colbychu

[colbychu]

LOGAN AS A GIRL DAD°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

just pure fluff with pregnant!reader and logan <3

BEFORE PREGNANCY

being a dad at his age was something logan never imagined. starting a family seemed so out of reach, after everything he’d lived, he never thought that dad was a title he deserved. but then laura came into your life, and it was hard for him because you were a natural, effortlessly knowing how to care for her.

bit by bit, he began to follow your lead, picking up your habit of checking on her before bed and tucking her in, keeping an eye on her plate and making sure she finished her veggie, checking on her when she played outside and even sitting through her favorite cartoons.

and as you watched him, you’d catch yourself wondering what it would be like to bring another little life into this family you were building. the idea of getting pregnant crossed your mind more than once, and you could see it flicker in his eyes too, like an unspoken thought that made its way between you.

—you ever thought of having kids? —he asked, quiet but serious.

you took a few seconds to think about his question. not that you needed them, you'd always wanted to have his kids, and having laura had changed things, deepened the bond between you and logan, and brought your maternal instinct back. she wasn’t your biological child, but in every other way, she was yours.

the thought of bringing up the idea of getting pregnant to logan felt selfish, especially when you knew how much he had already given and how tired he was, you knew that, so you kept your hopes to yourself, not wanting to ask for more than the peace you had found with him and laura.

—we have laura —. you answered.

—yeah, we do. but… that’s not what i’m talking about.

there was a few seconds of silence while he waited for your answer.

—yes, i've thought about it but—

—have you thought about it recently?

you nodded to his question, feeling guilty.

he slowly nodded back to you. —i've been thinking about it too.

DURING PREGNANCY

logan started helping caliban in the kitchen, something that surprised you at first because he had never been much of a cook. but the two of them would work together, preparing meals that were good for you and the baby. logan would quietly chop vegetables or stir a pot, taking caliban’s instructions (also surprising because he had not followed anyone's instructions in a long time) as they worked to make sure you had everything you needed to stay healthy.

he’d help you with things like showering when it became difficult for you to balance or reach certain places. his touch was always gentle, his movements careful, making sure you felt safe. it became an intimate routine, his fingers massaged your scalp with care.

every night he'd gently rub lotion on your growing belly, helping to care for the stretch marks that had started to appear. he knew how self-conscious they made you feel. he could see it in the way you’d glance at your reflection, letting out a frustrated huff each time you noticed a new one, how you’d try to hide it from him, or how you’d wrap yourself in a towel quickly after a shower. so he took his time applying the lotion with steady hands, his eyes focused as if making sure he was doing it right.

—another one? —you muttered, feeling the weight of it.

—doesn’t change a thing —. logan just shook his head, kneeling beside you. —it’s just a mark. i'm covered in marks, and you never cared, right?

laura sat close to you, her eyes focused on your belly as logan gently massaged your skin. she was waiting, as she always did, hoping to see her future sister move. each time logan’s hand smoothed over your growing bump, laura’s gaze would sharpen, her small body leaning forward saying come on, little sis, just one kick. sometimes she’d place her hand beside logan’s, her touch gentle but curious.

—is she going to move soon? —she’d ask in a hushed voice.

logan glanced at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. —she’s already kickin' when you’re not looking —. he teased lightly as he rubbed the cream over your stretch marks, carefully. laura’s eyes never left your belly, waiting for that one special moment.

and he'd give you foot massages, his calloused hands rubbing away the soreness from carrying extra weight. you’d close your eyes, sighing in relief, and he’d smile.

when your clothes stopped fitting, it was he who offered up his own. he’d hand over his t-shirts and flannels, which hung loose on you and smelled like him, making you feel him close to you even when he was away at work.

logan was a bit reluctant at first but when the doctor told him how important prenatal yoga was to you, he didn't have to think about it twice. he wanted to be there and help you in every way he could even though he felt a bit out of place among the soft music, peaceful atmosphere, and expectant mothers, but he never let it show.

he'd help you find comfort in each of the poses the instructor guided everyone. he was often the only man in the class, which certainly caught the attention of the other moms. perhaps they noticed the age gap between you and logan, but more likely, their attention was drawn to your undeniably handsome partner. some of them whispered to each other, half-jokingly expressing their jealousy at how lucky you were to have such a dedicated partner. you both noticed the glances but you were too focused on each other.

as the weeks went by, the mothers would often smile at him, offering you two the kindest words as they saw how attentive he was to your needs.

at the end of the class, logan leaned in and kissed you softly, his hand resting on your back. —you did great —. he murmured, his voice full of pride. as you started to gather your things, one of the mothers nearby smiled and said, you're a lucky girl.

you couldn’t help but blush a little. he gave a small, almost shy smirk in response but didn’t say anything. instead, he focused on helping you with your bag.

the moment you found out you were pregnant, he quit smoking. it was almost instinctive, he wanted nothing but the best for you and the baby, and that included kicking the habit that had stuck with him for years.

and giving up cigarettes was one thing, but quitting drinking was way harder. there were nights he’d sit in the kitchen, staring at the bottle in the cabinet, knowing he could just reach for it. but he remembered you asleep in the other room, a hand resting protectively over your belly, and he’d push the thought away. he didn’t want his daughter growing up with memories of whiskey lingering on her father’s breath.

DURING LABOR

logan was more terrified than he'd ever let you know. he had faced, battles survived unimaginable pain, and lived through horrors but this was different. watching you in pain, knowing that your body was going through something so intense shook him to his core.

he stayed by your side, gripping your hand tightly and leaning in close, his voice encouraging you to push. he'd brush the damp strands of hair that were sticking to your face and press his forehead to yours.

when the baby’s first cry filled the room, logan sighed in relief, his grip on your hand softening as he finally allowed himself to breathe. once the doctors placed her on your chest, logan leaned in by your side, his eyes shining as he looked at you. you did so good, baby, thank you so much he murmured as he kissed your sweaty forehead and one of his fingers brushed across the baby’s little cheek.

AFTER PREGNANCY

at first, he was terrified every time he held her, his usually steady hands suddenly unsure. he was afraid that even his touch might be too much. she was so tiny, so soft and fragile, and her chest rose and fell so peacefully even though her small fingers wrapped around logan's thick ones with such strength. he found himself holding his breath whenever he picked her up.

in those first few days after labor, logan seemed to be everywhere at once. checking on the baby, bringing you food, making sure you were sleeping and laura wasn't trying to sneak into your room to see the baby. she was fascinated by her little sister, how could a human being be so small? laura often asked herself.

logan would catch her on her tiptoes, face with curiosity, and he’d stop her with a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. laura would pout, glancing past him with wide eyes, eager to get closer, but logan wasn’t having it.

you surprised him when you caught him slipping into a soft, almost comical baby voice whenever he spoke to his daughter. but it was completely unintentional, just something that happened whenever he looked down at her tiny face, her big eyes blinking up at him. oh, what’s that little face all about, huh? you got somethin’ to say, little one? he’d murmur, his voice high and gentle as he rubbed one of her cheeks.

logan never thought he’d find joy in something as simple as dressing up his little girl, but there he was, surrounded by tiny clothes, immersed in a world of pastels and patterns. the laughter that escaped his lips as he put together the outfits was genuine. alright, sweetheart, what do you think of this one? he would ask her, holding the little one in front of the mirror. the baby had no idea what was going on, but logan nodded, approving the outfit. he’d try on multiple outfits, taking photos, and sending them to you for your opinion. how about this for school? he’d text you, proudly. this one’s a bold choice, but i think you can pull it off, he’d tease, pretending to be a fashion critic.

leaving for work each day became one of the hardest things logan had to do. he hated those hours he spent apart from the three of you. and every night when he came home, the baby was already sleeping but he'd tiptoe over to the crib, and he'd place a gentle kiss on the top of her head. then he’d make his way to bed, crawling next to you and pulling you close against his chest. he’d nuzzle his head close, murmuring softly, you okay, darlin’? and though you’d only mumble a half-coherent answer, he’d still give a small, satisfied nod.

and when he gets out of work earlier, he comes home exhausted, and you can see it in his face, the tired lines around his eyes, the slight droop of his shoulders, the way he rubs the back of his neck, but despite that, he is never too tired to play with his baby girl.

as the baby grew, logan took on new challenges, like driving her to school each morning, packing her tiny backpack with her favorite snacks, and doing her hair. with dark brown locks just like laura's and his own, he gathered them into two little ponytails, a bit clumsy at first, his fingers were used to fighting and rough work, not delicate hairstyles.

laura, after seeing how much fun logan had with the little girl’s hair, wanted no less. she’d approach him, eyes bright with excitement. —can you do my hair too, logan?

