“Oh! Yes. I was about to head to the greenhouse. There are some plants I need to prune, so I was wondering if you might lend a hand. It’s been far too long since we’ve had some time to really catch up.”

“Y’know what?” Logan managed a smile. “That’d be nice.” 

Snikt.

“Except you're not Storm.” 

And he drove his claws into her abdomen. She let out a shocked, pained gasp. It echoes off the walls of the loading bay, shattering the quiet that remained once the constant droning was gone. Already, his head started to feel better. The little girl - Sammy - toppled over from behind the guard rail. She shook her head like she was coming out of a daze. And the woman on his claws staggered back, olive face ashy and grey eyes wide. 

“H-how-?” She sputtered. Logan pulled free, but didn't sheath the blades. Blood dripped onto the concrete, and it smelled real and it smelled heavenly. 

“You’re good, sister, I'll give ya’ that.” He said, stepping a slow circle, stopping only when he stood between her and Sammy. The woman looked up, sweat coating her brow and making her slicked-back brown hair look even shinier. (Fuck, she was younger than he expected. Probably had a good few years before she even hit thirty.) “Not too many people can get anywhere near my head. But you made one huge mistake.” He held up his index finger. “Things never go that smooth when I’m around.”

“...Wait.” The woman slowed the desperate scrabbling she’d been doing through her belt pouches, and looked at him with what he sure hoped, for her sake, wasn't concern. “Are you saying you broke through my illusion and evaded all my attempts at killing you… Because you think it's unrealistic for you to be HAPPY?!” Logan let his shoulders sag as he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s- What are you, my therapist?” And when he looked back at her, she had a syringe in her hand. The scent of Sinister got stronger. “Wait, the hell is-”

She pressed the plunger down and gasped like she'd been pulled out of ice water. He lunges. She jumps back.

“Do you have a therapist?” Her voice was still unsteady, but she grinned, flashing bloody teeth. The flow of blood from her stomach had stopped. “Cause if not, I can probably help you find one. And when you get there, you can tell ‘em Siren sent-” She yelped and leaped out of the way of the concrete slab that shattered against the wall. “Hey! Rude!”

“Shut your damn mouth.” Logan growled and lunged again. She - Siren, really? Another one? - drew a pistol from her belt and fired. Logan ghosted the first three with little effort, but the fourth- Ah, shit. Too close to the kid for his liking. Better just take it. The bullet collided with his shoulder with a dull ting. Logan roared. Duck. Slice the gun. Useless. Catch her arm. Slice the stomach. Block the swing, take the headbutt - moron - both sets of claws through her shoulders into the wall.

Ding ding ding.

We have a winner. 

She cried out and struggled, but it was useless. 

“Why are you working with Sinister?” He snarled directly in her face. The bruising from the failed headbutt was already fading, but… Slower now. 

“Who?” Siren sputtered.

“The guy who hired you. Essex, or whatever he’s callin’ himself now - and I bet he gave you that fancy needle, too.” 

“A job’s a job.” She coughed. “Not all of us get a cushy mansion.”

“Not all of us use that as an excuse to hurt kids.” Logan shot back. He pulled his claws out and let her drop. She looked pale. If that shot let her heal like he thought it did, then she better hope it could fix all that. Not his monkeys, in any case. 

“If you ever want a taste of the good life…” He said, stepping back and retracting his claws. “Charles Xavier, he can help you.”

“Charles Xavier…” Siren’s voice was thick and wet as she reached into her vest. “Is a fucking hypocrite.” Logan realised what she was doing just in time. He dove over Sammy right as the explosion went off. 

…

…

…

The dust settled. Nothing moved. Then, the scuttle of smaller rocks as something shifted. A chunk of ceiling moved. Then, with a grunt of effort, Logan shoved it off and away. His hair was a mess, he was streaked with dirt and his own drying blood, his jacket was shredded and his shirt and jeans barely survived - but he was alive. 

And more importantly, so was she. 

“You alright, kid?” He asked, looking down. Sammy was curled into a tight ball at his feet, hands over her ears and trembling visibly. When he inhaled (a strange feeling, given that his lungs were still repairing themselves), what he smelled above all else, more than the blood, the accelerant, the rubble, was blind terror and tears. 

“Ah, geez.” Logan scratched at his neck and crouched down. “Hey there. Sammy, right?” She didn't move. “I think you’ve had a real lousy couple of days. Is that right?” She stayed curled up. He tilted his head. “I bet I know just the thing.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his comnlink. “I have her, Charles.”

“I heard. Your link must have turned on during the fight.” Charles’s voice - the real Charles. 

“Figured.” Logan shrugged. 

“Are you both alright?”

“I’m fine. Takes more than that to bring the ol’ Canucklehead down. The kid… she ain't hurt, but she's shaken up bad. Think you can get her parents on the line?”

