Bad, Bad Kitty! That's Your Soulmate!

Bad, bad Kitty! That's your soulmate!

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…

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH 🌈💐👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

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.

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.

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