—your mom can do it for you. she's much better at it than i am —. he answered, not sure if his hairdressing skills would meet the older girl's expectations.

—but i want you to do it!

logan huffed, ruffling her hair with his free hand. he used the same care gathering laura's long hair as he did for her baby sister and he found it incredibly satisfying to see laura's face light up when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

after all, he was meant to be a girl's dad. every moment with you and your daughters reminded him that all those years of solitude and struggles, had led him here to a life filled with love. he might have thought being a dad was beyond his reach, but now, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.

[colbychu]

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing. 

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck. 

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity. 

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so. 

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed. 

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm. 

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about. 

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read. 

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

[colbychu]

You

worst logan/wolverine x fem!reader - time travel, TVA mentioned, mentions of death, ansgt, cute ending, humor, wade being wade, logan brooding, no y/n used, no reader description

Logan misses you so Wade comes up with the idea to time travel to get you back.

prompt idea from @Silverskyeline from their logan promptober: #13-time travel

Three months. That’s how long it had been since Logan had saved the universe—or something like that. The details didn’t matter much anymore. What mattered was the gnawing emptiness that sat heavy in his chest, like a dull ache that wouldn’t go away no matter how many beers he downed or how many bad guys he took out. He’d found a new sense of purpose in this twisted, chaotic world, and somehow, he’d gotten used to Wade’s constant chatter and bizarre group of friends. But there was something else, something that ate at him in the quiet moments.

You.

Wade had joked about it endlessly. “Why not just find her here, Logan? This universe has gotta have a version of her, right? You could shack up with Variant Reader. Hell, maybe she’s hotter here. I’m talkin’ straight out of a sci-fi romance novel—bam, instant chemistry.”

Logan’s jaw clenched every time Wade brought it up. It wasn’t that simple. It never had been. Sure, there were probably a thousand versions of you across a thousand different timelines, but none of them were you. The you from his world. The one who had been by his side through hell and back. The one whose laugh he could still hear on the edges of his mind, echoing like a ghost.

The one who had died in his arms.

He could still feel your weight against him, the warmth of your skin fading, and how your hand gripped his for the last time. No, another version of you wouldn’t cut it. He didn’t want a copy, didn’t want some echo from a parallel world. He wanted you—the real you, the one from his universe. The one he’d failed to save.

“You know, you’re brooding again,” Wade said, as he strolled into the dingy living room where Logan sat, staring into the abyss. Wade plopped down on the couch beside him, tossing a crumpled bag of chips onto the table.

“Not brooding,” Logan muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Sure, sure,” Wade replied, leaning back, his legs spread out comfortably. “That’s exactly what a brooding person would say.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, the familiar tension rolling through him, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he stared down at his hands, the scars, the callouses. He’d given up on getting you back. He’d given up on fixing the past. You couldn’t fix what was broken beyond repair. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself but the ache wouldn’t go away.

“You ever think about... I dunno, doin’ somethin’ about it?” Wade’s voice was oddly soft like he’d turned off the constant barrage of sarcasm for a second.

Logan’s eyes flicked to him, narrowed. “And what the hell do you suggest I do?”

Wade’s eyes gleamed with something that could only be described as dangerous mischief. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe steal a little something from the TVA and go back to your world? Grab your girl. Do the whole dramatic, ‘I can fix it’ time travel shtick?”

Logan stared at him, not sure whether to punch him or actually listen. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m an idiot with connections,” Wade grinned, his face lighting up like a kid with a new toy. “Come on, you’re the Worst Wolverine—do something reckless! What’s the worst that could happen? We screw up the timeline? Big whoop. I’ve messed up all sorts of timelines. This is about love, Logan. Your love. Let’s save her.”

Logan’s first instinct was to tell him to shove it, but the words didn’t come. Wade, annoyingly, had a point. He’d done reckless things before. Hell, he was born reckless. Deep down, the thought of seeing you again, of holding you and knowing that this time, he could change things—that temptation was too strong to ignore.

“You’re insane,” Logan finally muttered.

“Yeah,” Wade replied with a grin. “But I’m right. Now come on, Wolvie. We’re going time-jumping.”

Hours later…

The device Wade had stolen was small, about the size of a smartphone, but the power it held was unmistakable. It buzzed in Wade’s hand as he fumbled with the buttons, grinning like a madman.

“This baby can take us anywhere, anytime. The TVA will never know what hit ‘em,” Wade said, tossing the device up and catching it again.

Logan eyed it warily. “You sure this thing works?”

Wade’s grin widened. “Nope though it did when I went looking for you but isn’t that the fun part? It’s like roulette with time travel—what could go wrong?”

Logan growled, his patience already wearing thin. “This better work.”

Wade flicked a button on the device, and the air around them shimmered, crackling with energy. “Buckle up, buttercup. We’re about to do the impossible.”

In a flash, the room disappeared, and the world twisted around them. Time felt like it stretched and snapped, pulling them through threads of reality. The familiar weight of Logan’s past pressed against him, a reminder of everything he’d lost.

Then, with a sudden jolt, they landed. The air was still, thick with the scent of pine and earth, the same world Logan had left behind now what felt like a lifetime ago. His universe.

“You’re up,” Wade said, his voice suddenly serious. “Let’s get your girl.”

Logan stood frozen for a moment, the weight of the past pressing hard against his chest. He had fought through hell to get here—watched you die in his arms, lost everything—but this time, he wasn’t going to fail. He couldn’t.

A familiar scent that tugged at memories he’d long buried came floating back. His eyes scanned the surroundings, and then he saw it—the small, familiar cabin nestled between trees, its outline just visible in the distance. He hadn’t seen that cabin in years.

Logan’s heart thudded in his chest, a mix of hope and fear twisting in his gut as he started toward the house. The memories rushed back—the sound of your laugh, the way you’d tease him about being too serious, too gruff, the way your touch had always managed to pull him out of his own darkness. It was all there, sharp and vivid, like a wound that had never truly healed.

Behind him, Wade’s usual sarcasm was noticeably absent as he followed a few paces back, keeping his distance for once. “I know this part’s gotta be rough,” Wade said quietly, uncharacteristically somber. “But hey, we’re here. You’ve got a second chance.”

Logan’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “Let’s just hope we’re not too late.”

Wade shot him a quick glance, his eyes crinkling behind the mask. “Looks like you’re right on time, bub.”

As Logan reached the front door, his hand hesitated for just a second, hovering over the worn wood. The weight of it all—your death, the years of grief, the hollow ache of trying to move on—threatened to choke him. He had come all this way, crossed through time itself. The thought of seeing you again, alive, before everything went wrong, was almost too much to bear.

He knocked, his knuckles brushing lightly against the door, the sound barely registering in the stillness.

Moments passed, and then the door swung open.

There you stood, just as he remembered—no, younger. Alive. Your eyes were bright, your smile lighting up your face for a brief second before it faltered, your brows knitting together in confusion. The years had done nothing to dull your beauty, and for a split second, Logan forgot why he was here, lost in the sight of you standing right in front of him.

“Logan?” you asked, your voice laced with confusion as your gaze flicked from him to Wade, who was standing just behind him. You took a step back, your eyes narrowing as you studied him closer. “What the hell is going on? You just left for work an hour ago.”

Logan’s heart pounded in his chest, the realization crashing down on him. This wasn’t after your death. This was before you both had gone to Xavier’s mansion. Before everything had spiraled out of control. You didn’t know him like this—older, broken, haunted by your death. At this moment, you still thought everything was normal.

You were still his.

Your gaze darted back and forth between him and Wade, clearly trying to make sense of what you were seeing. Logan, standing here, looking years older than he should, and some guy in a red-and-black suit with twin katanas strapped to his back.

“What’s going on, Logan?” you asked again, your voice sharper this time. “Why do you look—older? And who the hell is this?” You gestured to Wade, who, of course, couldn’t help but pipe up.

“Oh, hi there!” Wade waved, stepping forward with a dramatic flourish. “I’m Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool, aka the best third wheel in the multiverse. Also, lover of chimichangas, breaker of fourth walls, and your new best friend! But, uh, let’s not focus on me. Let’s talk about you and this dashing, future version of your grumpy man over here.”

You blinked, clearly thrown off by Wade’s antics, but your attention snapped back to Logan, eyes scanning his face, searching for answers. “Logan... what’s happening?”

Logan swallowed hard, his mind scrambling to figure out what to say, and how to explain. He wasn’t supposed to be here, in this version of your life. But here he was—too late to turn back now.

“I—” Logan started, his voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat and took a small step toward you, his eyes softening as he met your gaze. “It’s me. It’s really me. Just... from a different time.”

Your frown deepened, confusion turning to concern. “Different time? What are you talking about?”