“Of course.” Charles sounded relieved. “I’d stepped outside when I got your signal. Let me fetch them.”

“Thanks.” Logan said. “Oh, and, uh- Charles?”

“Yes?”

“I dunno how much you heard, but, uh…” Logan chewed the inside of his cheek. “What that Siren lady said? She's wrong. You saved all of us. … Especially me.” 

There were a few seconds of silence. Logan wondered if he had lost the signal. 

“Thank you, Logan.” Charles finally spoke. “Coming from you, that means more than I can say.” And then it was silent again, aside from the sound of a sliding door. And then Charles’s voice again, distantly. “Mr. and Mrs. Everett?”

“Is that-?” Jake sounded hesitant. 

“Sammy?!” Marcy sounded close to tears. 

“She's here.” Logan confirmed. 

“Oh, my baby-!” Marcy wailed. There was a jostling sound, and then her voice was much clearer. “Baby, Mama’s here, is that you?”

Sammy finally looked up.

“Hey, little mermaid!” Jack's voice, and it sounded like Marcy’s weeping was contagious. “The nice man’s gonna take you home, okay? Make sure you listen to him!”

Her big, green eyes welled up with fresh tears. 

“And then we’ll bake cinnamon cookies.” Marcy promised. “All day.” 

“All day.” Jack echoed.

“Why don't you stay on the line til we get back?” Logan said, then held the commlink out to Sammy. “Here, little darlin’. Hang on to this for me.” She blinked up at him, uncertain. He crouched down even lower and softened his voice. “It’s real this time. I promise.” She sniffled, and when he dropped the commlink into her open palm, clutched it to her chest.

“We love you, baby.” Marcy’s voice leaked out from her fingers.

“You’ll be home soon.” Jack added.

“Y’know,” Logan rocked back on his heels. “They’re not the only ones who missed you.” Sammy looked up again, her face tear-streaked and puffy. “I had someone who was so worried, he came all this way just to help me find ya’.” And off his belt, Logan pulled Thimble the Lion - a bit flattened from having been caught underneath him during the explosion, a little dirty, and maybe a bit torn, but otherwise intact. Sammy gasped and surged forward, gathering the toy against her chest. Logan smiled, then stood. 

“C’mon. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” He held out a hand to help her up (thankfully, his gloves were dark enough to hide any bloodstains). Sammy peered up from Thimble’s threadbare fur, looked at the hand, then shifted Thimble to the other side so she had a free arm to reach up with. She hiccuped. 

Well.

How the fuck did he say no to that?

“Alright, up ya’ go.” Logan said, ducking down to scoop her into the crook of his elbow. She nestled her head against his shoulder and soon, even with the revving of his motorcycle’s engine, was asleep.

******

The reunion was about as tearful as Logan expected it to be.He’d woken Sammy up when they got close. When they pulled in the driveway, she didn’t wait for the engine to cut off before she’d jumped off.

“Sammy!” Jack and Marcy cried, sprinting off the front step. They scooped her into her arms and collapsed on the lawn, holding her so tightly Logan couldn’t see her anymore. Charles wheeled out of the door, down the small step, and then moved to Logan’s side. 

“Well done, old friend.” He said with a smile. Logan nodded. 

“Just doing my job.” He replied, arms crossed. “Glad it’s over.” And both he and Charles smiled. 

“Oh, and Logan?” Charles spoke. Logan grunted.

“As I told you, we could hear what you and Siren were saying. We will be discussing it at your next session.” Logan opened his mouth to say something, then glanced over at Sammy and reconsidered his phrasing. 

“Sometimes, Charles, you can be a real pain in the- … Rear.”

Charles only laughed. Jack and Marcy looked up.

“Thank you.” Marcy sniffled, her cheek still pressed against her daughter’s hair. 

“Charles?” Jack nodded, then glanced back at his wife, who nodded. Jack faced forward again. “We want to take you up on it.” Logan tilted his head to the side, then glanced at Charles with an arched brow.

“She comin’ with us?” 

“Not yet.” Charles shook his head once. “But soon. We’ll make arrangements once they’ve all had some time to recover.” Logan looked back at the Everetts.

“Then why don’t you hang on to that commlink for a while?” He suggested. “It’s a direct line to the mansion. Anything happens again, we’ll be here before you know it.”

“Thank you.” Jack, this time, and his voice broke before he scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve. Sammy took advantage of the loosened grip and squirmed free, stumbled, then scurried to stand in front of Logan. He blinked, then crouched down.

“Hello, little lady.” He said. She studied him for a moment. He tilted his head. Then she carefully set Thimble down and reached for his face with both hands. He froze. Once again, he was hearing impossible voices.

But these weren’t voices he recognized.

