Depresedsimp - Untitled Mess - Tumblr Blog

Hey, so I noticed that you were asking for requests, and I was wondering what your stance is with Dad!Din parenting a teen reader? It’s just that I have so many ideas based around the concept compared to just a regular Din/Reader, so I just wanted to ask if you’re ok with writing that type of thing, for any character really, not just Din.

Ad’ika

pairing: the mandalorian x teen reader (platonic!!!)

wc: 4.8K

warnings: mild violence, cursing, adult language/humor

a/n: at the end!!

-

Being an orphan deprived of maternal affection is a common thing to come across in this galaxy.

Most of us are left witnessing our parents demise at the hands of their owners. Yes, owners.

On the planet Kessel, adults are worked tirelessly into the ground and when they didn’t comply with the rules or too exhausted to do so— they’re killed. Simple as that.

Some are lucky enough to be born into wealth; to live the lavish lifestyle of not having to be a slave to another species.

You’re honestly not even sure why your parents decided to pro-create.

Who would want their child to experience the same thing? Probably an accident—Didn’t pull out in time.

Once you found out your parents had disappeared, you weren’t surprised. They were always disobeying orders and were caught up in some shady shit with some nasty people.

You ran and kept running because you knew those fuckers were coming for you next. Why would they want a useless kid? Who knows, but you knew your ass would be grass if you didn’t.

So you snuck onto a freighting ship and left your old life behind. Everything. All you had was your worn backpack, an old dusty picture of your family and a barely filled water canteen.

You conceal yourself behind a large package, next to a small port-hole like window as you look down to watch the planet below you grow smaller. The ship accelerates into hyper-speed and your vision of the only home you’ve known is gone.

Slowly, your eyelids grow heavy and your body goes limp from exhaustion. A quick nap won’t hurt right?

It seems as if only a few minutes went by... The ship trembles as it lands on a rocky planet, shaking you awake. By the squeaks of the foreign language the pilots are speaking, the planet is named Nevarro. You’ve picked up a few languages living on Kessel.

When the ships ramp finally settles into the ground, your eyes dart around the empty dirt field. It’s now or never.

You bolt for the exit, your legs picking up speed as the protests of the alien pilots yell after you.

After solely surviving on adrenaline, you make it to a little town as the big-headed blue skinned things chase you through a gigantic archway. You weave and bob through the crowd, gasps leave the people’s mouths as they scatter out of your path. “Sorry!” You yelp out as you shoot by.

As you glance behind you to attempt to find the pursuers in the crowd, your legs continue moving yourself forward. “Aha! Bye!” You wave your fingers tauntingly.

Just as you whip your head back around to look forward, all you see is metallic silver and then the sky.

Ouch.

You groan as you rub your head, the instant thumping tells you that you must have a concussion.

“What did I just hit?” You grumble groggily.

The crowd disperses from the area slowly, whispering and continuing with their day as if this is a normal reoccurrence. 

The pilots finally catch up to you, screaming obscenities with their blasters flailing in their hands dramatically.

“Calm down.” A modulated voice rasps out in their language.

Either you’re really hurt and your brain is bleeding or the person talking has a really weird voice.

You blink as your vision clears, the silver blob focusing into view. What the fuck is that?

Your feet scramble to push yourself away from the... robot person thing? The holes in your boots fill up with the dirt your pushing around in attempt to flee. You advance backward too far and you’re now too close to the aliens who want to kill you. Fuck!

Their oddly long slender fingers grip your forearms to pull you to your feet, “Get off of me, you assholes!” You scream as you attempt to shake them off but their grip is too tight.

“You don’t have to hurt the kid... I understand, I understand... I’ll take care of it... How much?” He hisses out in their language.

You’re finally able to stare at the towering thing who is attempting to reason your actions. The black visor turns toward you now, knowing the thing underneath must be glaring at you.

The aliens loud voices slowly die down, the grip loosens on your skin which makes you yank yourself away from them. You scoff and brush off your shoulder as if they were the ones who were dirty.

The silver man takes a step toward you, making you squeak and tense up. Instead, he slides past you and slips a few credits into their slimy hands.

That’s when you notice the oddest thing of all. A small fuzzy green child peeks out from the sack hanging on the side of the man. A rare smiles breaks through your dusty face when a tiny hand reaches out for you. Just as you reach out, the tin man interrupts

“Come on.” He speaks regularly now, his gloved hand grips your arm to pull you forward.

“Why does everyone manhandle me as if I’m some sort of child?” You scoff obnoxiously and roll your eyes.

“You are.” He says simply which makes your upper lip curl in annoyance.

“I’m sixteen.” You bite back, “A teen-nay-ger.” You sound out the word as if the man was too stupid to understand.

He doesn’t respond.

“Is that Beskar you’re wearing?” You mumble into the awkward silence, staring at your dirty reflection in the surface.

“Yes.”

You grumble under your breath as you look over him once more. The built in weaponry, the shining armor, the jet pack...

Then the ship. It all clicks into place.

The tin-man presses something on his forearm, causing a ramp to lower itself from the side and settle into the ground with a swoosh. He guides you up the surface, his grip still tight on your upper arm.

“You’re a Mandalorian!” You gasp in awe.

“That took you long enough to figure out.” He almost let’s out a chuckle.

“And now you’re kidnapping me? Great.” You cross your arms as you look at the inside of the ship. Messy, yet somehow organized.

“Not kidnapping— Saving. You could’ve gotten yourself killed back there. I saved your ass.” He busies himself with the little toddler, tucking the sleeping thing into a compartment then closing it. His feet slide over to a work station, busying himself with unloading his weapons.

“What is that thing?” You swiftly change the subject.

“Not sure. All I know is that I have to protect him and keep him safe.”

You hum sarcastically in response with a little eye roll. It’s almost as if he has eyes on the back of his head.

His motions still as his helmet turns to the side to stare at you. “Stop that.” He grumbles about your attitude then continues with what he’s doing. “Whatever.” You huff.

Since the Mandalorian is busy, you take the free time to look around. Infinite weaponry and ammo, then you click a button and revolving carbonite blocks appear from inside the wall. “Frozen people in walls? Cool.” You chuckle as you walk around more.

You pick up some knick-knacks, examining the other-worldly objects. “Stop touching everything.”

He mumbles incoherently under his breath, which sounds like static coming from his helmet as he moves to climb up the ladder. Most likely to the cockpit.

So you follow, of course. The windows expand across the front, the engines growl and whirl as he clicks bright buttons on the dash.

“Where are you taking me?” Your voice croaks out as the ship rises into the air.

“Back to Kessel. I’m not getting chased by whoever you’re fleeing from. You need to deal with your own problems.”

The statement sends a chill through your whole body, “But— no. You can’t. I’ll die. I’ll be killed. Come on, just like you said, I’m just a kid...” Your hands grip the back of his seat to steady yourself as the ship rises into the air.

“Sit down.” The ship levels so you could safely move to a seat.

You can feel the emotions overcome you, unable to hold them back as you buckle yourself in.

“I’d rather be thrown out of an airlock then go back there.” You mumble to yourself.

A soft raspy laugh leaves the helmet.

“Really? An airlock? Who is chasing you anyway?”

You sniffle as you wipe your tears and runny nose on your sleeve.

“I don’t know. My parents... They were caught up in some sketchy shit, they were killed... or they went missing, I’m not even sure, but I was left alone to fend for myself. I escaped before... whoever got them came looking for me.”

The Mandalorian lets out a pitiful sigh, “Look... I don’t have any room for you. No bed, no clothes. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

He clicks a few buttons to let the ship hover between outer space and the planets atmosphere below. He turns his seat to stare at the shaking, fearful teenager.

