#POWER COUPLE AHEAD

[phoenixcatch7]

Man, I want shapeshifter cap SO BAD.

I want to see a Billy that really leans into the wonder of the world, the million paths a child could take in their life.

I want to see a Billy that wants to try everything, at least once.

A Billy that looks at all the people who spit at him, deride him, pity him, dismiss him, ignore him, because he has no future, no prospects, a child in the gutter and say no. I'm going to grow up to be whoever I want to be.

And a captain marvel that says you're going to be amazing.

Billy taking the premise of captain marvels form - his ideal self, a blank slate for Billy to paint his bright colours, the person he wants to be deep inside - and dialling that freedom up to eleven.

A dancer, a dinosaur, a train conductor, a tiger, an ice cream maker, a butterfly, an astronaut, a shark, a college student, a Tamaranean, a mouse, a scuba diver, an elephant, a doctor, a moose, a race car driver, a dog.

A child wanting to see the world.

If you want to find captain marvel, well first you've got to try his comm, probably a couple times.

Then you've got to go to fawcett, hope he's there and not saving the yetis from a salamander invasion in a different dimension.

You've got to ask around, because it often goes by word of mouth here, no matter what technology you bring. Don't worry, it'll spread very quickly, but if you're in a hurry you can find his commemorative statue and leave an offering. No one knows if it really works, but it's a good way to pass the time and feel productive.

Soon, a face will peel out of the crowd. It's always familiar, but it's never the same one.

Wait for the flash of lightning in a cloudless sky.

And then you will find captain marvel.

[honestlyvan]

Looking at this tweet:

and thinking about how I actually did this to Prime Wheeljack on my second viewing, deciding that he has to deal with fuckoff arm and wrist pain like I do

except he fucking did it to himself, because of course he did -- all of his integrated weaponry is custom, with his engineering background meant to primarily support hand tools, his initial loadout was configured for near-recoilless weaponry like Bumblebee and Smokescreen, but running around doing commando blackops shit (in his mind) necessitated larger firepower and there were no medics around to finger-wag him out of doing whatever upgrades he wanted so now all of his weaponry is a grade or two stronger than his structural components should on paper be able to handle.

As a result his whole upper body has a ton of microfractures from magnetic shear and recoil -- nothing that his self-repair can't handle, but just like with humans, supportive member damage doesn't heal back up to be stronger without very specific kind of physical therapy to accompany it. As a result Wheeljack has actually gained mass and lost a lot of the flexibility and aerodynamic and balance qualities of racer frames, and is maintaining his ability to do trick driving largely through just. Doing it, lmao, and not thinking about his worsening health.

[tortoise-teapot]

i'm like a real good writer

[constarlations]

So...are you doing timeskip art for all of tje trainers??? Bc I am absolutely in awe of your art ♡

OMG THANK YOU!!! And yes I’m planning to do the majority of them (well all the protags up to gen 6-7 (tho Elio and Selene are teenagers in the timeskip in Blueberry academy so idk if it counts but yeee)) so I’m excited to share more about them tho :D

[thornshadowwolf]

I don't remember why but I dreamed about looking up the common religions in different regions of Thailand last night

[glitchdollmemoria]

yknow the cool thing about having a ptsd induced bad dream is it gives me more motivation to go watch cozy movies and eat comfort food til i feel better

[toastsnaffler]

gooood morning my meds and painkillers are working and I got 2 more hours of sleep I feel so good right now let's see how long I can go before I crash wooohoooooo!!!!

[d1stalker]

Undercover Flames [Logan Howlett]

Summary: It was supposed to be easy: infiltrate the gala, gather intel, and report back. But when a mission takes a deadly turn, Logan is forced to confront his deepest fears as he races to save the woman who means more to him than life itself.

PART ONE OF TWO (part two here)

Warnings: Angst, kidnapping, canon-level violence, Logan goes feral, graphic descriptions, lot's of fighting, feels

WC: 10.8k - MASTERLIST

------

A black limousine pulls up to the grand entrance of the sprawling estate, its tires crunching on the gravel driveway. The mansion ahead is bathed in golden light, a beacon of opulence against the darkening sky. Inside, Logan’s gaze shifts to the woman beside him, his fellow teammate and the only person who can keep up with his banter. You adjust the diamond necklace around your neck, the gemstones glinting in the dim light. Logan has seen you in countless situations—on missions, during training, in the midst of battle—but tonight, in that floor-length black gown, you look like someone who belongs in this world of wealth and power. You look beautiful.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, Howlett,” you quip, catching him staring. A smirk plays on your lips as you adjust to fix your hair.

Logan grunts, pulling at the collar of his tuxedo. “Never seen you so dolled up before. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“I’m full of surprises,” you tease.

The two of you have been dancing around something deeper for years, hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and witty comebacks. But tonight, with both of you playing the roles of a married couple, the lines between reality and pretense are bound to feel thinner than ever.

Logan’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his gaze softening as he takes in the way the dress hugs your figure, the way your hair frames your face. You catch the look, and for a split second, the playful atmosphere between you falls away, replaced by a charged silence that neither of you knows how to break.

The driver opens the door, jolting you back to your senses, and Logan steps out, extending a hand to help you out of the car. You take it, your touch sending a familiar shiver down his spine. He holds onto your hand for just a beat longer than necessary, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nods, his grip tightening slightly on your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

As the doors to the mansion swing open, you’re greeted by the sight of a grand ballroom filled with the elite of society. Men in tailored suits and women in sparkling gowns mingle under chandeliers, their laughter and conversations blending into a hum of affluence. Yet beneath the glittering surface, Logan can sense the undercurrent of danger, the same instinct that has kept him alive for over two centuries. The people here aren’t just the wealthy—they’re the orchestrators of a new threat to mutants, a group so powerful that even the X-Men have to tread carefully.

“Stick close to me,” Logan murmurs as you step into the room. “These people are more dangerous than they look.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, your arm looped through his as you make your way through the crowd. “You don’t have to tell me twice. But remember, we’re supposed to be madly in love.”

He lets out a low chuckle, one that only you can hear. “Right. Madly in love.”

His words hang in the air between you, loaded with a meaning neither of you dares to acknowledge.

The two of you move deeper into the ballroom, and you can feel the weight of several eyes on you. It’s no surprise—Logan’s rugged demeanor and your striking appearance make for a captivating combination—nevertheless, you both know better than to let your guard down. This place is a viper’s nest, and any wrong move could cost you your lives.

“There they are,” you whisper, nodding subtly toward a group of older men gathered near the center of the room. “Our targets.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he focuses on them, recognizing the group from the briefings. “Time to make some friends.”

With practiced ease, you and Logan approach the group, slipping seamlessly into their conversation. You introduce yourselves as a wealthy couple from out of town, interested in investing in the right causes. It doesn’t take long before the men welcome you into their circle, eager to impress and share their twisted ideals.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels, was it?” one of the men, a tall, thin figure with silver hair and a sharp jawline, inquires. His eyes are cold and calculating, a predator sizing up his prey. “What brings you to our little gathering tonight?”

“Opportunities,” you reply, a hint of seduction in your tone. “My husband and I are always looking for the right people to align ourselves with. When we heard about your… endeavors, we couldn’t resist.”

Logan wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a show of possessiveness that feels all too natural. “My wife’s got a keen eye for business,” he adds for extra persuasion, “And we’ve been hearing a lot about your group. Sounds like you’ve got big plans.”

The man’s eyes flick between the two of you, as if his suspicions still linger. “Plans indeed,” he says slowly. “But only for those who share our vision. Tell me, Mr. Daniels, what is it that you despise most?”

“Weakness,” Logan growls, his eyes meeting the man’s without flinching. “In this world, you’re either strong enough to survive, or you’re not. And I don’t have time for the ones who can’t keep up.”

A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes spreads across the man’s face. “I see we understand each other.”

You feel Logan’s hand tighten on your waist, his body tense with barely contained aggression. He’s playing the part, but you know how much he hates being in the company of people like this—people who would kill without remorse, all to maintain some sense of superiority.

“And what about you, Mrs. Daniels?” the older man continues, turning his attention to you. “Do you share your husband’s views?”

You meet his gaze with unwavering confidence, channeling all the poise you have. “Absolutely. There’s no place in this world for those who refuse to evolve. We believe in survival of the fittest.”

That seems to do the trick, the men in the circle nodding approvingly. “Well said, Mrs. Daniels. You two might just be exactly what we need.”

Another man in the group, stockier and with a thick, gray beard, leans in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “And what do you think of the mutant problem?”

You exchange a brief glance with Logan, knowing that this is the moment of truth. If you say the wrong thing, it could blow your cover, but if you’re too vague, they might not trust you enough to share any details of their plans.

“I think they’ve had their time,” Logan says, false contempt bleeding from his words, “and it’s time someone put them in their place.”

The stocky man’s eyes light up with approval, his grin widening. “Exactly what we like to hear. You see, we’re not just talking about containment anymore.” He pauses, “We’re talking about eradication.”

Your stomach turns at the cold-blooded tone in his voice, but you keep your expression neutral.

“Eradication, you say?”

The silver-haired man nods. “A necessary step. Mutants are a threat to the natural order, and if we don’t act now, they’ll overrun us. But we have a plan—one that will send a message to the world.”

Logan’s jaw clenches, his fists itching to unsheathe his claws and tear through this evil group of people. But he forces himself to stay calm, “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” he manages to get out through gritted teeth.

“We do,” the silver-haired man replies, his eyes gleaming with malice. “And with the right support, we can make it happen. Imagine a world free of mutants, where humanity can thrive without fear.”

You hum in feigned agreement. “Tell us more,” you prompt, leaning in as if genuinely interested. “How do you plan to pull this off?”

Glances are exchanged among the men, a clear sign of their satisfaction with the interest you seem to show.

“It’s quite simple, really,” the stocky man begins. “We’ve been gathering resources and allies from around the world. The most powerful minds, the wealthiest families—all united by a common goal.”

“And once we’ve secured enough support,” the silver-haired man continues, “we’ll make our move. We’ll target key mutant populations, taking them out in a way that will serve as a warning to others. Public displays, executions—whatever it takes to make them fear us.”

You keep your voice steady, despite the chill that runs down your spine, as you reply, “That’s… quite an undertaking.”

The men chuckle, mistaking your hesitation for awe. “It is. But it’s necessary. And with people like you on our side, we’ll be unstoppable.”

Logan smirks. “Count us in.”

The men smile, delighted with what they believe is newfound support. Logan hates every second of it—despises having to play along with these monsters. But he knows you both have to get more intel before you can make a move. The mission has to come first, even if it means playing nice with the enemy.

“Excuse us,” you say smoothly, grabbing Logan’s hand and glancing at him with a look that says it’s time to go. “We need to discuss a few things, but we’ll be in touch.”

The men nod, distracted by their own plotting as you and Logan step away, moving toward one of the less populated hallways. As soon as you’re out of earshot, Logan exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“I need to tell Scott what we just heard,” you murmur quietly, “They’re planning something big, and we don’t have much time.”

Logan nods, his hand squeezing yours as you walk down the hallway. “I’ll keep watch. Make it quick.”

You find a secluded spot near a corner, pulling out the small communicator you’ve hidden in your purse. Quickly, you begin to relay the crucial information to Scott and Hank back at the X-Mansion, your voice hushed but urgent as you detail the plans you’ve overheard. Logan stands nearby, his senses on high alert, his gaze sweeping the hallway for any sign of trouble.

It’s too quiet.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, instincts prickling with the sense that something is wrong. He turns to you, about to suggest wrapping things up when he hears it—a faint noise, like the subtle shifting of fabric, imperceptible to anyone without enhanced hearing.

Logan’s eyes dart toward the source of the sound, muscles tensing as he spots movement down the hall. “We’ve got company,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

You quickly finish your transmission, tucking the communicator back into its spot in your purse. “How many?”

“Too many,” Logan mutters, his claws itching to come out. “We need to move. Now.”

It’s too late. A group of security guards rounds the corner before either of you can make a break for it. Their eyes lock onto you with suspicion, and you can see the realization dawning in their expressions. Logan immediately steps in front of you, his body a solid wall of protection.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” one of the guards says, his hand resting on the weapon at his hip. “Who are you?”

Logan forces a grin, trying to buy some time. “Just lost our way. We were headin’ back to the ballroom.”

The guard’s eyes narrow, evidently not buying it. “I don’t think so. You two don’t seem to belong here.”

Another guard steps forward before Logan has time to respond, pulling out a device that emits a faint, ominous hum. The man waves it over you, and Logan’s heart sinks as the device beeps loudly, flashing red.

“Mutants,” the guard spits, his voice filled with disgust as he steps closer, his hand reaching out to grab you. “We’ve got ourselves some freaks here, boys.”

A wave of panic surges through you, but you shove it down, focusing on the cosmic energy you can feel crackling at your fingertips. Summoning all your strength, you swing a fist, aiming to land a powerful, energy-charged punch straight into the guard’s face.

But just as you make your move, another guard from your other side grabs your wrist mid-swing and your other arm, twisting them behind your back with brutal precision. The cosmic energy fizzles out instantly, your powers rendered useless by the anti-mutant handcuffs that snap around your wrists with a harsh click. The cold metal bites into your skin, and you feel immense fear crawl its way through your body as you realize how vulnerable you are without your powers, or the use of your arms.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” the guard sneers in your ear, his grip on your arm painfully tight as he shoves you forward. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

Logan’s eyes widen in fury as he sees the guard cuff you, his body trembling with the effort to keep his rage in check. “Let her go,” he snarls, his voice dangerously heavy.

