Can anyone help me find that one Ao3 fanfic that was a The Hanks x reader. Basically, reader was helping all the hanks achieve their dreams once they were realized.
It got to Hank 5 where the other four offered to gangbang the reader until they got Hank 0 š
Guys would it be weird if I POSSIBLY posted freaky ahh (or just regular) head canons I have for my Tav? I have such a hyperfixation over this man itās almost comical.
I love my little fucking loser
(On the off chance this post actually gains attraction feel free to leave your own headcanons. Iām bored)
X-men x Teen!reader who joined the brotherhood for vengeance after loosing a friend to a sentinel??
Imagine the reader and X-men had a parental bond. Like they were the readers real first loving father/mother figure?? (Maybe a sibling like bond for the younger characters?)
Possibly a hurt/comfort trope?
May I also ask for it to be with characters: Hank McCoy, Scott Summers, Ororo Munroe, Logan Howlett, Remy Lebeau, Kurt Wagner, Jubilee, Erik Lensherr + [any of your personal favs!!]
ļæ¼
ļæ¼
[Feel free to ignore this, but for what itās worthā¦
Youāre so much stronger than you know and I wish the best of luck on your future operation and speedy recovery š Your a wonderful writer and you brighten so many peoples day. WE LOVE YOU!!!]
X-MEN CHARACTERS X GN!TEEN!READER
You leave the X-Men and the person closest to you to join Brotherhood after you lost a friend to mutant-hate
Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson, Kitty Pryde, Warren Worthington III, Morph, Jubilee & Alex Summers
Reply to Beatle: Someone asked for platonic hurt/comfort headcanons? HERE IT IS AND I FUCKING LOVE IT! Thanks for your words, I also hope the surgery goes well... "Brighten so many people's day" Oh my god, I'm going to cry. I'm so happy that my passion makes people as happy as it makes me. LOVE ā”
Logan Howlett
- He never believed in fate, never put stock in the idea that people were meant to be in each otherās lives, but then he lost you, and something inside him twisted, snapped, and reformed into something unrecognizable. He was supposed to keep you safe. He had held you close when you were small, when the world still felt like it had softness left in it. He had promised you, in that gruff and clumsy way of his, that no one would ever take you from him. Then the Sentinels came, and in their cold, unfeeling metal grip, they didnāt just take your friendāthey took you too, in a way far worse than death.
- He had known grief. He had known rage. But when he saw you standing beside Magneto, eyes filled with something distant and sharp, he felt something worse than anger. You, who once curled up beside him on the couch, who followed him like a shadow and made jokes about how he smelled like cigars and treesānow you stared at him like he was nothing. He never thought anything could hurt worse than the sound of metal on bone, but the look in your eyes cut deeper than any blade.
- He never stopped watching over you. Even when you hurled your anger at him, even when you screamed that he hadnāt been there when it mattered, he stayed. He let you rage because he knew it wasnāt really him you hated. You were drowning in grief, and the Brotherhood was the only place that let you breathe. But he saw the way your hands trembled when you fought, the way your shoulders curled inward at night. You werenāt as far gone as you wanted to be. And Loganāstubborn, unyielding, impossibly protectiveāwas going to make damn sure you found your way back.
- One day, when the war had quieted, when the rage had burned itself out, he would be there. He would open his arms, and whether you crashed into him like a wave or simply stood there, hesitant and brittle, he would wait. Because love, the kind he had for you, wasnāt something that faded. It was adamantium, unbreakable, buried deep in his bones. And no matter how far you ran, he would always be home.
Remy LeBeau
- You were always quick. Quick with your hands, quick with your words, quick to laugh. But grief had stolen that speed, replacing it with something heavy and leaden in your limbs. He saw it in the way you moved nowāslower, sharper, less like the bright ember you used to be and more like a knife, waiting to be drawn. It hurt, cher, more than heād ever admit. He missed the way you used to grin at him, full of mischief and warmth, the way youād steal the cards from his deck when you thought he wasnāt looking. Now, the only time he saw you smile was when fire danced in your palm, ready to be thrown.
- He called you mon cÅur once, absentmindedly, like he always had, and for a moment, just a flicker of one, your breath hitched. But then your expression hardened, and you sneered, called him a traitor, told him he didnāt understand what it meant to lose. His easygoing smirk faltered, just for a second. He wanted to tell you that he knew loss too well, that he had spent a lifetime running from ghosts, that the weight of regret sat heavy on his shoulders. But he just tucked his cards into his pocket and let you go. For now.
- Remy had always been patient. He knew that loveāreal loveāwasnāt about forcing someone to stay. It was about waiting, about showing up again and again, even when it hurt. So he left small reminders, little things that only you would notice. A card slipped into your pocket, a joke thrown your way in the middle of a fight, a whispered āTake care, cher,ā just before he vanished into the night. He wanted you to know that no matter where you stood, no matter how far you strayed, he wasnāt letting go. Not really.
- And when the day came, when the storm inside you finally broke and you stood before him, tired and aching, he would only smile, lazy and warm, like you had never left. "Took you long enough," heād tease, but his eyes would be soft, filled with all the words he never said. He would deal the cards again, slide one across the table to you like an invitation. "Stay awhile, mon cÅur. Aināt no rush."
Kurt Wagner
- You were the first person to tell him he was beautiful. Not in a passing way, not as a joke or a hollow reassurance, but as if you truly meant it. You had cupped his face in your hands once, traced a fingertip over the indigo skin of his cheek, and smiled. "You're like the night sky," you had said, "full of stars." And he had laughed, unsure how to carry the weight of that kind of kindness. But he held onto those words, tucked them somewhere safe in his heart.
- When you left, he prayed. Every night, he prayed for your safety, for your heart to find peace. He prayed that one day, you would look at him again the way you used toānot with anger, not with grief too heavy for your young soul, but with love. It wasnāt fair, losing someone before you even had the chance to fight for them. But faith, his faith, told him that love did not die so easily. You were lost, not gone. And the difference between the two was hope.
- He never stopped reaching for you, even when you recoiled. He never flinched when you lashed out, never turned away when you called him naive. You told him he didnāt understand vengeance, that his faith made him weak. But he only smiled at you, that same soft, unwavering smile, and said, āI understand love, mein Schatz. And I know it still lives in you.ā
- The day you returned, you did not fall into his arms. You stood, hesitant, uncertain, your fingers twitching at your sides. And Kurt, with all the patience of the heavens, simply reached out a hand. No pressure, no demandājust an invitation. And when you took it, his fingers curling around yours, he whispered, "Welcome home, my star."
Scott Summers
- You had always looked up to him. He had been the steady presence in your life, the one who taught you how to stand your ground, how to lead with both your heart and your mind. But grief had torn through you like a wildfire, and in the ashes, you had found something sharp and unyielding. You had traded caution for recklessness, traded kindness for anger. And Scott, ever the strategist, ever the careful one, saw you slipping through his fingers like sand, and it terrified him.
- He had never been good at emotions. He wasnāt like Logan, who could weather your storms with quiet strength, or like Kurt, who could soften your anger with warmth. He was rigid, controlled, but that didnāt mean he didnāt feel. It meant that when you called him a coward, when you told him the X-Menās way had failed you, he didnāt have the words to make you stay. He could only stand there, jaw tight, fists clenched, watching you walk away.
- But Scott Summers did not give up on his people. Not on his team. Not on you. He watched from a distance, saw the way you fought with fury instead of purpose, saw the exhaustion in your stance when you thought no one was looking. And so he waited, standing at the edge of the battlefield, offering you not empty words but a promise. "When you're ready," he told you once, voice steady despite the storm between you, "I'll be here."
- And when you came back, not as the same person you once were but as someone tempered by loss and experience, he only nodded. No lectures, no demands. Just quiet acceptance. Because thatās what family didāthey waited. And Scott had always been willing to wait for the people he loved.
Jean Grey
- You had always been bright, vibrant, full of fire. She remembers how you used to lean against her shoulder, laughing at something she said, your energy like a spark catching onto everything around you. But when the Sentinels took your friend, they took more than just a lifeāthey took the light from your eyes. Now, you burn in a different way, not as a star but as a wildfire, reckless and untamed, swallowing everything in your path. And Jean, who has seen what unchecked power can do, aches to pull you close before you consume yourself.
- She feels your pain like itās her own, even when you refuse to speak it. Your thoughts, sharp and jagged, bleed into her mind despite the walls you try to build. She hears the echoes of your grief, the quiet whispers of doubt that haunt you in the dead of night. And no matter how far you run, no matter how fiercely you try to sever the thread between you, Jean holds onto it. Gently, patiently, like a mother refusing to let go of her childās hand in the dark.
- There are moments, rare and fleeting, where she sees glimpses of the you she once knew. A joke muttered under your breath, the way your fingers twitch like you want to reach out but donāt. She never forces it, never pushes. She simply remainsāan anchor, a presence, a warmth you can always return to when the cold becomes too much. "Iām not asking you to forgive," she tells you one night, voice as soft as the wind outside. "Iām asking you to remember who you were before the pain."
- And one day, when the anger has settled and the grief is no longer a wound but a scar, you come to her. You donāt say anything at first, just press your forehead against her shoulder like you used to. She exhales, a breath she didnāt know she was holding, and wraps her arms around you. "Welcome home," she whispers, voice thick with unshed tears. And in that moment, she feels itāyour fire, no longer burning out of control, but warming, steady, alive.
Ororo Munroe
- She always knew you were a storm waiting to break. Even before the Sentinels, even before the Brotherhood, there was something untamed in you, something raw and powerful that the world never quite knew how to handle. But where you once raged like a summer thunderstormābrief, intense, but passingānow you were something colder, a hurricane that never ended, a sky that never cleared. She watched you from a distance, a goddess unable to interfere, aching to call you back before you lost yourself completely.
- Ororo was never one for begging. She did not plead, did not chase. But that did not mean she did not care. She simply loved like the skyāconstant, unwavering, always waiting. She sent rain when you were exhausted, let the wind carry her presence to you when she could not stand by your side. And when you looked at her with resentment, with the weight of your pain pressing against your bones, she did not flinch. "I do not blame you for your anger," she told you once, voice steady as the earth beneath your feet. "But I will not let it destroy you."
- She saw it in the way your shoulders sagged after a battle, in the way your hands clenched when someone spoke your friendās name. You were tired, but you did not know how to stop. So she waited, standing at the edge of your storm, arms open but never forcing. And when the first crack of lightning faltered, when your rage finally gave way to exhaustion, she stepped forwardānot as a leader, not as a mentor, but as the woman who had loved you like her own from the moment you first called her family.
- The day you returned, there were no words. Only the sound of the wind shifting, gentle and warm, as you fell into her embrace. She said nothing as she ran her fingers through your hair, as she held you like she had so many times before, letting the weight of your grief settle between you. She did not promise that things would be easy. But she did promise, in the silent way that only she could, that she would never let you stand in the storm alone again.
Rogue
- You had always been stubborn, always had that fire in your gut that made you stand taller, fight harder, push forward even when the world tried to knock you down. She admired that about you. Looked at you like a little sibling she never had, someone who reminded her of herself when she was youngerāraw, reckless, full of fight. But grief had turned that fire into something else. Something colder, sharper. And it killed her to watch you go.
- She tried to stop you, back when you first left. Grabbed your wrist, held on tight, told you that revenge wasnāt gonna bring your friend back. And you had looked at her with eyes so full of pain it almost broke her. "Then what will?" you had asked, voice shaking. She hadnāt had an answer. And so you left, and she let you, even though it tore something inside her apart.
- But Rogue wasnāt one to give up easy. She still found you, still reached for you in the only ways she knew how. An old jacket left in your path, a song you used to love playing on a distant radio when she knew youād hear it. She was never good at words, never good at convincing people to stay. But she was damn good at loving people even when they didnāt want to be loved.
- When you finally came back, it wasnāt dramatic. Just a quiet moment, the two of you sitting on the steps of the mansion, looking at the stars like you used to. She nudged your shoulder with hers, let a slow grin spread across her lips. "āBout time, shug," she said, like you had just been gone for a day instead of months. And in that moment, you knewāshe had never really let you go.