He notices how your arms are wrapped around yourself in a way of comfort, your inflamed nose, watery eyes, and your quivering bottom lip. You remind him of himself as a child.

Just by the image in front of him, he mentally battled himself to made a vow to protect you. Just how the Mandalorians did for him.

He’s unsure how to comfort in this situation, so he swivels back around to steer the ship into space. He clicks a few buttons which causes everything to shake as it shoots forward into blue swirls.

“Wow.” He hears you whisper softly behind him. He couldn’t help but crack a smile under his armor.

Silence radiates through the bridge of the ship. It’s awkward and tense.

You think you’re going to be dropped off on Kessel to encounter the impending doom of your death, to be worked until exhaustion catches up to you.

The Mandalorian finally breaks the silence as he stands tall from his seat and down the ladder. You squirm uncomfortably in your own as your eyes dart around the small area.

Once he returns, he’s followed with coos and babbles from the big-eared fuzzy adorable baby. He slides past your seat into his.

“Do you want to hold him?” He breaks the tension as his chair rotates around so he’s facing you again.

A subtle ray of happiness bursts through your chest as you nod and reach for him. The baby also reaches for you as the Mandalorian hands him over to you.

He’s much heavier than you expected. His little green hand comes to rest on your cheek, making your bottom lip begin to quiver even more. It makes an odd noise of approval then settles into your lap.

He makes grabby hands for something. You watch as the Mandalorian unscrews a metal ball from a lever to hand to the kid.

It suddenly flies from his gloved hand into his green ones like an invisible force brought it to him.

The energy in the room buzzes with excitement and goosebumps tickle the surface of your skin. “What was that?” You mumble in astonishment. Your lips part in surprise as you look between the magic child in your lap and the tin-man.

“Not sure. I just know that he’s special. He does that sometimes.” He says nonchalantly through his mask, his shoulders rise and drop as if it was nothing.

The pitch black visor eyes you for a few more moments before turning to direct his attention to the dashboard.

The kid allows you to take the ball and gently toss it into the air so he could let it float down slowly to him. You watch in awe, eyes twinkling with amazement.

You’ve heard of such powers, but you didn’t know if it was just a folktale.

After playing with the metal ball and his powers, he relaxes against your body with the ball secured between his tiny fists.

“I’m not bringing you back to Kessel.” His modulated voice breaks through the silence. His words make your chest swell with hope.

“It’s going to be rough... Staying here. Only for the time being, until I can find you somewhere safer and more comfortable to live.”

He doesn’t turn to look at you as he talks, but it doesn’t even matter. At least you’ll have protection. “Thank you.” You muster up a croak and he responds with a curt nod.

The ship drops out of hyperspace, a spherical giant in view as he closes in on the atmosphere of the new planet.

He lands the ship smoothly in a loading bay, droids clamber around the ship below to work on it. You watch as an older lady with very curly hair waltz into view.

“Stay here.” He orders as he stands to his feet and disappears down the ladder. The child squeaks as he watches his caretaker leave him with you.

You almost wince as you prepare for a tantrum, but it never comes. The baby settles into your lap once again with a tiny yawn.

You couldn’t help but grow suspicious as you stand with the child on your hip to look out the front window. You instantly spot the shiny armor and the woman talking to him. Her arms are obviously expressing her feelings as they flail around her.

Then her eyes dart from him to you, she squints. Then the Mandalorian takes notice of her divided attention. He whips around and stares through his black visor. Even if you can’t see his face, you read his body language that he’s a bit upset.

I guess he didn’t want you to be seen yet.

The lady turns back to him and it seems as if she’s scolding him. His shoulders drop a bit then his hand raises to beckon you to come down.

Excitement rises in your chest as you slowly, and carefully, make your way down the ladder with the child. When your feet hit the metal flooring, you hear footsteps ascend the ramp.

With a gulp and a rise in your anxiety, you turn around to look at him and the lady staring at you. The child makes a noise of happiness when he spots her and she smiles in awe when he reaches for her.

As the lady walks up to grab the child, she smiles at you. “Hi, I’m Peli.” She gently scoops the child from your arms. “He told me a lot about you.” She points her thumb behind her to motion toward him.

“Hi.” You mumble, a bit guarded by her being a stranger. 

Peli moves to walk down the ramp, your eyes go wide as you point at her. “She’s taking him!” You yelp as you go to run after her but his arm juts out to scoop you up.

Your legs kick as you’re lifted from the ground, a grunt falls from your lips. “Let go of me!”

“Stop it. I trust her. You should too. She watches him for me when I’m busy doing other things.” His grip loosens from your waist once your fierce demeanor sizzles out.

You wriggle away from him, annoyance evident on your features as you glare at him. Although, you’re secretly glad he caught you before you got to her.

“Come on. We’re going into town.”

“We?” You squeak with wild eyes as you watch him tread down the ramp.

Not wanting to stay in the ship by yourself, you follow him. Your eyes scan the area for anybody else, but it’s only you, him, the lady, her droids, and the kid.

He leads you up some stairs into a bustling market above the ship stations, “So, what’s your name? Or nickname? What should I call you?” You ramble as you walk side by side with him.

You can’t help but take notice to everyone scurrying out of his path.

“My name...” He mumbles hesitatingly, “My name is Din. You can also call me Mando, I guess. Some people call me that.”

“Din... Mando...” You mumble softly, letting the words roll off your tongue experimentally. “Cool, I like it.”

“What should I call you?” He questions softly, almost as if he isn’t sure you’ll want to tell him, but you do. You reveal your name to him, as well as some nicknames. Even the not-so-nice ones your mother called you when you were in trouble.

Suddenly, the sweetest, most delicious smell wafts by and you can’t help but suddenly search for where it’s coming from. Your stomach lets out an animalistic growl, even making the Mandalorian comment on it.

“Hungry?” He puts a hand between your shoulders to aid in weaving you through the crowd to the food stand. The smell gets stronger once you spot it.

“What do you want? Get anything.” His own helmet moves as he looks over the menu.

“Anything..?” You breathe out in surprise as you look up at him. You’ve never been offered that, not even by your own parents. Din looks down at you and nods.

“I want... That, and that. Also that.” You point to a spiraled fried blue spotted vegetable on a skewer, as well as a sugar coated donut and a fizzy drink.

He hands over a few credits as the vendor slides the food over to you. You mumble a grateful thanks and instantly dig in.

Mando leads you down the alleyway in the market as you eat, you can feel his eyes on you since you’re not really watching where you’re going. Too occupied.

He stops at another stand, this one has clothing. You swallow your food thickly, “Are you seriously buying me clothes too?” You almost cough out from a piece of food getting stuck in your throat.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re a bit dirty. Don’t know if you knew that.”

His words make your cheeks heat up, sending a death glare toward him.

“Obviously.” You huff sassily as you eye the clothing hanging up behind the elderly lady.

You pick out two pairs of pants and a few shirts, “Don’t worry, pick out some more, I’ll be right back.” His hand rests on your shoulder for a moment, his other hand plops a bag into your bag on your back. “That should cover everything.” Then he just disappears away into the crowd. 

You didn’t even get time to respond, you’re left alone, your mouth open with food sitting inside. You realize the old lady grimaces at the view of the chewed food so you swallow it and continue shopping. 

Once you have armfuls of outfits picked out, some new boots, and your food wrappers are strewn around various places of the shop, it’s time to cash out. 

After laying your pile of clothing on the counter, you fish for money in your pack, listening for the jingle of credits. The old lady keeps an eye on you suspiciously, but of course you’re oblivious to her stares. 