The guard only grins, tightening his hold on you. “Or what, freak? You gonna bark? Gonna bite?”

Logan’s claws shoot out with a metallic shink, the sound echoing through the hallway. He takes a step forward, the feral side of him failing to suppress itself as he glares at the guards with deadly intent. “Last warning. Let. Her. Go.”

Instead of backing down, the guards react with eager viciousness. The one holding you shoves you hard against the wall, his leg sticking out to block your own, pinning you in place. Some others step forward, one landing a brutal punch to your stomach, the force of it knocking the wind out of you. The world tilts, and pain explodes in your ribs as another guard’s boot connects with your side.

Logan sees red.

Something primal surges within him, the instinct to protect you overwhelming every other thought. With a roar that shakes the walls, he launches himself at the guards, his claws slicing through the first one with a sickening crunch. Blood splatters across the floor as Logan tears through them with a ferocity that is terrifying to witness.

He moves like a whirlwind of rage, his claws ripping through flesh and bone with savage efficiency. The guards don’t stand a chance against him, but even as he fights, more of them swarm in, trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

“Logan!” you cry out, the fear and pain you feel palpable as you struggle to get free. The guard holding you down slams your head against the wall, and stars burst behind your eyes as the world blurs.

Logan spins around, his eyes wild as he sees you slumped against the wall, blood trickling from your nose, eyes fighting to stay open. The sight of you being beaten, helpless and vulnerable, sends him into a frenzy. He slashes through another guard in his way, his claws dripping with blood as he tries to tear through their ranks.

However, his efforts are futile, the guards are relentless. Their numbers never dwindle, if anything, more and more seem to join the fight. They pile onto him, using their advantage, holding him down to the ground. Logan fights with everything he has, but even he has limits. He can feel the weight of them pressing down on him, can feel his strength waning as they force him to the ground.

“Logan!” you call his name again, breaking through the chaos. He can see you being dragged from the scene, your wrists bound, your eyes locked on his as they pull you farther and farther away.

“NO!” He roars, his voice breaking as he thrashes against the guards holding him down. He has to get to you—he has to save you.

Yet the more he fights, the more they press down, their combined weight and force overwhelming even his enhanced strength. They slam his head against the cold floor, pain exploding through his skull as his vision begins to fade. The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is your terrified face, the way your lips form his name, and the cold, cruel hands dragging you away into the shadows.

And then, nothing.

----

Logan wakes up to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the distant sound of beeping monitors. His head pounds, and every muscle in his body aches as if he’s been through a war—and in some ways, he has. Groaning, he tries to sit up, but a firm hand presses him back down.

“Easy, Logan,” comes Hank’s calm, reassuring voice. “You’ve been out for a while.”

Logan blinks, his vision slowly coming into focus. He’s in the med bay, the familiar white walls and harsh fluorescent lights greeting him. Once he finally comes to his senses, and he remembers the events that transpired the previous night, he realizes none of that matters. The only thing he cares about is you.

“Where is she?” he demands as he struggles against Hank’s hold.

Hank’s expression softens with pity and concern. “She’s… Logan, they took her. We’re doing everything we can to track her down, but—”

Panic jolts through Logan like a bolt of electricity, drowning out the rest of what Hank is saying. His eyes burn as he wrenches himself free from Hank’s grasp, his voice a gruff, dangerous snarl.

“How the hell did you get me out but leave her behind? You’re telling me you saved my sorry ass and couldn’t save her?”

Hank hesitates, his features morphing into a pained look, “It wasn’t like that. We were overwhelmed. There were too many of them, and you—”

“I don’t wanna hear excuses!” Logan cries, his words echoing off the walls as he slams a fist down on the bed. The metal frame groans under the force of his anger.

At that moment, Charles Xavier wheels in, his imposing presence immediately felt within the confines of the small room. He speaks calmly, trying to cut through the fog clouding Logan’s mind. “Logan, we did everything we could. It was hard enough getting just you. We had no choice but to retreat. If we hadn’t, we might have lost you both.”

Logan’s glare could’ve burned holes through steel as he turns to Charles, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t give a damn about me! She’s out there, alone, with those bastards, and I wasn’t there to stop it. I should’ve been able to protect her.”

His fists clench, his knuckles turning white as he struggles to contain the whirlwind of emotions tearing through him. Guilt eats him from the inside out. The thought of you suffering because he wasn’t there to protect you… “You–We…We left her behind,” he mutters, voice cracking.

Charles’s voice is firm but compassionate as he addresses the younger mutant. “You need to rest and regain your strength. When the time comes, you’ll be ready to get her back—but you can’t do that if you’re broken.”

Jaw tightening, Logan leans his body forward, holding his head in his hands. His temper is boiling, he wants to tear everything apart until there is nothing left, but he knows, deep down, that Charles is right. And as much as it kills him, he has to bide his time, to heal and prepare for what is to come.

But that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Hank, get out,” he growls, “Get out before I lose it.”

Hank exchanges a worried glance with Charles before reluctantly nodding. “We’ll find her, Logan. I promise.”

After Hank leaves the room, Logan sinks back onto the bed, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from exploding. His eyes bore into Charles’s, who remains, silently offering his support.

“When we find her,” he says, his voice low and full of promise, “there’s no holding back. I’m done waiting, done with all the excuses. She’s mine, and I’m not letting anything or anyone take her away from me again.”

----

The first thing you feel is the cold—icy, unforgiving, and seeping into your bones. Your head pounds, a dull, persistent ache that makes it hard to think, let alone move. When you try to lift your hands, you realize they are restrained, heavy iron chains biting into your wrists and pulling your arms taut above your head.

You jump to your senses, sharp and immediate, as you force your eyes open. The world is a blur at first, everything spinning and distorted. Then, as your vision clears, the reality of your situation hits you like a slap in the face.

You are in a cell. The walls are made of rough stone, the floor damp and filthy. There is barely any light, just a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering occasionally and casting long shadows that dance across the room. Your dress—the one you’d worn to the gala—is torn, the delicate fabric shredded and hanging off you in tatters. You can see your own blood between the patches that reveal your skin. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and a deep sense of dread settles in your stomach.

You try to pull against the chains, but your limbs are weak, your movements sluggish. They must have drugged you—this realization makes your heart race, fear clawing at your throat. You have no idea how long you’ve been out, no idea where you are or what they plan to do to you.

A sound from the other side of the cell catches your attention—laughter, low and mocking. You turn your head, the movement sending another wave of dizziness through your skull. Two guards stand just outside the bars, their faces twisted in cruel amusement.

“Look who’s finally awake,” one of them sneers with malice. “The mutant bitch.”

The words sting, but you refuse to show it. You force yourself to sit up straighter, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster. “Where am I?” you demand, your voice hoarse and shaky.

The guard laughs again, louder this time. “You’re in hell, sweetheart. And there’s no way out.”

His companion, a stockier man with a scar running down his cheek, steps forward, his eyes raking over you with a look that makes your skin crawl. “The boss is real interested in you, you know. He’s got plans,” he smiles, “Big plans.”

You swallow hard, fighting to keep your composure. “What do you want with me?”

“Oh, it ain’t about what we want,” the scarred guard replies, a disgusting grin spreading across his face. “It’s about what you can do. For us. You mutants think you’re so special, so powerful. But look at you now—all chained up and helpless.”

He reaches through the bars, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking your head back. Pain shoots through your scalp, but you bite your lip, refusing to cry out. You won’t give them the satisfaction.

“Let go of me,” you hiss.

The guard’s grin widens as he leans closer, his breath hot and foul against your skin. “Make me, sweetheart. Oh, wait—you can’t.”

He laughs again, muttering to the other guard about how satisfying this is, and you feel a wave of nausea rise in your throat. You can feel the energy within you, your power that usually simmers just beneath the surface, always ready to be called upon. But now, it’s like a distant echo, muted and weak. The chains—they must be suppressing your abilities, keeping you from using your mutation.

“Your little tricks won’t work here,” the first guard taunts, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “Those chains are special, made just for freaks like you. No powers, no escape.”

You are trapped, powerless, at the mercy of these men and whoever their leader is. You know you can’t let them see your fear. You can’t let them break you.

“I’ll get out of here,” you say, keeping your voice level despite the terror gnawing at your insides. “And when I do, you’ll regret this.”

The guards exchange a glance, then burst into laughter, the sound grating and harsh in the confined space.

“Big talk for someone who’s all chained up,” the scarred guard says, releasing his grip on your hair with a rough shove that sends you sprawling back against the wall.

“You’re not getting out,” the first guard adds, his tone more serious now. “No one’s coming for you. Your friends probably think you’re dead already. It’s been days.”

For a moment, your resolve falters. What if they are right? What if the team thinks you’re gone, or worse—what if they can’t find you? But then you think of Logan, of the fierce determination in his eyes, the way he’d fought for you before. No, they wouldn’t abandon you. He wouldn’t abandon you.

“They’ll find me,” you say, the conviction in your voice surprising even you.

The guards don’t laugh this time. The scarred one scowls, stepping back from the bars. “Keep dreaming, mutant. You’re ours now.”

With that, they turn and leave, their footsteps echoing down the corridor until they fade into silence. You are alone again, the cell’s walls pressing in from all sides. Yet despite the fear, despite the pain, you hold onto that sliver of hope, that image of Logan and the others coming to your rescue.

You aren’t going to give up. Not now, not ever.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. The drugs are still in your system, making it hard to concentrate, but you won’t let that stop you. You start to tug at the chains again, testing their strength, trying to find any weakness, any way to break free.

It is agonizing, and with every movement, the metal digs deeper into your skin, drawing blood. But the pain keeps you focused, keeps you from slipping into despair. You have to keep going. You have to believe that Logan will come for you.

And when he does, you will be ready.

----

Weeks pass since that fateful night at the gala, weeks that feel like an eternity to Logan. Each day that you remain missing is another day of excruciating uncertainty, each hour that ticks by another reminder of his failure to protect you. The mansion, usually a place of camaraderie and purpose, has become a suffocating prison where he is forced to wait and hope—two things he has never been good at.

Charles Xavier is relentless in his search, utilizing every resource, every connection, and every ounce of his telepathic abilities to track down the organization that has taken you. The X-Men work tirelessly alongside him, scouring the globe for any trace, any whisper, that could lead them to you. Logan is a constant presence in the war room, his patience worn thin by the endless dead ends and false leads. He’s ready to go after them with nothing but his claws and a vendetta, but Charles insists on a plan, a strategy that won’t just rescue you but will dismantle the threat for good.

Finally, after weeks of frustration and relentless searching, they find something—a lead that could change everything.

Charles is in his study, surrounded by a tangle of maps, files, and reports, his mind stretched to its limits as he sifts through the chaotic swirl of information. Then, in the quiet hours of the night, he finds it—a faint, almost non-existent mental signature, hidden deep within the shadows of his mind. It’s the psychic equivalent of a whisper, a delicate thread that, when tugged, reveals a location: a remote island, far off the coast, where the organization has set up a secret base.

This base, as he quickly pieces together, is where they are holding you, along with other mutants they have captured. It’s heavily fortified, nearly impossible to reach by conventional means, and shielded against most telepathic detection. The mental signature he finds slips through only because it’s so faint, a brief lapse in their otherwise impenetrable defenses.

Charles spends days verifying the information, cross-referencing it with the intelligence they’ve gathered over the weeks. Every detail lines up—this is it. This is where they have taken you, and this is where they will launch their attack.

With the location confirmed, Charles knows he has to get the team together and act. Act fast.

----

Time loses all meaning in the cold, dark cell where you are held captive. The days and nights blur together, an endless cycle of hunger, pain, and hopelessness. The cold stone walls, once foreboding, have become your only companions, and the silence is a constant reminder of how alone you are.

Your dress is taken hours after you awake, replaced with a rough, beige prison uniform that itches against your skin. The fabric is thin, offering little protection against the freezing temperature. Your wrists and ankles ache from the tight cuffs they keep you in most of the time, the metal leaving angry red marks that never seem to fade.

They barely feed you—just enough to keep you alive, but never enough to give you any real strength. The meals are a cruel joke, infrequent and consisting of nothing more than stale bread and murky water that tastes like rust.

What makes it truly unbearable isn’t the food itself; it’s the way you are forced to consume it.

Chained to the wall, your arms shackled above your head, you can’t even feed yourself. Every day, like clockwork, one of the guards enters your cell, a twisted smirk on his face as he carries a small, dented tray of food. He kneels beside you, holding the bread just out of reach, as if daring you to try and grab it.

“Hungry?” he taunts, waving the bread in front of your face. “You look like you could use a bite.”

You glare at him, your stomach growling with hunger, but you refuse to beg. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how desperate you are. In the end, your body’s needs always win out, and you reluctantly part your lips, letting him shove the stale, crumbling bread into your mouth.

The guard never makes it easy. He pushes the bread in too far, making you gag, or holds it just out of reach, forcing you to strain against your chains, the metal digging painfully into your wrists. When it comes time for the water, he tilts the cup too quickly, spilling most of it down your chin, leaving you with just a few precious drops to quench your thirst.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, wiping the spilled water off your face with the back of his hand in a mockery of kindness. “Can’t even eat without help.”