Wade clapped his hands, stepping between you and Logan. “Okay, here’s the quick version—your Logan, the one who just left for work? Still the same guy. But this Logan?” He pointed at the older, worn-out version of Logan standing behind him. “He’s from the future. The, uh, really messed-up future where you’re... not around anymore.”

Your eyes widened, and you took another step back, the color draining from your face. “Not around? What—what do you mean?”

Logan’s heart twisted as he saw the look of fear flash in your eyes. This wasn’t how he wanted to do this. He never wanted you to know the pain he’d carried, the loss that had nearly destroyed him. Yet the truth was staring him in the face, and there was no avoiding it now.

“I lost you,” Logan said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours, full of the weight of everything he’d been through. “In my timeline, you’re... gone. And I couldn’t save you.”

The silence hung heavy in the air, the words crashing over you like a tidal wave. You stared at him, trying to process what he was saying, but the confusion and disbelief were still etched on your face.

“I don’t understand,” you whispered, shaking your head. “How... how is that even possible? How are you here now?”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight as he tried to find the right words. “It’s... complicated. Time travel. Multiverses. The usual bullshit. But I’m here because I couldn’t live with the fact that I lost you once. I had to try to make it right.”

Wade, standing off to the side, piped up again. “And that’s where I come in! I helped your boy Logan here steal a little something from the TVA. Long story short, we’re here to change the future. No biggie. Just saving the universe...or rather your love life.”

You blinked, still reeling from the revelation. “So, you’re from the future, and you... lost me because I died?” Your voice was soft now, almost hesitant as if you weren’t sure if you wanted to believe it.

Logan nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah, and I’m not letting that happen again.”

For a long moment, the three of you stood in the small living room, the weight of what Logan had just revealed sinking in. You glanced from him to Wade, then back again, the shock slowly giving way to something else—something softer, but no less intense.

“So, what now?” you asked quietly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling beneath the surface. Your eyes darted between Logan and the stranger in red, trying to make sense of the impossible situation in front of you.

Logan took a small step closer, his rough fingers brushing against yours, that familiar warmth you’d always known now somehow different. Older. More worn. “Now, I make sure this time... I don’t lose you.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. His voice was full of something raw, something broken that you’d never heard before. You shook your head slightly, frowning as you instinctively stepped back, the distance between you suddenly feeling vast. “By... what? Logan, you’re scaring me. You just left for work. How is this even happening?”

Logan’s gaze dropped to the floor for a second, as if trying to find the words, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with the weight of what he was asking you to believe. When he looked up again, his eyes were darker, filled with that familiar intensity—but beneath that, there was fear. The kind of fear he never showed anyone. “This... this ain’t the same me you saw leave an hour ago, darlin’. I mean it is…I lived through what he did but I’m the future him that now lives in a different universe…Wade’s universe. I came here because I lost you. You’re gone.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and sharp, and you flinched at the sound of it. Gone. It didn’t make sense. None of this did. You could feel your pulse quickening, the overwhelming weight of confusion pressing down on you as you tried to grasp what he was saying.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “Logan, I—this doesn’t make any sense. I don’t understand. You’re standing here, older—different—and you’re telling me I die? How am I supposed to believe that?”

Logan took a deep breath, his fists clenching as he stood there, the frustration and desperation building in his posture. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Hell, I barely believe it myself sometimes. But I came back because I couldn’t live with it. I watched you die, and I couldn’t stop it. I can’t let that happen again.”

You blinked, the reality of his words crashing down on you, but it only made you take another step back. The man in front of you was Logan—his voice, his mannerisms, the way he stood—but he wasn’t the Logan you’d kissed goodbye just an hour ago. He wasn’t your Logan.

Wade, leaning casually against the doorframe, finally broke the silence, his usual snark softened, but was still there. “Look, I get it. This is a whole lot of ‘what the hell’ to process in one go. I mean, multiverse shenanigans? Time travel? It’s practically a soap opera. But here’s the deal—this version of Logan? He went through hell for you. He’s here now because he doesn’t want to lose you again.”

Your eyes snapped back to Logan, and you shook your head, a pang of anger and disbelief rising in your chest. “You want me to just leave? Leave everything—everyone—behind and follow you to a universe that isn’t even mine?”

He stepped forward, but not too close, his voice low, almost pleading. “I know what I’m asking. And I know it ain’t fair. But I’m telling you, you die here. You die because of the decisions we made—because of me. I’ve lost everything, and I can’t lose you. You have no idea what it’s like... watching the person you love die in your arms.”

You flinched at that, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through the whirlwind of emotions you were feeling. It was the most honest, most broken you’d ever seen him. Logan, the man who always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, was standing in front of you, asking you to believe the impossible.

But you couldn’t just go. Not like this.

“I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “I can’t just leave everything behind. This is my life. My world. You—you’re not even my Logan. Not really.”

Logan’s expression tightened, his hands clenching at his sides as he struggled with your words. “I am him,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m just... a version that’s been through more. But I’m still him. Still, the man who loves you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart twisting at his words, but the fear and confusion were still too strong. “You have to understand... I can’t just walk away from my life. From everything I know.”

The room was heavy with silence, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on both of you. Logan stood there, his shoulders slumping slightly as the reality of your decision sank in. He looked at you with an expression you’d never seen before—one of utter defeat.

Wade, sensing the tension, chimed in again, his voice light but more subdued. “Well, you know... no one said time travel was easy. But hey, Logan’s got a point. He’s been through hell to save you. So... maybe give it some thought?”

You let out a shaky breath, glancing at Wade before turning back to Logan, your voice was soft but firm. “I’m sorry. I can’t go with you.”

Logan’s eyes met yours, the pain and frustration in his gaze unmistakable. He swallowed hard, nodding once, his voice quiet. “Yeah. I get it.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The distance between you felt insurmountable, like a gulf neither of you knew how to cross. Logan’s chest rose and fell with slow, measured breaths as if he were trying to keep himself from breaking down.

Finally, Logan turned toward the door, his movements stiff, like every step away from you was physically painful. Wade followed, tossing you a small, sad smile as he trailed behind.

“We’ll, uh... see you around, I guess,” Wade muttered, his usual humor dimmed by the weight of the moment.

Logan stopped just before stepping outside, glancing back at you one last time. His voice was low, almost broken. “Take care of yourself.”

And with that, they were gone.

The door closed softly behind them, and the silence that filled the room was deafening. You stood there for a long moment, staring at the door, your heart still racing as the reality of what had just happened sank in.

Logan stood frozen just outside the door, the sound of your voice still echoing in his mind. His fists clenched at his sides, his body tense, the weight of your refusal sinking in deeper than any wound he’d ever taken. He’d come back for you, risked everything to save you, but it wasn’t enough. You weren’t ready. You didn’t understand yet.

Wade stood beside him, watching Logan with a mixture of exasperation and something close to sympathy. He sighed, then gave Logan a firm pat on the back, the sound breaking the heavy silence around them. “Look, I know that was rough, buddy,” Wade said, messing with the TVA device in his hand, flipping it over a few times. “But don’t go all mopey on me, okay? We’ve still got options here. You know, time-hopping’s our thing now.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, his jaw clenched tight as he stared at the ground, the weight of his failure pressing hard against his chest. Wade, undeterred, continued fiddling with the device, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hey, how about this—what if we find her a little older? Skip ahead a bit. Maybe then she’ll get it. Maybe then she’ll understand everything.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his voice a low growl, thick with the frustration he couldn’t quite shake. “No, Wade. She’s right. I’m not her Logan. Not anymore.”

Wade raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the device, clearly unimpressed by Logan’s sudden bout of self-pity. “Oh, come on. That’s your big takeaway? That you’re ‘not her Logan’? What does that even mean? You are literally the same guy, just... y’know, a little more weathered. A little more world-weary. A few more emotional scars. Same heart, though.”

Logan let out a long breath, his gaze flicking back to the door. “No. Not to her. She’s right. I’m not the same man she said goodbye to. She doesn’t know this version of me... and she shouldn’t have to.”

Wade paused, his fingers still playing with the TVA device, his brow furrowing in thought. He looked at Logan, then back at the door where you were still standing on the other side, clearly trying to figure out how to process what had just happened. Finally, Wade shrugged. “Okay, fine. I get it. You’re all wrapped up in your self-loathing schtick. But here’s the thing—you love her, right?”

Logan’s jaw clenched again, his eyes darkening as he stared ahead. “More than anything.”

“Great! Then what’s the harm in giving it one more shot?” Wade gestured toward the device in his hand, a sly grin spreading across his face. “We just hop forward a little. Find her before everything goes to hell. You get to explain things when she’s had a little more... life experience under her belt. Maybe then she’ll be able to see things a bit clearer. You know, give us a chance to make it all right.”