She packs everything into two canvas totes and croaks out the price. Your eyes bulge wildly as you search for the correct amount to hand to her. The Mandalorian had given you way more than enough. 

Why is he trusting you with this much money?

After you slide over the amount, you quickly seal up his bag and slide it back into your pack. You shoot her a smile when she hands you the bags, but she doesn’t reciprocate the same positive energy. 

Swiftly, you snatch the bags to hang them on your arms and gather the garbage you left around to throw in the nearby trash can. Where could he have gone? 

Your eyes search the crowd for his infamous beskar armor, hoping you catch the gleam of it in the sea of people. 

You start to grow nervous. He wouldn’t desert you on this planet right? He said he was going to find you a safe place to live. He got you food, clothing, and gave you money...

Your heart drops. He did. He’s left you here to fend for yourself. Suddenly your brain goes into flight or fight mode and cranks with ideas to survive the night. 

The credits he gave you could easily get you comfortable lodging, you could shower and then tomorrow morning you could hop on someone’s ship. 

Tears prick at your eyes. You’re going to miss that fuzzy baby. Anger whirls through your body when you think of the back-stabbing Mandalorian. 

Then you stop in your tracks, sniffing loudly when you realize you’ve been walking away from the shop. You don’t even know where you are right now. 

A few people curse at you to move out of the way of traffic. A hand grips the pack hanging on your back, causing your small frame to stumble backward. You yelp fearfully when you look behind you, seeing a cloaked man attempting to rob you.

No, no, no, no. 

You drop your shopping bags to defend yourself without the heavy clothing weighing you down. You throw a mean right hook, hitting the person right on the jaw. The thump into your knuckles instantly begins, but you choke down the grimace on your face.

“Don’t make this hard on you, kid. Just give me the damn money.” Their hand extends in attempt to grab you again but you swiftly dodge out of their reach. 

Your eyes frantically search the people around who seem to not care you’re getting robbed. “Just leave me alone. You don’t want to do this. My dad is a Mandalorian, he’ll rip you to fucking shreds.” You spit out furiously. 

Dad? Why did you just say he was your father?

The person under the cloak chuckles, showing off their rotten teeth, a switchblade opens at their side. “A Mandalorian? Ha. Well, where is he right now?” 

“He’s right here.” The familiar modulated voice sounds from above you, a smile instantly breaks across your face as Din floats down, his jet-pack whirring with life.

A wire shoots out of his arm, wrapping itself around the thug’s ankles. The jet-pack accelerates upward, bringing the man with him. Now hanging upside down in the air. 

He lets out the most horrified scream as they shoot upward into the sky, the only thing you can make out is the fire flowing from Mando’s back. 

“Get him! Yes!” You cheer as the wire swings him in circles and finally retracts, making the man fly out of your vision in the air. Hopefully to his death. 

Mando slowly makes his way back down to the ground, landing away from you. He picks up your totes full of clothing off the sandy ground, his black visor stares a hole through you as he marches toward you. 

You couldn’t help but feel bad for him hearing you call him dad, you don’t want to put that responsibility on him. Then anger beats through your veins, your hands instinctively push against his chest but he doesn’t budge. 

“You left me! Why did you leave me?! I thought you fucking dropped me off and ditched me! You gave me food, clothing and money. What else was I supposed to think?!” You screeched as you ball your fists at your sides. Realizing soon enough that your outburst was not needed, nor is his silence.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for saving me, but why?” You mumble, your eyes drop to look down at your shoes as you attempt to calm the fire burning in your chest.

“I didn’t think you’d roam around and get into trouble. I went back to the shop and the old lady was gone, the shop was closed. I had a feeling something was wrong.” He took another step toward you, “So I went into the skies and then I found you.” 

The Mandalorian knew deep down that he had some kind of maternal instinct take over him to protect you once he saw you crying in his ship, but when you called him dad he suddenly got emotional under his layers of armor. “I’m... sorry. I won’t let you out of my sight. Ever again.”

His arm rises to rest on your shoulder comfortingly as he watches you break down slowly in front of him again. 

It started with your bottom lip quivering, your arms instinctively wrap around your body in attempt to console yourself. Your shoulders cave forward as a sob wracks through your body. 

Din hesitantly pulls you into his metal chest, unsure on how to comfort but he guesses a hug could help. 

And it did. 

His secure arms that are wrapped around you makes you feel safe, like the tin-man really is the father figure you never truly had. As your tears steam up his beskar chest plate, his hands gently pat your back reassuringly. 

The universe finally felt as if it was on your side. As if everything has clicked perfectly into place and this is where you’re meant to be.

“Let’s go back to the ship, ad’ika. I bet the little one will be excited to see us. You can get cleaned up too.” A soft relieved sigh falls from your lips when he mentions the green baby and a shower. 

Yep, if this is what the universe has planned for you— You won’t complain. 

-

a/n: um i don’t usually write stuff like this, but i had so much fun with this one. y'all know i love romance and angst, but this is so good. i’m proud of myself. hope u liked it!!!

POSITIONS MASTERLIST𑁍

part one: positions

part two: my hair

part three: 34+35

part four: safety net

Logan Howlett with a SO who likes to make him ugly sweaters

He has no idea who taught you to knit, but if he ever finds them he’s going to murder them in the bloodiest way possible. 

That’s not to say he doesn’t support you or your various hobbies and endeavors, he’s always the first in line to tell you how amazing you are and wear whatever you’ve knitted for him proudly. But Jesus fuck he can’t believe how ugly you make some of these sweaters. It’s like you have a gift or something (he makes a mental note to ask Charles if you’re actually a mutant and your power is making clothes that would make the blind weep) 

And you always look so excited whenever you give him a new one and he’s physically incapable of making you sad so into his rotation of clothes the new sweater goes - guaranteeing a mocking from Scott when he wears it. 

Though, as much as he hates the sweaters, no one fucks with them. He got into a fight with a usual baddie and he’d happened to be wearing one of your sweaters during it. When it got damaged, the whole battlefield went quiet and the X-men were quick to tell the enemy that they fucked up big time. No one ever hears from that particular villain ever again once Logan is through with them.

When Wade brings home a new (and alive) Logan, you begin your hobby all over again, gifting this very confused variant of your dead love sweaters. 

This Logan is also incapable of making you sad it seems, because he started to make a joke when you give him his first sweater but his face had gone panicked when you tearily asked him if he didn’t like it. 

“No no! Of course I like it! Look, Bub, I’ll even put it on right now,” and he does so with iron conviction written on his face, “It fits perfect. Look at that darling, you’ve got a talent.” 

It’s actually how this Logan falls in love with you. He can tell how much love and care you put into each sweater you make him and it does something to him. Touches a part of him that he thought he’d locked away forever. 

God above, though, he just wishes you’d use normal colors or something. 

(Charles nearly falls out of his chair laughing when this new Logan asks him if you’re a mutant and your power is making ugly sweaters) 

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘔𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘰. 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴, 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘴. 𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘓𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 (2017). 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦. 𝘌𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 18+ 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 14.5𝘬 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘴: 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦

𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦

Bad, bad Kitty! That's your soulmate!

i was wondering if you could write some dad!logan with a reader whos lauras teacher and maybe laura talks to him about her teacher. thank you!!!!

dad!logan x teacher!reader

laura was a bright student; one of the brightest in the entire class but there was a small behavioral issue. the young girl would often beat up any student who stole her supplies or made her angry. one of the only people who could calm her down was you; her favorite teacher.

"how was school, kid?" logan asked laura when she walked into the house.

"fine," she answered.

"no more fightin'?" he arched a stern brow at the girl who had been sent home with notes regarding her classroom behavior.