You swallow the bread, the dry crumbs scraping down your throat, doing your best to keep from choking. The water that follows is barely enough to wash it down, leaving your mouth dry and your hunger only partially sated.

It’s a humiliating, degrading experience, one that leaves you feeling even more powerless than the chains ever could. And that’s exactly what the guards want. Each meal is an exercise in control, a reminder that you are at their mercy, that they hold all the power.

Somehow, that still isn’t the worst of it all.

Guards come daily, sometimes in pairs, sometimes alone, always with that same twisted grin on their faces. You have learned to anticipate their visits, to prepare yourself for the taunts, the jeers, and the beatings that inevitably follow. They seem to take pleasure in your suffering, their laughter echoing off the walls as they deliver blow after blow, leaving you gasping for breath on the cold, hard floor.

Every time they come, they mock you, their voices dripping with contempt. “Where are your precious X-Men now, huh? Guess they forgot about you. Must be nice knowing no one cares enough to come get you.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. But inside, the doubt begins to creep in. How long has it been? Weeks, maybe more? Surely they would have found you by now. Surely Logan is out there, tearing the world apart to find you. But as the days drag on and the beatings continue, it becomes harder to hold onto that hope.

One day, after an especially brutal session where they leave you bruised and bleeding on the floor, you find yourself laughing—a bitter, hollow sound that startles even you.

“What’s so funny?” one of the guards sneers, looking down at you with a scowl.

You lift your head, your gaze locking onto his, something defiant sparking in your eyes despite the pain. “Do you guys get off on seeing people in pain? Is this a fetish or something?”

The guard’s expression darkens with disdain, and he steps forward, delivering a swift kick to your side that makes you gasp, the air rushing out of your lungs. “Shut up!” he barks.

You cough, tasting blood on your lips, but you can’t stop the words that tumble out. “Is that all you’ve got?” you rasp, pushing yourself up onto your elbows despite the throbbing in your ribs. “I’m starting to think you’re not very good at this.”

The guard’s face twists into a snarl, and he raises his hand to strike you again, but the other guard grabs his arm, pulling him back. “Enough,” the second guard says, though his voice is more cautious now. “We’re not supposed to kill her. Not yet.”

They leave you there, crumpled on the floor, your body aching. As much as it hurts, as much as the beatings wear you down, you cling to that small act of defiance. They haven’t broken you. Not yet.

----

The tension in the war room is suffocating, the air thick with urgency and dread. The X-Men gather around the long, sleek table, the holographic map of the enemy compound glowing in the center, casting an eerie blue light across their faces. Scott stands at the head of the table, his expression stern as he outlines possible infiltration points, while Jean, Ororo, and Hank listen intently.

Logan sits at the far end, his posture rigid, every muscle in his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. He doesn’t want to be here—doesn’t want to waste time with plans and strategies when all he can think about is you. But he knows that going off on his own, especially in his current state, would only end in disaster. So he forces himself to stay, to listen, even though every second feels like a waste.

His hands clench into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. He can barely focus on Scott’s words, his mind consumed with images of you—frightened, abandoned, injured. The thought makes his blood boil, his claws itching to extend and tear through anything in his path.

“Logan,” Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Are you with us?”

He glances up, meeting her concerned gaze. He knows she can feel his turmoil, his barely restrained anger, and that only makes him more frustrated.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he snaps.

Ororo shoots him a warning look. “We need to stay focused, Logan. Losing your temper won’t help her.”

Logan grits his teeth, biting back the retort that rises to his lips. He knows she’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to control the storm of emotions raging inside him. “Just tell me when we’re movin’,” he growls, his tone laced with impatience. “I’m not sittin’ around any longer while they’ve got her.”

“We all want to find her, Logan,” Scott says, “But we have to do this right. If we go in guns blazing, we could get her killed.”

“And if we wait too long, she’ll be dead anyway.”

“Logan,” Hank interjects, trying to be the voice of reason. “Scott’s right. We have to be smart about this. We’re dealing with people who have resources, power, and a deep-seated hatred for mutants. They’ll be expecting us.”

Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts again, this time in his mind, her telepathy reaching out to him. Logan, I know how much she means to you. We’re doing everything we can to bring her back. Trust us.

He shoots her a glare, not appreciating the intrusion, but he doesn’t push her away. Jean has always been the one who could reach him, even when he’s at his most stubborn. I’m not lettin’ them keep her from me any longer, Jean, he thinks back, his mental voice raw with emotion.

You won’t, Jean replies, her mental tone firm but soothing. We won’t let that happen. But you need to stay with us, Logan. We’re stronger together.

“What’s the plan?” he asks, breaking his stupor.

Charles exchanges a glance with Scott, who nods and steps forward to explain. “We’ll approach under the cover of night. Ororo will create a storm to mask our presence, and we’ll use the Blackbird to drop in undetected. Jean and I will handle disabling their telepathic defenses so we can get a read on the situation inside. Hank will take out their communications to prevent them from calling for reinforcements.”

“And me?” Logan growls, his eyes locked on the island’s location.

“You’ll be leading the assault,” Scott replies without hesitation. He can sense the violent need rattling within Logan’s bones—craving to avenge you. “Once we’ve neutralized the outer defenses, you and I will go in together. Our primary objective is to get her out—everything else is secondary. We can always go back to finish the job."

Logan’s fists clench at his sides, his claws itching to be released.

“When do we leave?”

“Tonight,” Charles answers from where he sits at the table. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Logan remains by the map while the team disperses and begins to prepare, his eyes fixed on the small island in the middle of the vast ocean. This is it. After weeks of waiting, weeks of imagining the worst, he finally has a chance to make things right.

He can almost feel the cold metal of the anti-mutant handcuffs around your wrists, the bruises on your skin from the guards’ brutality. The thought makes him see red, but beneath the rage is something even more powerful—a fierce determination to see you safe, to get you out of there and back where you belong.

Logan will lead the charge, and God help anyone who stands in his way.

As the team assembles, suited up and ready for the mission, Charles wheels over to Logan, placing a hand on his arm. “We’ll bring her home, Logan. And we’ll make sure this never happens again.”

He nods, the fire in his eyes burning brighter than ever. “We will,” he says, a dangerous growl clawing its way out of his throat, “And when I get my hands on them, they’ll wish they’d never laid a finger on her.”

With that, the team boards the Blackbird, the weight of the mission pressing down on them as they soar into the night. The storm Ororo has summoned rages around them, the skies dark and foreboding, as they approach the island. Every second brings them closer to the moment of reckoning, and Logan’s focus sharpens to a razor’s edge.

“I’m comin’ for ya, darlin’,” he murmurs under his breath, the words a promise to himself as much as to you. “Just hold on.”

----

“Approaching the drop zone,” Ororo’s calm voice comes over the comms, though the storm she controls outside is anything but calm. Lightning splits the sky, momentarily illuminating the jagged cliffs of the remote island below, their destination hidden within the darkness.

Scott cuts through the tension. “Alright, everyone. Remember the plan. Jean, Ororo, and I will handle the outer defenses. Hank, take out their communications. Logan and I will lead the assault inside. Our primary objective is to find her and get her out.”

Logan barely nods, his eyes locked on the ramp as it begins to lower. The cold wind whips through the interior of the Blackbird, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the earth below. And underneath it all, Logan can smell them—guards, weapons, blood.

“Ready?” Scott asks, glancing at Logan.

His response is a rough, feral growl. “Let’s do this.”

With a sharp nod, Scott activates the drop sequence, and Logan is the first out, dropping into the storm with the grace of a true predator. He lands in a crouch, claws out, eyes scanning the perimeter. The island is as fortified as they feared, with high walls, watchtowers, and heavily armed guards patrolling the grounds.

But none of that matters. He has one focus, one goal: finding you.

The rest of the team lands behind him, moving quickly, quietly, and efficiently. Ororo raises her hands to the sky, intensifying the storm, the wind and rain becoming a blinding force that conceals their approach. Lightning arcs overhead, briefly turning night into day, revealing the outlines of guards scrambling to respond to the sudden onslaught.

Scott gives the signal to move in, and the team splits up, each member heading to their designated targets. Jean and Ororo focus on the outer defenses, disorienting the guards with telepathic illusions and powerful gusts of wind. Hank slips into the shadows, his agile form disappearing into the underbrush as he makes his way to the communications hub.

The Wolverine moves like a shadow, traversing the rain-soaked night with deadly silence. He can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, every sense heightened as he approaches the main compound. The guards are on high alert, but they are no match for the X-Men. He watches as Jean’s telepathy turns their own weapons against them, as Scott’s optic blasts tear through their defenses.

But as the team advances, the guards regroup, their numbers swelling as they pour out of the compound. They aren’t going down without a fight. Logan spots a heavily armed squad taking position near a turret, their weapons trained on the team. They open fire, a barrage of bullets slicing through the air.

“Jean!” Scott shouts.

Jean extends her hands, a telekinetic shield flaring to life just in time to deflect the incoming fire. The bullets bounce off harmlessly, but the force of the attack makes it clear this isn’t going to be easy. The guards are better prepared than expected, their movements coordinated, their strategy clear: delay the X-Men as long as possible.

Logan growls in frustration, his claws itching to tear through the enemy lines. “We need to move, now!” he snarls, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Ororo nods, her eyes glowing white as she summons a powerful gust of wind, sending the guards sprawling. Scott seizes the moment, firing a series of blasts that take out the turret and send the remaining guards scattering. Still, even as they advance, more guards appear, swarming from every direction.

Hank emerges from the shadows, his blue fur slick with rain as he tackles a group of guards attempting to flank the team. He moves with agility and precision, disarming them with brutal efficiency before disappearing into the darkness once more.

Logan pushes forward, his senses locked on the main compound. Every muscle in his body is taut, ready to react, as he closes in on the entrance. But the resistance only grows fiercer the closer they get. A squad of heavily armored guards appears, their rifles spitting fire as they advance in formation.

“Ororo, cover us!”

Ororo unleashes a torrent of lightning, the bolts crackling through the air and striking the guards with dead-set accuracy. It’s almost like a scene from the gala, the guards coming in endless waves, their numbers never faltering.

Logan’s patience snaps. He shoots forward, his claws slicing through the rain, his cry echoing across the battlefield. He crashes into the line of guards, tearing through their armor as if it were paper. Blood splatters the ground, the metallic scent mixing with the rain as Logan carves a path through the enemy.

Scott and Jean are right behind him, their combined powers devastating the remaining guards. But the compound is heavily fortified, and as Logan bursts through the first door, a new wave of guards meets them head-on.

These are the elite, the best of the best, and they fight with a cold, calculated precision that makes them more dangerous than the others. Jean’s telepathy is their saving grace. She reaches into the minds of the guards, sowing confusion and fear, turning their own thoughts against them. But the strain is visible on her face, the effort of controlling so many minds at once taking its toll.

“Jean, hold on!” Scott calls.

“I’m… trying,” Jean gasps, her voice strained.

Logan knows they can’t keep this up. They have to find you, and they have to do it fast. He slams his claws into another door, splintering it into pieces, only to be met with a hail of gunfire from the guards inside. He ducks, rolling to the side as Scott’s optic blasts provide cover, the two of them working in tandem to clear the room.

“Move!” Scott shouts, and Logan surges forward, his claws tearing through the last of the guards in the corridor.

The air is thick with the smell of blood and gunpowder, but Logan doesn’t care. He can hear it—the faint sound of muffled cries, the rattling of chains. His heart pounds in his chest as he moves forward, faster now, driven by the desperate need to reach you.

Then he sees it: two hulking mercenaries guarding a heavy steel door. They are well-armed, and this time, their eyes hold no uncertainty. These are the final line of defense, the ones meant to stop anyone from getting to you.

They open fire, the bullets ricocheting off the walls, but Logan is too fast, too eager to be reunited with you. He ducks and weaves, his claws gleaming as he closes the distance. With a guttural roar, he leaps at them, his claws slashing through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. The guards crumple to the ground, lifeless, as Logan stands over them, his chest heaving with exertion.

Without wasting a second, Logan slams his claws into the door, the metal screeching as it gives way under the force of his rage. He rips the door off its hinges, tossing it aside as if it weighs nothing. Inside, the air is heavy with the smell of damp stone and fear. And there, in the dim light of the small cell, he sees you—chained, battered, but alive.

You are slumped against the far wall of a small, dank cell, your wrists bound with the anti-mutant handcuffs, your body bruised and battered. The sight of you, so broken and vulnerable, makes Logan’s heart twist with desperation and longing. All of his fury immediately floods out of his system. He crosses the room in two strides, his claws retracting as he kneels beside you, his hands trembling as he reaches out to touch your face.

“Hey, darlin’,” he whispers, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You stir at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttering open as you try to focus. When you see him, a weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Logan…”

“Shh,” he soothes, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m gettin’ you outta here.”

He quickly reaches for the handcuffs, his claws slicing through the metal with ease. The moment they fall away, you feel a sudden surge of power within you, like a dam breaking, your abilities rushing back after being suppressed for so long. You slump forward into his arms, too weak to hold yourself up. Logan’s heart breaks at the feel of your frail body against his, but he holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

“Can you walk?”

You nod, though it’s clear the effort costs you. “I… I think so.”