Erik Lehnsherr
- He had seen many children lost to war. Had watched bright, hopeful souls turn into weapons, into shadows of the people they used to be. And yet, when he looked at you, something inside him twisted in a way it never had before. You were young, too young to know the true weight of vengeance, but still, you carried it like a soldier. He recognized the fire in your eyes, the hunger for justice that had consumed so much of his own life. And so, he welcomed you into his ranks, not as a leader taking in a follower, but as a man who saw himself in the child before him.
- He did not coddle you. Did not tell you to grieve gently or to find peace where there was none. He trained you, sharpened you, molded your anger into something useful. He taught you that the world would never be fair, that mercy was a weakness, that power was the only way to ensure you never lost another loved one again. And for a time, you believed him.
- But even as he strengthened you, as he guided you into becoming something unstoppable, he saw the cracks forming. The hesitation in your strikes, the moments where your fury wavered, the late nights where you sat alone, staring at nothing. And Erikāwho had spent his life convincing himself that vengeance was all he had leftāwondered if he had done you a disservice.
- The day you left, he did not stop you. He watched, silent, as you turned back toward the people who had once been your family. And when Charles asked him why he had let you go, why he had not fought to keep you, he simply closed his eyes and said, "Because they deserve a chance to heal in a way I never could.ā
Charles Xavier
- He had always seen such potential in you, long before tragedy turned you into someone unrecognizable. He remembers the way your mind used to shineāfull of curiosity, full of dreams, full of questions that made him smile. You had been more than a student to him; you had been a light, a reminder of why he built his school in the first place. And then, the Sentinels came. And in their wake, they left you hollow, bitter, distant. He had reached for you, but grief had made you untouchable.
- He had tried to speak to you, tried to offer solace in words he had spoken too many times before. But you had looked at him with eyes that burned, accusing, shattered. "You werenāt there," you had said, and it had struck him deeper than any blade. Because it was true. He hadnāt been there. He had failed you, as he had failed so many others. And so, when you left, when you turned your back on everything he had taught you, he did not stop you. He only hopedāprayedāthat the path you walked would not destroy you.
- Still, he never let go. He kept you in his thoughts, in his dreams, in the quiet corners of his mind where he held onto those he could not save. He followed your movements, not as a spy but as a man who could not bear to lose another child to war. And when your thoughts occasionally reached himāflashes of regret, of uncertainty, of lonelinessāhe did not intrude. He simply sent back warmth, a reminder that you were not as alone as you believed.
- The day you returned, it was not with words, not with apologies or explanations. It was simply a presence, a step through familiar doors, a quiet acknowledgment that you had found your way back. He did not demand answers. He did not ask for promises. He only smiled, eyes soft, and said, "It is good to see you home." And in that moment, he knewāyou had been lost, but not beyond reach. Never beyond reach.
Wanda Maximoff
- She understood loss better than most. Understood how grief could shape a person, twist them into something unrecognizable. When you left, she had not blamed you. How could she? When she had once stood where you stood, when she had once believed that pain could only be answered with more pain? She had watched you go with a heavy heart, with the aching knowledge that sometimes, love was not enough to keep someone from walking into the fire.
- But she had never stopped looking for you. Never stopped listening for your voice, even in the quietest moments. Magic had a way of finding what was lost, of revealing truths that words could not. And in the echoes of the universe, in the spaces between time, she felt youāangry, lost, searching. And oh, how she longed to reach through the veil and pull you back, to tell you that vengeance would never fill the emptiness inside you. But she knew. She knew you would not hear her. Not yet.
- So she waited. Watched from the distance, sent quiet spells of protection when she thought you would not notice. She never intervened, never forced her presence upon you. But when the nightmares came, when the weight of everything became too much, she was thereāin dreams, in whispers, in the way the wind carried her voice when you needed it most. "You are not alone," she murmured into the spaces between reality, hopingāprayingāthat one day, you would believe her.
- And when that day finally came, when you stood before her with uncertainty in your eyes, she did not demand explanations. She only stepped forward, cupped your face in her hands, and smiledāsoft, knowing, full of understanding. "You found your way back," she whispered, and it was not a question, not a reprimand. It was only love, unconditional and unshaken.
Pietro Maximoff
- He had never been good at patience. Never been good at waiting, at letting things happen as they would. When you left, when you turned your back on the X-Men, he had wanted to chase after you, to shake sense into you, to demand that you stay. But he hadnāt. Because he knew what grief could do. Knew how it could turn a person inside out. And for all his arrogance, for all his sharp words and sharper wit, he had understood that this was not a battle he could win by force.
- That didnāt mean he didnāt worry. He watched from afar, always keeping track, always knowing where you were. He told himself it was just habit, just a precaution, but deep down, he knew the truthāhe missed you. Missed the way you used to laugh at his stupid jokes, the way you used to roll your eyes when he bragged, the way you had never treated him like he was just a fast-talking nuisance. You had been his friend, his sibling in all but blood. And losing you had felt like losing a part of himself.
- He never said it outright, never admitted how much it hurt to see you on the other side of the fight. Instead, he did what he always didāhe covered it up with sarcasm, with teasing remarks, with challenges thrown your way whenever your paths crossed. "Youāre slower than I remember," heād quip, even when he could see the exhaustion in your eyes. It was easier that way. Easier than saying, I miss you. Please come home.
- When you finally did, when you stood beside him instead of against him, he didnāt make a big deal of it. Didnāt get emotional, didnāt ask for explanations. He just nudged you with his shoulder, smirked, and said, "Took you long enough." But later, when no one was looking, he stood next to you in the quiet, a rare moment of stillness, and murmured, "Donāt scare me like that again." And for once, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way they were.
Hank McCoy
- He had always admired your mind. You had been sharp, inquisitive, eager to learn. A student not just of textbooks and science, but of the world itself. He had enjoyed your questions, your endless curiosity, the way you challenged even him to see things from new angles. You had been brilliant. And then, grief had stolen that brilliance, turned your hunger for knowledge into a hunger for vengeance. And that had broken something in him.
- He had tried to reason with you. Had tried to make you see that revenge would not bring back what you had lost. "Justice and vengeance are not the same," he had told you once, voice heavy with the weight of experience. But you had looked at him with eyes full of sorrow and rage and said, "Then tell me what justice looks like when theyāre already dead." He had not had an answer. And so, you had left. And he had let you go, because what else could he do?
- But he had never given up hope. Even as you fought against them, even as you stood with those who did not share his ideals, he had never truly believed you were lost. You were too bright, too thoughtful, too full of something deeper than just pain. And so, he waited. Watched. Hoped. And when you stumbled, when the weight of your choices became too heavy, he was thereānot to scold, not to lecture, but to remind you that you had always had a place to return to.
- "It is never too late to choose a different path," he told you when you finally came back, his voice warm, steady. "No one is beyond redemption." And though you said nothing, though the guilt still sat heavy on your shoulders, you let him lead you inside. And for him, for the man who had always seen you as brilliant, that was enough.
Emma Frost
- Emma had always been good at reading people, at peeling back the layers of their minds and seeing the truth beneath. And youāonce bright, once full of so much untapped power and potentialāhad been one of her most promising students. Not because you were eager or obedient, but because you questioned things. Because you had never accepted easy answers. And then, the world had turned cruel. Had taken something from you that could never be replaced. And instead of questioning, you had chosen rage.
- She had watched you go, arms crossed, face unreadable, offering no words of comfort or dissuasion. Because Emma knew better than anyoneāwhen someone decided to burn, there was little anyone could do but wait for the fire to run its course. She had been there herself, once. Had felt the sharp edges of grief carving through her, turning her into something ruthless. But still, she had wantedāhopedāthat you would not lose yourself entirely to the flames.
- When you crossed paths again, when you stood on opposite sides of the battlefield, she did not waste time with lectures. She only looked at you, eyes cool, sharp, assessing. "I see youāve grown bolder," she remarked, voice almost lazy. But underneath, there was something elseāsomething softer, something worried. She did not say it outright. Did not tell you that revenge would never satisfy, that grief would never truly fade. Because she knew you wouldnāt listen. Not yet.
- And so, when you finally found your way backābattered, exhausted, uncertaināshe did not greet you with warmth, but neither did she turn you away. She simply placed a perfectly manicured hand under your chin, tilted your face up, and said, "Are we finished with the self-destruction phase, darling? Or should I prepare for another dramatic exit?" And when you laughedāshaky, realāshe allowed herself a small smile, the kind that meant I knew youād come home.
Laura Kinney
- Laura had never been good with words, had never known how to give comfort in ways that werenāt sharp and blunt and a little too honest. But when you had still been with the X-Men, she had understood you in a way others hadnāt. There had been something familiar in youāsomething raw and wounded and angry at a world that had taken too much. You had never feared her, never looked at her like she was a weapon instead of a person. And in turn, she had allowed herself to see you as something like family.
- When you left, she did not chase you. She knew what it was to be consumed by pain, to feel like the only thing left was the urge to strike back. She had seen it in herself, in Logan, in too many others. But that didnāt mean she had stopped caring. She still kept track of you, watching from the distance, stepping into fights she had no reason to be in just to make sure you werenāt getting yourself killed. She never made it obvious. Never let you see. But she was there, always there.
- When she did see you again, it was in battleāclaws out, movements precise, eyes locked on yours with something unreadable in them. "You're being reckless," she told you, voice flat. And when you scoffed, when you accused her of being a hypocrite, she only tilted her head. "Maybe. But Iām still alive. Will you be?" It was not a threat. It was a warning. A quiet, desperate plea that she would never say aloud.
- And when you finally returnedānot with words, but with bruises and exhaustion and a weight in your eyes that had nothing to do with battleāshe did not ask why. Did not demand explanations. She simply stepped beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed, and muttered, "Next time, donāt make me wait so long." It was the closest thing to I missed you that she could say. And for you, it was enough.
Wade Wilson
- Wade wasnāt the sentimental type. At least, thatās what he told himself. And when you left the X-Men, when you joined the Brotherhood with vengeance in your eyes and grief clawing at your ribs, he had pretended it didnāt bother him. "Kidās gotta go through their rebellious phase," he had joked. "I give it six months before they realize villain monologues get really old." But underneath the jokes, underneath the wisecracks, there had been something elseāsomething that felt a lot like worry.
- He checked in on you more than he cared to admit. Showed up to Brotherhood hideouts just to cause trouble, just to see how you were holding up. "Howās the whole āvengeanceā thing working out for ya?" heād ask, grinning, leaning too close. But there was something in his eyesāsomething sharp, something real. And when you snapped at him, told him to leave, he only sighed, exaggerated and dramatic. "Fine, fine, Iāll let you have your little angsty villain arc. Justā¦ donāt get too murder-y, okay?"
- And then, one day, you were on the groundāwounded, bleeding, caught in a fight that had gone wrong. And Wade was there, standing over you, guns still smoking, mask tilted slightly to the side. "Wow, look at that," he mused. "Turns out I do care if you get yourself killed. Who knew?" And when you tried to argue, when you tried to push yourself up, he just crouched beside you, voice unusually quiet. "Youāre not as alone as you think, kid. You never were."
- When you finally came back, when you hesitated at the mansionās doorstep, unsure if you were still welcome, Wade appeared beside you like he had been expecting you all along. "So, does this mean I get to say āI told you soā or is it too soon?" And when you actually laughed, tired but real, he just slung an arm around your shoulders and grinned. "Cāmon, letās get you inside before one of the serious ones gives you a dramatic redemption speech. I promise mine will be way more fun."
Kitty Pryde
- You had been like a sibling to her. Had shared late-night talks, had trained together, had whispered about dreams and fears in the quiet moments between battles. And when you leftāwhen the weight of loss became too much and you turned your back on the X-MenāKitty had felt it like a wound. Had wanted to reach out, to shake you, to tell you that running wouldnāt make the pain go away. But she hadnāt. Because she knew what grief could do. Knew that sometimes, words werenāt enough.