Or- They were. One was. But- But he couldn’t be hearing it. It wasn’t possible. He’d… He’d thought he’d never hear it again. He shouldn’t be able to…

[Hello,] said a young girl’s voice. Shy and innocent. 

[Hm? Oh, good afternoon, my dear.] A man’s voice. Oh god. 

[What are you doing?] The girl asked. Logan struggled to breathe.

[I’m sitting, I imagine,] the man said. [Would you care to join me?] It hurt.

[But why are you sitting here?] The girl asked. [You can go.]

A moment of silence. Logan wasn’t even sure his heart was beating. 

[I’m waiting for someone.] The man said finally. 

[Who?] The girl asked.

Logan felt his chest constrict. 

[My son.] The man said. [James.] Logan’s eyes stung. [He’s a sweet boy. A strong boy. But he’s always hated being alone. I’d like to be here for him when he arrives, to help show him the way.] His voice sounded so different than Logan remembered. Had he remembered his father wrong, all these years?

[You must’ve waited real long.] The girl said. 

[I… I assume so.] The man said. [I’m not actually sure how long it’s been. I hope it’s been many, many years, though. I’d like him to have grown up by the time we see each other again. I… I hope he got the chance to do so.]

[Do you miss him?] The girl asks. Logan feels sick. 

Another silence.

[Yes.] The man says softly. [But I’m glad that I do.] And then Sammy steps back, and Logan snaps back to the present. She blinks up at him curiously, waiting for a reaction he couldn’t give her. He couldn’t move. 

“Logan?” Charles sounded a thousand miles away. A hand on his back. “Logan, are you alright?” He blinked, rocked back. He was replaying those words over and over again, as much as they hurt - desperately trying to cling to that voice. The first voice to ever love him. 

“Sammy, what did you do-?” Marcy asked, pulling her daughter into her arms.

“I’m so sorry-” Jack began, but Logan just shook his head. He swallowed, drew a steadying breath.

“Sammy, can you do me a favour?” He asked. She nodded, peeking out from her mother’s blouse. “You ever see him again… You tell him not to wait up.” And he turned and stood, waiting for Charles, and remained silent long after they got back to the mansion.

He had a lot to think about.

[artisticmesses]

Selfshiptober Day 1: Confession | Night

summary: Arata catches up with Mikoto after he gets out of work, the rain that comes after encourages Arata to say what he really feels.

word count: 914 words, 5,126 characters

a/n: this fic was based off of the prompt list by @/sennamybeloved! you can check out the prompt list here. also i promised @mukuberry fluff so…

”Hey, Mii-kun, wait up!” Arata would run after him, panting heavily as the painter didn’t go outside much and was carrying bags of freshly bought paint.

“Oh! Ara-kun, hey! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Mikoto smiled, turning around to face Arata and waving to him.

Arata would smile back, rushing towards Mikoto’s side, panting slightly. Arata was never the sporty type like Mikoto. He didn’t go on runs or work out on a daily basis since he was busy painting more of the time.

“Although,” Arata thought to himself, “I don’t mind spending more time with Mikoto is never a bad thing to me.”

”Ah, did you just come back from shopping? Is it more art supplies? What are you painting?” Mikoto would tilt his head like a dog looking for a treat.

“Heh, yeah. It’s fresh watercolor paints since I’m trying a new technique. Maybe…” He’d look at Mikoto with his blue eyes, “Maybe I’ll paint something cute. Like you.”

"Ehh? Like me?" Mikoto would blush slightly, scratching his cheek slightly with his free hand. "You think I'm cute?"

Arata would stare at Mikoto for a moment. He didn't mean to say that allowed. It was a simple slip, that's all. Yeah, he can just say it was a slip. Just a thing he thought sub-consciously. That Arata thought Mikoto was cute. No, not just cute. Handsome. Enthralling, even. But he could never say that to him. Not now. Not ever.

"..Yeah, but you know... I-It's nothing. I just think you're cute, that's all." Arata would chuckle awkwardly, fumbling with his hands.

"Oh! Well... It's just, you've said that to me before." Mikoto would make eye contact with Arata. "That it's nothing."

"...I- I do?" Arata would shiver slightly, nervously smiling. Mikoto can't find out. Not now. Not here.

Before Arata could answer, a droplet of rain hit the top of his head. The two men looked up at the sky, the grey clouds joining together and beginning to soak the two. Mikoto would quickly pull out a umbrella, grabbing Arata's hand and pulling him close. Very close.

"Ah, sorry about this, Ara-kun. I just didn't want you to get soaked." Mikoto would chuckle, noticing Arata's grip getting tighter.

"...It's okay. Just... don't let my hand go, okay, Mikoto?" Arata would look up at Mikoto with pleading eyes.

Mikoto would look surprised for a moment, before nodding silently. The two would walk for a couple of blocks, conversations ending as quickly as they started. Their hands were still clasped together tightly, as per Arata’s request. Soon enough, they got to the entrance of Mikoto’s apartment complex.