Logan helps you to your feet, his arm supporting you as you lean heavily against him. Every step is a struggle, but he’s right there with you. Making your way out of the cell, the sounds of battle grow louder, the chaos of the X-Men’s assault reaching its peak.

“We gotta move fast,” Logan mutters tensely, “But I’m not lettin’ go of you. We’re gettin’ outta here together.”

He keeps a firm grip on you, his entire focus on getting you out of this hellhole. The whole island around you is in shambles, the walls of your prison shaking with the force of explosions and the sharp crack of energy blasts. The X-Men are relentless, cutting down the remaining guards with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Scott and Hank’s voices echo through the comms, issuing orders and coordinating the team’s movements.

Everything fades into the background—the sounds of battle, the flashes of light, the scent of blood and smoke.

All Logan can concentrate on is the fragile feel of your hand in his, your fingers moving shakily against his rough skin, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggle to keep going.

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he rasps, urging you, “We’re almost out. Just hold on a little longer.”

Your fingers tighten around his, as if letting go would mean losing him again. The two of you move as one, your bodies pressed together as you navigate through the debris and destruction. The storm outside mirrors the one within him, but as long as you’re with him, he knows he can weather it.

When the exit finally comes into view, the cold night air hits you both, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the compound. The Blackbird is waiting, its ramp lowered, and the sight of it brings a surge of relief so powerful it nearly buckles your knees. But Logan is there, his arm wrapped securely around you, practically carrying you up the ramp.

Finally in the jet, the familiar hum of the engines fills the cabin, a soothing backdrop to the storm raging outside. Neither of you cares about the storm or the battle left behind. The only thing that matters is that you’re together.

Logan guides you to a seat, but instead of sitting beside you, he pulls you into his lap, holding you as close as he can. You don’t resist, your arms wrapping around his neck, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. In many ways, he is.

Hank approaches, concern etched across his face, but Logan barely glances at him. His focus is entirely on you, his hand brushing your hair back from your face, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that have begun to fall—not from pain, but from the overwhelming relief of being safe, of being with him.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses into your hair. “I’ve got you. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, your tears soaking into his shirt as you cling to him. Each touch, every whispered word, acts like a balm to the wounds you have endured. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his heart pounds against your chest.

“I knew you’d come… but you guys took a lot longer than I was expecting,” you whisper, trying to bring a hint of your usual humor into your voice, “made me look a little stupid in front of those guards.”

Logan’s arms tighten around you. “I’m here, sweets. I’m right here. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He continues to kiss your hair, his rough, calloused hands gently cradling your face as he wipes away your tears. Neither of you wants to let go, the fear of losing each other again too fresh, too real.

Logan’s lips brush against your temple, a tender, lingering kiss that conveys more than words ever could. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, over and over again. “Nothin’s gonna happen to you again.”

You nod, unable to speak, but your grip on him tightens, your heart finally beginning to calm as you rest in his arms. For the first time since your capture, you feel safe. Truly safe. And it’s all because of him.

----

Returning to the mansion after the rescue is a blur of activity, concern, and overwhelming relief. The moment you touch down, you’re rushed to the med bay, surrounded by familiar faces, each one filled with a mixture of worry and hope.

The sterile white walls of the med bay feel oddly comforting now, compared to the cold, damp cell you were held in. You’re laid gently on a bed, Hank and Jean immediately setting to work, checking your vitals, assessing your injuries. Their voices are calm and reassuring, but you barely hear them. Your mind is still reeling, your body still trembling from the whole ordeal.

Logan never leaves your side. Even as Hank and Jean move around you, speaking in low tones about your condition, he’s there, a grounding force. He holds your hand through it all, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your skin. Whenever your eyes flutter open, his are there, locked on yours, filled with a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart ache.

Hank and Jean make sure you’re well-fed, insisting on regular meals to help you regain your strength. Plates of warm, nourishing food are brought to you, and though you have little appetite at first, Logan’s gentle encouragement coaxes you to eat. He sits with you, holding your hand while you slowly nibble at the food, his deep voice murmuring soft words of reassurance and comfort.

“Just a little more, darlin’,” he says, his tone comforting. “You need to get your strength back.”

You nod, taking another bite, the warmth of the food spreading through you, bringing with it a sense of safety and normalcy that you hadn’t felt in what seems like forever.

Nights are the hardest. The darkness brings with it the memories of the cell, the guards, the pain, and the fear. You often wake in a panic, your heart racing, the shadows of the past closing in around you. But every time, Logan is there, pulling you into his arms, whispering reassurances until the terror subsides.

Logan, for his part, is dealing with his own demons. You can see it in the way his jaw tightens when he thinks you aren’t looking, the way his eyes darken when he hears you gasp in pain or when your hand trembles as you reach for something. He’s haunted by what happened, by the fact that he hadn’t been able to protect you from the start. You know he’s carrying a heavy burden of guilt, and it tears at your heart to see him so troubled.

He tries to hide it, of course—tries to be strong for you. However, in the quiet moments, when the mansion is still and the only sound is the soft beep of the heart monitor, he lets his guard down. He sits beside you, his head bowed, his hand holding yours as if afraid you might slip away if he lets go. And in those moments, you can see the depth of his pain, the way it eats at him from the inside.

On one occasion, after a particularly vivid nightmare leaves you shaky and breathless, Logan pulls you into his lap, holding you close as he murmurs words of comfort. As you cry, he holds you tighter, his voice breaking as he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your heart breaking at the sight of the tears in his eyes. “Logan, it wasn’t your fault,” you say, as many times as you need to, if it means he’ll stop feeling this way. “You saved me. You found me.”

He shakes his head, his grip on you tightening as if trying to anchor himself. “I should have been there sooner. I should have—”

“No,” you interrupt, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You did everything you could. You saved me. You brought me home.”

His eyes close at your words, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“You won’t,” you promise, and you mean it.

----

When you’re finally discharged from the med bay, it feels like a victory—a hard-won battle that leaves you both relieved and eager to reclaim your life. Your strength has returned, slowly but surely, and now, after weeks of healing and recovery, you’re ready to start training again. The thought of moving your body, of pushing your limits, fills you with a renewed sense of purpose.

But there’s one thing you hadn’t counted on—Logan.

Ever since the rescue, he’s been by your side, a constant, unyielding presence. At first, you appreciated it—you truly did—his steady support, his silent vigilance, the way he seemed to always know when you needed a comforting word or a strong arm to lean on. Yet now, as you step back into the training room, ready to test your limits again, his presence is starting to feel more like a shadow you can’t shake.

“Logan,” you say, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice as you stretch, your muscles still tight from the weeks of inactivity. “You don’t have to watch me like a hawk. I’m fine. Really.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall, his sharp eyes never leaving you. The intensity of his gaze is almost suffocating.

“I know. You’re strong,” he finally says, “But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna stand by and let you push yourself too hard.”

You sigh, rolling your shoulders as you turn to face him fully. “I’m not made of glass. I need to do this. I need to get back to where I was. The fight isn't finished.”

He pushes off the wall, his expression hardening as he takes a step closer to you. “And I’m not sayin’ you can’t. I just… I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Something in his voice makes you pause, the frustration fading away as you look at him more closely. There’s a tension in his posture, tension that hadn’t been there before, and the way he’s looking at you—it isn’t just concern. It’s something deeper.

“I’m not alone,” you assure him. “I’ve got the whole team behind me. I’ve got you.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, letting the moment pass between you, and then he exhales deeply, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say. “You know, when you were gone… I told Charles I wouldn’t hold back anymore.”

His words catch you off guard, and your brow furrows in confusion. “Hold back?”

Logan takes another step closer, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right way to explain.

“I told him that if we found you, if we got you back safe… I wasn’t gonna keep my feelings locked up anymore. I’ve been doin’ it for too long, and when I almost lost you… it made me realize I can’t keep pretending I don’t care as much as I do.”

You know what he’s trying to say. The charged energy between you, all the banter—it was never just friendly. It was more than that—something neither of you had ever acknowledged out loud, but it was there. You’d never been just teammates, and deep down, you both understood that.

He reaches out, taking your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. “I’m in love with you,” he confesses, his voice deep and hoarse, filled with all the emotion he’s kept bottled up for so long. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I was too damn stubborn to admit it. But after what happened, after goin' through all that…”

He lets his voice trail off. Your heart pounds in your chest, the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You’ve always sensed the undercurrent of something more between you two, something that made every shared glance, every sarcastic quip, feel like a promise unfulfilled. Hearing Logan finally admit it, finally put words to what had always been there, makes your breath catch, your mind soar with joy.

“I know,” you confess back, “I think I’ve always known. But I was afraid to push, afraid to break whatever it was we had. I’ve felt it too. I always have.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly at your confession, relief flooding his features, the hard lines of tension softening as if a great burden has been lifted from his shoulders. For a long, heart-stopping moment, the two of you just stare at each other.

Then, as if pulled together by the same magnetic force, you and Logan surge forward simultaneously. The distance between you vanishes in an instant, and your lips meet in a fierce, passionate kiss that speaks of all the pent-up passion and unspoken words you’d both kept buried for so long.

His hands roam your body with an urgency that borders on desperation, as if he’s making sure this is real—that you’re truly there, in front of him, kissing him. His fingers trace the curve of your back, the line of your shoulders, and then tighten their grip as he pulls you even closer, his touch firm and possessive. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding onto him with just as much need.

The kiss is everything—relief, passion, love—all rolled into one overwhelming, breathtaking moment that makes your head spin and your knees weak.

When you finally break apart, gasping for breath, Logan doesn’t move away. His forehead rests against yours, but the distance between you seems to close even further, if that were possible. His hands grip you tightly, as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality. He’s consumed by you, by the feel of your body against his, by the taste of your lips, by the sheer relief that you’re here, safe, and his. His breath is ragged, his heart pounding, and when he opens his eyes, they’re filled with a raw, burning intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“God, I don’t want to let you go,” he whispers.

His hands roam your back again, as if reassuring himself that you’re really there, that you’re not some illusion that will slip away the moment he loosens his grip.

You smile softly, though your heart is still racing from the intensity of the moment. “I don’t want you to let go either,” you whisper back. “But… I still need to be independent. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.”

His gaze tightens a bit, and you can see that he’s torn between the overwhelming urge to protect you and the understanding that you’re right. His eyes search your face, as if trying to reconcile his deep-seated fear with the reality of who you are.

“I just… I don’t know how to give you space,” he admits, “Not after everything that’s happened.”

You smile gently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to step away,” you reassure him. “But you do have to let me stand beside you, not behind you. We’re in this together,” you kiss him again, “They’re still out there. The mission isn’t over.”

Logan’s hands tighten on your waist for a moment, as if his instincts are against the idea of giving you any distance at all, against the idea of you throwing yourself back into the fight. But then, after a long pause, he slowly, reluctantly nods. “I’ll do my best,” he murmurs. “I can’t promise I won’t want to keep you close… but I’ll try to give you the space you need.”

Your heart warms at his words, recognizing the struggle he’s willing to endure for your sake. “That’s all I’m asking for,” you reply, your voice tender as you lean in for another kiss.

[END OF PART ONE]

-----

A/N: Phew! Part one done, and part two is on the way -- it'll be up by the end of the weekend. Please comment or send me a message if you'd like to be tagged in the next part. Hope you liked the story!

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Nobody Important

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> When you first meet Logan you tell him you’re nobody important. But it soon becomes clear you are a lot more important than you say. 

Disclaimer: Contains descriptions of nightmares, couple of swear words, being drugged (nothing bad, just some chamomile tea). Mostly fluff moments with a hint of angst. I watched X-Men and wanted to write something for him. Reader has powers though they're not specified fully. Not Proof Read.

When Charles told Logan someone was going to pick him up from the airport, the last person he expected was, well, you. 

Compared to the pristine and fancy cars that were held at the school garage, you pulled up in a beat up old station wagon that looked like it had seen more than a couple of scratches in its time. And you weren’t dressed…like the rest of them. 

Rather than in some kind of pant-suit combo, you were wearing a long sleeve t-shirt, jeans, boots and a heavy brown leather overcoat. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” You began immediately as you stepped out onto the curb and rushed towards him. “I was at the back of the forest collecting some berries and lost track of time. Shall we get going?”

Logan looked you over. You seemed a lot more…energetic than he was. 

“Who are you?”

“Professor X sent me. To collect you. You are Logan, aren’t you?”

“That depends. Who are you?”

“Your ride to the school, unless you plan on walking for two hours in the freezing cold.”

Logan grunted and threw his bag into the backseat. You still hadn’t answered his question but the licence plate of your car matched that of the one Charles had told him to look out for. 

However, fifteen minutes into the drive, Logan asked once more. “Who are you?”

You smiled and looked at him for a moment before moving your gaze back to the road ahead. “Nobody important.”

“Okay, fine. What are you?”

You smiled again. “Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“Alright, listen bub-”

“Logan, whatever information about me you think you’re gonna have me tell you; it’s not gonna happen. I work with Charles and that’s all you need to know.”

Logan furrowed his brows. “So you’re a telepath? Like him?”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with what or even who I am. But,” you reached down and pulled a file from the driver's side door before turning it over on the steering wheel and handed it over to him. “You should concern yourself about this.”

Logan took it, a little confused, and opened it up. 

“He wants you to know what you’re walking into when we get back.”