"no." laura glares then explains how you have helped her control her anger.

this wasn't the first time laura had rambled on about you. the young girl's eyes lit up as she told her dad about the pretty young teacher and everything she taught her that day. logan had never met you, the closest being the letters laura brought home to him, on colorful decorative stationery and the one time he saw you through the classroom window when he dropped laura off.

logan thought you were gorgeous even with stray pencils hold up your hair and marker stains on your palms. too pretty to give a man like him the time of day. laura compared you to someone out of a fairytale book.

you seemed to be a good influence on laura so logan had no concerns or complaints. his daughter would often emphasize that there was no ring on your finger either. logan didn't bother entertaining the idea of laura setting him up with her twenty-something year old teacher. instead, he stuck to listening to all of her stories about you and your class.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

every saturday morning, you stuck to the same routine; go to your favorite coffee shop and work on next weeks lesson plan then head to the grocery store. it wasn't much but it kept you busy.

as you stroll through the aisles and check items off of your list, a pair of small feet some running your way. a man is heard angrily calling after the child clinging to you.

"hello, sweet girl!" you smile down at laura. "what are you doing here this early?"

before she could answer, a tall older gentlemen approach's you and a swarm of butterflies threaten to fall loose from your mouth. was this laura's father? this -to put it simply- hot man dressed in jeans and a flannel.

logan's mouth opened to scold his daughter but you stop him.

"you must be, mr. howlett?"

your smile was deadly, logan thought to himself. he couldn't stop staring at your soft features. logan had never been left this speechless, all he could do was nod.

luckily for both of you, laura did all the introducing. you tell him how amazing of a kid she is and all the accomplishments she's reached in your classroom. logan was only half listening, a bit too occupied with the way your lips moved as you spoke. he finally managed to spit out a 'thank you' for helping laura.

the young girl wasn't stupid, even she could see that something was happening between the two of you. if she had it her way, you would be coming over to join them for dinner. logan promised her hamburgers tonight.

"well, i should let the two of you continue your shopping." you say politely, not wanting your gawking at her father become anymore noticeable. "see you on monday, laura."

you barely moved three steps before you heard a shuffle and logan stopped you. unbeknownst to you, laura gave him a swift kick in the leg. she wasn't going to let him blow this for her.

"y-you should join us for dinner sometime." he stutters. what happened to the smooth ladies man he once was? had age really caught up to him already?

you hesitate to answer. of course you wanted to. it's been so long since a kind, attractive man has asked you to dinner but this would definitely come off as unprofessional.

"as a thank you." he adds, hoping that will help swayed you.

the moment you look down at laura's wide smile, awaiting your answer; you knew you would cave.

"I would love to."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

a/n: might need to do a part two because i love this concept <3

I love that everyone has agreed that Logan refuses to call her blind al but will call her Althea instead like we all just agreed he is a gentleman

time bound masterlist

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

part 8

part 9

part 10

part 11

part 12 (coming soon)

Scars of Time | Masterlist

Summary: For decades, Logan and you have been each other’s sanctuary in a world that never offers peace. From a fateful encounter in a dive bar to a life together at the X-Mansion, your bond has weathered countless trials. But as Logan’s once-impenetrable healing powers begin to fail and your own abilities start to drain you, the stakes grow perilously high. With your love on the line and survival in question, can you both endure the ultimate test of sacrifice and devotion? Or will the scars of time finally come to bite you in the ass? Based on this request. Ongoing.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader

Series Content Warning: Canon-typical violence, alcohol use. More warnings will be added as the story progresses. There will be individual warnings at the beginning of each chapter.

Total Word Count: 6k

Ch. 1, "Gimme Shelter" 2029

Ch. 2, "Wild Horses" 1997

↳ Sneak Peak

Ch. 3, “Piano Man” 2000

↳ Sneak Peak

Ch. 4, "Stand By Me" 2029 + 2018

Ch. 5. "House of the Rising Sun" 2029

Ch. 6, "A Whiter Shade of Pale" 2010 +2011

Ch. 7, "The Matador" 2029

Ch. 8, "Vienna" 2034

Mars speaks... If you are interested in this and would like to be tagged, let me know! Also please note that this masterlist is subject to change as the series continues to develop! The timeline for all x-men movies is FUBAR so bear with me, I'm gonna have to change some things along the way! This story is set post-dofp timeline so everyone is alive except I’m making it so that Logan remembers what happens in this timeline instead of the other one so kind of completely ignoring dofp…

Main Masterlist

What was considered peak masculinity back in the 2000s is now considered as little meow meow energy in 2024

This clearly shows how far we've progressed and become even more improved versions of ourselves.

As for this godly man, he's still as fiery and yet so sweet even two decades later, if not more, as he was all those years ago.

wolverine is absolutely not hip with the kids inspired by this post

Apple of His Eye - Part 2

The morning sun had barely started to climb into the sky when you arrived at your bakery, a spring in your step as you prepared for another day of sweet treats and smiles. But the moment you turned the corner and saw the front of your shop, your heart dropped into your stomach.

The large front window of your bakery was shattered, glass littering the sidewalk and your display cases. The once inviting entrance now looked like a crime scene, and the beautiful pastries you’d worked so hard to perfect were now covered in a fine layer of glass dust. You stood there in shock, unable to move as the weight of it all came crashing down on you.

Who would do this? And why?

You sank to your knees, your hands trembling as you tried to piece together what had happened. Thoughts raced through your mind—how were you going to afford to fix this? Could you even open the bakery today? Your customers, your regulars, they all depended on you. And what about Logan? He’d come in expecting his pie, and now you couldn’t even offer him that.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you thought about the costs of repairing the window. You had already poured everything into this little bakery, scraping by to make it a success. The idea of paying for a new window was almost too much to bear.

As you sat there, lost in your despair, you didn’t notice Logan approaching. He had been on his way to the bakery, the promise of a fresh apple pie and your bright smile drawing him like it did every morning. But when he saw the broken window, his heart clenched with a mixture of anger and concern.

“Hey,” Logan’s rough voice broke through your haze, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see him standing there, his brow furrowed, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to blink back the tears. “I don’t know what to do…”

He didn’t say anything at first, his gaze sweeping over the shattered glass, the ruined pastries, the look of sheer devastation on your face. His jaw tightened, and you could see the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“Who did this?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“I-I don’t know,” you stammered, wiping at your eyes. “I just got here and… I can’t afford to fix it. I don’t know what I’m going to do…”

Logan’s expression softened at your words, the anger giving way to something else—something protective. He knelt beside you, reaching out to gently take your hand in his. “You’re not gonna deal with this alone,” he said firmly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a rare show of tenderness. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But Logan—”

“No buts,” he cut you off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You go home, get some rest. I’ll handle it.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the steely resolve there, and despite your anxiety, you felt a small glimmer of hope. Logan had always been a force of nature—unmovable, unstoppable. If anyone could help, it was him.

Reluctantly, you nodded, allowing him to help you to your feet. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Logan just grunted, giving your hand a final squeeze before letting it go. “Go on,” he said, his gaze flickering back to the broken window. “I’ll take care of everything.”

You gave him one last grateful look before heading home, the weight of the morning’s events still pressing down on you, but with the faintest sense of relief. Logan was here, and somehow, you knew he’d find a way to make it right.

Later that evening, long after you had gone home, Logan sat at the bar with his “brothers,” the same crew that had teased him mercilessly about his feelings for you. But tonight, there was no joking around. They could tell by the look in Logan’s eyes that this was serious.

“Someone smashed up the bakery,” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I want it fixed by tomorrow morning.”