Logan’s brow furrowed. “I can’t keep dragging her into this. Into my mess.”

Wade shook his head, clearly unimpressed by Logan’s resistance. “Dragging her into this? Pal, you’re trying to save her. From a future where she dies, remember? If I’m not mistaken, she probably wouldn’t mind a heads-up.”

Logan shot Wade a glare but didn’t say anything. He knew Wade was right in his own irritating way. If there was even the slightest chance of saving you, of fixing the broken future where you didn’t survive... he had to try.

But the thought of seeing you again—closer to the version he’d lost, but still not quite there—filled him with dread. How many times could he ask you to trust him, to follow him into the unknown, before it became too much for either of you?

Wade sighed, clearly sensing Logan’s hesitation. “Look, I’m not saying we go all ‘Back to the Future’ and mess with everything. But we know where this ends if we don’t try something. You’ve got one shot to get this right, and we both know you’ll regret it if you walk away now.”

Logan’s shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of everything pressing down on him, but the thought of losing you—of standing by while history repeated itself—was unbearable. He couldn’t live with that.

With a deep breath, Logan looked up, his eyes hardening with resolve. “Fine. If we do this, we do it right.”

Wade’s grin spread wider, his fingers flying over the TVA device as he punched in the new coordinates. “You got it, Wolvie. Just sit tight, and we’ll fast-forward to a different version of you and Reader—before everything went to shit, but close enough that she knows the stakes.”

Logan stared at the house one last time, his heart twisting. He could feel the clock ticking, the weight of what he was about to do sinking in. This wasn’t just about saving you—it was about giving you a choice. One that hadn’t been taken from you before.

With a crackle of energy and the hum of time bending around them, Wade hit the button, and the world twisted, pulling them through the strands of reality once again.

Moments later…

The world settled around them with a familiar jolt, the air crackling as Logan and Wade materialized just outside Xavier’s mansion. The sky above was overcast, casting long shadows over the once-majestic grounds. The mansion itself looked worn, the stone walls weathered by time and battles long past. Overgrown vines snaked up the sides of the building, and the lawn, once meticulously cared for, now grew wild and untamed.

Wade let out a low whistle, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. “Shit, when you said your universe was dark—I thought you were joking,” he muttered, running a hand over the peeling paint on the front gate. “This place looks like a haunted house.”

Logan didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the mansion, his body tense as memories flooded back—memories of fights, of pain, and you. He wasn’t here for nostalgia, though. He was here for you. And this time, he wasn’t leaving without you.

“Come on,” Logan growled, his voice low as he gestured for Wade to follow. “We need to find her. Stay quiet.”

Wade gave a mock salute, though there was an uncharacteristic edge to his usual banter. “Quiet as a ninja, got it,” he muttered, following close behind as they slipped through the gate and toward the side of the mansion.

The halls of Xavier’s were as eerie as the outside. Dust coated the floors, and the once vibrant school now felt like an empty shell. Logan’s boots barely made a sound as he crept through the corridors, his senses on high alert. He’d spent enough time here to know the layout by heart, but the silence now felt unnatural.

They moved carefully, sticking to the shadows, and avoiding open spaces. The last thing Logan needed was to draw attention. He wasn’t here to fight—he was here for you. His breath hitched when he caught a familiar scent. Your scent. You were close.

Wade, who was somehow managing to stay quiet for once, followed his lead. “You smell her, don’t you?” Wade whispered, his voice a low hum of excitement. “I mean, I know it’s weird, but also kinda cool.”

Logan shot him a glare, his hand tightening into a fist. “Keep it down.”

They moved quickly, making their way to the back of the mansion, where the garden lay hidden behind tall hedges. Logan stopped short as soon as they reached the garden gate. There you were—sitting on a stone bench, your head buried in your hands, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

Logan’s chest tightened at the sight. He’d imagined finding you a thousand different ways, but not like this. You were crying, and the sight of your pain twisted something deep inside him.

Wade hovered behind him, peeking around the corner with wide eyes. “Well, this just got depressing,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now, like even he understood the weight of the moment.

Logan didn’t waste another second. He stepped forward, his boots crunching softly on the gravel, but you didn’t seem to hear him. You were lost in your grief, and it broke him to see you like this.

Hey.” Logan’s voice was low, rough around the edges, and his hands balled into tight fists at his sides as he stepped closer. Despite the tension in his body, his gaze softened, almost tender. “Darlin’, it’s me.”

You flinched at the sound of his voice, your head snapping up as recognition flickered in your tear-swollen eyes. Confusion and something else warred on your face, your breath catching in your throat. Your hands, still trembling, swiped at the tears clinging to your cheeks. “Logan?”

He nodded, swallowing hard, the words stuck in his throat. “Yeah. It’s me.”

Your brow furrowed, and you blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. “But... you just left with Scott.”

Logan shifted, struggling to find the right words, his mouth opening slightly before closing again. Wade stepped forward, and the moment your eyes landed on him, something shifted in your expression.

Your breath hitched, and you gasped, eyes wide. “I remember you. You... you came to me years ago. You told me I was going to die.”

Logan’s chest tightened, the guilt hitting him like a punch. The raw pain in your eyes was unbearable, and it twisted the knife deeper. He clenched his jaw, cursing himself silently for burdening you with that knowledge. His voice was barely more than a rasp. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers twisting in your lap as you looked down at the ground. “It’s been eating away at me,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “That thought—knowing I’m supposed to die. It’s been... it’s been gnawing at me, Logan. I couldn’t forget it, no matter how hard I tried.”

Logan stepped closer, kneeling in front of you, his rough hands gently reaching for yours. His touch was warm, and grounding, and you felt the familiar strength in it—strength that had always been there for you. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice low and steady like he was anchoring you to the present. “You won’t die. I won’t let that happen. That future—your future—is not set in stone. If you come with me, I’ll make sure of it.”

Your eyes searched his face, still full of doubt and fear. “How can you be so sure?”

Logan’s grip tightened on your hands, his gaze unwavering. “Because I lost you once. And I’ll be damned if I let that happen again.”

You swallowed, the raw sincerity in his voice hitting you like a punch to the gut. For years, you’d carried the weight of his words, the dread of knowing your time was limited. And now, here he was—older, different, but still Logan. Still, the man who had always protected you, no matter what.

“Come with me,” he said softly, his eyes pleading with you. “Let me fix this.”

You hesitated for a long moment, the fear and confusion still swirling inside you. But there was something else now—something that felt like hope. Maybe this was your chance to rewrite everything.

Finally, you nodded, your breath shaky as you met his gaze. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll come with you.”

Logan’s shoulders sagged with relief, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to smile—just a little. “Good,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the remnants of your tears. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

Behind you, Wade, who had been watching the entire exchange with uncharacteristic silence, suddenly cleared his throat, his grin audible in his voice. “Well, isn’t this just heartwarming? I gotta say, I’m feeling all kinds of emotions right now. Mostly pride, though. Maybe a little indigestion.”

Logan shot him a look but didn’t bother snapping back. Instead, he turned his attention fully to you, his hand still resting gently on your cheek. “We gotta move. You ready?”

You nodded, a mix of fear and determination in your eyes. “I’m ready.”

As Logan helped you to your feet, Wade clapped his hands, already fiddling with the TVA device. “Alright! Time to get the hell out of this dreary timeline. Next stop: the future!”

The familiar hum of the device filled the air as Wade activated it, the world around you beginning to shimmer and shift.

Logan tightened his grip on your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. “This time,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackle of energy. “I’m not losing you.”

The world around you dissolved in a crackle of light, reality-bending and twisting as the TVA device did its work. The sensation of time slipping beneath your feet was disorienting, like being pulled through water. Your grip on Logan’s hand tightened, his solid presence anchoring you in the midst of the chaos.

Then, with a sudden jolt, the world reassembled itself. The hum of the TVA device faded, replaced by the familiar sounds of the city—traffic, distant voices, the buzz of neon signs flickering against darkened streets.

You blinked, trying to steady yourself. Wade was already bouncing on his feet, grinning like a kid who’d just snuck into a candy store. "Ahh, home sweet home!" he declared, spreading his arms wide as if the sprawling city before him was some grand prize. “Welcome to my universe. Where the pizza’s greasy, the banter’s cheesy, and I’m... well, me.”

Logan’s grip on your hand hadn’t loosened, his eyes scanning the surroundings. It was different from the quiet, overgrown garden you had just left behind. This place was loud, chaotic, and alive with neon-lit signs casting sharp shadows across the alleyway they had landed in.

“Feels like we stepped into a bad movie,” Logan muttered, his voice low but steady. He’d forgotten how loud it was here.

Wade scoffed, waving him off. “Oh, come on. You know you missed this. It’s got charm! Personality! Maybe a few unsavory characters here and there, but hey, that’s what makes it fun.”