After that, the rest of the drive was silent save for one question from Logan, only to have you reply with; 

“All the answers you’re looking for are either in there or are with the Professor.”

He didn’t bother asking you another question after that. Not that you would have answered it anyway. 

Once you finally did pull up to the school, it seemed you were beside him one minute and went the next into some unknown corner of the school because he didn’t see you after that. 

But he still had questions. 

Unanswered questions. 

Like who the hell were you? 

A week later, he still didn’t have his answers. But he did run into you again. 

In the kitchens. 

The entire place was a lot messier than the communal kitchen. It looked like some mix between a witches cottage and a mess hall in a school cafeteria. But it didn't smell as bad. 

Instead it smelt of cinnamon, oranges, rosemary and cookies. 

And somehow

It was relaxing to him. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Logan looked up to find you standing at the other end of the kitchen, a bowl under one arm and a spoon in the other. Flour was dusted across your face and your hands were splotched with food colouring stains. Which matched the batch of rainbow coloured cookies behind you. 

“Err, no. I was just-”

“Here, sit. I’ll make you some tea.”

“I don’t really drink..tea.” 

Logan was still taking in the room. Every time he looked back to a spot, he found a new detail to it. Extra herbs, or ingredients, or even flowers. 

You smiled, placing down the bowl and spoon before moving across the kitchen to the simmering pot on the stove. 

“Here, try this.”

“Oh, I, uh-”

“Just drink it.” You sighed a little, with a light smile. Nobody would have to meet Logan to know he wasn’t a tea drinker. But he was also polite enough to accept a drink. 

And he did. 

“Is this where you work?”

You nodded, going back to the fresh batch of cookies you needed to start scooping out. 

“Do you usually work this late past midnight?”

You chuckled a little to yourself. “Sometimes. Mostly it’s because I think of a new recipe and want to try it out when no-one's gonna disturb me.”

“Am I disturbing you?”

“No. Plus, I heard you coming down the stairs. Figured it wouldn’t be long before you found another night owl.”

Logan grunted with a soft chuckle. “I don’t think it’s intentional being a night owl.”

You shrugged. “We all have our reasons.”

Logan nodded and took another gulp of his tea. If he thought he felt relaxed when he walked into the kitchen, he didn’t have a word for what he was feeling after the tea. 

“Hey, what’s in this tea?”

“Not much. Chamomile mostly.”

Logan nodded. But then something shifted. He was getting drowsy. Not relaxed. Not sleepy. Drowsy. 

“Hey, what did you put in this?”

Logan went to stand and repeat his question, but he was out like a light before he could finish. 

Logan, for the first time…ever, woke up slowly. From the light that came flooding in through his window, to slowly turning over and feeling the bones in his body crack just right to allow his joints to feel at ease, to not thinking a thing as his brain slowly turned back into gear. 

Then he jerked up. 

With a grunt, he looked around him. 

He was in his room. 

The last thing he could remember was your tea and the kitchen. 

Flinging the covers from him, he tore his way out of his room and down the hallways until he finally reached his destination. 

The Professor’s office. 

Walking inside, he found the situation entirely too calm. 

“Ah, good morning Logan. Glad to see you’re finally awake.”

“What the hell happened?” 

“You fell asleep. Y/n helped put you to bed before you collapsed on her kitchen floor.”

Logan turned at that moment to find you sat on the sofa by the window inside the office. 

“You.” Logan practically snarled. “You did something. What did you do?”

Logan approached you but where anyone else would have flinched, you didn’t. In fact, all you did was sit back further and smile up at him. 

“She didn’t do anything, Logan. You needed to sleep.”

Logan turned and looked at the Professor. “Don’t mean I have to be drugged.”

Then you stood. “It was just a little tea, Logan. The more exhausted you are, the faster and harder it works. But now you look more rested. Your skin looks less like you’ve been thrown into a washing machine for a couple spins.”

“Are you always this blunt?”

You smiled. “It’s part of my charm.”

“Ain’t nothing charming about this conversation, doll.”

“Really? Because I’m finding this thrilling.”

Professor X smiled. “Okay, that’s enough, you two.”

“She started it!”

You just smiled again. “You’re welcome. If you ever need more tea, you know where to find me.”

With a pat to his arm, you walked past him and said your goodbyes to the professor before heading for the door. 

“Don’t worry about it, you can keep your tea.”

“Have to admit, though. I did help.”

Internally, reluctantly, he did have to. Because despite everything, it was one of the best nights of sleep he’d ever had. 

Another week rolled by and despite Logan doing everything he could to avoid the woman that he still considered had drugged him to sleep, he seemed to see more of you. 

Turns out, you taught cooking and baking classes to the students so they could at least make themselves a decent meal every once in a while instead of quick ramen noodles. And you also taught outdoor survival skills which Xavier had Logan help sub in with. 

But this also meant, much to his chagrin, Logan was actually starting to like you. 

Rather than wanting to storm off in the other direction, he wasn’t annoyed by your presence in the room anymore and you definitely had a way with teaching a group of rowdy teenagers who would rather do anything other than learn normal “camp” things. 

It was actually entertaining watching you teach your students. And even he learnt a thing or two.

Another week passed and Logan found himself back in your kitchen, sitting at the kitchen island, watching you as you lent one palm on the counter top, a pencil between your teeth and two pens behind one of your ears. 

“Want some tea?” You asked him after a few minutes of content silence. 

“Are you going to drug me again?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s store bought, Logan. I just added a couple extra things.”

“Really, like what?”

Sighing, with a slight smirk, you turned around and pulled the box of tea from the cabinet before throwing it at Logan from over your shoulder. “Read it. It tells you what to add.”

“They actually sell this stuff?”

You turned back to your messy notebook with a smile. “It helps when your grandmother worked in the tea business for forty years. All the tricks of the trade, passed down through generations.”

Logan watched you work- no, dance around the kitchen. You didn’t even have to look at what you were doing and before he knew it, there was another tea in front of him, in a glass mug with hand-painted roasting logs on it. 

Logan looked at it for a moment and then you spoke up, without looking in his direction. “Being a night owl means different hobbies can be created. Glass painting was one of them.”

Logan shrugged with a nod before drinking his tea. The effects weren’t as quick or as “violent” as the first time. Instead, it was calming, then relaxing, then just plain and simple tiredness. 

“Go to bed, Logan. Before you crash into my floor again.”

“How did you get me to bed the last time? I’m not exactly all flesh and blood.”

You shrugged. “I’m stronger than I might look to you. But, go to bed, Logan.”

“Will you?”

“Will I do what?”

“Go to bed, too?”

You turned and faced him. “Soon. I want to finish this up first.”

“What are you even doing?”

“New recipe. I shouldn’t be long. Look, I promise. Twenty minutes, I’ll be in my bed, fast asleep.”

Logan raised his brow for a moment but then stood. If he waited any longer, he might actually crash onto the floor again. 

“Okay, fine.”

And you stuck to your word. Logan heard your footsteps coming up the stairs less than ten minutes later and after that…he didn’t remember much other than just complete calmness and sleep. 

The next couple of nights followed the same pattern. And even if he still wasn’t a tea drinker, Logan was growing a (small) taste for it. 

Until one night he walked in and found you stood in the corner, changing your t-shirt. 

You already wore a cami top underneath most of your t-shirts anyway – especially in the kitchen, but your first one had gotten too messy. So you were safe when changing. Except, you hadn’t expected Logan to walk in when he did. 

He paused for a minute by the door, a little apprehensive to make himself known but also trying to do so, so it wouldn’t seem like he was just watching you change your top t-shirt. But at the same time, he didn’t want you to know he was standing there because he could finally look at you. 

More so, when he saw your shoulder. 

From your left shoulder spread and faded over the top and to your right, a mark similar to a burn. The skin was scarred, yet healed over. A forgotten memory. The strap of your top cut through the larger scar that ran directly across the middle of the scarred skin, almost in a wave. Parts were redder than others but you didn’t seem to be in pain as you pulled the t-shirt over the top of your head and down your body, covering it back up. 

Logan coughed as he entered and you turned around, greeting him as you did every night. 

“New recipe?”

You nodded, looking at the messy t-shirt in your hand. “Yeah, it didn't go over too well with the mixer.”

“Better luck next time.”

And then you both just…talked. 

You were slowly telling him a little more about yourself each night, even if you didn’t know it yet. 

“I just remember being thrown into the wall and waking up like an hour later, completely covered in green brownie batter.”

You both laughed as you told him the story, but then he asked. 

“Is that where the scar is from? On your back?”

It was almost as if you had forgotten about it, having to take a moment to realise what he was talking about.

“Oh, that. No, that…that’s nothing important.”

Logan knew to drop his line of questioning. If you said it was nothing important, then there was no way of getting you to talk about it. 

Until the day he found you napping on the sofa. 

Everyone was outside for the day considering it was winter break and fresh snow had finally fallen on the ground. Except, you had opted to stay inside, and fell asleep on one of the central sofas in one of the quieter communal areas. 

The large windows let a lot of natural light flood in, and the fire that was crackling away in the fireplace was enough to heat the room, especially when the door was closed. 

And it wasn’t long before the quiet hum of the fire and odd crackle of the wood, mixed with the heat and your lack of sleep, overtook you and you fell asleep. You didn’t even wake when your book dropped from your hand and onto the floor. 

“Hey, Y/n, they’re all-”

Logan stopped in his tracks when he saw you. 

Fast asleep. 

He was careful to remain quiet as he walked over to you, cutting between you and the coffee table to pick up your fallen book and place it safely onto the table, where he sat on the edge and took a minute to just…memorise you. 

Since he met you, you had done nothing but be moving. All the time. From the crack of dawn to nightfall, you were constantly going and running and teaching and baking and doing and…hell, for all he knew, you could be something other than mutant or human – even those two needed sleep at some point. 

Hell, even he needed sleep. 

But you were just constantly forever going. 

Lay on your left side, your elbow tucked under your head, you were lightly snoring. Logan brushed the stray hairs that had fallen in front of your face, away, his hand rested on your cheek for a moment, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone for a second. 

You were fast asleep. 

Your worn Beatles band-tee was twisted slightly around your middle, whilst the waist of your jeans had twisted in the opposite direction a little, leaving a small gap that showed Logan the redness from the indent marks of where you had been lay, probably, on your other hip for a while. 

Logan thought about covering you up, and leaving you where you were, for a moment. But he also knew you could be like him when it came to sleep. And it was best to get it when you could. So, rather than chance the kids coming back in and waking you up, he made a decision. 

You flinched a little in your sleep as he spoke to you and lifted you from the sofa. It wasn’t long before he found your room and laid you into bed before covering you up. 

Once more, he brushed the hair from your eyes as you turned onto your side again. 

He looked around for a moment before finding what he was looking for. 

A heavy blanket. 

He lay it over the top of your bedcovers and you, before moving across the room to light the fireplace. 

Only, as he did so and placed the fireguard in front, you whimpered. 

He turned around but you were still. 

Then you whimpered again. 

“No,” you whispered. 

Logan moved over to you quickly and quietly as he could. You fell silent again. 

He let out a small breath and covered you up a little more before leaning down. He didn’t know why, but he pressed a small kiss to your temple before walking away. 

Except you reached out for his hand. 

Logan looked down at his hand that was connected with yours, then to you. You were still asleep. 

But it didn’t look like it was a good dream. 

You were shaking. Your entire body seemed to be paralysed with fear, all the while you were mumbling words Logan just couldn’t quite make out. 

Then the glass of water by your bed started shaking. Then the table it was on. Then your bed. Then the floor. Whatever was happening to you was spreading throughout your room. 

A picture that had been hanging on the wall outside, fell to the floor. 

Quickly turning back to you, Logan took hold of your shoulder. He kept calling your name but it was like you couldn’t hear him. 

“Please…please don’t hurt them. Please.” You screamed and then grunted in pain. Whatever was happening in your nightmare, you were being hurt. Badly. 

“Hey, Y/N! Hey, you’re okay! You’re safe! You’re in New York. You’re at school! It’s not real, Y/N. None of it is real.”

Your head shifted. You were searching. 

“I’m right here. None of it is real. You need to wake up.”

“L…Logan?” 

The violent shaking in your room slowed for a moment.

He was shocked. Maybe…

“Just follow my voice. It’s just a nightmare. I can’t get into your head and bring you out. Just…follow my voice.”

The shaking around your room gradually slowed, but you still were. Then your eyes opened. 

And glowed. 

They were still your eyes just…brighter. 

“Logan?!”

He had stopped speaking. You were panicking. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m right here.” Logan took hold of your hand and held it tighter. “You’re safe.”

The shaking slowed and your eyes closed again. 

Then everything stopped. 

Everything went silent. 

Logan looked at the glass of water beside your bed. It was like it had never moved. 

Then you gasped and shot up from your bed. You kicked your legs and brought your hands behind you to push yourself up and the covers from you. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, hey, Y/n. Hey,” 

You were gasping for breath, dizzy from your nightmare. 

“Hey, it’s me. Whoa. Hey, look at me. It’s Logan.”

He took you by your shoulders then your face. 

“It’s Logan.”

You finally calmed a little, and he watched your eyes search his entire face until you finally recognised him. 

“Logan,” you breathed. 

“Yeah…”

Your shoulders relaxed and you leaned closer to him, wrapping your arms around him. His hand held the back of your head and his other round your back, pressing you further into him. He could still feel your body trembling. 