The bikers exchanged glances, each one of them nodding in understanding. They might have been a rough bunch, but they looked out for their own—and Logan, despite his gruff exterior, had made it clear that you were important to him.

“We’ll handle it,” one of the bikers said, cracking his knuckles. “We know a guy who can get the glass replaced tonight, no questions asked.”

Logan gave a curt nod. “Good. And find out who did it,” he added, his voice dropping to an even darker tone. “I want to have a word with them.”

The men nodded again, a ripple of agreement passing through the group. Logan didn’t need to say anything more. They knew what he meant, and they weren’t about to let anyone get away with hurting someone he cared about.

As the night went on, the bikers got to work. They called in a favor with a friend who specialized in emergency repairs, and within a few hours, the shattered window was replaced, the broken glass swept up, and the bakery was restored to its former glory. It was as if nothing had happened.

Meanwhile, Logan had been tracking down the culprit, following the trail of whispers and rumors that circulated in the darker corners of the city. It didn’t take long to find out who had done it—some local thug trying to extort protection money from small businesses in the area.

Logan found him in a back alley, and what followed was quick and brutal. By the time Logan was done, the thug was left bruised and bloody on the ground, a clear message delivered: No one messed with the people Logan cared about. Ever.

The next morning, you arrived at the bakery, dreading the sight of the shattered window. But when you turned the corner, your breath caught in your throat. The window was fixed. There was no glass on the ground, no sign of the damage that had been there the day before.

You stood there in shock, trying to process what you were seeing. How could this have been fixed so quickly? And by who?

Then, you noticed something else—a familiar scent wafting through the air. You hurried inside, your heart pounding, and saw a single apple pie sitting on the counter, still warm from the oven. Next to it was a small note, written in Logan’s unmistakable scrawl:

“Everything’s taken care of. See you soon.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you clutched the note to your chest. Logan had done this. He had made everything right, just as he had promised.

A few hours later, when Logan walked through the door, you didn’t say anything. Instead, you just smiled at him, the warmth in your gaze saying more than words ever could.

Logan gave you a small nod, his usual gruffness in place, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He took his coffee and his pie, the morning ritual restored, but as he turned to leave, you reached out and gently touched his arm.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice full of emotion.

Logan paused, looking down at you. For a moment, he seemed like he was going to say something, but then he just nodded again, a rare, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Anytime,” he said simply, and with that, he walked out of the bakery, the door jingling behind him.

But as he rode off into the morning, the taste of your apple pie still fresh on his tongue, Logan couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, there was more to life than leather jackets and cold nights on the road. There was warmth here, in your bakery, in the way you looked at him, and he found himself wanting to protect it, no matter what.

Apple of His Eye

Biker!Logan x Baker!Reader, please let me know if you like it and would want more parts!

Logan walked into the small bakery with his usual scowl, the early morning sun barely peeking over the horizon. The door jingled as he entered, the sound of it out of place in the quiet street. He didn’t bother to glance around; he knew the place by heart now. Instead, he made a beeline for the counter, his boots thudding heavily against the wooden floor.

He had been coming here every morning for months, always ordering the same thing—a steaming cup of black coffee and a slice of apple pie. It was a ritual, a brief moment of calm before he had to face the world outside again. The bakery was a stark contrast to his life—cozy, warm, and filled with the smell of fresh pastries.

And then there was you.

You were a vision in pastels and florals, the complete opposite of Logan in your soft colors and ever-present smile. While he wore his usual leather jacket and flannel, looking like he had just stepped out of a bar fight, you floated around the bakery in your light dresses, a ray of sunshine amidst the early morning gloom.

He had never expected to find comfort in such a place—or in such a person—but here he was, morning after morning. The thought of you, standing behind the counter with a smile, had become one of the few things he looked forward to.

“Good morning, Logan,” you greeted him with that bright smile of yours as he approached the counter. But something about your tone was different today—almost apologetic.

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he grunted in response, glancing at the display case. His usual slice of apple pie was conspicuously absent.

You noticed his gaze and bit your lip. “About the pie…I’m so sorry, Logan, but I had to stop making the apple pie you love. There just wasn’t enough demand, and I had to make room for other things.”

His frown deepened, disappointment flashing in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, but you could tell he was more than a little let down. It wasn’t just the pie—though he did love it—but the whole routine. It was something steady in his otherwise chaotic life, and now that was gone too.

“I figured you’d be upset,” you continued, a hint of nervousness in your voice. “So…I did something. It’s a little silly, but…” You ducked behind the counter and emerged with a small, white box tied with a ribbon. “I made this for you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, taking the box from your hands. The weight of it, the warmth that radiated through the cardboard, was unmistakable. He opened it slowly, his usually rough hands surprisingly gentle as he revealed the contents.

Inside was a whole apple pie, golden and steaming as if it had just come out of the oven.

“It’s just for you,” you said quickly, almost shyly. “I’ll make one every morning if you want, and keep it here until you come in. It’s the least I can do after all the time you’ve spent coming here.”

Logan stared at the pie, then back at you, his usual scowl softening into something that looked almost like a smile—at least as close as Logan ever got to one. He nodded, a simple gesture that held more gratitude than he could put into words.

“Thanks,” he muttered, his voice gruff but sincere. He closed the box and set it aside, watching as you poured his coffee, the usual slice replaced by a whole pie that he knew would last him the day.

Just as you handed him his coffee, the bell above the door jingled again, and a group of men strolled in. Logan’s “brothers,” part of the biker gang he rode with. They were loud, rough around the edges, and completely out of place in your quaint little bakery.

“Morning, Logan!” one of them called out with a smirk, glancing at the box on the counter. “What’s that? Finally decided to sweeten up?”

Another laughed, nudging his friend. “Looks like Logan’s got himself a soft spot for the baker.”

Logan glared at them, his jaw clenching. “Shut it.”

But they were relentless, teasing him in the way that only old friends could. They pointed out the stark contrast between the two of you—Logan with his gruff demeanor and biker leathers, and you in your soft, floral dress, looking like you had stepped out of a fairy tale.

“Well, can’t say we blame him,” one of them chuckled, giving you an appreciative nod. “You’ve got good taste, Logan.”

Logan’s patience was wearing thin, but he knew better than to let their teasing get to him. He grabbed his coffee and the pie, shooting you a glance that was almost apologetic before turning back to his friends.

“Get your coffee and get out,” he growled at them. “Some of us have places to be.”

They laughed again, but they didn’t push it any further. They all ordered something quickly, and as they waited, you couldn’t help but notice the way Logan stayed close to the counter, his back to his friends as if shielding you from their teasing.

Finally, they were ready to leave, but not before one of them clapped Logan on the back, saying loud enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t let her get away, old man. You might not find another who bakes you a whole pie every day.”

Logan rolled his eyes, muttering a string of curses under his breath, but there was a hint of color in his cheeks as he grabbed the pie box and headed for the door.

Before he left, though, he paused. For a moment, he looked back at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with a rough sort of tenderness, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, same time.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the ovens. “I’ll have your pie ready.”

Logan nodded, his lips twitching into that almost-smile again before he turned and walked out, the door jingling behind him.

As he mounted his bike and started it up, the teasing continued, but Logan ignored them. His thoughts were back in the bakery, with the soft colors and the smell of sugar and cinnamon. It wasn’t just the pie that kept him coming back every morning—it was you.

And as he rode off with the pie in tow, he couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—the softness of your world was exactly what he needed to balance out the rough edges of his own.

heard you were looking for some ideas for Logan! What about Logan with a significant other that’s basically an oujia board? Like they can talk to dead people, maybe possess people or haunt their dreams? How did they meet Logan, and how did they end up with him, and most importantly what does wade think of their relationship?