- Still, it didnāt mean she stopped caring. She watched from afar, always hopingāalways believingāthat you would come back. And when you crossed paths again, on opposite sides of a fight, she had hesitated. Had looked at you with something raw in her eyes. "Is this really who you are now?" she had asked, voice shaking, half-daring you to prove her wrong. And when you hadnāt answered, when you had only turned away, it had felt like losing you all over again.
- But Kitty was stubborn. And she refused to believe that you were gone for good. So, she left reminders in the places she knew youād seeāold photos, scrawled notes in places only you would think to look. "Youāre not alone," one had read, written in the messy handwriting you used to tease her about. "We still love you." She didnāt know if you ever read them. But she hoped.
- And when you did return, when you stood in the doorway of the mansion with uncertainty in your eyes, she was the first to reach you. No hesitation, no anger, just arms wrapping around you in a hug so fierce it knocked the breath from your lungs. "Took you long enough, dummy," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. And when you clung to her just as tightly, she knewāyou had been lost, but never truly gone.
Warren Worthington III
- Warren had always been something untouchableāgolden, radiant, too bright for the world to dim. But you had been one of the few who had seen past the perfect faƧade, past the easy smiles and effortless charm. You had known him before the weight of expectations had settled fully on his shoulders, before the world had tried to clip his wings. And in return, he had been your lightāyour first real glimpse of warmth, of family, of something good.
- And then, you had left. Had walked away with fire in your eyes and vengeance in your heart, and Warren had watched it happen, powerless to stop you. He had wanted to go after you, had wanted to remind you that pain didnāt have to be carried alone, that grief didnāt have to turn you into something unrecognizable. But he hadnāt. Because he knew what it was to feel lost. Knew what it was to crave control when the world had taken everything from you.
- When he saw you again, it was mid-battle, and for a momentājust a momentāhis breath caught. You were still you, still fierce and beautiful and untamed, but there was something new in your gaze. Something hardened, something tired. "This isnāt you," he had said, voice quieter than it should have been. And when you had laughedābitter, sharpāhe had only clenched his jaw, wings flaring behind him. "If this is what revenge is doing to you, then maybe itās not worth it."
- When you finally returned, he was waiting. Not with anger, not with lectures, but with an understanding that settled deep in his bones. "Took your time," he murmured, wings folding around you like a shield, like a promise. And when you leaned into him, exhausted and undone, he simply held you there, unshaken, unwavering. Because he had lost you once, and he would not make the mistake of letting you go again.
Morph
- He had always been the first to make you laugh, the first to pull you out of your worst thoughts with some ridiculous joke, some exaggerated impression. He had been your safe place, your soft landing, the one who made the weight of the world feel just a little lighter. And then, in the wake of your loss, in the wreckage of everything you had once believed in, you had turned your back on all of it. On the X-Men. On him.
- But Morph wasnāt the type to let go so easily. Even when you had stormed off, even when you had sworn you werenāt coming back, he had never truly left you alone. He popped up in the strangest places, appearing as the most absurd disguisesāa Brotherhood grunt, a news anchor, a lamp post, for Godās sakeājust to remind you that he was still watching out for you. That he still cared. "You miss me yet?" heād ask with a grin, but his eyes were always too serious, too knowing.
- And when battle forced you face-to-face, when you found yourself staring at the one person who had never stopped believing in you, he had only sighed, shaking his head. "You look terrible," he said, shifting into a mirror image of you, exaggerated and over-dramatic. "All broody and tragic. Really not your best look." But then, softer, quieter, he had added, "You know Iād still choose you, right? No matter what side you think youāre on?"
- When you finally stumbled back into the mansion, worn and weary, he didnāt make a big show of it. He just grinned, opened his arms wide, and said, "Took you long enough! I was this close to staging a dramatic rescue mission." And when you actually laughedāsmall, tired, realāhe knew. Knew that, even after everything, he had never truly lost you.
Jubilee
- She had idolized you once, in the way younger siblings idolize their older, cooler counterparts. You had been the one to teach her things the others wouldnātāthe best ways to sneak out undetected, the secret stash of candy hidden in the mansionās walls, the perfect balance between mischief and heroism. She had loved you big, had looked up to you like you hung the stars. And then, just like that, you were gone.
- She had been angry. Had felt betrayed in a way she hadnāt known was possible. "Fine," she had muttered to the others when they tried to comfort her. "They wanna be a villain? Let them." But even as she said it, even as she crossed her arms and pretended not to care, she had found herself keeping track of your name in news reports, hopingāprayingāthat you werenāt beyond saving.
- When she saw you again, her first instinct had been to blast you with fireworks, to demand answers, to shake you until you listened. But instead, she had only stared at you, wide-eyed and wavering. "Did it help?" she had asked, voice smaller than she wanted it to be. "Did joining them make the pain go away?" And when you hadnāt answeredāwhen you had only turned your gaze to the groundāshe had known.
- And when you finally came back, hesitant and uncertain, Jubilee did not hesitate. She threw herself at you in a hug so fierce it nearly knocked you both over. "Donāt you dare leave me again," she whispered, voice choked with something dangerously close to tears. And when you promisedāsoft, raw, realāshe only held on tighter, refusing to let go.
Alex Summers
- He had always understood you in a way that few others did. Had known what it was to live in the shadow of grief, to carry anger like a second skin. He had seen the way loss had shaped you, had recognized something too familiar in the sharpness of your gaze, the set of your jaw. And when you had turned your back on the X-Men, when you had chosen vengeance over family, he had not chased you. But he had understood.
- That didnāt mean he had forgiven you easily. When you faced each other again, when battle had forced you to opposite sides, his expression had been unreadable. "This is really the path you wanna take?" he had asked, arms crossed, jaw tight. And when you had met his gazeādefiant, unyieldingāhe had only exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Do what you have to. Just try not to die being stubborn."
- And then, one day, you had almost did. Had nearly let yourself be consumed by the very fire you had been chasing. And it was Alex who had pulled you from the wreckage, who had stood over you with an expression torn between fury and relief. "Youāre a damn idiot," he had muttered, helping you up. But his grip had been steady, his hands warm, grounding. And when he added, "Come home when youāre done running," you had almost believed you could.
- When you finally did, he was waiting. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Took you long enough," he said, but there was no real bite to it. Just relief, just familiarity, just the silent understanding that had always existed between you. And when you let out a breath you hadnāt realized youād been holding, he only bumped his shoulder against yours and muttered, "Welcome back.ā
If only if only the woodpecker sighs the bark on the tree was as soft as the sky why the wolf waits below hungry and lonely he cries to the moon if only if only
One time I didnāt and I was broke for like a month but the next time I seen it I rebloged it and a bitch just got 500 out the blue and a 20 gift card
Something shifts in you after Jean and Scott have their baby making you wonder if you and Logan should have kids.
professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair, trying for a baby, angst, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of blood, triggering topics, self-loathing, healing
a/n: been sitting on this one for a while. Not going to lie this fucking hurt to write. I cried so much. I have never been through this but i know a few people who have and i canāt even imagine the pain and strength they have.
read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here
divider credit: @enchanthings
Jean beamed, her face glowing with a soft pride, as she held her baby boy close. His tiny hands curled around the fabric of her shirt, his chubby face peaceful as he dozed off in her arms. Over the past few months, youād watched him grow from a fragile newborn, all soft whimpers and sleepy eyes, into a curious, squirming infant. It seemed like only yesterday he was swaddled and still, but now here he was, wide-eyed and alert to the world.
Scott stood beside Jean, his posture softer than usual, his typically intense gaze almost watery as he watched her gently rock their son. He looked at them both like they were the center of his universe. A quiet awe in his expression that made something tighten in your chest.
"Heās so precious," you said quietly, unable to tear your eyes away from the little family in front of you. The warmth between them radiated out, a kind of contentment that was hard to describe but impossible to miss.
Jean glanced up at you with a knowing smile, one that made you feel as though she could read you like an open book. "He is, isnāt he?" she said, her eyes sparkling. Then, almost without thinking, she added, "Makes you wanna have one, I bet?"
The words hung in the air for a second too long, and you felt your breath catch, an awkward chuckle slipping out before you could stop it. "Oh, kids arenāt really my thing," you blurted, your voice a little too quick, a little too high. "I mean, I love kidsāwho doesnātābut, me... well..."
You trailed off as both Jean and Scott turned toward you, exchanging a quick, subtle glance. Their expressions were a mix of curiosity and mild confusion, like they hadnāt expected that answer, like maybe they were wondering why someone like youāsomeone married to Logan, no lessāwould feel that way.
The truth was, youād never really discussed it. Not in depth. Sure, it had come up in passing a few times, but it was one of those conversations that lingered at the edges of your relationship, something neither of you had pushed too hard to figure out. Logan, with all his complications and dark past, never really seemed the type to want a family. And you? You werenāt sure if you did, either. It was easier not to think about it, to enjoy the life you had nowāthe two of you, perfectly in sync, no added weight of expectation.
But something had shifted recently. Maybe it was watching Jean and Scott, the way they orbited around their son like he was their entire world. Or maybe it was something deeper you hadnāt allowed yourself to feel until now.
"Do you want to hold him?" Scott asked, his voice gentle, trying to break the tension he had sensed creeping in.
You shook your head quickly, hands coming up in protest. "No, itās fine, reallyā"
Before you could finish the thought, Jean was already moving, carefully transferring her sleeping son into your arms. You froze for a moment, a rush of panic flooding through you as the small, warm weight of the baby settled against your chest.
"There you go," Jean said softly, stepping back with a smile.
For a heartbeat, you felt a strange rush of anxietyāwhat if he started crying? What if you held him wrong? As the baby squirmed lightly against you, something softened inside. His small face scrunched up for a moment, but he didnāt stir, and before you knew it, the panic eased into something warmer, something you werenāt sure you were ready to name yet.
"Youāre a natural," Jean whispered, her smile widening as she watched you gently cradle her son.
You glanced down at the tiny face, his soft breathing rising and falling steadily, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. There was something so... peaceful about it. The weight of him in your arms, the delicate rise and fall of his chest. It was calming in a way you hadnāt expected. Your mind drifted, just for a second, imagining what it would be like to have a child of your own, one that looked up at you with Loganās piercing eyes, with his stubbornness and strength.
The thought caught you off guard, making your chest tighten. You had always been so certain that kids werenāt part of the plan, or at least, thatās what you told yourself. Now with this small life cradled in your arms, you werenāt so sure.
Loganās low, familiar voice broke through your thoughts. "There you are," he muttered, stepping into the room. His eyes softened immediately when he saw you holding the baby, though he tried to hide it behind his usual gruff expression. "Didnāt know I was married to a babysitter now."
You smirked, though your heart was racing a little. "Jean practically forced me."
Logan grunted in response, but there was a subtle shift in his expression as he watched you. His eyes lingered on the baby for a moment longer than usual, and you could see something flicker there. He stepped closer, his hand gently resting on your lower back, warm and reassuring.
"Doesnāt look like you mind too much," he said, his voice softer than usual, his eyes meeting yours.
You shrugged, feeling the baby shift slightly in your arms. "Itās... nice," you admitted quietly, surprising even yourself with the truth of it. "Holding him, I mean."
Logan didnāt say anything right away, but you could feel him studying you, the way he always did when he was thinking something over. Finally, he nodded toward the baby, his voice low. "You look good like that."
You blinked, caught off guard. "Like what?"
His eyes dropped to the baby in your arms before meeting yours again. "Holdinā him," Logan said quietly, his voice rough but filled with something more. "You look... happy."
You smiled, but there was a knot forming in your chest now, a new kind of weight pressing down. You couldnāt shake the image from your mindāLogan, holding a baby of your own, the two of you together as parents. It wasnāt something you had let yourself picture before, but now that it was there, you couldnāt unsee it.
Later that day, as you watched Logan outside, talking to Jubilee with that soft, fatherly look he sometimes wore, it hit you again. The way he was with her, with Rogue or the younger kids at the mansionāit was so natural, so instinctive. He had this way of guiding them, protecting them, even if heād never admit it out loud.
You started to wonder if maybe Logan would make an incredible father. As much as you tried to deny it, the thought made your heart ache.