“Ah… This is my apartment.” Mikoto would look over at Arata with the same smile plastered on his face. “Do you want to come inside?”

“…Mikoto, can I tell you something?” Arata would ask in a shaky voice.

“Oh, of course! I’m here for you, Ara-kun.” Mikoto would turn to face Arata, “Whatever you need.”

Arata would take a deep breath, shaking slightly as he began to speak.

“Mikoto, we’ve known each other for a while… I know can trust you. I know a lot about you, actually.” Arata would look away for a brief moment.

“What I’m trying to say is that… I really like you, Mikoto. I want to be with you… but, not as just friends. I want… more. I love you.” Arata would squeeze Mikoto’s hand tightly.

“…Arata.” Makoto would say softly, a light blush dusting his face and his mouth agape.

Arata could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, preparing to drip down like a pouring rain. There was no chance they could ever go back to normal after this. What would even be the possibility of Mikoto liking him? He doesn’t even like guys. He may not even like Arata anymore. He might just be a freak to Mikoto now.

“Arata! Hey, what’s wrong?” Mikoto would speak in a soft voice. He’d put his hand on the painter’s tear-stained cheek and rubbed it softly.

“I u-understand… if you d-don’t want to be f-friends anymore. If you want.. To get away f-from me.. And if I’m gross to you.” Arata attempted to speak through his tears, his words coming in between gasps and sobs.

“Ara-kun, I love you too.”

“…What?” Arata would stare into Mikoto’s greyish blue eyes.

"Can I show you what I mean?” Mikoto would say, blushing slightly and tearing up.

“…Yes, yes, please. Please, Mii-kun, I’m begging you-“

Arata’s words would get cut off as the ombré-haired man pressed his lips onto the brunette’s. Arata would drop the bags of paint as he wrapped his arms around Mikoto. Mikoto would the same, dropping his umbrella, allowing the two to get soaked by the rain. For a moment, it was if the two were in their own world where it was just the two of them. They didn’t have to worry about the rain or work, they just had each other. Only each other.

Eventually, the two would pull away for air.

"...Thank you, Mikoto. Thank you so much." Arata would smile at Mikoto.

Mikoto would smile back at Arata. "You're welcome, Ara-kun..."

"Should we head inside before we get more soaked?" Arata would chuckle slightly, picking up the bags of paint.

"Yeah, we should." Mikoto would put up the umbrella, holding out his free hand for Arata to hold.

Arata would grab Mikoto's hand tightly, intertwining their fingers as they entered the building together.

Finally together.

[good-beans]

I keep getting more and more milgram thoughts I want to post about asfgvbb but I need to wait until work/school stuff is taken care of before I delve into writeups😤

I've also started brainstorming for my Lights, Camera, Sing Your Sins section hehe

[kousaka-ayumu]

Just a one-shot that I made.

[familiasworn]

"Miss Haruhime--!!" Mikoto entered their shared room, excitement coursing through her every nerve. She'd opened the door so suddenly that it startled the poor Renard, who was practicing her sewing. Oops, but at least she didn't stab herself with her needle!

She hurried over and helped her to her feet, prompting her to set her sewing things down. "Please, come with me!"

Oh, this felt like old times, when Mikoto and the other orphaned children helped her leave her home at night to play! Haruhime smiled and followed Mikoto down the stares until they were out in the back of Hearthstone--

--How pretty!!

There were string lights set up, each little glow emitted by a small magic stone, creating a starry-like appearance. She turned to Mikoto to make a comment about it, but stopped short when she noticed the other girl holding out her hand. "M-miss Mikoto?"

"...H-Haruhime," no suffix, a light blush dusting her face, "would you like to...dance with me?"

Haruhime's ears perked straight up, as did her tail, and her face became a darker shade of red than the other girl's. "Y--Yes, I think I would like that...v-very much...Mikoto..."

[ace-does-stuff]

late

summary: Mikoto can only mourn that she didn't figure it out sooner

tags: double drabble, canon compliant, grief/mourning

authors note: sometimes you gotta write fic about sasuke's mom lest you go crazy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60470647

Mikoto mourns Kushina like a lover.

Whoever pointed it out was right.

And Mikoto hates the fact that they were right, that she is mourning the loss of her love and the loss of her friend in the same breath.

She spends countless nights, sleepless, staring up at the ceiling with her husband in bed with her. She married him out of obligation. She married him because she had to. She has two lovely sons because of him, but did she love him?

She doesn't know.

She knows she wouldn't mourn Fugaku the same way that she mourns Kushina.

The kind of grief that kills and suffocates and drowns slows her every step. It courses through her veins. It kills her very slowly. She wonders if dreaming of dead friends is normal. She knows Fugaku would never disclose if he dreams of Minato.