I am sorry this one is Longgg

Between Two Worlds

The Encounter

The bar was dimly lit, the low hum of conversations mixing with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Logan sat at the far end, nursing a whiskey, his gaze distant. He had just finished a mission, and all he wanted was some peace—a rare commodity in his life. The last thing he expected was to meet someone who would change everything.

But then you walked in.

You weren’t like anyone else in the bar. You moved with a calmness that seemed out of place in a place like this, your presence both ethereal and unsettling. Logan noticed the way people gave you a wide berth, as if instinctively sensing something otherworldly about you. You weren’t particularly intimidating, but there was an air of mystery surrounding you—a vibe that made people uncomfortable. But not Logan. He was more intrigued than anything.

You sat down at the bar, a few stools away from him, and ordered a drink. The bartender handed you a glass of something dark, but your eyes weren’t on the drink; they were on Logan.

“You’ve got a lot of ghosts around you,” you said, your voice soft, almost like a whisper.

Logan stiffened slightly. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” you replied, a small smile playing on your lips. “But I know you.”

He eyed you warily, sizing you up. “And how’s that?”

You took a sip of your drink, your gaze never leaving his. “I can see them—hear them. The dead. And you, Logan, have a lot of them following you.”

Logan’s grip on his glass tightened, but he didn’t move. He’d seen and heard a lot of strange things in his life, and he wasn’t easily shaken. “You got a name?”

“Y/N,” you said, extending your hand.

He hesitated, then took it. The moment your hands touched, a strange sensation washed over him. It wasn’t pain, but it wasn’t entirely pleasant either—like a cold breeze brushing against his soul. He let go quickly, his eyes narrowing. “What are you?”

You smiled again, but this time it was a little sad. “I’m just someone who can talk to the dead. Sometimes they talk through me, sometimes they use me to do things, but mostly, they just want to be heard.”

Logan took another drink, considering your words. “Sounds like a rough gig.”

“It can be,” you admitted. “But it’s my life. I help them find peace—or vengeance, depending on what they need.”

He respected that. There was something undeniably compelling about you, something that pulled him in despite the warning bells going off in his head. Maybe it was the loneliness he sensed in you, a loneliness that mirrored his own. Whatever it was, Logan couldn’t help but feel a connection to you.

You spent the rest of the evening talking. There was an easy understanding between you, a mutual respect for the darkness in each other’s lives. When the night was over, Logan offered to walk you home, and you accepted. He didn’t know it at the time, but that was the beginning of something neither of you could have predicted.

Weeks turned into months, and what started as a strange, tentative friendship quickly grew into something more. Logan found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain. You were an enigma, someone who lived between worlds, yet grounded enough to keep him from losing himself in his own darkness.

You moved into Logan’s cabin, a secluded place where you both could escape the chaos of the world. It wasn’t exactly peaceful—Logan’s past and your connection to the dead made sure of that—but it was home.

One night, as you lay in bed together, you stirred awake. Logan could feel it—the change in the air, the subtle shift in your body temperature. He opened his eyes to see you sitting up, staring at something in the corner of the room.

“Who is it this time?” Logan asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“There’s a woman here,” you said, your voice distant. “She’s…angry. Betrayed. She was killed by someone she trusted.”

Logan sighed, sitting up beside you. He was used to this by now. “What does she want?”

You turned to him, your eyes reflecting the sadness and fury of the spirit inside you. “Vengeance. She wants him to suffer like she did.”

Logan could see the strain this was putting on you. “You don’t have to do this tonight. You can tell her to wait.”

You shook your head. “She won’t wait. This is her only chance.”

Without another word, you got out of bed and began to dress, your movements slow and deliberate. Logan knew better than to try and stop you. He’d seen what happened when you resisted the spirits—it wasn’t pretty.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, pulling on his jeans and boots.

You nodded, grateful for his support. Logan’s presence had a way of grounding you, of keeping you tethered to the living world when the dead threatened to pull you under.

As you both headed out into the night, Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different this time. The spirit inside you was more powerful than the others, more determined. He could feel it in the air, a malevolence that made his skin crawl.

The spirit led you to an old, run-down house on the outskirts of town. Logan followed closely behind, his senses on high alert. You walked up to the front door and knocked, your hand trembling slightly.

The door opened, revealing a man in his late forties, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Who the hell are you?”

“She knows what you did,” you said, your voice filled with the rage of the spirit within you. “And she’s here to make you pay.”

Logan watched as the man’s face paled, his eyes widening in fear. “No… It can’t be…”

Before Logan could react, you lunged forward, your hand wrapping around the man’s throat. The spirit’s fury flowed through you, making you stronger than you should have been, your grip like iron.

Logan moved quickly, pulling you back before you could do any real damage. “That’s enough, Y/N!”

The man collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, while you struggled against Logan’s hold, the spirit’s anger overwhelming you.

“He deserves to die!” you screamed, your voice no longer your own.

Logan held you tightly, his voice firm but gentle. “This isn’t you, Y/N. You’re stronger than this. Don’t let her control you.”

For a moment, it seemed like the spirit would win, that it would consume you completely. But then, with a shuddering breath, you managed to regain control, the spirit’s presence slowly fading as you collapsed against Logan, exhausted.

The man on the floor was sobbing, babbling apologies that fell on deaf ears. Logan looked down at him with disgust. “Get out of town. If I see you again, you won’t be so lucky.”

The man scrambled to his feet and ran, disappearing into the night.

Logan turned his attention back to you, his hand gently cupping your face. “You okay?”

You nodded weakly, leaning into his touch. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

He sighed in relief, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get you home.”

Life with you was never boring, and Logan wouldn’t have had it any other way. But when Wade found out about your abilities, things got a little more…interesting.

“Hold up,” Wade said, leaning back in his chair, Mary Puppins perched on his lap. “You’re telling me your significant other is basically a walking, talking Ouija board?”

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Something like that.”

Wade’s eyes lit up with mischief. “That is so badass! Do you do parties? Can you, like, summon Elvis or something? Wait, don’t answer that—I have a list of people I want to talk to, starting with—”

“Wade,” Logan growled, cutting him off. “It’s not a party trick.”

Wade pouted. “You’re no fun. But seriously, that’s gotta be weird, right? I mean, what happens if they get mad? Do you end up like one of those possessed dolls from horror movies?”

You chuckled, leaning against Logan. “It’s not quite that dramatic, but it can get intense. I try to keep them under control.”

“Still, sounds like a hell of a time,” Wade said, clearly fascinated. “You ever, uh, use your abilities on Logan here? Like, freak him out in the middle of the night?”

You smiled mischievously, glancing at Logan. “Maybe once or twice.”

Logan shot you a look but didn’t say anything. Wade burst out laughing. “Oh man, I wish I could’ve seen that! Logan, scared out of his mind—priceless!”

Logan rolled his eyes, pulling you closer. “I wasn’t scared.”

“Sure, sure,” Wade said, waving his hand dismissively. “But for real, you two are like the weirdest couple I’ve ever seen. And coming from me, that’s saying something. But you know what? I think it works. You balance each other out. Plus, if anyone ever pisses you off, you can just send them a nice little nightmare. That’s a win in my book.”

You and Logan exchanged a glance, both of you smiling. Wade might be a pain, but he wasn’t wrong.

Rip Damian Al Ghul Wayne, you would’ve loved Dungeon Meshi.

I imagine Maps gets him into it. It’s doesn’t take a lot of convincing since they already have a dnd (or whatever dc’s equivalent is) campaign with Jon, Maya, Kathy, and Colin. Damian prefers to read physical copies so he orders a box set and binges it one night.