You glanced around, trying to take it all in. This wasn’t your world, wasn’t the life you’d known. The noise, the lights—it was overwhelming. You pressed closer to Logan, feeling the tension in his body. He was trying to stay calm for you, but you could sense the protectiveness radiating off him.

Wade, ever the tour guide, spun on his heel and gave a mock bow. “Alright, before you two lovebirds get all sentimental, we’ve got business to attend to. Namely, making sure you don’t end up six feet under, Reader.” He glanced at you, his mask hiding his expression but his voice light. “Or, you know, saving you from some tragic multiverse death scene.”

Logan shot Wade a look, his jaw tight. “Enough. We’ve got her here. Now what?”

Wade shrugged, tapping the TVA device like it was a toy. “Now? We keep her out of harm’s way. Get her situated in this lovely slice of chaos I call home until we figure out if the TVA is gonna kill us or not. We’ll call it a ‘lay low and don’t die’ strategy.”

You took a deep breath, the enormity of everything settling in. You were in another universe—one that wasn’t yours, with Logan slightly older and different, and Wade, this oddball mercenary who seemed to live for chaos. You looked up at Logan, your fingers still intertwined with his. “What happens now?” you asked softly, your voice a little shaky.

Logan looked down at you, his expression softening for just a moment. “I hate to admit it, but Wade’s right. We need to make sure you’re safe and figure the rest out later.”

Wade, ever the jester, clapped his hands. “Perfect! Now that we’ve got a plan, how about we head to my place? It’s not much, but it’s got... well, it’s got walls. Mostly.”

Later…

Wade kicked open the door to his apartment, revealing what could only be described as a disaster zone. Pizza boxes, empty chimichanga wrappers, and questionable stains littered the room. The couch looked like it had seen better days—possibly in another century—and the smell of old takeout hit your senses immediately.

“Home sweet home!” Wade declared, tossing his weapons onto a pile of laundry in the corner.

You stepped inside, your eyes wide as you took in the mess. Logan followed close behind, his brow furrowing at the sight. “You live like this?”

Wade shrugged. “What? It’s got character! Besides, who needs cleanliness when you’ve got... chimichangas?” He winked at you, clearly pleased with himself.

You glanced at Logan, and despite everything, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Logan gave you a soft look, shaking his head. “Do you stay here?”

Wade threw his hands up in mock protest. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I offer you guys shelter in the finest apartment in my universe, and this is the thanks I get?”

Logan ignored him, turning to you. “I do but we can find somewhere else.”

You shook your head, your heart still racing, but there was a warmth in Logan’s voice that settled you, like an anchor pulling you out of the swirling confusion of this strange new world. “No, it’s fine,” you whispered, offering him a small smile. “We’ll be fine here.”

Logan’s lips quirked in a barely-there smile as his hand slid to the small of your back, a subtle gesture that let you know he was with you—no matter how strange or chaotic things got.

A few days later…

Adjusting to Wade’s universe wasn’t easy, but having Logan by your side made it bearable. The city around you was loud and overwhelming, but every time you felt like you were losing your footing, Logan was there—a solid, steady presence.

The two of you had carved out a small routine in the chaos. Most mornings the two of you sat on the couch watching television. It was comforting to be with Logan who offered you a small, almost imperceptible smile. 

One morning, after flipping through the channels, the two of you cuddling on the couch. Logan glanced at you, a rare softness in his eyes. “You’re adjusting,” he said, his voice quiet but warm, like he was proud of you.

You smiled, though there was still an edge of uncertainty in your chest. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this place.”

Logan reached out to brush a stray hair behind your ear. “You’re doing better than I ever could,” he said, his eyes lingering on you, full of that familiar protective intensity. “It’s not the world that matters. It’s that you’re here. With me.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a warm blanket. Logan didn’t say things like that often, but when he did, it was always enough to quiet the storm inside you.

[colbychu]

Empath

logan howlett x fem!mutant reader - angst, some fluff, reader has empath powers, logan is a softie, mutual pining, xavier cameo, no y/n used, no reader description

You have empath powers leading you to get overwhelmed around Logan so you try to avoid him until you realize you can't.

prompt idea from @Silverskyeline from their logan promptober: #5-longing

“Just stop!” Your voice rang out, sharp and desperate as if you could somehow silence the whirlwind inside your mind. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, knuckles white, but it did nothing to hold back the wave of emotion crashing over you.

Xavier’s voice, calm but firm, echoed softly in your head. "You must fight it. Control it. The emotions will consume you if you don’t."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over you, but it didn’t ease the storm raging inside. For months now, you had been fighting—struggling to control the empathy that threatened to pull you under. Every emotion, every fleeting thought from the people around you clawed at your mind, but none had hit you like his.

Logan.

You hadn’t expected this when you first walked through the mansion’s doors. Sure, you knew the man was intimidating, with his broad, rugged features and those piercing hazel eyes that seemed to cut through every defense you had. You didn’t know how deeply he carried his pain. You didn’t know it would bury itself in your chest the moment his gaze locked on yours.

The first time you saw him, the world shifted. A fire had sparked under your skin like something about him was too much—too raw, too intense. And then it happened.

His emotions—heavy, bruised, and relentless—flooded your mind, unfiltered and overwhelming. The sheer weight of his misery and anger, the years of grief, regret, and heartache, hit you all at once, knocking the breath from your lungs. You had felt your powers spiral out of control, dragging you under. Every wall you’d carefully built around your mind shattered in an instant.

Now, standing in the quiet of the mansion, it was happening again. You could feel him—sense him even though he wasn’t in the room. The memory of his pain clung to you, thick and suffocating, threatening to drown you if you didn’t find a way to shut it out.

“Focus,” Xavier’s voice urged, the gentle command reverberating in your mind. “Feel, but don’t let it overwhelm you. You can control it.”

You tried. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to breathe through the rush of emotions, through the heat rising in your chest. But it wasn’t enough. You could still feel Logan’s anger simmering beneath the surface, his anguish, the weight of the world pressing on him—pressing on you.

A choked sound escaped your throat as you gripped the edge of the desk, your fingers digging into the wood. “I can’t—” you whispered, the words barely audible, thick with frustration.

Xavier’s presence in your mind was steady, unshakable. “You can. You must. Find the source. Recognize it. Let it pass through, not into you.”

How could you? Logan’s presence lingered, as if he was right there, behind you—watching, waiting. You could almost hear the gruff edge of his voice, feel the weight of his stare, the way his emotions cut through your defenses without even trying. How could you separate yourself from something so powerful, so consuming?

Images of Logan flashed through your mind—those haunted eyes, the lines of worry etched into his face, the silent weight he carried with every step. You had never meant to connect so deeply with him. But it was there. The moment you’d let your guard slip, his entire being had flooded your senses, and you hadn’t been able to push him away since.

The room spun around you, the air thick with tension. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you fought to regain control, fought to suppress the storm Logan had stirred up within you. It was like trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands.

Then, there was a knock. The sound reverberated through the room like a lifeline, cutting through the chaos in your mind. You turned sharply, eyes wide, heart pounding in your chest.

The door creaked open, and there he was. 

He stood in the doorway, his presence filling the room with the same intensity you had felt from the moment you’d met him. His expression was unreadable, his gaze hard but searching as it locked onto you. Even from across the room, you could feel the weight of him pressing against your mind—the grief, the anger, the quiet torment that lived inside him.

It hit you like a tidal wave again, but this time, you couldn’t hold it back. You gasped, clutching the edge of the desk for support as your knees nearly buckled.

Logan’s brow furrowed, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he stepped forward, the scent of earth and steel following him. “What’s wrong?” His voice was low, rough like gravel, but there was something else there—something softer.

You couldn’t answer. The emotions swirling within him, within you, were too strong, too overwhelming. All the pain, all the years of torment—it was like reliving them through his eyes.

“Focus,” Xavier’s voice broke through, firm and steady. “Don’t lose yourself. Not to this.”

You couldn’t focus. Not with Logan standing so close, his emotions bleeding into yours, his pain threatening to swallow you whole.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he moved closer, his rough hand reaching for yours. “Hey.” His voice was quieter now, the edge of his frustration replaced with something else. “Look at me.”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, the world narrowing to just you and him, his hazel eyes burning into yours. For a brief moment, the chaos inside you stilled, as if Logan himself was anchoring you, pulling you back from the brink.

“You’re okay,” Logan murmured, his voice low but certain, that rough edge softened by the weight of his concern. His hand lingered near yours, a tether in the storm. For a split second, it almost felt like you could breathe again like maybe he was right.