When Logan caught you watching him, he smirked as his eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Whatāre you lookinā at?"
You shook your head, smiling softly. "Just you."
Logan came closer, wrapping his arm around your waist, his usual smirk softening. "Yeah?" he murmured. "Whatās that look for?"
You hesitated, biting your lip. "Just... thinking."
"āBout what?"
You glanced up at him, your eyes searching his, and for the first time in a while, you didnāt brush the thought aside. "Logan," you started softly, your voice unsure but steady, "have you ever thought about... having kids?"
Loganās eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the question. He was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowing as he considered your words. Then, after what felt like forever, he sighed softly, pulling you a little closer. "I dunno," he admitted quietly, his voice rough. "Never thought Iād be good at it. But... maybe." His gaze met yours, something unspoken lingering between you. "What about you?"
You swallowed, your heart pounding. "I think... maybe Iām starting to."
Logan didnāt say anything, but his hand slipped into yours, his calloused fingers curling around yours. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his silence saying more than words could at that moment.
š
In the days that followed, you couldnāt shake the thought from your mind. It was as if a switch had flipped inside you, and now you were noticing every little thing Logan didāthe way he spoke softly to one of his students who was struggling, the way he offered a stern but patient lecture to one of the kids running down the hallway, his voice rough with that familiar gruffness but still carrying a warmth that hinted at something deeper. Every time, your heart tightened, as though it was trying to tell you something you hadnāt quite figured out yet.
The idea of having kids had never seemed urgent. It was like a vague notion floating somewhere in the distance, something other people did after getting married. For you and Logan, it hadnāt felt like a natural progression. You liked your life the way it wasājust the two of you, wrapped up in each other. Lazy evenings spent tangled up on the couch, quiet mornings with coffee and teasing banter, spontaneous trips to the city where you wandered hand-in-hand without any real plan.
Now, with every small act of kindness, you saw Logan show, you couldnāt help but imagine him as a fatherā¦and it scared you.
The thought of having a child felt like a seismic shiftāone that would change the landscape of everything you loved. It wasnāt just about the sleepless nights or the endless responsibilities. It was deeper than that. You worried that the closeness you shared with Logan, the way your lives intertwined so effortlessly, would somehow slip away. That all the little moments you cherished would be replaced by the constant demands of a tiny person who needed everything from you, leaving little room for the quiet intimacy you had now.
Most of all, you worried that your love for each other would get... lost. That Logan, with all his quiet strength and unspoken fears, would pull away when faced with the weight of fatherhood.
It was late one evening, the two of you curled up in bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand. Logan was lying on his back, one arm behind his head, the other draped over you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your shoulder. You were nestled against his side, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, but your thoughts were racing.
You hesitated before speaking, your voice barely above a whisper. "Logan," you began, your tone uncertain. "Can I ask you something?"
He tilted his head slightly, looking down at you with those piercing hazel eyes, his expression softening as he nodded. "Always," he said quietly.
You swallowed, trying to find the right words. "Do you ever... do you ever feel like we might lose what we have if things change?"
Loganās brow furrowed slightly, a hint of concern in his eyes. "What do you mean, darlin'?" His voice was low like he was afraid to push too hard.
You took a deep breath, your fingers absently tracing the outline of his chest. "I mean, if we had a kid," you whispered, the words feeling strange on your tongue. "If we became parentsā¦ Iām worried that weād lose... us. The way things are now."
Logan was silent for a moment, his hand stilling on your shoulder as he considered your words. "You think a kid would take that away?" he asked, his voice gruff but gentle.
"I donāt know," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "I justāeverything would be different. We wouldnāt have these quiet nights or our spontaneous trips. Weād have to give up a lot." You paused, feeling the weight of your confession settle between you. "Iām scared that I wonāt have as much time for you. Or thatā¦ youād pull away."
Loganās gaze softened, a deep sigh escaping him as he pulled you closer, his arm tightening around your shoulders. "I get it," he murmured. "Iām not gonna lie, Iāve thought about that too." He hesitated, his eyes drifting to the ceiling for a moment before returning to yours. "Hell, Iām scared of a lot of things when it comes to havinā a kid. What if Iām no good at it? What if Iā¦ pass on the worst parts of me? All the anger, the darkness?"
You reached up, your hand cupping his jaw as you turned his face toward you. "You wouldnāt," you said firmly, meeting his gaze with unwavering certainty. "Youāre more than that, Logan. So much more."
He looked at you, his expression raw. "I try to be," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "But thereās a lotta things I canāt control. And I donāt know if Iād be any good at raisinā a kid. Iāve spent most of my life tryinā to protect people by keepinā āem at armās length. How do I protect someone I canāt keep away from everything bad in the world?"
His words sank into you, and you could see the fear in his eyes, the way his past haunted him in a way that was hard to put into words. It wasnāt just about fatherhoodāit was about feeling worthy of it. Of deserving that kind of joy.
"You protect me," you whispered, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. "Every day. And you do it without keeping me at a distance. You let me in, Logan. Thatās not easy, but you did it. You do it. And if you can do that, then I think youād make a great father."
Loganās eyes searched yours, his breath hitching slightly as your words settled in. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there like he was drawing strength from the contact. "Iām not sure I deserve you sayinā that," he murmured against your skin. "But it means more than you know."
You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your hand slipping down to rest over his heart, feeling its steady rhythm beneath your touch. "Iām scared too," you confessed. "Iām scared of everything changing, and of not being able to handle it. But Iām also scared ofā¦ what if we donāt even try? What if we let fear decide for us?"
Loganās expression softened, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles as he held your hand. "If we do this," he said, his voice low and steady, "we do it together. No matter what. It wonāt always be easy, butā¦" He hesitated, his voice breaking just slightly. "Iād rather face that with you than spend the rest of my life wonderin' if we shoulda tried."
You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, and suddenly, the idea didnāt seem as overwhelming as it had before. It was still scary, yes, but knowing that Logan was just as unsure, just as scared, made it feel more... real.
You pressed a kiss to his lips, letting it linger, your fingers curling into his hair as you drew him closer. "Soā¦ we're gonna try for a baby?" you whispered, the words slipping out softly.
Loganās arms tightened around you like he was anchoring himself to the moment. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours with a mix of uncertainty and quiet determination. There was a heartbeat of silence before he nodded. "Yeah," he murmured, the sound almost lost in the space between you. Then, with more conviction, he added, "Yeah, why the hell not." His lips curved into a small, genuine smile.
š
Trying for a baby had started out excitingāa new chapter to explore with Logan. Youād always had an active and passionate sex life, and the thought of intentionally building a family together made your heart swell.Ā
It wasnāt the act of trying that was hardāit was the waiting, the endless cycle of hope and disappointment. You had been so sure, so confident at the start. But now, after months of trying and nothing to show for it, doubt had begun to creep in like a shadow you couldnāt shake.
Standing by the window in the quiet library, you stared out at the sprawling gardens, but your gaze was unfocused. Your mind was too busy unraveling itself. Why hadnāt it happened yet? Was it you? Was something wrong with you?
Your thoughts drifted back to the last four years of marriage with Logan. You couldnāt help but wonder why you hadnāt gotten pregnant sooner, even by accident. Not once had there been a scare, not even a close call. The questions swirled in your mind, each one more suffocating than the last. Was it my body? Did I do something wrong? Am I broken?
āHey.ā Loganās familiar voice broke through the haze. You hadnāt even heard him enter the room.
You felt the warmth of his arm as he wrapped it around your shoulders, his touch gentle, steady. āWhatās wrong, darlinā?ā he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.
You stiffened slightly, shrugging his arm off and taking a small step away. āI donāt want to talk about it, okay?ā you whispered, your gaze still fixed on the window.
Logan hesitated. He wasnāt the type to push when you didnāt want to talk, but thisāthis distance, the way youād been pulling away latelyāwas starting to worry him. He could see the weight you were carrying, the exhaustion etched into your face, even though you tried to hide it behind small smiles and quick deflections.
āSweetheart,ā he said softly, his voice almost a plea, āyou donāt have to talk to me if youāre not ready. Butā¦ you gotta talk to someone. You canāt carry this by yourself.ā
His words broke something loose in you, and you bit your lip hard to keep it from trembling. A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. āI just donāt understand,ā you finally said, your voice cracking. āI thought Iād be pregnant by now. I thought itād be easyā¦ but itās not, and I canāt stop feeling likeāā
āLike what?ā Logan pressed gently, stepping closer but keeping his distance enough to not crowd you.
āLike a failure,ā you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavy leaving your mouth, as if speaking them made them more real.
Loganās expression softened instantly, his brow furrowing with a mix of concern and heartache. āDarlinā,ā he said quietly, closing the gap between you and gently cupping your face in his hands. He tilted your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.
āYou listen to me,ā he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. āYouāre not a failure. Not even close. Donāt you dare think that.ā
āBut, Logan,ā you choked out, your tears now spilling freely. āWhat if itās me? What if thereās something wrong with me? You deserve someone whoāā
āStop,ā he interrupted firmly. His thumbs brushed the tears from your cheeks, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. āDonāt do that to yourself. Donāt put all this blame on you. We donāt know why it hasnāt happened yet, but it sure as hell isnāt because youāre not enough. Youāre everything to me.ā
Your knees felt weak at the raw sincerity in his voice, and you leaned into his touch, letting his warmth hold you together. āI justā¦ I donāt know how to stop feeling like this,ā you admitted, your voice trembling.
Logan pulled you into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel shielded from the weight of the world. āWeāll figure it out,ā he murmured into your hair. āTogether. However long it takes, whatever we have to doāweāll figure it out. But I need you to promise me somethinā, okay?ā
āWhat?ā you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.
āPromise me youāll stop beatinā yourself up over this. Youāre not weak, darlinā. Youāre the strongest person Iāve ever known. And if this doesnāt happen the way we planned, it doesnāt change a damn thing about how much I love you.ā
His words wrapped around your heart like a warm blanket, soothing the ache that had been gnawing at you for weeks. You tilted your head back to look at him, your hands resting on his chest. āYou always know what to say,ā you whispered, a faint, watery smile tugging at your lips.
He gave you a small, lopsided grin, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. āGuess Iāve got a good reason to.ā
You took a deep breath, feeling a flicker of hope reignite in your chest. āYou know, sometimes I wonder if this is harder on you than you let on,ā you said softly.
Logan hesitated, his gaze dropping for a moment before he looked back at you. āItās hard,ā he admitted. āBut not because of me. Itās hard seeinā you like this. Youāve always been the one who makes things feel right, and I hate seeinā you doubt yourself.ā
Your heart swelled at his honesty, and you leaned up to press a soft kiss to his knuckles. āI love you so much, Logan. No matter what happens, Iām just glad I have you by my side.ā
His hazel eyes softened, and he pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. āI love you more, darlinā. Weāre in this together, okay?ā
You nodded, letting the warmth of his embrace settle over you like a safety net. The quiet hum of the library wrapped around you both, cocooning the moment in a kind of stillness you hadnāt felt in weeks.
š
It was a few weeks later, and life had settled back into its usual rhythmāteaching classes, grading papers, and the occasional chaos that came with living in a mansion full of mutants. But something wasā¦ different. At first, you didnāt think much of it. Everyone felt off sometimes, right?
The fatigue came first. You yawned at least five times during one of your lectures, earning amused glances from your students. āLong night, Professor?ā one of them teased, and you waved it off with a laugh, though you were secretly confused. Youād gone to bed early the night before, and yet you still felt like you could curl up under your desk and sleep for hours.
Then, there was lunch. Your usual favoriteāwhatever Logan had grilled up the night beforeāsuddenly turned your stomach. The smell alone had you rushing out of the dining hall, your hand clamped over your mouth as you tried to breathe through the nausea. Jean had given you a concerned look, but you waved her off, blaming it on some "bad leftovers."
By the third day of these strange symptoms, you couldnāt ignore them anymore. Your mind began to piece things togetherā the fatigue, the nausea, the way your favorite coffee suddenly tasted too bitter to drink. A flicker of hope sparked in your chest, but you tried to push it down. Donāt get ahead of yourself, you told yourself. It could be anything.