His favourite character is probably Chilchuck. I think that he relates to not being treated seriously, especially because he’s yet to grow out of his baby face. He also finds him the most reasonable out of the group, which he appreciates.

He is a huge Farcille fan. He is kinda mad that they never got together at the end, but he does have an ao3 account so…

He really appreciates the world building. He especially likes how all the races have different and unique features. I think he’s already planning a campaign set in the world of Dungeon Meshi.

vicki vale: and what do you have to say about the rumors that Bruce Wayne and Batman are the same person?

12 year old, newly appointed robin, jason todd: ??? that would be really weird cause i’ve literally seen them kiss before??

bruce: *in the Wayne tower, popping up from his paperwork* …something just happened…

Like Father, Like Daughter

A/N: Based on a prompt.

Title: Like Father, Like Daughter

Summary: Geralt should have expected his child’s first word to be ‘fuck’.

Words: 640

“Fuck!”

Geralt paused. “What?”

“Fuck!” The little girl bounced on the blanket Geralt had set her on, pointing with chubby fingers across the river. Usually, he’d ignore her senseless baby babble or simply nod along to whatever was coming from her mouth, but that had not been senseless babble. It’d been a word.

He’d been somewhat attempting to gain a word or two from her for a few weeks now, each attempt a valiant failure, considering she seemed to prefer her ‘ga’s and ‘goo’s. It’d been an irritating process, but he’d been told—by who, he couldn’t remember. Probably Vesemir—that babies didn’t start speaking until they reached at least ten months. He would never be sure of course, but Akela couldn’t have been more than a new-born when he’d found her in the woods, making her eight months old now. She couldn’t even walk yet.

But she’d just spoken.

A corner of his lips began to curl upwards, until it froze, and his eyes widened as he realised what she’d just spoken.

He craned his neck to look where she was pointing. He breathed a nervous chuckle. “Duck, Akela,” he corrected, making his way towards her. “That’s a duck.”

“Fuck!”

“Duck.”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

He sighed and lowered himself beside her, balancing on the toes of his boots. Honestly, he wasn’t surprised that had been her first word. It was his first word every time something went wrong, or Akela decided to use her newfound crawling abilities to hide from him after he’d turned around for a second. He didn’t really care either, but he knew he’d get more looks than he’d prefer when around other people if the baby was constantly cursing.

Akela stopped bouncing long enough for him to gently grasp her shoulders. She blinked at him with those bright blue eyes, pouty lips parted. “Don’t say that,” he said slowly, letting her absorb each word. “It’s ‘duck’. With a ‘d’. Duck.”

She stared, clearly processing, before giving him a two-toothed smile and bouncing again. “Fuck!”

Geralt hummed and swung her up into his arms. He trudged towards the riverbank. “Duck,” he said firmly, pointing at the mallard floating in the middle of the water. He looked back at the baby, not an ounce of confusion on her face. Instead, she stared at the duck for a good few seconds and turned back to Geralt with yet another goofy grin.

“Fuck!” she decided.

“No. Duck.”

“Fuck!”

“Duck, Akela! It’s a fucking duck!”

In the eight months since he’d found the little girl, he had learnt many things. A big one was that raising his voice, even a small bit, would make her cry. It started with a trembling lip, then her big eyes began to well with tears, then she’d start sobbing, and he’d feel guilty. He’d never known guilt before Akela.

What was worse, though, was that her sobs rarely went into full blown fits. That was reserved for when she was hungry, in pain, or merely in a temper. When she was upset because of something he’d done, she stuck with her tiny hiccups and quiet sniffles, turning her face into his shoulder if her pitiful struggles to be put down didn’t achieve anything.

Geralt sighed and shook his head, the first bite of that familiar guilt prickling his skin. He stared out across the river and turned, walking to the blanket. He sat down, Akela on his lap, and pat her tiny heaving back. “You can say it if you want,” he relented. “Say it, ‘Kela.” Akela lifted her head, cheeks wet with tears, and Geralt smoothed her blonde hair back. He pointed out across the river again. “What is it?”

She followed his finger and chewed on her own. She hesitated. “Fuck…”

Geralt smiled a little painfully. “Right.”

“Fuck!”

Like father, like daughter.

Witcher Masterpost

Geralt of Rivia x Child!Reader

Geralt of Rivia x Child!Reader

Part1

Masterlist

Summary: What happens when a certain witcher save you from an awful future to become a slave for the Nifgaard realm? Follow the journey of you and the white-haired witcher adventures,  blossoming a beautiful relationship between father and daughter. (Yeah… I know that the summary is bad 😂 Sorry)

Warnings: Angst, a little bit of blood

Words: 1,600

A/n: So, i notice that isn´t many fanfics of Geralt being a cute dad so i thought of doing one! The reader is 5 years old. I might do a part 2 to this.

Screams. That´s all you could hear around you. Tears were running down your soft cheeks freely as you see the destruction around yourself. Seeing houses being burnt to the ground, men being slaughter and women trying to comfort their children before the black ones could kill them.  

Kneeling down, you put your small hands on the cold body before you. “M..Mommy?…Mommy wake up…” your voice comes out tiny as you try to shake your mother´s corpse, your vision was becoming more and more blurry by the fat tears running out of your big e/c eyes. “P..Please Mommy!” you stutter quietly, your lower lip trembling from fear and heartbreak.  

Suddenly a strong hand grabs your h/c hair and pull you forcibly, making you scream in pain. “What do we have here? A little pig?” one of the soldiers that were attacking your village said with an evil laugh.  

You put your small hands on his and try to kick him away from you, pleading from him to let you go but that only made them laugh even more. One of the soldiers went to you grab your soaked cheeks tightly, forcing you to look to his wicked eyes. “You would do a perfect slave…maybe when you´re older, you could bring some pleasure to us,” he said with a disgusting smirk on his rough lips. The other two men agreed but the fourth man didn´t say anything, only stay there with a painful look on his pale face. You notice blood running down his mouth and small gasp leaving his mouth. Of a sudden the man falls down to the floor and a large figure stood behind him, with a bloody sword on his hand.  

“What the fuck!” the man that was holding whisper as he saw the golden eyes of the stranger glowing in the dark, glaring dangerously to the three men.  

The other two men run to the golden eye man, clashing their swords with his but they were not good as the large man, who kill them with one single blow, cutting their heads with his shining sword.  

Your eyes shut close as a wave of blood cover your tiny body, making you gasp as you feel the warm red liquid on your s/c skin.  

The man that was holding your hair, screamed and throw you to the hard ground. You fell on the floor with a hard crash and your breath got caught on your throat a little. The soldier starts running away, screaming ´mutant´ but his alarmed voice was changed by a gurgling squeal as the golden eye man throws his sword, piercing his throat.  

You stay still on the cold floor, curl in a small ball beside your mother. Sobbing into your mother’s cold neck.  

After a while, you feel a warm hand stroking gently your back. Lifting slowly your head, your teary eyes met golden ones, full of concern. “Are you okay, child?” his rich deep voice envelopes you in warmth and safeness.  

You nod slowly and look down, pointing to the corpse beside you. “Mommy doesn´t wake up!” you sob quietly. The stranger lets out a sigh and nods, putting his warm hand on your bloody cheeks, cleaning some of it. “I´m sorry little one… I think its better for you to go with the rest of refugees…” he said while looking back, seeing some women and men running out of the village with children and small babies. You shook your small head and whimper as you see them looking at you, waiting to come to them.  

The strange man pats your head and stood up. “Stay safe, child,” he said while walking towards his horse, leaving you alone and scared, taking all the safeness with him.  