“What happened?”

“You had a nightmare.” Logan told you. “The room started shaking and I tried waking you up.”

You took a couple of breaths before moving back and pushed the hair from your face and curled your legs up closer to your chest. 

Logan, sat beside them, placed one of his hands on your knee and the other in your right hand. 

“What happened?”

You shook your head. “Nothing-”

“The entire room started shaking and your eyes glowed. That’s not ‘nothing important’, Y/n.”

You swallowed and nodded your head before dropping your gaze and shifting until you were sat up, crossed-legged. 

Logan remained where he was, sat on the edge of your bed. 

“Before I worked as a teacher and cook here, I was one of them.” The last four words came out slowly, almost like you had to convince yourself you were saying them out loud. “I was an X-Man. I was a part of the team.”

“So what happened?”

“The usual. A mission gone wrong.”

“And that’s what the nightmares…”

You nodded. “It was the mission that made me retire. They needed me to do a job, and I couldn’t do it. There were kids, mutants, being held captive. Some rich dick thought he could duplicate mutants. As the team went it, I was meant to be holding ground outside, helping them find their way through. Only, I didn’t shut off my power. We knew they had someone who could detect me if I didn’t. I got so focused on trying to find the kids, trying to make sure the team got to them that the team almost…”

You paused for a minute. You hadn’t told anyone this story. Ever. 

Logan took your hand. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

You let Logan’s touch soak into your skin. A memory you’d never forget yet never truly remember why you never would forget. 

“They almost died, Logan.” You looked at him and he could see the tears behind your eyes, threatening to come forward and fall again. “Everyone almost died, because I didn’t shut it down. You asked about the scar, the one on my back?”

Logan nodded. He didn’t like where this was going. 

“It’s from that day. One of their scientists had set off some kind of power..thing. Sent me flying blocks away from where I was supposed to be. I crash landed into some old wooden panelling which knocked me down. But once I got up…their Superhuman had found me.”

“Was he the one that-”

You nodded, remembering it as if it was yesterday. “I was thrown, this time on my front. I tried to get up but then all I felt was pure fire. He was burning me. Giving me a reminder of why ‘someone like me, born with the powers of gods’ shouldn’t have them when I was clearly so ‘weak’. By the time he stopped, I realised where he was going. And by the time I got up, everything just…blew up.”

“Y/n, everyone’s safe. You’re all here. Don’t you teach some of those kids?”

You nodded. “Doesn’t mean I don’t forget that feeling. One of the kids had been watching the guards, tracking their materials to find a way out. If they hadn't done that…they wouldn’t have gotten out, Logan. And they almost didn’t. All because I couldn’t fight. I can’t be the reason why I lose my family and the people I love.”

The tears came forward now, streaming down your face at an unstoppable speed. 

“I just can’t.”

Logan shook his head, pushing himself closer to you to hold you. And you let him. Leaning into him, you felt his arms grow tighter around your body. There was a small security in his arms, one that you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“None of that was your fault.” Logan told you. “I know you and I know this team. You would never intentionally hurt people. And forgetting to turn your powers off? We’ve all made mistakes in moments like that. Sometimes you get so focused on one person, you tend to lose all sense of self. But none of that was your fault. They got out. They’re all here. They’re all alive. And rich dick is spending his life as dust in the fucking wind.”

“Believe me, I’ll be the first to tell you changing your feelings on something won’t stop the nightmares.” Logan continued. “But you need to find a way to let it go. Don’t let them control you. Not when you won. Not when you’re here, with everyone, able to drug me with some store bought tea.”

You laughed a little at that, wiping your tears away before Logan did the same thing, brushing his thumb underneath your eye and across your cheek. Logan smiled a little. Others might have called it a muscle flex, but knowing Logan; it was a small, brief smile. 

“Don’t let them win.”

You nodded, your head still in his hands. 

“Logan? Will you…Can you stay?”

It seemed to take Logan a second to find his answer. What you couldn’t see was that most of that time, he was trying to figure out why his answer came as fast as it did for him. 

“You don’t-”

“I can stay.”

You looked up at him and nodded with a slight smile. 

Moments later, Logan had kicked his shoes off and was lying beside you in bed. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

You took his hand that lay between you both and turned your head to look at him. 

“Thank you for staying.”

It was his turn to turn his head and when he did, he felt something. The same feeling he’d been getting since the day you gave him his first cup of tea. 

Logan just nodded before lifting his arm. “Come here.”

You moved closer to him as he lifted the covers a little so you could do so. Then he dropped his arm around your back, his palm flush against its centre before it slid a little lower to hold you by your waist. 

As your head settled close to his chest, he dropped his head a little, leaning his jaw against the top of your head and as he felt you relax and close your eyes, he did the same thing. 

The moment your breathing became even, and he knew you were asleep, Logan settled back down and held you just a little tighter against him as he closed his eyes and joined you in a dreamless sleep. 

Hours passed and Charles hadn’t seen either you or Logan in hours. But when he spotted a picture frame that had fallen onto the floor, just outside of your room, he sped as quickly as he could down the hall, but paused when he saw the door open and a sight he didn’t think he’d get to witness for at least a few more months. 

From the hallway, Charles peered in to find the snow falling heavily outside of your window. The children and other teachers were still outside playing. The fire had died down a little, but even he could feel the heat from the room. 

And in the middle of the left hand wall through the door, was your bed. 

Where yourself and Logan slept soundly, almost as one. With your face and hand on his chest, and his arm around your waist, whilst his other hand held onto your arm in a soft grip, keeping your hand on him. 

Xavier could practically feel the serenity oozing from the pair of you. He knew Logan was troubled and that you yourself hadn’t felt safe or content in a long time. 

And he would never have to tell Logan of the change you brought to him, or the one he brought to you. The change that helped you feel safe again, content again. Happy again. Without the added feeling that something was about to go off kilter. 

Because Logan already knew. 

And so did you. 

And for Logan, no matter how many times you would tell him you were “nobody important”, you would always be important to him. 

[obsessedwithstarwars]

Jazz takes care of a de-aged Danny, and they lay low in Gotham. But just because Danny’s body is younger doesn’t mean his powers have lessened. In fact, they’ve only grown harder to control. Having the energy of a child makes containing his powers harder (just like when he first got them) until they realize that Danny’s powers are much easier to control when he can get rid of some of his excess energy. Jazz hears about a free gym open to all that is also meta-proof (more durable) from a wonderful woman at the library. (Lookin at you Babs)

The gym has a gigantic kids play area, along with classes for all ages and a training area complete with an American Gladiator style obstacle course for adults. Jazz will use the obstacle course sometimes when her boss has fully ticked her off. Stephanie and Cass volunteer there whenever they can. Jason always sends the alley kids there too because it’s close by and a safe place. Dick leads a class there whenever he can.

Dick actually holds the record for the obstacle course. Until Jazz gives it a go after a particularly trying day. She doesn’t realize there’s a record. She never would have used the course if she’d known. Training with Pandora and Fright Knight gave her plenty of advantages with how she can use her liminality and she definitely doesn’t need to stand out.

But again, she doesn’t know there’s a record. Or that someone saw her going repeatedly through the course (Stephanie) and decided to time her on her next go. (She doesn’t film without permission because she’s respectful of boundaries like that) She does post Jazz’s time in the Batfam group chat to take Dick down a couple notches though.

Or someone else (not Batfam, just a random citizen) takes a video of her doing the course and posts it on the internet and now they (Jazz and Danny) have to stay one step ahead of Vlad, the Batfam, their parents, and avoid the GIW. How hard can it be?

[norrisainz33]

Team USA || LS2

☆ summary: the 2024 Paris Olympics have started and Logan Sargeant’s partner is set to make her Olympic debut

☆ pairing: logan sargeant x olympian!reader

☆ fc: none until the very end

☆ warnings: none

୨୧┈୨୧

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ynuser: the day i’ve always dreamed of is here - i’m headed to the 2024 olympics to represent teamusa! thank you to my friends, my family, and my logan for supporting me through every up and down over the past few years. time to get the gold 🇺🇸🦅🏅

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teamusa: can’t wait to see you in Tahiti! 🇺🇸

user1: RAHHHH AMERICA 🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸

user4: ‘my logan’ i’m sleeping in the road

logansargeant: i could not be more proud of you y/n/n

ynuser: couldn’t have done it without you logie bear

user2: they’re my favorite couple on the grid

williamsracing: congratulations y/n! american or not we will be cheering you on 💙

yourbff: america’s it girl

user3: USA USA USA

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williamsracing: Ahead of the Olympics starting today, we put Albono and Sarge to the test 😂🎨

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user13: whelp they tried their best

user16: LOGIE IS SO POOKIE CODED liked by ynuser

ynuser: close enough 🇺🇸

williamsracing: our olympic queen 😫🫶🏻

ynuser: my admin 😘

user5: admin has a crush on her too it seems

user12: RAHHHHHH LOGAN 🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸

user17: resign logie bear or else!!!!!!!

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user22: BIG DAY FOR AMERICA 🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸

alex_albon: let’s go y/n/n!!! 🏄‍♀️🌊

lilymhe: OUR GIRLFRIEND IS GONNA EAT

logansargeant: our?!

lilymhe: how many times do we have to talk about this logan!!! that’s my girl too!!!

logansargeant: fine but you have to share alex with me then

lilymhe: done and done

ynuser: i’ll be cheering for you from tahiti!! score some points for me baby 💙🇺🇸

logansargeant: i’ll do my best sweet girl 💙 score a perfect 10 for me 😘

ynuser: call me when you can after the race, i miss you and your face so much

logansargeant: i will!!! i miss and love you so very much

user27: you’re scoring loints this weekend i just know it

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user27: seeing him happy is such a good feeling

user88: no for real - he hasn’t been this happy in a post race interview in a while

user47: he needed this

user28: logan deserves the world

user29: he loves y/n so much it’s sickening

user31: boyfriend of the year award is his fr

user23: sargenation we are so up rn

user88: we used to pray for times like these

user55: both of our american beauties slayed today

user65: someone get this man a contract asap!!!

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logansargeant: thankful for the break because it means I get to cheer on y/n in person as she represents teamusa. into the final push for gold we go🏅💙🇺🇸

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user24: mr and mrs america

user25: USA USA USA RAHHHHH EAGLE GUN SHOT BOOM BOOM BOOM 🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸

oscarpiastri: i may be rooting for australia but i am still so proud of you y/n

ynuser: osco 😭 thank you

ynuser: i’m so glad you’re here logie. your support is unmatched 💙

user27: THE power couple

lilymhe: america’s sweethearts 🫶🏻

ynuser: wifey 🤭

lilymhe: mommy 😍

logansargeant: stop flirting on my own post

lilyzneimer: the most iconic girl in the world, let’s go y/n!!!

ynuser: the sweetest girl in the world 🫶🏻

logansargeant has made a post

liked by teamusa, williamsracing, ynuser, oscarpiastri, alex_albon, and 589,575 others

logansargeant: SHE DID IT!!!! Y/N is an olympic gold medalist!!!! To say i’m proud would be an understatement. y/n/n, i am in awe of you.. you have worked harder than anyone i’ve ever seen and i am so lucky to have been able to grow and reach for the stars by your side. You’re a gold medalist baby - you’re the best in world. soak it in 💙🇺🇸🏄‍♀️

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user2: not me crying watching y/n take the gold (im not even american)

oscarpiastri: congratulations y/n!! an impressive effort all around. looking forward to you teaching me your ways 😉

carlossainz55: vamos y/n!

lilymhe: QUEEN OF THE WORLD LETS GO

alex_albon: YESS Y/N!!!

williamsracing: our golden girl 💙

naxverstappen1: simply lovely stuff ynuser

alexandrasaintmleux: félicitations ma belle fille 🫶🏻🏅

georgerussell63: y/n yabba dabba did it!! 💪🏻🏄‍♀️

lilyzneimer: i’m so proud of y/n i can’t stop crying 😭

pierregasly: me, kika and simba are so beyond happy for you y/n

user24: stop all the drivers and wags and admin supporting her is so wholesome

user87: the outpouring of love is so beautiful wtf 😭

user25: the american dream (or whatever idk)

ynuser: logan hunter sargeant i love you more than i’ll ever have words for. your support, guidance and compassion over the years is one of the only reasons im here today. thank you for being there for me and flying half way across the world to watch my dreams come true 🤍🤍

logansargeant: there is no place else i would have rather been

user28: listen if my partner doesnt support me as much as logan supports y/n… i dont want it

user65: i just fell to my knees

user29: she is captain america 💙🦅💙🇺🇸

୨୧┈୨୧

☆ a/n: i love the olympics and logan just felt right for this one. thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated

୨୧┈୨୧

© norrisainz33: please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[fazedlight]

“You didn’t jump,” Kara said.

Lena glanced up from her lo mein container, chopsticks in hand. “Jump?” Lena asked curiously.

Kara nibbled her lip thoughtfully, staring down at her potstickers. The evening had been a quiet one - a welcomed change of pace, after a wonderful and chaotic afternoon at Alex and Kelly’s wedding. When all was said and done - after the couple had left for their honeymoon and the party had quieted, after Eliza had taken Esme home for a fun week making chocolate chip cookies with her grandmother - Kara and Lena had found themselves in Kara’s apartment, settling down in their pajamas with a dinner of Chinese takeout.