When she sits at her grave she sits in all black with roses in her hands and a veil over her face because nobody can know it's her who never had a chance to say those three words to Kushina.

Quietly, she whispers, "I love you."

A little bit louder, she begs to see her once again.

[fuutakaijyama]

TIT MAN?! — DRABBLE

(slightly suggestive)

guys who love your chest, whether it's big or small, squishy or firm he still loves it

He’d chuckle as he pushed you deeper into the mattress, face buried deep between your chest as he started to giggle like a child.

“Hehe, they're so squishy.” He’d giggle into your chest, kicking his feet up in the air as he looked at you, face still deep in your chest.

“They’re so nice, I wish we could stay like this for longer.” He flipped you over to your back, laying on top of you still giggling like a maniac, hugging your back clinging onto you like a bear or koala.

“We should stay like this forever…”

DENJI, ryuji ken, yoshida hirofumi, MIKOTO KAYANO, MIKEY, haitani rindou, CHIFUYU MATSUNO, BAJI KEISUKE + ur favs !

[bandousama]

Hello hello! I hope im not bothering you but i really love your mikoto x reader fics(even if there only two BUT THEY ARE SOO GOODD) I would like to ask if you can do mikoto x reader where they were walking and at some point they saw two cats (which looked very similar to them :DD ) They took them home amd some fluff things happend :3, you dont have to do this request! Im sorry if i write to much and my English is bad 😭have a good day/night!! (I may do more request if you dont mind :3)

୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ‘companions’

ft. mikoto suoh x reader * ˚ ✦

a/n: hello there 👋 you’re not bothering me at all, love it when people request! i’m loving this idea so i hope you like what i wrote for you. and don’t worry, your English is perfectly fine

one sunny afternoon, mikoto and y/n were strolling through the park when they stumbled upon an unusual sight - two cats that resembled them almost eerily.

one was a fiery-looking feline with short, red fur, resembling mikoto, while the other was a black cat with piercing eyes, reminiscent of his girlfriend. "hey, look at that," mikoto pointed out, a wry smirk on his face. "they kinda remind me of us."

y/n giggled softly, nodding in agreement. "yeah, the black one's definitely got my aloof, brooding vibe," she remarked, glancing playfully at mikoto. "and the red one's got that lazy, laid-back attitude."

mikoto chuckled, amused by the comparison. "you're right, those two are definitely our furry counterparts," he said, watching the cats with an amused glint in his eyes.

as they stood there watching the cats, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead. the black cat flicked its ears, its sharp eyes fixating on mikoto and y/n. the red tabby, in turn, opened one lazy eye to glare at them before closing it again.

"see, they're even glaring at us like we glare at the world," mikoto commented, his smirk widening.

y/n nodded, her expression mirroring mikoto's. "it's like they've got our mannerisms down to a T," she said with a small laugh. "maybe it's a sign we're meant to take them home."

mikoto raised an eyebrow. "you really want to adopt two cats that remind us of ourselves? that's asking for trouble, don't you think?"

y/n looked up at mikoto, her eyes filled with pleading. "but just think of all the chaos we can cause with these two. it'll be like having two mini versions of us running around the apartment."

mikoto let out a weary sigh, knowing he was slowly caving in. "you're impossible to say no to, you know that?" he grumbled, raking a hand through his hair.

her face lit up with a triumphant grin, knowing she had him roped in. "so that's a yes, right?" she asked excitedly, bouncing on her toes.

mikoto rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tugged upwards in a begrudging smile. "yeah, yeah. we'll take them home," he relented. "but don't expect me to be the one cleaning up after them."

her eyes glittering with joy. "fine, i'll clean their litter box. but you'll be the one chasing them around trying to stop them from scratching up the furniture."

mikoto's smirk returned, a challenge gleaming in his eyes. "you're on. i'll have those cats trained in no time."

with the two cats - who had mysteriously taken the names king and red - in tow, mikoto and y/n walked home, their laughter and playful banter filling the air. their home would never be the same again.

[good-beanswrites]

Kazui adopts Amane

Kazui marries Shidou

Amane goes ballistic

LMAO she can never be free 💀💀💀I shifted things to work as a single silly scene, but omg it was incredibly fun picturing a feature-length comedy of Amane trying increasingly ridiculous ways to sabotage Kazui's wedding. For this scene, though, it was fun enough picturing what a quirky life these two would live on their own 😂

When Kazui told Amane the good news, she did a victory lap around his apartment. It was a silent, stoic march that made him look on in worry, but she assured him it was all in celebration. 

Now the day had finally arrived. She checked the clock, eagerly awaiting the newest arrival to the household. Kazui said he’d still be taking things slowly, but asking this mystery partner to move in was a huge step if you asked her.