But the chaos inside you flared again, pulling you under. You shook your head, getting to your feet and backing away from him, the words catching in your throat. “I can’t—” Your voice trembled, barely a whisper as you tried to pull yourself together. Panic clawed at your chest, the emotions too thick, too heavy. You couldn’t stay there.

Without waiting for Logan’s response, you turned on your heel, stumbling out of Xavier’s office. The door closed behind you with a soft click, but it wasn’t enough to shut out the swirl of emotions still raging inside your mind.

Why? Why, after all this time, did one person—one man—have so much control over you?

You could still feel the echo of Logan’s presence, like a heavy weight pressing against your ribs, his emotions lingering in the air around you. Every time he was near, it was like drowning in his pain, his raw grief and anger consuming you, pushing everything else aside until there was nothing left of you but him.

Your breath came out in ragged bursts as you hurried down the hallway, each step echoing louder than the last. You wiped at your eyes, trying to shake the way Logan’s voice had clung to you, how his gaze had burned through every defense you’d tried to put up.

It wasn’t fair.

You barely knew him yet the moment you’d felt his emotions, it had been like stepping into a fire—intense, all-consuming, impossible to ignore. You hadn’t been the same since.

I have to stay away from him, you thought, quickening your pace. It’s the only way.

Logan wasn’t just any person. His pain, his grief—they were too strong, too heavy for you to handle. You’d spent years trying to control your powers, fighting for some semblance of balance, and then Logan showed up and tore through all of it like it was nothing. He didn’t even have to try. His very presence was enough to unravel you.

You slowed as you reached the garden, the cool air hitting your face like a shock, grounding you just enough to steady your breath. You stood there, gripping the railing, your knuckles white as you tried to compose yourself.

The thought of avoiding him entirely seemed like the only solution. You couldn’t be near him without feeling everything—his loss, his frustration, his anger. It was too much. Too overwhelming. And if you were honest with yourself, it wasn’t just the emotions he stirred up. It was how he made you feel.

There was a flicker of something more—something dangerous—beneath all that pain. Something that tugged at you, pulled you closer, even when every part of you screamed to pull away. It was as though you were drawn to him, even knowing the storm he carried.

But it didn’t matter.

You couldn’t afford to get lost in someone else’s emotions. You had to focus on control, on yourself. The only way to do that was to avoid Logan—no matter what it took.

The mansion was a labyrinth of memories, of people who knew too much, and you didn’t have time to linger. You needed space. Distance. You needed to get as far away from Logan’s pull as possible before you lost yourself completely.

With a deep breath, you turned, determined to put as much distance between you and Logan as you could.

You kept your distance, retreating into yourself as the days blurred together. The mansion, once a place of refuge, now felt like a maze you couldn’t escape—every hallway, every room seemed charged with the lingering presence of Logan. His scent, his voice, even his silences weighed on you, making it harder and harder to breathe.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him. Quite the opposite. That was the problem.

You avoided him at all costs. If you heard his boots echoing down the hallway, you’d slip into the nearest room, pressing your back against the door until the sound faded. At mealtimes, you sat far from him, your eyes focused anywhere but on the seat he occupied. You even rearranged your training schedule, hoping to avoid crossing paths in the Danger Room. It was exhausting, but it was the only way you knew to protect yourself—from his emotions, from your own.

Logan noticed.

At first, it was small things—his eyes lingering on you when he thought you weren’t looking, the way his brows furrowed in quiet confusion whenever you abruptly left a room. You caught him staring more than once, his expression dark and unreadable, but you never stayed long enough to figure out what he was thinking.

He didn’t chase you, though. Not at first. Logan wasn’t the type to force a confrontation unless he was pushed to it. But you could feel the shift, the tension between you growing thicker with every passing day. Every time you turned away, every time you avoided his gaze, the air seemed to crackle with something unsaid, something unfinished.

And it hurt.

You didn’t want to admit it—not to yourself, not to anyone—but each time you pulled away, it hurt. There was a part of you that longed to be near him, despite the chaos he stirred inside you. A part that craved his presence, even as it terrified you.

But it was safer this way. You couldn’t handle the storm that followed Logan wherever he went. His emotions were too raw, too powerful, and you knew if you let him get any closer, you’d lose yourself in them completely.

Xavier, of course, noticed everything.

He had tried to help, guiding you through your training, and offering advice, but even his calm voice in your mind couldn’t quiet the turmoil. He’d seen the way your eyes darted away from Logan’s, the way you tensed whenever you sensed him nearby.

“You’ve been avoiding Logan,” Xavier said one afternoon, his tone gentle but firm as he spoke to you in his office. His eyes were kind, but you could see the concern behind them. “It’s not a solution, you know.”

You sat across from him, your fingers twisted tightly in your lap, avoiding his gaze. “I just… can’t be around him,” you said softly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Every time I’m near him, I feel everything. His pain, his anger—it’s too much, Professor.”

Xavier’s expression didn’t waver, his hands folded neatly on the desk. “I understand, but pushing him away won’t help you gain control. If anything, it might make things worse.”

You bit your lip, the weight of his words sinking into your chest. He wasn’t wrong. You knew that. But how could you explain that it wasn’t just Logan’s emotions you were afraid of? It was your own. The way your heart raced whenever he was near, the way you felt that magnetic pull to him despite everything. How could you be expected to control your powers when you couldn’t even control the way you felt about him?

“I think… I think it’s best if I leave the mansion,” you said suddenly, the words surprising even you. They hung in the air between you and Xavier, a tangible weight.

His brows furrowed in concern, but he remained calm. “Leave? Do you truly believe that will help you? Or are you running from something else?”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “It’s the only way I can keep my distance. I’m not… I’m not strong enough to handle this. Not yet.”

Xavier studied you for a long moment, his gaze steady, but you could feel his hesitation. “If you leave, you may be running from the very thing that will help you grow. You’re stronger than you think.”

You shook your head, standing abruptly, unable to meet his eyes any longer. “I don’t know if I am.”

The moment you left his office, the weight of your decision pressed down on you. Could you really leave the mansion? Could you walk away from everything—everyone—including Logan? The thought gnawed at you, but it felt like the only way to escape the endless pull toward him.

Later that night, you found yourself in the garden again, seeking solace in the quiet. The cool air wrapped around you as you sat on the stone bench, your fingers tracing the worn surface beneath you. Even here, alone under the stars, you couldn’t escape the thought of him.

And that’s when you sensed it—him.

He stood at the edge of the garden, his silhouette barely visible in the dim light. His presence washed over you like a wave, the emotions swirling in the air before he even said a word. You could feel his confusion, his frustration—his longing.

He stepped forward, the gravel crunching beneath his boots as he approached. You kept your gaze on the ground, unable to face him, but you felt him sit beside you on the bench, close enough that the warmth of his body cut through the cool night air.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Logan said, his voice low, rough with the hint of something else—something more vulnerable than you’d ever heard from him before.

Your heart raced in your chest, but you didn’t look at him. “I had to,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It’s too much.”

Logan let out a slow breath, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken words, until finally, Logan spoke again, his voice softer this time. “You think I don’t feel it too?”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them sinking into your skin. He wasn’t just talking about your powers. He was talking about you. About the pull that existed between the two of you, the connection that scared you more than anything.

“I can’t…” you started, your voice trembling. “I can’t handle it.”

Logan turned his head, his gaze burning into you, even though you still couldn’t meet his eyes. “I never asked you to,” he said quietly, but there was something raw in his voice, something that made your chest ache. “But you’re not the only one trying to figure this out.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the vulnerability in them cutting through the defenses you had so carefully built. Slowly, you turned your head to look at him, your eyes finally meeting his.

And there it was—the storm in his eyes, the same one you felt every time you were near him. But beneath it was something softer, something that made your heart tighten. Logan wasn’t just frustrated. He wasn’t just angry. He was hurt. He was longing for something too.

For you.

“I don’t know how to be around you without losing myself,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I feel everything when I’m near you.”

Logan’s gaze softened, his expression shifting into something gentler, something you hadn’t seen before. “You’re not gonna lose yourself,” he said, his voice rough but certain. “Not with me. Just focus on my voice.”

The air between you was heavy, charged with the weight of everything you hadn’t said. You could feel it—both the fear and the pull, the undeniable connection that had been there since the moment you met.

For the first time, the thought crept into your mind—maybe it was worth the risk. The pull between you and Logan was undeniable, a tension that lingered in the air every time you were near him. Even now, as that thought took root, fear churned in your chest.

Logan sat beside you, not pushing, just there—steady, grounding, the quiet force of his presence like an anchor in the storm swirling inside you. His silence wasn’t demanding, but it was full. You could feel him waiting, his gaze heavy on you, the heat of it sinking into your skin.