Still, the thought wouldnāt leave you alone. That night, after Logan had gone to bed, you slipped out of your shared room and quietly headed to the mansionās lab. You grabbed a pregnancy test, your hands trembling slightly as you tucked it under your arm and snuck back to the bathroom.
What if itās negative again? What if this hope Iāve been holding onto is justā¦ nothing?
But then, something shifted. A small voice in the back of your mind reminded you of Loganās words. Weāre in this together.
Finally, you took a deep breath and glanced down at the test. Your heart stopped.
Two lines.
Tears welled in your eyes, your hand flying to your mouth as a soft, disbelieving laugh escaped you. Positive. You were pregnant.
For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the test as joy bloomed in your chest, spreading through you like sunlight breaking through clouds. The months of waiting, of disappointment, of wondering if it would ever happenāall of it melted away in that instant.
You couldnāt wait to tell Logan. He deserved to know right away. But you wanted it to be special, something heād never forget.
The next morning, you woke up earlier than usual, your excitement too much to keep contained. While Logan was still asleep, you snuck into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for supplies. If there was one thing Logan loved as much as you, it was breakfastāspecifically pancakes.
You whipped up a batch, taking extra care to shape them into letters. The smell of warm batter filled the air, and you couldnāt help but smile as you arranged the pancakes on a large plate, spelling out: Youāre going to be a dad.
By the time Logan wandered into the kitchen, his hair sticking up in every direction and his usual gruff morning expression on full display, you were practically bouncing on your toes.
āMorninā, sweetheart,ā he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he headed for the coffee maker.
āMorning,ā you chirped, barely containing your excitement.
He turned, narrowing his eyes at you playfully. āWhatās got you so chipper this early?ā
You gestured to the table, where the plate of pancakes sat waiting. āI made you breakfast.ā
Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious as he stepped closer. But the moment his eyes landed on the pancakes, his entire body stilled.
His gaze moved slowly over the words, his expression unreadable at first. Then, his eyes shot up to meet yours, wide and filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope. āDarlināā¦ are you serious?ā
You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes as you whispered, āLogan, weāre going to have a baby.ā
For a moment, he didnāt say anything. Then, he let out a shaky breath, a hand running through his hair as he took a step toward you. āYou mean it? Youāreā¦ weāreā¦ā
You smiled, nodding again as tears slipped down your cheeks. āYes. Itās real.ā
Loganās arms were around you in an instant, pulling you tightly against his chest. You felt his body tremble slightly as he held you, his face buried in your neck. āI donāt even know what to say,ā he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.
āYou donāt have to say anything,ā you whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair. āJustā¦ be here with me. Thatās all I need.ā
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hazel eyes shining with a rare vulnerability. āI never thought Iād get to have this,ā he said softly. āA family. Youāve given me more than I ever thought I deserved.ā
You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing away the tears that had slipped from his eyes. āYou deserve everything, Logan. And I canāt wait to do this with you.ā
A soft, genuine smile curved his lips as he leaned down, capturing yours in a kiss. His hand cradled your cheek, his touch warm. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead lightly against yours.Ā
Loganās gaze flickered downward, his expression softening even more as his roughened hand moved to rest on your stomach. His palm was warm against you, and for a moment, he seemed almost in awe, his thumb brushing gently over the fabric of your shirt.
A chuckle rumbled through him, deep and affectionate. āThings are about to get a whole lot more interesting,ā he murmured, his voice carrying both wonder and a touch of that familiar, teasing tone.
Your lips curved into a smile as you rested your hand over his, fingers threading together as your eyes followed his gaze to where your hands now lay. āYeah,ā you whispered, the word carrying a quiet awe of your own. āThey really are.ā
The world outside the kitchen faded away as you both stood there, the enormity of what was to come settling in. Loganās thumb idly traced circles over the back of your hand, his expression a mix of pride, love, and something almost boyishālike he couldnāt quite believe this was real.
āYou know,ā he said softly, his eyes lifting to meet yours, hazel and filled with an emotion so raw it made your breath catch, āIām not sure how weāre gonna do this, butā¦ I canāt wait to figure it out with you.ā
Your chest tightened, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you held his gaze, your hand squeezing his. āWeāll figure it out,ā you whispered, your voice trembling slightly but full of certainty. āTogether. Like we always do.ā
Unable to resist, you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, your arms slipping around his waist. He held you close, his hand still protectively resting on your stomach as the other wrapped firmly around your back.
āYouāre gonna be a great dad,ā you murmured into his chest.
Logan let out a low, soft laugh, his chin brushing the top of your head as he pressed a kiss there. āIāll try, sweetheart,ā he said quietly, his voice heavy with emotion. āBut with you beside meā¦ I think I might just figure it out.ā
You tilted your head up to meet his eyes again, a tear slipping free but your smile unwavering. āYou already have,ā you said softly, your fingers gently brushing along his jaw.
š
Everything was going greatāor, well, as great as could be expected when you were juggling teaching, mutant chaos, and the excitement of being newly pregnant. Youād gone to the doctor for a check-up, double-checking everything was on track, and Logan had been, wellā¦ different.
Attentive wasnāt even the right word for it. Logan had turned into an overprotective force of nature. He refused to let you lift anything heavier than a book, shot you a look of warning anytime you so much as bent down, and always seemed to be hovering nearby like he thought the baby might need saving from a falling bookshelf or something.
Not that you minded. In fact, you found itā¦ sweet. Especially when his rough hands would slide under your shirt at the end of the day, his palms brushing over your barely-there bump as if he could somehow connect with the life growing inside you. The way he looked at youāat both of youāmade your heart feel like it might burst.
But of course, Logan's changed behavior didnāt go unnoticed.
You and Logan stood outside on the mansionās back patio, enjoying a rare moment of peace. The fresh air wrapped around you like a soft blanket, and you leaned back into his chest as his hands gently rested on your stomach, his thumbs absentmindedly brushing little circles there.
āI like that itās just between us,ā Logan murmured into your ear, his lips grazing the shell of it as his arms tightened around you.
You hummed in agreement, resting your hands over his. āMe too, butā¦ we canāt hide it forever, you know.ā
Logan chuckled low and warm, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. āPretty sure Chuck already knows,ā he muttered, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk. āAnd Jean. Sheās probably just sittinā on it, waitinā for you to spill.ā
You tilted your head back to glance at him, a knowing grin on your face. āOh, sheās definitely sitting on it. Jean loves a good secret almost as much as she loves saying, āI told you so.āā
He grunted in agreement, lowering his head to press a soft kiss to the side of your neck. āIf you wanna tell everyone, darlinā, just say the word. Iāll follow your lead.ā
You sighed, closing your eyes as his lips trailed down your neck in a way that made you forget about anything other than the warmth of his embrace. āShould we do something special? Oh! What ifāā
āIs there any place you two wonāt get freaky in?ā
The voice startled you both, and Logan quickly yanked your shirt back down as you peeked over his shoulder to see Scott and Ororo walking toward you. Ororo had a toolbox in hand, presumably for the greenhouse, and Scott, as usual, was looking far too amused for his own good.
You burst into laughter, unable to help yourself. āWe were justāā
āJust about two seconds from Logan ripping your clothes off,ā Scott interrupted with a smirk.
Logan shot him a glare, his arms still loosely wrapped around you. āI was not,ā he growled, though the faintest hint of pink dusted his cheeks.
You grinned, turning in Loganās hold to face them. āWe were enjoying the fresh air, Summers. You should try it sometime. Might do wonders for your sunny personality.ā
Scott rolled his eyes, but his expression grew suspicious as he glanced between you and Logan. āSomethingāsā¦ different.ā
āYeah,ā Ororo chimed in, narrowing her eyes at Logan. āHeās not acting like himself. He didnāt even make a sarcastic remark about Scott interrupting his make-out session.ā
Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to will away their nonsense. āIām right here, you know.ā
Ororo gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. āNo witty remark again? What in the world is happening? Is Loganā¦ soft now?ā
Scott snorted, crossing his arms. āWhatās next? Is Logan volunteering to help with art class? Baking cookies for the kids?ā
You bit back a laugh, looking up at Logan with mock seriousness. āYou have been oddly chipper lately. Youāre not sneakinā cookies out of the kitchen again, are you?ā
Logan shot you a look, though the faintest twitch of a smirk betrayed him. āReal funny, sweetheart.ā
āActually,ā Ororo interjected, her eyes narrowing in playful suspicion, āmaybe itās not the cookies. Maybe youāre the reason Loganās gone all soft and smiley.ā
Scottās eyebrows shot up, his lips curving into a sly grin. āOhhhh, I think āRoās onto something. Spill it, you two. What are you hiding?ā
Logan sighed, running a hand down his face as he grumbled, āCanāt a guy just be happy without you nosy lot digginā into it?ā
Ororo and Scott exchanged knowing looks, but before they could press further, you took pity on Logan and looped your arms around his waist. āHonestly, I think Loganās just been spending too much time with you two,ā you teased. āItās rubbing off on him. Maybe we should keep our distance, huh?ā
Scott chuckled, shaking his head. āYeah, right. Whateverās going on, Iāll figure it out eventually.ā
āDonāt hold your breath,ā Logan muttered, shooting Scott a glare as he led you back toward the mansion.
Once you were out of earshot, you rose up on your toes, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. āWell, that wentā¦ better than expected. Look at you, handling things so maturely.ā
Logan glanced down at you, his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. āDonāt get ahead of yourself, sweetheart,ā he drawled, his tone low and teasing. āIāve still got plenty of gruff left in me.ā
āOh, I know,ā you quipped, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as you leaned into him. āBut maybe you should save a little of that charm to keep them from growing even more suspicious. Youāre practically glowing, Logan.ā
He huffed a soft laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest as his fingers brushed absentmindedly over your stomach. āSo, let me get this straightāyouāre tellinā me to be grumpy? Never thought Iād hear you say that.ā
You grinned, nudging him with your elbow. āHey, mister, I love you and all your grumpiness. You canāt just go soft on me because weāre having a baby.ā
His lips twitched, but he wasnāt listening anymore. His gaze had shifted, fixating on your stomach with a quiet intensity, like the world had narrowed down to just the two of youāand the life you were carrying. His fingers stilled, brushing softly over the fabric of your shirt as if he could feel the baby beneath it.
āLogan,ā you said, trying to stifle a smile as you reached up to cup his jaw. You tilted his face back up toward yours, catching his hazel eyes. āEyes up here, tough guy.ā
He blinked, snapping out of his daze, though his lips curved into a sheepish smirk. āCanāt help it,ā he muttered, his voice softer now. āKinda hard to believe, ya know? That itāsā¦ really happening.ā
Your heart squeezed, and you ran your thumb gently along the scruff of his jaw. āItās happening,ā you murmured, your voice tender. āAnd youāre already doing so much. Youāre gonna be the best dad, Logan. I know it.ā
His hand slipped up from your stomach to rest against your hip, grounding himself in your touch. āDunno about the best,ā he said, his voice low and raw, ābut Iām sure as hell gonna try. For you. For them.ā
Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Instead, you leaned up, brushing your lips softly against his. āYouāve got nothing to prove, you know,ā you whispered against his mouth. āYouāre already everything we need.ā
Logan didnāt say anything for a moment, just let his forehead rest against yours as he closed his eyes. His hand found its way back to your stomach, resting there protectively. āYou make this gruff old guy believe in things he never thought heād have,ā he finally murmured, his voice rough with emotion.
āGood,ā you replied with a small smile, threading your fingers through his. āBecause weāre not going anywhere, Logan. Youāve got usāgruffness and all.ā
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple before wrapping his arm around you and guiding you back toward the mansion. āGuess I better start practicing my grumpy dad voice, huh?ā
āOh, absolutely,ā you teased, leaning into him as the warmth of his presence surrounded you. āYouāve got a reputation to maintain, after all.ā
š
A few days later, you stood in front of your class, pacing slowly as you explained the finer points of literary symbolism. Your voice was steady, your gestures fluid, but the dull ache in your lower back that had been nagging you all morning suddenly sharpened, sending a jolt of pain through your abdomen.