And she was thrilled. No one had listened to her voice throughout all of Milgram, she’d been put through trial after trial, but things had finally made the switch for the better. She was getting her reward for her behavior. The prisoners listened to her pleas and allowed her to go home with Kazui. She’d have no more controlling wardens and sinful doctors hounding her all the time. She’d have a picture perfect home. She went from not having any kind fathers, and by the end of the night she’d practically have two.

Kazui had been a bit vague about this new man he’d been getting serious with. He said Amane may not approve of him, but she should give him a try. She denied all his concerns – she knew Kazui was likely still embarrassed about moving in with a man in the first place. So, as any perfect daughter would do, she proved her acceptance by reciting some facts that she’d researched about homosexuals. She wore the shirt with cats and rainbows that Mahiru had bought for her. In the days leading up to their meeting, she asked Kazui for the man’s name so she could pray for him before bed each night. 

Each time, however, Kazui found a way to skirt around the conversation and avoid telling her the name. That was no issue to her. It wasn’t anything new since coming to live with him. Sometimes he planned on cooking noodles for dinner, but felt the need to speak vaguely on the topic until the dishes were on the table. Sometimes he needed to fix a home appliance, but crept around the place with the type of secrecy you’d expect from a burglar. Amane was learning that he was simply not a forthcoming man, and that wasn’t anything to worry about.

She checked the clock again. And again. Kazui had come home late from his shift, and was busy showering in the bedroom. He said he’d hurry out, but she was thrilled with the responsibility of answering the door. She would get to welcome their new guest into the home and make a good first impression. She would do this perfectly. 

She paced the kitchen, keeping her arms behind her back like Kazui had a tendency to do. She crept to the door, pressing her ear against it. Hearing nothing, she resumed her stiff pacing of the kitchen. She heard the water shut off, and worried Kazui would be out in time to steal away her chance at the welcome speech she’d been rehearsing. 

But then – there it was. The polite knock on the door.

“I’LL GET IT!” 

She flew across the room, throwing the door open. Her beaming expression immediately melted away.

“Oh. It’s you.” Kirisaki Shidou stood in the doorway, smiling down at her in his sweet, infuriating way. Amane had seen a few of the others since everything had ended, but she was struck with how odd he looked in casual clothing. Her frown deepened. She much preferred the prison uniform for him. 

“Hello, Amane-chan.” 

She shifted the door an inch, showing her intention to close it momentarily. “I’m sure Kazui-san would appreciate your visit, but we have other plans tonight. You should come back another time. We’re expecting a very, very important guest.”

“Are you now?” Shidou’s smile didn’t fade, like she hoped it would. Instead, it almost seemed to grow warmer. 

Amane moved the door another inch closed. She felt rage swirling in her chest. What if Kazui’s partner showed up now? What if her speech was ruined because Shidou had absolutely no manners and wouldn’t leave when asked?

“We are. I’m terribly sorry–” the look on her face communicated just how sorry she really was “–but you’ll have to leave. It would be horribly rude to our guest if you’re still here.”

“I see… you don’t wish to be rude to this guest.”

She shifted it more closed. “Precisely.”

“Well, then, I suppose I can come in? It would be rude to make me wait out here, would it not?”

Amane scoffed. “I just said –” Her eyes widened. He smiled. 

Reaching above her, Kazui opened the door all the way. His voice boomed. “Shidou-kun, I’m so glad you could make it!”

Amane looked at Shidou’s expression. Then Kazui’s. Then back to Shidou’s. She took a steady breath. So this is how it was, mm? 

She grabbed the edge of the door and slammed it shut.

[myosotis-garden]

hai hai may i request fuuta kajiyama and mikoto kayano (separately) x reader and just. cuddle . thankyou

Fuuta Kajiyama & Mikoto Kayano x GN!Reader (separately) 

Fluff (HC + Small Drabble)

Cw : none

Ty for the request!! This is my first ever, so I'm kinda nervous, I hope you'll like it. It's a bit short, but i hope it's still fine.

Fuuta Kajiyama

Even with his rough exterior, I'm sure he is the type to love cuddles, bro’s love language is physical touch !

He definitely comes for hugs after he is frustrated after losing at whatever games he is playing.

He sighs as he comes close to you with a frown “I lost again against these losers.”

“Oh no..” You say with an empathetic smile as he comes to lay close to you, putting his arms around your waist and his head in your chest.

He then goes on to rant about his game and how it went, using terms you probably don’t understand, as your arms embrace him gently, fingers playing with his hair to relax him.

He also probably loves cuddling to you as he plays, just laying in your arms as he plays, occasionally raging, but your presence relaxing his mind.

Despite all this he’ll never admit that he loves cuddles

(Tsundere boy…)

As you go to him and ask for cuddles he’ll be like “Yeah i guess” while playing all annoyed (he was in “yipee” mode in his head)

Pretend to be offended at his annoyed tone and try to leave, and he’ll be like “Noooo come back please :(“ 

Give this boy cuddles, please. He deserves it.