You closed your eyes, turning away from him as the ache in your chest grew sharper. “You carry your grief so strongly,” you whispered, the words barely loud enough to be carried by the night air. The cool breeze brushed against your face, but it did nothing to ease the heat rising inside you, a mix of your own emotions and his. “Even now… even when everything’s still, I can feel it.”

You opened your eyes and looked down at your hands, fingers trembling as they gripped the edge of the bench. “It invades my skin.” Your voice wavered, raw with the weight of the truth you were trying so hard to avoid. “I can usually turn it off—control it—but with you... it’s different.”

Logan’s breath hitched beside you, and though he didn’t say anything, you could feel the shift in him—the tension winding through his body. His emotions pressed against yours, not in words but in the way his presence seemed to swell around you, pulling you closer despite the distance you tried to create. You didn’t need to see his face to know that what you were saying was cutting deep.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. The garden felt smaller, the night sky above pulling tighter around you.

Logan’s voice, when it finally came, was low, gravelly—almost a rasp. “I don’t mean to... put that on you.” He shifted slightly beside you, the movement was subtle but full of unspoken frustration, the kind that came from years of living with a weight too heavy for one person to carry alone. “I don’t want to make this harder for you.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye. His broad shoulders were hunched, his hands resting on his thighs, the tension in his body barely restrained. His jaw was clenched, the lines of his face etched with the same pain you’d been drowning in ever since you’d met him.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you spoke the truth you’d been avoiding for months. “You just are, Logan. You exist, and I feel it. All of it.”

He looked at you then, his hazel eyes catching yours in a way that made your breath stutter. The intensity of his gaze was like a flame, burning through every wall you’d tried to build. His pain, his anger, his longing—they were all there, swirling in those dark depths, and you couldn’t look away. It was as if he was letting you in, showing you everything he’d been holding back. The grief, the years of loss, the way he’d been carrying you in his thoughts ever since you came into his life.

Beneath it all, there was something else—something that made your pulse quicken and your chest tighten. Longing. Desire.

Logan’s hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out and close the gap between you, but he didn’t. He stayed where he was, watching you, waiting for something—anything—from you.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “It’s too much,” you whispered, barely able to keep the tremor out of your voice. “I can’t handle it.”

Logan’s expression darkened, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to argue, to tell you it wasn’t too much, that you could handle it. But he didn’t. Instead, he shifted again, his hands curling into fists on his knees. The restraint in his posture was palpable, and the weight of it made the air between you thick with tension.

“I’m not askin’ you to take this on,” he said quietly, his voice strained, rough with emotion. “You don’t have to carry what’s mine.”

“But I do,” you shot back, your voice breaking with the frustration and helplessness that had been building inside you for weeks. “I don’t have a choice, Logan. I feel it. Every time I’m near you.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he watched you, and for a moment, you thought he might get up and leave. Yet he stayed, his gaze locked on yours, the intensity in his expression nearly unbearable.

“I don’t want you to go through that,” he muttered, his voice barely above a growl. “Not because of me.”

There it was—the vulnerability he never let anyone see, laid bare before you. The weight of his words sank into your chest, and for a split second, you wanted to reach out to him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault. That none of this was his fault. The fear that had been gnawing at you for so long kept you rooted in place.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of the decision you were making. “I can’t do this.”

Logan looked up at you then, his eyes shadowed, a flicker of hurt passing through them. He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes—raw, unguarded—said enough. You had made your choice, and it was like a blade between the two of you.

You stood up abruptly, your legs shaking beneath you as you took a step away from the bench. Logan’s eyes followed you, the pain in his gaze unmistakable, but he didn’t try to stop you. He just watched, his hands still curled into tight fists on his knees.

“I need to go,” you murmured, not trusting yourself to look at him again.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest as you left him sitting there, alone in the garden. The weight of his emotions still clung to you, heavy and suffocating, but you kept moving, forcing yourself to put distance between yourself and the man who had come to mean too much.

As you disappeared into the shadows of the mansion, you could still feel his gaze on your back, the unspoken words between you hanging in the air, thick and unresolved.

Months passed, and the space between you and Logan became a chasm neither of you dared cross. The mansion, though vast, felt smaller with the constant tension that hummed beneath the surface, the unspoken feelings and unresolved emotions hanging in the air like thick fog. You threw yourself into your training, determined to master your powers, to gain control over the chaotic swirl of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you at every turn.

Xavier had been patient, his calm voice a constant guide in your mind, helping you learn to block out the noise—the steady hum of other people’s emotions, their happiness, their pain, all of it—and reclaim your sense of self. It wasn’t easy. Each day felt like a battle, but slowly, the tide was turning. You were getting better. Stronger.

Through it all, you kept your distance from Logan.

It wasn’t hard, at first. He gave you space, honoring the silent agreement between you, and though your chest tightened every time you sensed him nearby, you resisted the urge to look at him. You had learned to anticipate the shift in the air when he was around, a subtle awareness of his presence that you couldn't escape. But you didn’t let it show. You couldn’t.

Logan, for his part, had kept his word. He didn’t force himself into your space. He didn’t approach you with questions and didn’t push for answers. He remained a ghost in the background—silent, watchful, but never overstepping the boundaries you had set.

Still, something in the air had changed. You couldn’t pinpoint it, but you felt it every time he passed by, or when you caught glimpses of him training in the distance. He seemed quieter, more composed, as though the weight he carried had shifted ever so slightly.

One afternoon, as you were walking through the corridors of the mansion, lost in thought, you sensed Logan before you saw him. The air felt heavier, tinged with something familiar yet different. You paused for a moment, heart quickening, your mind bracing for the usual wave of emotions that always came with his presence.

But this time… it was different.

You glanced up, your eyes landing on him as he approached from the other end of the hallway. His gaze caught yours briefly, and for a moment, the world seemed to be still. He looked... calmer, more at ease than you’d seen him in months. The tension that usually clung to him like a second skin was still there, but it was muted like he had found a way to hold it back.

You blinked, your heart beating a little faster as you took him in. There was something different about him, something you couldn’t quite place. You could still feel the undercurrent of his emotions, but they weren’t pressing down on you the way they had before. They were quieter and more controlled.

Logan slowed his pace, his eyes flickering over your face, studying you as if he were searching for something. He didn’t say anything at first, but you could sense the change in him. It was subtle but unmistakable.

He stopped in front of you, the space between you suddenly feeling much smaller than it had in months.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and rough, but there was something softer underneath. The usual edge in his tone was absent.

"Hey," you replied quietly, unsure of what else to say. Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your senses still on high alert, but the overwhelming tidal wave of his emotions you expected never came. It was like a dam had been built between you and the storm that usually surrounded him.

There was a brief silence, thick with unspoken things. Logan’s gaze didn’t waver, and the longer you stood there, the more you realized how different this felt.

“You seem…” you trailed off, searching for the right words. “You seem different.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a half-smile, the kind that barely touched his eyes but softened his expression. He nodded slightly, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture you recognized from all the times he’d been uncomfortable and vulnerable.

“I’ve been working on it,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “On myself.”

You blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

Logan exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he spoke. “After everything… after the way I made you feel, I figured maybe it was time I got my shit together.” He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before returning to you. “I didn’t wanna keep unloading all my baggage on you.”

Your heart squeezed painfully at the raw honesty in his voice. He was always guarded, always hiding behind layers of anger and pain. But now, standing in front of you, he seemed... stripped down. Bare.

“I didn’t know you were...” You swallowed, trying to find the words. “I didn’t know you were doing that for me.”

Logan’s eyes softened, his expression serious. “You didn’t ask for any of this,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t take away what I’ve been through, and I know I can’t stop feeling the shit I feel, but... I’ve been trying to keep it under control. For your sake.”

You stared at him, the weight of his confession settling over you like a blanket. He had been working on himself—not just for him, but for you. So that his emotions wouldn’t overwhelm you. So that you wouldn’t have to carry the weight of his pain.

“You don’t have to do that for me,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough for him to notice.

Logan’s jaw clenched, but there was no anger there—only resolve. “Yeah, I do. I hurt you, and I don’t wanna do that again.”

Your chest tightened at his words, a mix of emotions flooding through you. The distance you had put between you and Logan had been necessary, but hearing him say that he had been working on himself, not just for his own sake but for yours... it stirred something deep inside you.

For months, you had been avoiding him, terrified of the connection that sparked between you every time you were near him. You realized that maybe things had changed. Maybe he had changed.

Maybe you had to.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” you whispered, barely able to hold his gaze. “I’m still trying to figure things out.”

Logan nodded, his eyes steady, but not pressing. “I get it. I’m not askin’ you to jump into anything. Just... know I’m working on it. I’m working on me.”

You felt your throat tighten, the vulnerability between you suddenly too much to handle. Without another word, you nodded, offering him a small, grateful smile before stepping away.