You froze mid-sentence, your breath hitching, one hand instinctively moving to your stomach.
āMrs. Howlett?ā a girl in the front row asked hesitantly, her wide eyes filled with concern. āAre you okay?ā
You forced a smile, straightening up despite the discomfort clawing its way through you. āIām fine,ā you replied, your voice gentle but strained. āJustā¦ give me a moment.ā
The room felt too warm, the air heavy, and the studentsā curious gazes only amplified your unease. You gripped the edge of your desk to steady yourself, taking a slow breath.
āClaire,ā you said, turning to the girl who had spoken up, your tone soft but firm. āCan you keep an eye on the class for a few minutes? Iāll be right back.ā
She nodded quickly, her concern etched into her features, and you grabbed your bag, clutching it tightly as you made your way to the door.
The hallway felt endless as you walked, the sharp pain twisting in your abdomen with every step. You tried to focus on your breathing, on the soft click of your shoes against the tiled floor, but panic was starting to creep into your mind.
By the time you reached the bathroom, your hands were trembling. You pushed the door open, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow as you stumbled toward the sink. The pain was intensifying, and a sense of dread settled heavily in your chest.
The sound of the bathroom door shutting behind you echoed in the silence, but you barely heard it over the pounding in your ears. Something was wrongāvery wrong. Your hands trembled as you stumbled into a stall, the sharp pain in your abdomen making it hard to catch your breath.
You fumbled with the clasp of your bag, searching desperately for aspirin, though deep down, you knew no pill was going to fix this. Then you felt itāa warm, wet sensation and your heart plummeted.
āNo, no, noā¦ā you whispered, your voice cracking as you yanked open the bathroom stall door and hurried to the sink.
With shaky hands, you splashed cold water on your face, trying to calm your racing thoughts. But when you glanced down and saw the crimson staining your pants, the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
Panic clawed at your chest, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. āPlease, noā¦ pleaseā¦ā Tears blurred your vision as you stumbled back, your legs giving out beneath you. You crumpled to the bathroom floor, clutching your stomach as sobs wracked your body.
This couldnāt be happening. It couldnāt be.
In the hallway, Logan was walking back to his classroom after helping a student with a project. Heād been in a surprisingly light moodāuntil he heard it. The sound of your sobbing carried faintly down the corridor, and his entire body tensed.
He broke into a sprint, following the sound to the bathroom door.
āDarlinā, you in there?ā His voice was urgent. The sound of his voice only made you cry harder. You couldnāt bring yourself to respond, couldnāt find the strength to tell him what was happening.
Logan didnāt wait for an answer. He pushed open the bathroom door, and the sight before him made his heart stop.
You were curled up on the floor, your arms wrapped tightly around your stomach as you sobbed uncontrollably. The crimson streaks on the tiles told him everything he needed to know.
āSweetheart,ā he breathed, his voice breaking as he rushed to your side. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering over you like he wasnāt sure where to touch without hurting you further.
You looked up at him, your tear-streaked face filled with anguish. āLoganā¦ I thinkāI think we lostāā
Your words dissolved into a fresh wave of sobs, and Loganās chest ached with the weight of your pain. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest, holding you as if he could shield you from the cruel reality of what was happening.
āIām here,ā he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. āIām here, darlinā. Iāve got you.ā
You clung to him, your fists gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart. Loganās hand found its way to your hair, stroking it gently as he rocked you back and forth.
āItās not your fault,ā he murmured, his voice trembling. āDo you hear me? Itās not your fault. Donāt you dare blame yourself for this.ā
āIā¦ I wanted this so badly,ā you choked out between sobs, your face buried in his chest. āI wanted this for us, Logan. And now itāsā¦ itās gone.ā
Loganās jaw clenched, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He hated how powerless he feltāhow he couldnāt fix this for you, couldnāt take away your pain.
He gently scooped you up into his arms, cradling you like you were the most precious thing in the world. āCāmon, sweetheart,ā he murmured, his voice barely audible. āLetās get you outta here.ā
You buried your face against his neck, your tears soaking into his shirt as he carried you down the hallway. Loganās usual gruffness was gone, replaced by a quiet, tender resolve to be whatever you needed him to be at this moment.
When he reached your shared room, he gently laid you down on the bed, pulling the blanket over you. He sat down beside you, his hand never leaving yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your knuckles.
Your words were barely a whisper, fragile and heavy. āIād gotten used to the idea of usā¦ us being parents.ā The tremble in your voice made Loganās chest tighten, and he couldnāt stop the pained expression that flickered across his face.
He leaned closer, resting his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face. āI know, sweetheart,ā he murmured, his voice low and raw. āWeā¦ we just have to find a way to keep going.ā
You gave a small, broken nod, tears slipping down your cheeks as your fingers reached out, trembling slightly, to cup his cheek. āI justā¦ I wish I could fix this, Logan. I wish I could do something to make it better.ā
Loganās jaw clenched as he swallowed hard, his thumb brushing over your cheek, wiping away a tear. āThereās nothinā to fix, darlinā,ā he said quietly, though his own voice cracked at the end. āThis aināt on you. It never was.ā
But you shook your head, your voice breaking into a sob. āIt feels like it is. What ifāwhat if my body justā¦ canāt? What if this is because of me?ā
The words spilled out, laden with guilt you couldnāt seem to shake. Loganās breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldnāt speak. He hated seeing you like thisāso vulnerable, so broken, carrying the weight of something that wasnāt yours to carry.
āStop,ā he said firmly, though his tone was still soft, his hand gently tilting your chin up so youād look at him. His hazel eyes, glassy with his unshed tears, locked onto yours. āDonāt you dare blame yourself for this.ā
You shook your head again, unable to stop the wave of tears that came. āBut what if itās me, Logan? What if I canātāā
āEnough,ā he cut in, his voice barely above a whisper, but the rawness of it stopped you in your tracks. āItās not your fault. You hear me? Thisā¦ this is just somethinā that happened. And it hurts like hell, but it doesnāt mean you failed.ā
His words cracked something inside of you, and you turned away, burying your face into the pillow as another sob wracked your body. Logan didnāt pull away. He stayed close, his hand rubbing slow, steady circles on your back, his presence grounding you even as your world felt like it was crumbling.
After a moment, Loganās voice broke the heavy silence, softer now, as if he was speaking to himself as much as to you. āDarlinā, weāre not givinā up. Weāve faced worse. Weāll get through this, too. But you gotta stop thinkinā this is somethinā you did.ā
Your muffled voice came from the pillow, shaky and raw. āBut I wanted it so badly, Logan. I alreadyāI already pictured everything. The nursery, the little shoesā¦ us holdingānow itās been ripped away from us.ā
Loganās chest ached at your words, and he let out a shaky breath, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. āI know,ā he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. āI wanted it too. I already saw you as a mom, sweetheart. I still do. I always will.ā
You turned your head slightly, your tear-streaked face meeting his gaze. His honestyāhis vulnerabilityābroke through the wall of guilt youād been building. āYou stillā¦?ā
āAlways,ā he said firmly, his thumb brushing away another tear. āIām not gonna let this define us. Weāre more than this pain. And I know it feels impossible right now, but weāll figure it out. We always do.ā
A shaky sob escaped you as you reached for him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you close, holding you tightly against him, his hand tangling in your hair as he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.
āYouāre not alone in this,ā he murmured, his voice a quiet promise. āWeāre in this together, no matter what. You and me.ā
You allowed yourself to lean fully into him, your tears soaking into his shirt as he held you. His arms were strong and steady, and the way he cradled you made you feel, just for a moment, like maybe things could be okay again.
āI love you,ā you whispered into his chest, the words muffled but heavy with meaning.
āI love you too, sweetheart,ā he replied, his voice rough with emotion as he rested his chin on top of your head. āMore than anything. Donāt forget that.ā
š
Life was supposed to keep moving, but for you and Logan, it felt like time had stopped. The days blurred into weeks, and while the mansion hummed with the usual chaos of students and X-Men missions, you both drifted through it like ghosts.
The weight of the miscarriage hung heavy between you, unspoken but ever-present. You couldnāt bear to talk about it, not yet. Not to anyone except Logan, and even then, words often failed. Nights were the only solace, the quiet hours where he held you tightly in his arms as you sobbed until exhaustion finally overtook you. In those moments, he didnāt say muchāwhat was there to say even as his own grief simmered just beneath the surface.
Logan hated feeling helpless, but this was something he couldnāt fight, couldnāt fix. He saw the pain in your eyes every time you avoided his gaze, the way you masked your tears with a smile that never quite reached your face. And it scared him. His mind spiraled into dark places late at night when he couldnāt sleep. What if this broke you? What if it broke your marriage? What if you left him because he couldnāt give you what you wanted?
The others started to notice. It wasnāt just that you both were quieter than usualāit was the way Logan didnāt bite back as much during arguments or how your laughter, which used to light up any room, had grown rare.
āYou two seem pretty... off lately,ā Scott had commented to Logan one morning in the kitchen.
Logan barely glanced at him, too tired to muster a sarcastic reply. āWeāre fine,ā he muttered, his tone gruff but unconvincing.
Scott frowned, crossing his arms. āFine? Youāve barely said three words to anyone all week, and sheās not much better. Is something going on?ā
Logan clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the coffee mug he was holding. āDrop it, Summers,ā he growled before walking out, heading upstairs to check on you.
But Scott didnāt drop it.
It was a Friday night, and the team had gathered in the living room for what was supposed to be a relaxing evening. Someone had put on a movie, but the dialogue barely registered as you sat curled up on the couch next to Logan. His arm was draped around your shoulders, protective as always, but you could feel the tension in his body. You werenāt much better, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket you had pulled over your lap.
āAlright,ā Scott said, breaking the lull in conversation. āI canāt be the only one whoās noticed somethingās off with these two.ā
You froze, your fingers tightening on the blanket as all eyes turned toward you and Logan.
āScott,ā Jean warned, her tone cautious.
āWhat?ā Scott pressed, looking around the room for support. āTheyāve been acting strange for weeks now. Donāt tell me none of you have noticed.ā
You forced a smile, trying to deflect. āWeāre fine, Scott. Just busy, thatās all.ā
Scott wasnāt convinced. āBusy? Come on. You guys are like the most annoying, lovey-dovey couple in this place. Now youāre quiet and avoiding everyone? Somethingās up.ā
āScott, maybeāā Ororo started, but Scott cut her off.
āNo, Iām serious. If somethingās wrong, we can help, but we canāt do that if you donāt tell us whatās going on.ā
Loganās grip on your shoulder tightened, and you could feel the tension radiating off him. He leaned forward, his jaw clenched, his voice dangerously low. āI said drop it, Summers.ā
āWhy? Whatās the big deal? Weāre just trying toāā
Before he could finish, Logan shot to his feet, his voice breaking as he shouted, āBecause we lost our baby, alright?ā
The room fell into a stunned silence. Loganās chest heaved, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stood there, raw and vulnerable in a way none of them had ever seen.
You stared up at him, your heart breaking all over again as you saw the tears streaming down his face, the anguish heād been holding back finally spilling over. Logan, the man who never cried, was now sobbing in front of everyone, his shoulders shaking as he triedāand failedāto pull himself together.
āLoganā¦ā you whispered, rising to your feet and reaching for him.
He shook his head, his voice cracking. āIāI couldnāt protect the baby. I couldnāt do anything. Itās my fault, sweetheart. I let you down.ā
āStop,ā you said firmly, wrapping your arms around him despite the way he tried to pull back. āLogan, stop. Itās not your fault. None of this is your fault.ā
He collapsed into your embrace, his head resting against your shoulder as he clung to you, his sobs muffled against your skin. āIām so sorry,ā he choked out, his voice broken.
Tears streamed down your face as you held him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you whispered, āYou didnāt let me down. You could never let me down.ā
The others sat in stunned silence, their initial shock giving way to quiet understanding. Jean wiped at her tears, her hand resting on Scottās arm to keep him from saying anything more.