Looking to the people waiting for you and then to the stranger’s back, you stood up and run as fast your little legs could.  

The golden eye man stops as he feels your tiny hand grab his. Looking down, he sees your sad chubby face staring to him, tears running down your soft cheeks. “P..Please…don´t leave me!” you desperate grab his large hand, trying to make him stay.  

He stays looking down at you with a serious face, thinking of what to do. After a while, he lets out a defeated sigh and nods. “Okay… but I will only take you to the nearest town, where is safe for you,” he said while picking you up and putting you on his horse´s back. Then he climbs up, sitting behind you. His strong arms wrap around you as he takes hold of the reins and orders his horse to move, taking you away from the vast chaos and death. 

                                                    /// \\ 

It´s been a month and you still have a long way until you arrive at the nearest town. In all your time with Geralt, you got to know each other. To your surprise, the large man was a witcher who shocks you since he was so gentle and protective with you.  

You have heard stories about his kind, your mother used to tell as a bedtime story. Telling the brave tales from the monsters’ hunters.  

“I´m bored…” you said while sitting beside the small campfire, pouting. “Hi bored. I’m Geralt.” he said with a smirk on his face, making you huff in annoyance. “Can I go play in the river?” you asked with hopeful eyes.  

Since you two stopped to make a camp, the lovely calm waters from the river on the other side of the road grabbed your attention. All you wanted to do was to jump to the beautiful blue water and swim around.  

“No.” that was his answer which made your hope die out. You roll your eyes and huff, hitting with your tiny foot on the muddy ground. “Why not?” you asked, glaring to him.  

Geralt stops polishing his sword and looks to you with one of his silver brows lifted. “Because I said so. Now, why don´t you rest a bit?” he said while posing his sword beside him and resting his back against the tree, closing his eyes.  

You murmured something under your breath and lie down beside the warm fire, watching the flames dance with each other.

After some time, you hear a soft snore coming from Geralt. Standing up, you saw him fast asleep. Smirking gently, you tiptoe to the river, careful not to step in some dry leaves.  

As you reach the bank of the river, the fresh air hits your small face. Grinning widely, you took off your shoes and put your tiny feet on the cold water, giggling as you feel the soft sand on your toes. Looking up, you saw the sun going down and the stars starting appearing on the twilight sky.  

As you were entertained playing on the water, you didn’t notice the horrendous creature swimming in your way. His hungry eyes fixed on your small figure, waiting for you to let down your guard. As you were about to pick up a beautiful white stone, you see something move on the murky water. Feeling suspicious, you turn back to leave but a wet cold hand grabs your arm, pulling into the deeps of the river.  

You scream and trash your small body, trying to get free from the creature firm hold. Water starts filling your lungs, making difficult to breathe and your body heavy. The creature licks your face and opens his large mouth, showing all his sharp teeth. As he was about to bit your face off, something pulls the creature out of the water, taking you as well.  

When you hit the hard ground, you start coughing all the water out and taking deep breathes, filling your lungs with fresh air.  

The creature lets out a painful scream and fell on the floor, black blood pouring out of his mouth. Looking up, you see Geralt glaring down to the creature, stabbing him with the point of his silver sword.  

Sobbing loudly, you jump to his arms. Burying your face on his warm chest, inhaling his spicy scent. He wraps his arms around your small frame and carries you back to the camp.  

He grabs a warm blanket and wraps it around you. “I..I´m sorry…Please d..don´t be mad at me…” you sob into his neck, curling your small body against his.  

Geralt took a deep breath and kiss gently your forehead. “I´m not mad, Y/n… but you should have listened to me. You could have died if I didn´t hear you yell,” he said, rocking you gently, trying to calm you down.  

You nod and took a deep breath. Your cries begin to die out, only sniffing and whimper quietly into his chest.  

Geralt starts humming a song, making your eyes heavy as sleep begins to take over your sore and shivering body. His gentle strokes on your back made hum in happiness as bury yourself into him, pulling the soft blanket to your shoulder and sigh in relief.  

The only things you could hear was his soft humming and the slow beat of his heart, lulling you to sleep.  

“I love you, Daddy.” with your words, his body tense. His humming stops and his heart starts beating faster. He took a deep breath and kiss your head, you could feel the sweet smile on his lips.  

“And I love you, my daughter.”

Hey Guys!!! So, what do you think? Should i do a part 2? Hope you like it and feel free to comment and tell me what you think!!

Also, Geralt taglist is open. Click right HERE

XOXO

Taglist: @cookies186 | @alwayshave-faith | @toxic-quenn | @nati-epic-jelly | @howlongtillidie | @moderapoppins | @theflamingraven | @ladyrivia | @comfortingcreature | @majicbamana | @rynabarnesrogers​ | @uncoolcloudyhead​ | @burningcoffeetimetravel​

Now I'm also curious 🧐 imma start looking 🕵️

someone needs to write a fic about meanwhile back at camp in titan’s curse bc Nico and the campers is funny to me

has anyone written this? is this a thing? if anyone’s read a good one could you point me in the right direction?

the muskification of twitter except it's lex luthor instead of elon lol

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That’s MY midwestern princess

Tags: @st-leclerc @rubywingsracing @three-days-time @saviour-of-lord

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH 🌈💐👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

Random Jason Todd headcanons that I think about too much. Heavy on bookworm!Jason cause I love bookworm!Jason.

Calls you his backpack, when he gives you a ride on the back of his bike.

Lets you personalise his spare helmet, and does not care when his siblings/other passangers complain about having to wear whatever you've created with stickers and gemstones, or whatever you're into.

If there are two seats available, he’ll sit in one then put his feet up in the other, or otherwise occupy the second seat so you’re forced to sit in his lap. He doesn’t care how much you weigh; he just wants you as close as possible, wants to feel you against him, put his hands on you.

Even if they’re not his kind of book, he’ll still read and annotate your favourites.

He doesn’t really have guilty pleasures. He’ll happily binge watch 90s chick-flics, or barbie films without shame, if that’s what you’re into.

Buys you pill dispensers for your meds/vitamins/whatevers, and leaves you little reminders to take them along with other things like – ‘don’t forget to eat some protein today x’ or ‘if you’re gonna rot in front of the TV all day, OPEN A WINDOW ♡’

Will respond to your texts with the most out of pocket stuff that knocks you off your feet, some fun, some romantic, often book quotes.

23:58: Jay, when are you coming home. I miss kisses xx 00:04: Soon, you should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how. Xx

02:03: You should be asleep, but in case you’re not, sleep well babe x 06:15: Good morning my heart, my life, my one and only thought x

17:45: What do you want to eat tonight? Xx 17:58: You xx 18:00: You can’t eat me, I’m not a substantial meal! x 18:06: Don’t talk bad about yourself like that xx 18:06: I ate you last night, I would eat you every night if I could xx 18:09: Your choices are pasta or take out x 18:16: 😔 18:18: Fine, you can eat me, but you have to have real food first x 18:18: I’ll pick up thai food on the way xx

Buys you gas station flowers, or candies, or books by your favourite authors, whenever he sees them, wherever he is, just cause they make him think of you.

Likes it when you massage his muscles, when you gently ghost your fingertips over his scars.

Loves it when you run your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails against his scalp and behind his ears.

When you pull his hair, oh boy. Pull his hair.

You’re hot when you’re angry. Not that he would ever intentionally try to wind you up.

You’re hot when you’re bossy too.

Complains when you steal his t-shirts and hoodies, but if he sees you deciding between one of his jackets and one of your own, and you don’t pick his, he’ll get mad about it.

You're one of very few people he lets wear the brown jacket, because he couldn't say no to you if he tried.