“For Kelly’s bouquet,” Kara said. “You didn’t jump.”

Lena shrugged, digging into her food with her chopsticks again. “It wasn’t heading towards me.”

“You could’ve used magic,” Kara suggested, thinking of how a certain other super had used her powers to yank the flowers midair.

“And start a duel with Nia?” Lena grinned. “Seemed unwise. Besides, she has a likely candidate.”

Kara smiled. 

“At least I was there,” Lena teased softly. “I didn’t see you in the crowd.”

Kara shrugged. “It’s a human tradition.” 

Lena tilted her head. “What did Krypton have?”

Kara grimaced. “Genetic testing. AI matching. Rules about guild marriages,” she said, “My uncle destroyed the AI, at least. But romance was secondary on Krypton.”

“What about now? On Argo?”

“Romantic love is… still an alien concept, on Argo,” Kara said thoughtfully, popping another potsticker in her mouth. “It existed in some of our stories. But our upbringing, our culture- we had to squash a lot of that down.”

“And now?”

“Now it’s like…” Kara’s voice had lowered to a murmur, and Lena noticed a pink tint rising in her cheeks. Kara cleared her throat, staring into her food. “Now it’s like they’re marrying a close friend,” she continued. “I wouldn’t say they have romance like Earth does.”

“Like marrying a friend,” Lena mulled.

Kara quietly picked at her food.

“And what about you?” Lena said, partially curious, partially… well. She knew Kara could hear how her heart had started pounding, as much as she wished she could hide it.

“Me?”

“You grew up there. But you’ve been here for so long. Where do you fall?”

Kara’s brow crinkled. “I think I…like all the little things,” she murmured. “Giving flowers and chocolate. Kissing. Holding hands.”

“But?”

“Not a but,” Kara said as she glanced up - still avoiding Lena’s eyes, but looking thoughtfully ahead. “It feels so alien to me, but in this wonderful way. Exhilarating. Strange. I feel like I have this chimeric type of romance in my head - not Earthian, not Kryptonian. Like romance is…”

Kara grew quiet, turning her head to her food again, staring silently as the blush on her cheeks seemed to deepen. 

Lena watched for a moment, taking in the unmoving kryptonian - the hint of tightness in her posture, the unusual muteness and stillness. “What is romance for you, Kara?” Lena whispered.

Kara slowly tilted her gaze up to meet Lena’s. “My perfect partner at a game night,” she confessed quietly. “Knowing someone so well that it feels like magic when we’re together.”

Lena let out the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

Kara nibbled nervously at her lip. “You- you don’t have to see it that way,” Kara said, her voice cracking. “It’s not- it doesn’t have to change anything. But I’ll understand if it’s too much…”

“I feel it too,” Lena whispered. “When I’m with you. It always feels like magic.”

“Really?” Kara said. “You could want- you-”

“I didn’t want to catch the bouquet unless it was for you,” Lena confessed. “I just- all I want is to be with you.”

Kara smiled wide, and Lena watched on as the tension seemed to melt away from the still-blushing kryptonian’s frame. “I love you, Lena.”

Lena smiled back. “I love you too.”

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC PROMPT #27

(Time for something a little more lighthearted/found family. Could probably also make this a crack prompt instead.)

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = Just me building off of other ideas.

✦

Visitation Rights

When Danny went to list Dani/Ellie as his heir after she'd come back from her years of traveling the world, he was quickly informed that he already had one in line for the thrown.

"What? Since when?!"

The pretentious, floating eyeball looked like he wanted to be anywhere else other than here, providing information to King Phantom, but explained anyway.

"The day you officially achieved royal status, you permanently linked your being to the Infinite Realms. When this happened, however, a child was in the process of being created with the assistance of ectoplasmic runoff that's been leaking into the mortal world for centuries. As a result of your power being incorporated into the Realms at such a time, this human child retained an imprint of your core signature. The Infinite Realms itself has recognized this child as your offspring. Your... other offspring has yet to be recognized in such a way and would therefore be considered your second heir once claimed."

Danny stared at the Observant with wide, blank eyes that were slowly filling with dread and panic.

"Why are you just telling me this now?? My coronation was over a decade ago!" He held his face in his hands and gave a horrified groan at what he just learned.

"If you really wanted that clone as your heir, I'm afraid it's too late to change it-"

Danny's head shot back up with a snarl and furious green eyes.

"That's not what I'm upset about you walking cataracts! Eleven years! I've missed eleven years of this kid's life!! How could you think I-"

At a loss for words, he growled deep in his chest. Deep enough that it echoed throughout the halls and rattled the floors.

"Who is this kid, and where can I find them?"

Once given the information and learning of the child's other parental figures, he gets to work. A few weeks later, he appears in the home office of a well-known billionaire with a stack of papers that he promptly slams onto the desk in front of the startled man. (1)

"I demand visitation rights to our son, Damian Wayne."

✦

(1) Danny actually visited Talia first to get visitation rights. Needless to say, that didn't go very well. He's still got a couple knives floating around in his chest cavity because of it.

(*) ALSO! I'm not sure how this lines up with the DC/Batman timeline. All I figured out is that if Danny waited to be crowned until after he graduated college as an astrophysicist, which take 5 to 7 years, he'd be about 36 years old when he finds out about Damian. Bruce would be about 41, so the age gap is only 5 years. If y'all wanna make this Danny/Bruce, go ahead!

[pucksandpower]

Sink or Swim

Charles Leclerc x lifeguard!Reader

Summary: in which Charles learns there are some sports he’s just not cut out for … but at least he got a date with a cute lifeguard out of the whole ordeal

Warnings: near drowning

The salty sea breeze whips through Charles’ hair as he paddles out into the turquoise waters off St Kilda beach in Melbourne. It’s a few days before the Australian Grand Prix, and he’s determined to catch some waves and soak up the laid-back lifestyle before the high-pressure weekend begins.

“You’ve got this, mate!” His surf instructor Brent calls out with an encouraging grin. The tan, stocky Aussie has been giving Charles private lessons, showing him the proper technique for popping up on the board.

Charles gives Brent a tentative smile back, gripping the sides of the board tightly as he bobs up and down on the rolling swell. He’s a world-class driver, but he’s way out of his element here in the ocean. Still, he loves a new challenge.

A decent wave starts to form up ahead. “Here comes one! Remember to pop up when I say!” Brent yells.

Charles takes a deep breath and begins paddling hard as the wave builds momentum. “Pop up! Pop up!”

With all his strength, Charles pulls himself up into a crouched stance on the board — and immediately loses his balance, tumbling head-over-heels into the cool saltwater.

He breaks through the surface, sputtering and laughing at his graceless wipeout. “I’m afraid surfing may not be for me!”

“Don’t give up yet, we’re just getting started!” Brent hollers back with a grin.

For the next couple hours, Charles repeatedly attempts to ride the waves, only to lose his footing or get pitched off every time. He’s soaked and exhausted, but utterly thrilled to be out on the ocean instead of cooped up preparing for the race.

You’re stationed on the beach in your red and yellow lifeguard uniform, watching Charles’ futile surfing attempts through your binoculars. He certainly gets an ’A’ for effort if nothing else.

A solid set of waves starts rolling in, larger than the previous ones. You can see the raw power behind them.

“Big ones coming through!” Brent shouts over the crashing surf.

Charles nods and makes his way into position, paddling furiously as a massive wave rears up ahead of him. He pops up on the board at the optimal moment — and immediately gets launched into the air, flipping upside down violently as the full force of the wave pummels him underwater.

You gasp, realizing Charles hasn’t resurfaced after the extended pounding. In a flash you’re sprinting across the sand and diving into the choppy water, your steely eyes scanning for any sign of him.

There — a limp figure drifting beneath the surface, sinking slowly.

You kick hard, swimming as fast as you can while the current batters against you. Finally you reach him, wrapping your arms tightly around Charles’ motionless body and kicking back up towards the air. You break through, desperately gasping for air.

“Help! Surfer down!” You rasp, hauling Charles’ dead weight towards the shore as Brent and another lifeguard race out to assist.

You lay Charles on his back in the sand, quickly checking for a pulse. Faint and thready … but there. You tilt his head back and seal your lips over his, exhaling two rescue breaths into his lungs to fill them with air.

Nothing.

You interlock your fingers and start performing hard, rapid chest compressions. “Come on, breathe!” You growl through gritted teeth, your powerful arms pounding against Charles’ chest.

Finally — he coughs and sputters, vomiting up saltwater as his eyes flutter open in a daze. You roll him on his side, patting his back firmly as he continues coughing and wheezing.

“Wh-where … am I?” Charles murmurs hoarsely, blinking slowly as he takes in your face hovering over him.

You give him a relieved smile. “Don’t worry, you’re safe on the beach now. I’m the lifeguard who pulled you out, you nearly drowned out there.”

He squints at you, still looking dazed and confused. “Am … am I in heaven? You must be an angel ...”

You can’t help but let out a little laugh at his muddled words, your cheeks flushing slightly. “No, definitely not heaven. Just good old St Kilda beach. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” Charles groans, gingerly touching his heaving chest. “Everything hurts.”

“That’s what happens when you take on a 12 foot wave,” Brent chuckles, toweling off Charles’ soaked hair with a caring hand. “Let’s get you warmed up and looked over, eh?”

With your help, Charles is able to stand unsteadily. You wrap a thick towel around his shoulders, rubbing his arms briskly to get the blood flowing.

“I don’t think surfing is my calling,” he chuckles weakly, leaning into you a little.

“Probably not,” you agree with a smirk. “Best to leave it to the pros from now on. You saved yourself from becoming the first ever Formula 1 driver shark snack.”

Charles laughs, grimacing and holding his ribs. “Ouch … don’t make me laugh, everything hurts when I laugh.”

“Well then let’s get you looked over and make sure nothing’s broken or bruised too badly,” you reply gently. Keeping an arm around Charles, you begin walking him slowly back across the beach towards the lifeguard hut.

As you’re tending to Charles, cleaning the sand off his cuts and wrapping his chest snugly, he gazes at you with wonder. “I don’t even know your name, angel.”

You shake your head with an amused smirk. “It’s Y/N. And I’ll accept being called an angel just this once after saving your life out there.”

“Y/N,” Charles repeats, committing it to memory with a warm smile. “I’ll never forget it. You’re my guardian angel today.”

You can’t help but blush a little at his sincerity and charisma, even soaking wet and battered on the bench. There’s just something magnetic about Charles.

Once he’s patched up, Charles stretches out his legs with a wince. “Thank you for rescuing me. I very clearly should not have tried to take on that monster wave.” His eyes twinkle roguishly. “Though I have to admit, the thought of you giving me mouth-to-mouth was quite nice.”

“Oh stop it,” you laugh, playfully swatting at his shoulder. “I was just doing my job. But you’re welcome, even if it means no more surfing lessons for you.”

“Ah yes, my pro surfing career is tragically cut short,” Charles jokes wistfully. His expression turns more serious. “But in all honesty … you saved my life today, Y/N. I can’t thank you enough for that. I would be lying at the bottom of the ocean if not for you.”

You meet his warm green eyes, his face still holding the fading marks of his near drowning. “I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time to help.”

A charged moment passes between you before Charles clears his throat, looking almost sheepish. “So, uh … I know this might seem a little forward of me. But would you want to maybe come watch me race this weekend? As my personal guest?”

You blink in surprise at the unexpected invitation. “Oh, I-I don’t know, that seems like a lot of-”

“Please, I insist!” Charles cuts you off eagerly. “It’s the absolute least I can do to try and repay my own personal angel for saving me.” He gives you a playful grin. “Unless you make a habit of turning down devilishly handsome race car drivers?”

You roll your eyes at his playful cockiness, but you’re already smiling and shaking your head. “You know what, why not? It could be fun to see you in your natural habitat.”

“Fantastic!” Charles beams happily. “Then it’s a date — well, not a date exactly, more like ...” He stumbles over his words sheepishly.

“It’s a date,” you confirm with an amused smirk, putting him out of his flustered misery.

Charles lights up, reaching out to take your hand warmly in his. “A date it is then. Thank you again, Y/N. I’ll show you a much better time at the race than I did trying to surf today.”

You give his hand a squeeze with a fond smile. “I’ll hold you to that, Charles Leclerc.”

[dreamofbetterthings]

Finally Home Wolverine x mutant! Reader

Prompt: “I’ve spent forever thinking about what I’d say to you when I saw you again. Now that you’re here in front of me, I can’t seem to find the words.”

VIP: Logan Howlett aka Wolverine (Played by Hugh Jackman)

Universe: X-Men (Originally Fox), Marvel

Summary: Wade was a man of his word, and managed to get Logan back to his universe, right into the arms of someone he hasn't seen in ten years.

Warnings: This is a different ending from Deadpool and Wolverine. Minor spoilers for the plot. Reader is basically a modern-day avatar (The last air bender universe, not the Jake Sully blue folks lol) since all the good powers are already taken haha. Also, The Last Stand doesn't exist in this universe because I refuse to acknowledge the pain I had watching that movie.

A/N

Holy cow I took my boyfriend to see Deadpool and Wolverine, and we loved it! Originally, there were a couple of stories for these two individually that I had in my WIPS, but I just needed to get a couple of stories out while the movie was still fresh in my mind. The ending might be a little out of character for Wade and Logan, but I had no idea how to end it, so it is what it is. Once again, minor spoilers ahead for the film. I'll have another one out soon for you all.