āItās going to be okay,ā you murmured into Loganās ear, your voice trembling under the weight of your uncertainty. The words felt hollow, like trying to patch a dam with a handful of sand, but you needed him to hear them, to believe them.
Logan pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his hazel eyes brimming with unspoken pain. His rough edges, the walls he so carefully built, seemed to crumble in that moment. āI donāt know how to do this,ā he admitted, his voice hoarse and raw, each word a struggle.
āYou donāt have to know,ā you whispered, your fingertips brushing a tear from his cheek, the small gesture grounding both of you.
For a moment, he just stared at you, like he was searching for somethingāhope, strength, maybe even forgiveness. Then, with a shaky exhale, he let himself lean into you, his weight resting against your shoulder as though surrendering to the vulnerability he so often avoided.
You guided him back to the couch, easing him down with gentle hands. Logan found your hand gripping it firmly, almost desperate, as if letting go would make the pain worse. You stayed by his side while the rest of the team sat in stunned silence. Their usual chatter and banter were gone, replaced by an unspoken understanding that this was something fragile that required care.
Jean broke the stillness, her voice soft but resolute. āWhy donāt we give them some space?ā
One by one, the others stood, their footsteps hesitant as they left the room. Scott lingered near the doorway, his expression conflicted. He seemed rooted to the spot, torn between leaving and staying.
āIām sorry,ā Scott finally said, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. He took a step closer, his gaze darting between you and Logan. āI didnāt mean to push earlier. I didnāt knowā¦ā
Logan lifted his head slightly, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room was palpable, but there was no anger in his gazeājust a quiet exhaustion.
Scott ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. āI was out of line,ā he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. āI didnāt realizeā¦ I just thought something was off, and I pushed when I shouldnāt have.ā
Jean stepped into the room, placing a steadying hand on Scottās arm. She looked at both of you, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. āScott didnāt mean to make things worse,ā she said gently. āWeāveā¦ weāve been where you are.ā
You blinked, taken aback. āWhat do you mean?ā
Jean hesitated, her fingers tightening on Scottās arm as if drawing strength from him. āBefore we had Nathan, weā¦ we lost a baby.ā Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of her confession filled the room.
You felt your chest tighten before glancing at Logan, who looked just as surprised as you. Scottās usual stoic demeanor was gone, replaced by a raw vulnerability that you had never seen before.
Scott cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the floor. āWe didnāt tell anyone. Not even the Professor. It was earlyā¦ and we thought we could handle it on our own.ā He let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching at his sides. āBut it was hard. Harder than we ever expected.ā
Jean nodded, her eyes glistening as she looked at you. āWe blamed ourselves. Blamed each other. But eventually, we realizedā¦ it wasnāt anyoneās fault. It justā¦ it happens.ā
You blinked, the tears welling in your eyes threatening to spill over again. āI didnāt know,ā you whispered, your voice barely audible.
Scott let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. āNo one did. I thought if I buried it deep enough, it wouldnāt hurt as much. But seeing you two...ā His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. āIām sorry for pushing earlier. I didnāt mean to make things worse.ā
Jean stepped closer, her hand reaching out to yours. āItās going to take time,ā she said softly. āBut you donāt have to go through it alone. If you ever need to talkā¦ weāre here.ā
Her words, simple but heartfelt, broke through the wall of grief that had been suffocating you. You nodded, a small, grateful smile breaking through your tears. āThank you,ā you whispered.
Scott extended a hand to Logan, who hesitated for a moment before shaking it. It wasnāt much, but it felt like the beginning of an unspoken understanding, a bridge between two men who had rarely seen eye to eye.
As they left the room, you turned to Logan, your hand squeezing his. āThatā¦ helped. A little.ā
Logan nodded, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. āYeah,ā he murmured, his voice low and steady. āGuess even Scott has his moments.ā
You managed a weak laugh, leaning into him as he pulled you close. For the first time in weeks, the weight on your chest felt slightly lighter even if you knew this was only the beginning of trying to find a new normal.Ā
š
Months had passed since the miscarriage, and while life had begun to find its rhythm again, the pain lingered like an uninvited guest. The grief wasnāt as sharp as it had been in the beginning, but it still loomed over you and Logan, casting a shadow on your once-effortless connection. You both knew it wasnāt your fault, but knowing and feeling werenāt always the same.
Logan, always the protector, had become even more so in the aftermath. His hand rarely left yours, as if letting go for even a moment might cause something else to slip away. He hovered constantlyānot in a stifling way, but in a way that spoke volumes about his fear and guilt. While you appreciated his care, you could see that he was holding something back, burying his pain in the only way he knew how.
It wasnāt until one late night, when you reached out for him in bed and found his side cold and empty, that you realized just how much he was struggling. Pulling on a robe, you wandered the quiet halls of the mansion, searching for him. It didnāt take long; you heard the familiar snikt of his claws in the training room.
Peeking inside, your heart broke at the sight of him. Logan stood shirtless in the dim light, sweat dripping from his forehead as he lunged at the sparring dummy. His movements were wild, full of rage and frustration. His claws tore through the dummy with brutal efficiency, slashing and stabbing until it was shredded to pieces. When the dummy finally collapsed in a heap, Logan dropped to his knees, his claws retracting with a metallic hiss. He leaned forward, bracing himself on his hands, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps.
You stayed in the doorway for a moment, debating whether to give him space or step in. But as you saw his shoulders slump, the weight of his grief almost palpable, you couldnāt hold back.
āLogan,ā you called softly, stepping into the room.
His head whipped around, his eyes wild for a second before softening when he saw you. He wiped a hand across his face as if trying to compose himself. āWhatāre you doinā up, sweetheart?ā he asked gruffly, his voice low and strained.
āI could ask you the same thing,ā you replied, walking closer until you stood in front of him. āI woke up, and you werenāt there.ā
He looked away, his jaw tightening. āJust needed toā¦ work some things out.ā
You knelt in front of him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. āYou canāt keep doing this, Logan. Pushing it all down, burying it in anger. Itās not going to help.ā
His eyes flickered back to you, and for a moment, you saw the raw vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. āI donāt know what else to do,ā he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. āI canātā¦ I canāt stop thinkinā about it. I donāt know how to make it right.ā
You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. āYou donāt have to make it right,ā you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion. āWe canāt fix this. We just have to accept it and move on.ā
His eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head, his hands coming up to cover yours. āI just wanted to protect you. To give youā¦ everything,ā he said, his voice cracking. āAnd I couldnāt even do that.ā
āYou did,ā you insisted, your thumbs brushing his cheekbones. āLogan, you were there for me every step of the way. You held me when I thought I wasnāt worthy of it. You loved me through it. Thatās everything. But you have to let yourself grieve too. You canāt keep punishing yourself like this.ā
He looked up at you, his hazel eyes searching yours as if trying to find some kind of answer. Finally, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. You felt his chest heave as a sob escaped him, and it broke your heart all over again. You stroked his hair, whispering soothing words as he finally let himself feel the weight of his grief.
After a while, when his breathing steadied, you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. āLogan,ā you began gently, āwe need to get out of here. Just for a little while. Go somewhere quiet, just the two of us. We need time to heal.ā
He hesitated, his brows furrowing. āYou think runninā awayās gonna fix it?ā
āItās not running away,ā you said firmly. āItās giving ourselves a chance to breathe. To remember who we are together. Weāve been so caught up in the painā¦ we need to find our way back to each other.ā
He considered your words for a moment, then nodded slowly. āAlright,ā he said quietly. āWhere do you wanna go?ā
You smiled faintly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. āSomewhere peaceful. Maybe the cabin up north? Just us. No distractions, no one else.ā
Logan exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly for the first time in what felt like weeks. āYeah,ā he said, his voice soft but resolute. āI think thatās exactly what we need.ā
You leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips feeling a flicker of hope. It wouldnāt be easy, but you knew that as long as you had each other, you could find a way forward.
š
The secluded cabin was tucked away in a quiet corner of nowhere, surrounded by towering trees that swayed softly in the breeze. The air smelled of pine and earth, and the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds. It was peaceful, untouched, and exactly what you and Logan needed to find each other again.
The calm of the place had worked its magic over the past week. The tension that had weighed heavy on your shoulders began to ease, and you could see the same was true for Logan. His usual gruffness was quieter here, softened by the stillness of the forest and the warmth of the cabin.
As you laced up your hiking boots near the fireplace, you glanced out the window at the sun filtering through the trees. āIām gonna walk the trail,ā you announced casually, straightening up and brushing your hands against your jeans.
Loganās voice rumbled behind you as he walked into the small living room. āDo you want to go alone?ā He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as a small, warm smile played on his lips.
You turned to face him, quirking an eyebrow as you stepped closer. āDependsā¦ are you gonna be good company, tough guy?ā
That earned you the smallest huff of laughter, his smirk tugging wider. āThere she is,ā he murmured, his tone warm and teasing as he reached out to pull you into his arms. His lips brushed against the bridge of your nose, lingering for just a moment before he tilted his forehead against yours. āI missed those little remarks,ā he admitted quietly.
You chuckled, your hands sliding up to rest on his chest. āAnd here I thought they annoyed you,ā you teased, glancing up at him with a playful glint in your eyes.
Logan rolled his eyes, though the grin that spread across his face betrayed him. āDarlinā, Iād be lost without āem,ā he said, his voice softer now. His hazel eyes searched yours for a moment, and his hand came up to gently cup your cheek. āI love you,ā he added, the words quiet but weighty, as if they held the sum of everything he couldnāt quite say.
You felt a warmth spread through your chest, and you leaned into his touch, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. āI love you too,ā you whispered, the words spilling out like a promise. Then you grinned, breaking the moment with a playful nudge to his side. āNow hurry up, or Iām leaving you behind.ā
Logan smirked, dropping his hand to give your hip a playful squeeze. āDonāt get cocky. Let me grab my boots.ā He turned toward the door, muttering something about you always keeping him on his toes, but there was no bite to his wordsājust affection.
A few minutes later, the two of you were walking side by side down the dirt trail, surrounded by the serene beauty of the forest. The sunlight trickled through the canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the ground. You could hear the crunch of leaves beneath your boots and the faint trickle of a nearby stream.
For a while, neither of you spoke, content to simply exist in the quiet of nature and each otherās presence. Logan reached out to take your hand, his fingers wrapping securely around yours. You glanced up at him, catching the way the golden light softened his rugged features. He looked more at ease than he had in months, and it made your heart ache.
āYou know,ā you began, a teasing lilt in your voice, āI didnāt peg you for the hand-holding type.ā
Logan glanced down at you, one brow arching. āDonāt start,ā he warned, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
āWhat? I think itās cute.ā You swung his hand slightly, earning a quiet groan.
āYouāre lucky Iām in a good mood,ā he muttered, but the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.
You laughed, leaning into his side as you walked. āAdmit itāyou like it.ā
He let out a low chuckle, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. āMaybe I do,ā he murmured, his voice softer now. āCanāt say I mind when itās with you.ā
Your chest swelled at the admission, and you stopped walking for a moment, turning to face him. āThank you,ā you said, your voice earnest.
Logan frowned slightly, confused. āFor what?ā
āFor bringing me here,ā you explained, gesturing to the forest around you. āForā¦ letting me have this time with you. I needed it.ā
His expression softened, and he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. āI needed it too,ā he admitted, his voice low. āI didnāt know how much until now.ā
You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. āYou know, this whole reconnecting thing looks good on you, Logan.ā
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. āYeah, yeah. Donāt let it go to your head.ā
āOh, itās already there,ā you teased, slipping your arms around his waist. āNow, letās see if you can keep up, old man.ā
Logan let out a bark of laughter, his hand sliding to rest on your lower back. āYouāre gonna regret that, sweetheart,ā he warned, his voice full of playful challenge.
āPromises, promises,ā you shot back with a grin, taking off down the trail as Logan chased after you, the sound of your laughter carrying through the trees.
Eventually, Logan caught up to you, his strong arms wrapping securely around your waist as he pulled you to a stop. Your laughter echoed through the trees, a sound that seemed to brighten the peaceful forest around you. āI was so sure I was gonna win,ā you teased, still catching your breath as you squirmed halfheartedly in his grip.