I feel like he would be a human heater, just really warm and comfortable cuddles perfect for cold days.

It was 2am, or maybe 3… You were in bed while Fuuta was still playing video games, you had tried to bring him to bed a few times but nothing worked so you gave up and went to sleep. As you were about to fall asleep, you hear Fuuta sighing and coming under the blanket. You turn around and meet his face close to yours.

“Hi there..” You say in a sleepy voice. Though he doesn’t respond, he just keeps staring at you, he looks like he wants to say something but is too shy to.

“Mh..? Oh, I see, cuddles?” You say with a smile. He simply nods and comes closer to you, his arms wrapping around your body and head going in your neck. You also put your arms around him, your hand moving up and down his back in a relaxing gesture. His muscles immediately relaxes and he sighs, feeling warm and happy in your embrace.

After a while of talking, his voice gets lower and lower, almost inaudible. You giggle a bit as you hear his sleepy voice. "Goodnight?" You say with a smile.

“Mh, G’night..” he responds as he falls asleep in your embrace almost immediately.

Mikoto Kayano

This man loves. cuddles. like a lot. At every occasion he gets, he will ask for cuddles. You guys just woke up? Cuddles. You’re eating lunch? Cuddles. You’re working? Cuddles.

And he is not ashamed of admitting it.

He definitely needs a 30-minute cuddles session when he comes back from work to “recharge”

He doesn't even take time to change or eat or whatever he just wants cuddles like right now or else he’ll die.. (<- his words)

After cuddling, he is all cheered up and happy, a big smile on his face and a shining aura coming from him.

"Thank you so much, love!" He says with the brightest smile, and you can’t help but smile and give him a pat on the head even though it was late at night and you just wanted some sleep.

I feel like he’d be “romantic” in those cuddles sessions, whispering sweet things to you about how pretty you are and how much he loves you..

(I have my personal HC that he is a lover/romantic boy…)

Mikoto just came home from work. It was late, so late that you were already in bed. Mikoto approaches from the bedroom you were sleeping in. He gently knocks, not getting any responses he comes in, approaching from the bed while making sure not to make any noises. As you feel him sitting on the bed, you lazily turn around, your sleepy eyes opening.

“Hello…” you say with a tired voice.

“Sorry love, did I wake you up?” he replies. You shake your head, opening your arms, inviting him to cuddle with you. Without thinking, he immediately leans into your embrace, letting out a long sigh, definitely tired from his day. 

“Oh maybe you wanted to go change..?” You say, but Mikoto just shakes his head.

“I only want cuddles with my love right now” He smiles brightly, tightening his arms around you. You can’t help but blush a bit, his sweetness making your heart skip a beat.

As you both cuddle, he talks about his day, about things that happened, and some projects he has. Even though you tried your best to stay awake and listen to his sweet voice, sleep got the better of you, and you fell asleep. When he realized it, Mikoto simply smiled and kissed your forehead, still laying in your warm embrace and listening to your heartbeat.

[mourning-city]

Fanfiction Requests:

Rules:

Please be specific about the request, as well as what season/event you want the oneshot/drabble to be set in. 

I will do fluff and angst. I will do NSFW speech (jokes, but also think hellaverse/Chainsaw man), but NO SPICE/SMUT

Characters cannonly 14 and below will only be platonic. 

Characters that are 16+ can be requested for romantic.

If a character you want is not on this list, feel free to go ahead and submit a request for them, as well as an alternative that is on the list just in case

☆Fandoms and Characters I write for listed below☆

My Hero Academia

Shota Aizawa

FatGum/Taishiro Toyomitsu

Hawks/Keigo Takami

Mirio Togata

Tamaki Amajiki

Deku/Izuku Midoriya 

Eijiro Kirishima

Mina Ashido

Kyoka Jiro

Tsuyu Asui

Hanta Sero

Mezu Shoji

Hitoshi Shinso

Haikyuu

Shoyo Hinata

Yu Nishinoya

Asahi Azumane 

Koushi Sugawara

Daichi Sawamura 

Keishin Ukai

Kenma Kozume

Yaku Morisuke 

Tetsuro Kuro

Keiji Akaashi

Takanobu Aone

No Guns Life

Juzo Inui

Chainsaw Man

Mary Steinberg

Tetsuro (Familial/platonic only)

Denji

Aki Hayakawa

Angel Devil

Power

Kobeni Higashiyama

Kishibe

Himeno

Hirokazu Arai

Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic

Alibaba

Morgiana/Morg

Sinbad 

Ja’far

Masrur

Judal

Sharrkan

Magi: The Adventures of Sinbad

Spartos

Aladdin (Familial/platonic only)

Sinbad

Helluva Boss

Mytras

Ja'far (Familial/platonic only)