Enjoy!

Logan was never one to be straightforward with his emotions. Nobody knew what he was thinking, or how he felt about anything. The only thing he managed to convey was anger and rage. Not now though. The party at Wade's apartment was in full swing, and everybody was having a good time knowing their existence wasn't on the verge of collapsing.

Almost everyone, anyway.

Logan sat on the couch and watched Wade interact with his friends, his newfound family, and that damn dog. He watched as they all smiled and joked with each other, passing food and drinks about. It was a domestic life that he hadn't quite learned to adapt. He almost did though, with you. Logan pulls a photo out of his jeans and a melancholy look spreads across his face as he looks at it.

"That's not fair, you can teleport!" Brushing what was left of the water balloon off your clothes, Kurt shrugs his shoulders. "You'll just have to be faster and catch me!" You quickly aim before he disappears again, leaving you without a target.

It was a sunny day, thanks to Storm, and Charles decided to give the students a break. With so much going on in the last few months, everyone was exhausted. He thought it would be a good idea to set up a pool and let everyone relax. Most of them were just kids after all, and they were pushed so much harder than they needed to be for the sake of a world that won't always accept them. They yearned for a day to be themselves, to be kids, and today, was that day.

Everybody was outside either in or by the pool. Students were chasing each other with water balloons and water guns. Others were taking turns jumping into the pool, or playing water polo, or volleyball. There was a barbeque off to the side when the kids got hungry, and of course, alcohol for the adults. The sun was out, and it gave a warm contrast to the nippy water of the pool. The X-Men team, the adults anyway, were sitting in lounge chairs or standing around, making sure the kids were being careful and not hurting themselves. Storm was even walking around and taking pictures of everyone having fun, mentioning she wanted to get them developed and put in a scrapbook. A memento of when life was easier and calm.

Then there was Logan. Off to the side drinking a beer, watching everyone have a good time. He wasn't much for the domestic life, as he didn't make a habit of getting close to people. But, these were his people, and he was thankful to find a community that accepted him as he was, even if he would never say it out loud. He watched all the kids run around, but his eyes always found their way back to you. You looked happy and relaxed, even when chasing Bobby or Colossus around with water in your hands. This was a huge contrast from how you looked during the missions you went on. It was a good look for you.

Logan was pulled from his thoughts when a sudden burst of cold hit his chest. Looking down, he noticed his once-dry black shirt was sticking to his body, water dripping from it. All the kids gasped and stopped their movements. Charles looked at his friend, a slightly amused look on his face. He looked around, trying to figure out who had just signed their death wish before his eyes once again landed on you. Standing next to the pool, you looked around, pretending like you didn't just water bend to hit him from across the yard. Logan did something that confused everyone. He simply grunted, wiping off his shirt before taking another drink of his beer. Everyone relaxed and continued to have fun, although slightly surprised at the lack of reaction from the stoic man.

You had stopped the antics and started talking with Scott, asking him how things had been with him and Jean. The last mission put a bit of a strain on their relationship. Your back was to Logan, so you didn't see when he put down his beer and started to creep up towards you. Scott noticed when he finally made his way behind you but decided not to say anything. After finishing his sentence, Scott quickly excused himself and stepped away. That was when Logan decided to grab you from behind.

You screamed from suddenly getting picked up and tried to reason with the man as he walked towards the pool. "Logan, come on, let's talk about this for a second. You don't have to do this. I'm sorry, please just put me down!" Unfortunately, your pleas fell on deaf ears, and the others sat there laughing as Logan hurled you into the pool. The kids all yelled in excitement. They'd been trying to get you in the water for hours. Had they known it was that easy, they would've splashed Logan themselves earlier. When you finally came up for air, everybody was laughing, and you even heard a couple of shutter clicks from Storm's camera.

Logan just stood there with an amused smirk on his face. You fake pouted before he came over to the edge of the pool with his hand out. "You shouldn't have splashed me." With a huff, you go over to meet him at the edge. "You don't sound too sorry about it." He pulled his hand away and shrugged his shoulders. "Alright, I won't help you out." "Okay, okay. I accept your apology. Would you be so kind as to help me out of the pool?" He reached his hand back out, and you happily took it, only to shock him by pulling the man with all your strength into the pool with you. This got everyone laughing. Scott laughed so hard he fell to his knees. Logan finally came up for air, his poor shirt clinging to his body for dear life, and wrapped his arms around you to keep you from getting out.

He was smiling.

He didn't smile often, and it always warmed your heart to see those pearly whites. Storm ran up and managed to get a couple of photos of the two of you before running off again. "I think that makes us even." You shake your head. "Not even close, however, I don't want the entire school to think you aren't the brooding mysterious man that you waltz around as.” Leaning close to his ear you whisper so the kids can't hear. "So, if you want, you can make it up to me tonight." Logan stays frozen in place, his eyes following you out of the pool to look for a towel.

Storm had the photos developed later that night and slipped a couple under Logan's door with a note. "Don't worry, I didn't put these in the scrapbook. I think the fourth will be your favorite." - Storm

Logan's eyes welled with tears as he held the photo. She was right, the fourth photo was his favorite one. The two of you were soaking wet in the pool with your arms around each other, smiling towards the camera. The picture got crumpled over time, always in his pocket or folded out of reach, but he kept it.

He missed you.

Dear god, he missed you.

Your body was never found when the mansion was raided. He always assumed you were taken and experimented on. He would've rather you be killed instead of kept alive and tortured for who knows how long. After looking for you for what felt like forever, he finally gave up, assuming you were dead. The crumpled-up picture was the only thing he had to remember your smile, your laugh, you.

Logan blinked the tears away when Wade approached. "Hey there peanut. You got a second?" A grunt left Logan's lips. "What do you want?" The self-proclaimed marvel Jesus took his hand and pulled him towards the door. "I got a surprise for you, I think you'll like it. Don't worry about the party, we'll be quick." As the two men walk out the door, Wade pulls a TempPad out of his pocket, and Logan starts to protest. "I'm not about to do more universe jumping with you. Once was enough." Wade nods. "I understand, but I think you might change your mind once you find out where we're going." Before Logan can say anything else, he is pulled through a portal into a hallway that looks like a carbon copy of the one he was previously in. "I swear if I have to listen to another one of you assholes I'm going to kill you both." Wade shrugs the comment off. "It's not another me." He gets serious for a moment.

"I know I lied to you about being able to fix your universe, and I'm sorry. However, I did jump around and find someone that you've been missing for ten years." Wade knocks on the door and then steps back. It opens a few seconds later.

"Logan?"

You stood there, shock and disbelief on your face. Without a second thought, both your feet move until you collapse in each other's arms. A sigh of relief leaves the broken man's mouth as the war in his mind begins to subside. "It's me bub. It's me." Tears spill down your face as you hug the man who you haven't seen in years. The two of you finally pull away, and Logan turns to Wade. "How did you do this? I thought they were dead." The merc shakes his head no. "Took a while to track them down. I almost thought they were dead, luckily I was wrong."

A portal appears behind Wade as he reaches out to hand Logan the TempPad. "I couldn't fix your past, but I at least wanted to give you a familiar future. Don't expect you to, but come visit anytime. My door is always open. We'll miss having you around." Logan took the device from Wade's hands. He starts to walk through the portal before Logan calls him. Turning around, Wade sees tears in the older man's eyes. "Thank you." He nods, before walking through the portal, and everyone in his apartment smiles and waves goodbye, before it closes.

Logan puts the device in his pocket, before looking at his lost love. He reaches his hand out and touches your face, afraid that this is some sick illusion and you'll be ripped away from him. “I’ve spent forever thinking about what I’d say to you when I saw you again. Now that you’re here in front of me, I can’t seem to find the words.” You smile and take his hand in yours. "Well, luckily for us, we have the rest of our lives for you to figure it out." You begin to walk back into your apartment, Logan's hand in yours. He thought about visiting Wade again when the time was right, but right now, he had a life with you to catch up on.

He was finally home.

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 9)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |

Part 9

Part 9:

Just as you exited the door to your now former apartment, you heard the sound of an explosion.

You just sigh at the sound, it doesn't phase you as much as it used to. Always startling enough to make you slightly jump, but you knew it was the start of the turf war one of your acquaintances told you about ahead of time.

It was a favor they owed you after you saved them from being killed by the Overlord boss they work for, which happened to be the one you were being commissioned by back then.

To take advantage of their insider info/tip, you decided it was needed to pick up the pace so you could get out of there in one piece- so their risk of getting that info to you wouldn't be in vain.

The pace at which the explosions happened quickly increased, along with the sounds of bullets and glass breaking that joined the chorus of chaos.

"Shit, shit, shit shit!" you quietly cursed to yourself as you quickly exited the building however you could, because you could feel the foundation and walls starting to give way.

So naturally, the easier and quickest way out was through a window in the stairwell. Unfortunately, you were up quite a few flights and though you tried your best to roll and fall safely, you still landed on the ground with an unceremonious thump.

The shattered glass underneath you from the window gave you a lot of ugly cuts. Not to mention you could already feel many bruises forming all over your body, maybe you broke a rib or two, you couldn't tell. It's been a while since you've had to make such a messy escape- that was probably a couple decades and rings ago.

Pulling yourself up from the ground, you wince through the pain and make a quick dash to grab your briefcase of supplies that went flying during the fall.

You couldn't really hear too well right now because of all of the warfare going on, everything sounded so muffled, so you couldn't tell what direction the danger was. But you knew you had to run, or else you would get into even deeper shit.

You were a woman on a mission, so you ran as fast as your legs could carry you, ducking, dodging, weaving, sneaking, and even having to get rid of a few goons yourself along the way to where you'd be able to enter the Pride ring.

It was quiet here, the sounds of warfare and screams of the damned were muffled from all the way out here at the edge of this ring of Hell. And it wasn't muffled because of your hearing, your hearing went back to normal after spending a few minutes in some quiet corner to regroup yourself after the hellish way here.

It was here, you decided, that you'd make your way into the Pride ring using your special power.

Your real power wasn't to make enchanting paintings or portraits, that was just skill you've honed after many years of life (and death).

But this...it made you nervous, even though the power was truly your's, you were nervous because you felt like you'd get caught breaking the laws of how Hell is supposed to function- like fundamentally. Sinners like you weren't supposed to be able to travel freely through Hell, but for some reason, you could with this power.

You took some supplies out of your briefcase, and drew a complex crest-like symbol on the ground in front of you.

Ever since you landed in Hell, this symbol felt like it was etched into the back of your eyelids. You always felt like it defined you, the essence of you, and that held power- the type and magnitude you still weren't totally sure of. You never had any close connection you trusted enough to teach or help guide you through any of this...

With a deep sigh, being careful not to agitate any broken ribs or bones, you knelt down in front of the symbol, placed both hands on the symbol of the ground, and closed your eyes.

You focused your energy into your hands, feeling power surge through you until your felt your hands disappear into the ground- your body following right after.

The one downside to this power, spell, ability- whatever you want to call it- was that you couldn't really control where you landed.

After much trial and error, you've honed it to the point where you could go from one ring to the other, but you couldn't really pick where you got dropped in the specific ring you wanted to go to.

Not to mention it drained so much of your energy, it made you so extremely weak to the point that almost any weakling that came across you could nudge you with their foot and you'd be near double death already.

All that said, you wanted to avoid using this power at all costs unless it was an emergency. So unfortunately your search for your love Alastor was hindered greatly by this caveat- you had to stay "alive" if you wanted to be reunited.

Too many attempts before you mastered this power would likely end in your (permanent?) death if you were found that weak and vulnerable so many times by who knows what type of demented soul that would witness your sorry state after you used the power.

And once more today did you fall to the ground with a thump, though a very small distance this time that was fortunately cushion.. by... garbage in a dumpster...

"This falling shit is getting really old..." You thought to yourself.

"Ugh shit..." You slowly roll out of the dumpster, your briefcase appearing by your side with a tiny *poof*.

As you lean against an alleyway wall, it hits you like a truck- the price you pay for defying the laws of Hell. The previous injuries from escaping the turf war made this time hit so much worse than any other previous time.

You accidentally stumble forward from the wave of pain that slammed you suddenly, vision blurring, energy fading fast enough to the point where you're just about to pass out at any given moment. But you try to hang in there as you attempt to refocus your vision.

Your stumbling around likely looked like you were a drunkard making an idiot of themselves after a bar fight.

As you kept accidentally bumping into random strangers that you could hardly see due to your blurry vision, you kept getting shoved around by people thinking you were being a public nuisance- and that says a lot, given you're in Hell and all.

All the shoving and little jabs from random strangers hurt so fucking much, that your body gave out, you couldn't keep it together any longer.

You couldn't get yourself together this time.

Your vision turned sideways as you fell to the ground, except you didn't hit the hard and unforgiving concrete.

You felt a pair of arms catch you. All you could see was a girl's face talking at you, but you couldn't hear a goddamned thing. Hell, you could hardly see her even though she was right up in your face.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay? Do you need help? Oh my god, Vaggie, we need to help them!"

"Charlie, are you sure about this? They could be dangerous! You don't even KNOW them!"

Then everything went black.

"But I can't leave them to die here, we need to bring them back to the hotel!"

"Ugh, alright, fine! But if they pose a danger to you or anyone else in the hotel, they are OUT."

-> Part 10