Logan let out a low chuckle, the rumble of it vibrating through you. āGuess Iām not as old as you think I am,ā he shot back, his smirk smug as he held you against his chest.
āOh, youāre definitely old,ā you teased, leaning back into him. āI mean, just look at your whiteāā
āDonāt finish that sentence, gorgeous,ā Logan warned, cutting you off with a playful growl, though the amusement in his voice betrayed him.
You turned in his arms, grinning as your fingers reached up to play with the strands of his hair. āYou know I love you,ā you said softly, letting the teasing drop for a moment. āPretty sure if I met youā¦ say ten years from now, Iād still fall for you. Still, marry you.ā
Loganās expression softened, his hazel eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. āI donāt doubt that,ā he murmured. āBut for the record, darlinā, Iām glad it didnāt take ten years.ā
You smiled, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his neck. āMe too,ā you whispered. The peaceful silence of the forest wrapped around you both, and for a moment, everything felt still, like the world had paused just for the two of you.
Loganās hands settled on your hips. āYouāve been thinkinā about the future a lot lately, havenāt you?ā he asked, his voice quiet but full of understanding.
You hesitated for a beat, then nodded. āYeah,ā you admitted. āI mean, with everything thatās happenedā¦ I guess I just wonder whatās next for us. Like, are we supposed to keep trying? Or are we supposed to let it go?ā
Loganās jaw tightened slightly, his gaze dropping to where his hand rested on your waist. After a moment, he sighed and looked back up at you, his eyes steady and sure. āI thinkā¦ maybe we donāt need to push so hard. If it happens, it happens,ā he said, his voice low but resolute. āBut what weāve got right now? Itās enough for me. Youāre enough for me.ā
His words hit you like a warm wave, washing away the doubt and guilt that had lingered for weeks. āLoganā¦ā you began, but your voice caught, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. You swallowed hard and managed a smile. āYou really mean that?ā
āOf course I do,ā he said, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. āI donāt need anything else, sweetheart. Just you. The rest? Thatās justā¦ bonus.ā
You let out a soft, shaky laugh, leaning your forehead against his. āYou always know just what to say, donāt you?ā
He smirked, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. āThatās my job, isnāt it?ā
You grinned, shaking your head. āWell, for what itās worth, I feel the same way. I donāt want us to lose ourselves trying to force something thatāll happen when itās meant to.ā
Loganās arms tightened around you. āGood,ā he murmured. āBecause I donāt want to miss a single second of us, just the way we are.ā
professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor, holiday vibes, logan being a softie
read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here
a/n: Itās the last one shot and i am sad. Itās been so much fun writing for christmas. I hope everyone gets logan under their tree this year.
divider credit: @saradika
The mansion was silent, wrapped in a thick blanket of snow from the nightās storm, the world outside hushed and peaceful. You woke to the sound of Loganās soft snoring beside you, his hand resting protectively on your hip, even in sleep. Smiling to yourself, you carefully slipped out of bed, pulling on your robe as you padded downstairs to put the finishing touches on his gifts.
Youād thought long and hard about what to get him, wanting each gift to be something meaningful. A leather tool roll, perfectly sized for his motorbike tools, so heād always have something useful on hand. A bottle of his favorite whiskey, because you knew heād never buy the fancy stuff for himself. And your personal favoriteāa beautifully framed vintage map of the Canadian wilderness, detailing the rugged terrain of the land he loved so much. But the most important gift, the one that had taken you months to finish, was a small wooden box filled with letters, each one tied neatly with twine.
Each letter was for a different moment, a different feeling. One for when he felt alone, one for when he felt angry, one for when he doubted himself. Every letter was written to remind him how deeply he was loved, how much he mattered. Youād poured your heart into every word, hoping that heād feel the weight of your love whenever he needed it most.
By the time youād finished arranging everything under the tree, you heard the soft creak of the stairs and turned to see Logan coming down, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, hair even more wild than usual. He was wearing his old flannel shirt over sweatpants, looking gruff but endearingly soft, as if he hadnāt quite woken up.
"Mornin', darlinā," he mumbled, his voice rough, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips as he saw you waiting by the tree.
"Merry Christmas, Logan," you whispered, stepping forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each otherās warmth as snowflakes drifted softly outside the window.
Reluctantly, you pulled back and gestured to the pile of gifts. "Cāmon, letās open these."
Logan chuckled, eyeing the gifts with a raised brow. "You went all out, huh? I didnāt know we were doinā this wholeā¦ gift thing."
You laughed, nudging him down onto the couch and settling beside him. "Just open yours. I think youāll like them."
He started with the tool roll, his rough hands carefully unwrapping the leather. He ran his fingers over it, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Thisā¦ this is real nice," he muttered, a little shy. "Iāll definitely use it."
Next, he picked up the whiskey, letting out a low whistle as he looked at the label. "You got me the good stuff, huh? You spoil me," he said with a smirk, though there was a flicker of genuine appreciation in his eyes. But when he unwrapped the framed vintage map, he went completely silent, his fingers brushing over the contours of the familiar landscape.
"I figuredā¦ you could hang it in your office, or keep it somewhere special," you murmured, watching his face closely.
Logan swallowed, his gaze lingering on the map as if he were lost in the memories of those wild places. "This isā¦ perfect," he whispered, his voice rough. "Thank you."
There was one gift left, and you hesitated for a moment before handing him the small wooden box. His brows knit together as he looked down at it, curiosity and something elseāa softer emotionāflickering across his face. He lifted the lid and saw the bundle of letters, each one tied with care, each one addressed to a moment he might need a reminder of your love.
"For when youāre feelingā¦ well, you know," you said softly, your fingers nervously fidgeting as you watched his reaction. "Each one is for a different time. I justā¦ wanted you to know that Iām always here, even if Iām not right next to you."
Logan took a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on the box of letters. His jaw clenched as he fought to keep his expression steady, but you saw the glint of tears in his eyes. He lifted one of the letters, his fingers trembling slightly as he ran his thumb over your handwriting, the careful loops and lines youād written with so much love.
"No oneāsā¦ no oneās ever done somethinā like this for me," he said, his voice cracking. "I donātā¦ I donāt deserve this, or you." His voice was barely more than a whisper now, vulnerability laid bare in a way he rarely allowed.
You reached up, cradling his face with your hands, gently brushing a thumb over his cheek. "Loganā¦ youāre wrong. You deserve so much more than you think." You smiled, the love in your eyes soft and steady. "Youāre the best gift I could ever ask for. Just youā¦ exactly as you are."
A tear slipped down his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if grounding himself in the warmth of your hands. Without another word, he pulled you into his arms, his embrace tight, almost desperate, like he was afraid to let go.
When he finally pulled back, his hand slid behind your neck, pulling you in for a kiss filled with every unspoken word he couldnāt quite say. His forehead rested against yours as he whispered, "I love you, sweetheart."
You smiled against his lips, pressing one last kiss to his mouth. "I love you, more. Merry Christmas, Logan."
After a long moment, Logan reluctantly pulled back, his gaze soft but intent as he reached for a small, neatly wrapped package on the coffee table. He handed it to you, looking almostā¦ shy.
āGo on,ā he murmured, clearing his throat and looking away, trying to cover up the faint blush creeping up his neck. āItāsā¦ not much, but I thought you might like it.ā
Curious, you tore off the wrapping paper, revealing a leather-bound book with intricate gold detailing on the cover. You sucked in a breath, your eyes widening as you ran your fingers over the title embossed in gold.
Pride and Prejudice. Not just any copyāthis was a rare first edition.
āLoganā¦ā you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. āHowā¦ how did you even find this?ā
He shrugged, trying to play it off, but you could see the glint of pride in his eyes. āGot my ways,ā he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. āFigured itād mean somethinā to you.ā
Carefully, almost reverently, you opened the book, feeling the delicate weight of the pages between your fingers. But as you turned to the first few pages, something fluttered outāa piece of paper, folded neatly and tucked between them.
You glanced up at him, eyebrow raised. He shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his hands. āI, uhā¦ slipped a little somethinā in there,ā he admitted, his voice barely above a grumble. āWrote it myself. Might be rough around the edges, butā¦ well, itās for you.ā
With trembling hands, you unfolded the paper, your heart racing as you read the words written in his unmistakable handwriting. It was a short poem, raw and unpolished, each line laced with sincerity.
Didnāt think Iād find somethin' that felt like home,
in the rasp of your laughter, in all the things left unsaid,
in the quiet that aināt lonely ācause youāre in it.
Darlināāyouāre the reason I keep holdinā on,
the reason a scarred heart like me starts thinkin'
he might be worth somethin' after all.
The words werenāt flowery or grand, but they were himāevery line filled with honesty, with a depth he rarely shared. Your vision blurred as you read it again, the weight of his words sinking in.
āLoganā¦ā you whispered, looking up at him, eyes glistening with tears. āThis isā¦ itās beautiful.ā
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking both relieved and embarrassed. āDidnāt think Iād hear that word used on anythinā I wrote,ā he muttered, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. āFigured youād laugh it off.ā
āAre you kidding?ā you said, reaching over to take his hand, squeezing it tight. āItās perfect. Itās you, and that means more to me than anything else in the world.ā
His thumb brushed over your knuckles, his gaze holding yours. After a long, lingering silence, Logan reached behind the couch and pulled out one last gift, this one wrapped in old newspaper and tied with a bit of string. He handed it to you, his eyes a bit softer.Ā
āThis oneāsā¦ well, itās somethinā I worked on myself,ā he said, almost bashful. āThought it might help you withā¦ yāknow, all that writinā you do.ā
Intrigued, you carefully unwrapped it, and as soon as you saw the vintage typewriter nestled inside, your breath hitched. The old keys gleamed, meticulously polished, and there was a faint scent of oil and leather from where heād restored it with his own hands. Every piece, every detail, looked lovingly cared for.
āOh my god, Loganā¦ā you whispered, running your fingers over the smooth metal, feeling the weight of each key under your touch. āYouā¦ you did this yourself?ā
He nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. āYeah. It was in pretty rough shape when I found it, but I thoughtā¦ well, I thought you might like workinā on somethinā like this. Somethinā thatād make all those stories youāre dreaminā up feel a little more real.ā
You stared at him, overwhelmed. He wasnāt just giving you a typewriterāhe was giving you the chance to chase your dreams, to bring your words to life in a way that was uniquely yours.
Without another word, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. āYouā¦ you have no idea how much this means to me,ā you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.
His arms tightened around you, and for a long, tender moment, he just held you, his cheek resting against your hair. When he finally pulled back, there was a glisten in his eyes he didnāt even try to hide.
āGuess I did somethinā right, huh?ā he murmured, a hint of vulnerability in his voice as his thumb brushed across your cheek.
āYou did everything right,ā you replied, your smile soft and unwavering. Leaning in, you kissed himāslow, deep, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude you had into it.
When you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely more than a whisper. āMerry Christmas, sweetheart. Couldnāt ask for a better one.ā
You smiled, your hands still laced with his. "Hereās to all the Christmases to come," you whispered back.
I really dig what Marvels been doing with its most popular characters lately:
Making them into worse/broken down versions of themselves. With deep regrets from their pasts that they wish they could change.
Who get suddenly strung along (much to their annoyance) by a far more bubbly character in contrast, to save that said characters universe from destruction.
Begrudgingly growing a bond with this character
To then team up with a rag-tag team of multiversal losers by the 3rd act
Then to a have a moment of vulnerability with the bubbly character in the third act. Where they also get tricked out of sacrificing themselves by the bubbly character.
I really dig what Marvels been doing with its most popular characters lately:
Making them into worse/broken down versions of themselves. With deep regrets from their pasts that they wish they could change.
Who get suddenly strung along (much to their annoyance) by a far more bubbly character in contrast, to save that said characters universe from destruction.
Begrudgingly growing a bond with this character
To then team up with a rag-tag team of multiversal losers by the 3rd act
Then to a have a moment of vulnerability with the bubbly character in the third act. Where they also get tricked out of sacrificing themselves by the bubbly character.