Blitzo

Loona

Stalos

Octavia

Moxxie x Millie (together only)

Verosika Mayday

Striker

Sallie May

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington

Robin Buckley

Eddie Munson

Gareth Emerson 

Jonathan Byers

Argyle

Eleven/Jane (platonic/familial only)

Max Mayfield (platonic/familial only)

Will Byers (platonic/familial only)

Lucas Sinclair (platonic/familial only)

Erica Sinclair (platonic/familial only)

Mike Wheeler (platonic/familial only)

Hunter X Hunter

Gon Freecss (platonic/familial only)

Kurapika Kurta

Leorio Paradinight

Killua Zoldyck (platonic/familial only)

Illumi Zoldyck

Shalnark

Chrollo Lucifer

Kite 

Ging Freecss

K project

Misaki Yata

Mikoto Suoh

MushiShi

Yashiro Isana

Eric Sōlt

Yō Chitose

Masaomi Dewa

Shōhei Akagi

Saburōta Bandō

Rikio Kamamoto

Seri Awashima

Anna Kushina (Familial/platonic only)

Ginko

The Case Study of Vanitas

Vanitas

Noe

Roland

Jeanne

Dominique De Sade

Dante

The Great Pretender

Makoto Edamura

Laurent Theirry

Abby/Abigail

Paula Dickins

Vinland Saga

Canut 

Thorfinn

Ylva

Enar

Snake

Bjorn

Askeladd

Thorkell

Asgeir

BNA

Shiro Ogami

Marie Itami

Pinga

Alan Sylvesta

Soul Eater

Soul Evans

Black Star

Death the kid/Kid

Maka Albarn

Tsubaki Nakatsukasa

Blair

Crona

Eruka Frog

Justin Law

Demon Slayer

Tanjiro Kamado

Inosuke Hashibira

Genya Shinazugawa

Giyu Tomioka

Kyōjurō Rengoku

Tengen Uzui

Zom 100: Bucket List of the Dead

Akira Tendo

Kenichiro Ryuzaki

Higurashi Kanta

Shizuka Mikazuki

Wind Breaker:

Jo Togame

Haruka Sakura

Hajime Umemiya

Hayato Suō

Kyōtarō Sugishita

Akihiko Nirei

Death Note

L Lawliet

Light Yagami

Touta Matsuda

Misa Amane

Delicious in Dungeon

Namari

Laios

Marcille

Shenshi

Chilchuck

Kabru

Blue Eye Samurai

Mizu

Teigen

Akemi

Ringo

Dorohedoro

Shin

Noi

Ebisu

Kaiman

Professor Kasukabe

Fujita

Arcane

Vi

Jinx

Ekko

Vander

Silco

Jayce

Viktor

Mel

Sevika

Caitlyn

Steb

Scar

{List will be updated/added on to through out time}

Loris

Clagger

Mylo

Megalo Box

Season one

Joe/Junk Dog

Yuri

Yukiko Shirato

Sachiro (Familial/platonic only)

Oichi (Familial/platonic only)

Santa (Familial/platonic only)

Bonjiri (Familial/platonic only)

Season two

Joe/Nomad

Yukiko Shirato

Yuri

Mara

Sachiro

Oichi

Santa

Bonjiri

Mio

[09johndoe]

Hi! For the fic drabble request, is it okay if I request something with John trying to do something nice for Mikoto to cheer him up?

(Chapter 2) Aaaaa yay this was super fun ty ty

[aegisarfefb]

Fates Week Day 1: Hoshido

Hoshido is confusing to Corrin to say the least. The many different rules, the completely different ways they were expected to act in certain situations, what was and wasn’t allowed, the intricacies of several ceremonies they were expected to have mastered by age twelve...

It’s all a bit much to take in, especially for someone that arrived to the country only a few days ago. And sure, there were people, Hinoka and Ryoma especially, who were more than willing to help out but there was just one thing that has been weighing on their mind ever since Corrin arrived in Shirasagi. One that came from their very instincts and senses, something animalistic deep inside of them.

Only Queen Mikoto feels truly related to them.

Something about her just feels different but they couldn’t point the finger on it if they tried. Deep down Corrin can tell that her claim to be their mother seems true but the fact that they cannot articulate as to why drives them mad. It wasn’t like this with Ryoma, Hinoka, Takumi or Sakura. And it also wasn’t like this with Xander, Camilla, Leo or Elise. There were questions coming up they did not want answered...

______________________________________________

for @fates-week Day 1 Hoshido! I've always liked the idea of Corrin (and Manaketes in general) being far more animalistic and having senses that ordinary humans don't have so in this little double drabble, we have Corrin being confused because they can tell by pheromones who is and isn't related to them, which could be the cause for shenanigans later :3c

Also literally posted this on midnight just before Day 2 started slkdfjdlfkgjflkdjh