As you turned to leave, you felt Logan’s gaze on your back, the same steady presence you had come to know so well. It felt lighter like you didn’t feel the need to run. 

The days passed slowly after your conversation with Logan, and though things between you weren’t quite the same, there was a new sense of ease. You’d catch glimpses of him in the hallways or outside in the courtyard, but this time, it didn’t send your heart racing with panic. You didn’t rush to hide.

You could feel the change in him—a calmness that hadn’t been there before. Though the air still hummed with something unspoken between you, it was different now. Less overwhelming. More... manageable.

You’d spent the past few days throwing yourself into training, trying to focus on controlling your powers. The Danger Room became your sanctuary. It was the one place where you could lose yourself completely—where you could practice blocking out the world and hone the control that had been so elusive.

This particular afternoon, the simulated environment was set to a barren desert, the harsh sun beating down on your back as you worked through a series of obstacles. You were panting, sweat dripping down your temples as you ducked behind a boulder, trying to steady your breathing.

You pressed your hands to the ground, feeling the earth beneath you, and closed your eyes, focusing on quieting your mind. Xavier’s voice echoed in your memory: "Feel, but don’t absorb. Let it pass through."

A sudden presence cut through your concentration—strong, familiar. You tensed, your senses sharpening. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. His presence was unmistakable.

He stepped into the simulated environment, the door closing behind him with a soft hiss. You opened your eyes and turned, standing as he approached. His boots crunched against the desert sand, the heat radiating off his body as he drew closer.

“Mind if I join?” His voice was low, rough like always, but there was a softness to it—an offer, not a demand.

You hesitated, your heart beating a little faster, but the edge of fear you used to feel around him wasn’t there. You met his gaze, those familiar hazel eyes steady and calm. After a moment, you nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

Logan gave a brief nod in return, stepping up beside you. He didn’t say much—he rarely did—but his presence was enough to shift the air between you. For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence filled only by the distant hum of the Danger Room’s mechanics. Then, Logan spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

“You’ve gotten better.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the compliment. His eyes stayed on the simulated landscape ahead, but you could feel the sincerity in his words.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. “Still a lot to work on.”

Logan grunted, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We all do.”

There was a pause, the weight of his words lingering between you. You stood side by side for a moment, the desert stretching out before you, the heat pressing down.

Without warning, Logan shifted into a fighting stance. His claws remained retracted, but his body was tense, coiled like a spring, his eyes watching you carefully. “Wanna spar?”

You raised an eyebrow, blinking at him in surprise. “You want to spar with me?”

Logan’s lips curved into a grin, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “What? You afraid?”

You snorted, shaking your head as you stepped into a stance of your own, facing him. “Not even a little.”

Logan’s grin widened slightly, and he gestured for you to come at him. You moved quickly, feinting to the right before striking low, trying to catch him off guard. But Logan was faster, sidestepping your attack with ease. You spun, swinging again, but he blocked, catching your wrist mid-strike. The strength in his grip was firm but controlled.

“You’re still telegraphing your moves,” he murmured, his voice teasing but not unkind.

You narrowed your eyes, pulling back and aiming a quick jab to his side. He deflected it again, but this time you caught the faint look of approval in his eyes.

For several minutes, the two of you moved in sync—an unspoken rhythm building between your strikes and his counters. Logan never fought with full strength, but there was a focus in his movements, a quiet determination. You could feel the way he was holding himself back, not to overwhelm you but to challenge you.

At one point, your foot slipped in the loose sand, and you stumbled. Logan moved quickly, catching you by the arm before you fell, his grip steady as he pulled you upright.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low, but close—too close.

Your breath caught in your throat as you met his eyes, realizing just how near he was. His hand lingered on your arm, his fingers rough but gentle, and for a moment, the sparring session faded into the background. The air between you thickened, charged with something more than just the adrenaline of the fight. His eyes—those deep, stormy hazel eyes—locked on yours, and you could feel the heat of his body so close to yours.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice wavered slightly. You swallowed hard, trying to focus, but the pull between you was undeniable.

Logan didn’t let go immediately. His grip loosened slightly, but his thumb brushed lightly against your arm before he pulled back completely, stepping away.

You took a shaky breath, your heart still racing from more than just the sparring. You could feel the energy between you shifting, the air thick with unspoken things.

“I didn’t mean to...” Logan started his voice rough but laced with something softer, something hesitant. He glanced away for a moment, his brow furrowed as if he were searching for the right words. “I’m trying not to overwhelm you.”

You looked at him, feeling your chest tighten. There was something raw in his expression, something vulnerable beneath the gruff exterior he always wore. The man who had once flooded your mind with unbearable emotions was now holding himself back—for you. Trying to give you space, trying to be better.

“I know,” you said quietly, your voice softening as you met his gaze. “I can feel it.”

Logan’s eyes flicked back to yours, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you, standing there in the simulated desert, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. There was a tenderness in the way he looked at you, a quiet longing that tugged at your chest, stirring something deep inside.

The moment stretched, neither of you moving, both of you caught in the tension that lingered between you.

The familiar fear crept back in—just enough to remind you of the risks. Of what could happen if you let your guard down. You took a step back, breaking the connection, your heart pounding in your chest.

Logan noticed the shift, his eyes darkening slightly, but he didn’t push. He just gave a small nod, stepping back as well, though his gaze lingered on you.

“I’ll see you around,” he said quietly, his voice rough but sincere.

You nodded, watching as he turned and walked out of the Danger Room, his silhouette disappearing into the hallway.

As the door hissed shut behind him, you stood there, the simulated desert stretching out before you, but all you could feel was the lingering warmth of his presence.

Weeks had passed since that sparring session in the Danger Room, and though the distance between you and Logan had remained, something had shifted. You had felt it in the way your thoughts kept drifting back to him, in the quiet moments when you found yourself wishing he was closer. The intensity you had once tried so hard to avoid had softened, but the pull toward him had only grown stronger.

You were tired of running. Tired of pretending you could keep your feelings locked away. Because the truth was, you wanted him. You wanted Logan—his presence, his strength, his comfort. The way his eyes lingered on you with a quiet intensity that sent shivers down your spine. The way he held back when you needed space, yet was always there, watching, waiting.

You couldn’t avoid it anymore.

It was late, the mansion quiet as you made your way down the dimly lit halls. Your heart pounded in your chest, each step carrying the weight of what you were about to do. The decision had been building for weeks, but tonight, you couldn’t fight it anymore.

You needed him.

You stopped in front of Logan’s door, your hand hovering over the handle as a rush of uncertainty washed over you. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if everything you had built up in your mind was one-sided? But then, you remembered the way he had looked at you in the Danger Room, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, how he had worked so hard to control himself—for you.

With a deep breath, you knocked softly, your pulse quickening as you waited. A moment later, the door creaked open, and there he was—Logan, standing in the doorway, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable the moment he saw you.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice low and rough like it always was. His eyes searched yours as if he could sense that something was different tonight.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You hesitated, your fingers twisting nervously at your sides. But you weren’t here to run away this time. “Can I come in?”

Logan’s brow furrowed slightly, but he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. As you crossed the threshold into his room, the familiar scent of leather and wood filled the air, grounding you and steadying the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your chest.

He closed the door behind you, the soft click echoing in the quiet space. A single lamp dimly lit the room, casting long shadows across the walls. You stood there momentarily, feeling the weight of his gaze on you, his presence filling the room like a quiet storm.

“What’s goin’ on?” Logan asked, his voice gentle but filled with curiosity. He crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe as he watched you, waiting.

You took a breath, your heart hammering in your chest. This was it. The moment you’d been avoiding, the feelings you’d kept at bay finally rising to the surface.

“I’m tired of this,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough for him to notice. “I’m tired of avoiding you. Of pretending I don’t feel this.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, his posture stiffening slightly as your words sank in. He didn’t say anything, but the air between you crackled with tension, thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

“I’ve been pushing you away,” you continued, stepping closer, your voice gaining strength as you spoke. “Because I didn’t know how to deal with it. I didn’t know how to deal with you—with how you make me feel.”

Logan’s gaze flickered, his arms dropping to his sides as he straightened. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he swallowed hard, but he didn’t interrupt. He just waited, letting you speak.

“I can’t do it anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now, the vulnerability in your words making your chest tighten. “I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t care. I... I have feelings for you, Logan.”

For a moment, the silence stretched unbearably between you. The confession hung in the air like a fragile thread, and you held your breath, waiting for his response.

Logan exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something raw in his gaze that mirrored the longing you had been feeling for so long. He took a slow step forward, his presence filling the space between you, and when he spoke, his voice was low and rough, barely more than a whisper. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to hear you say that.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, the intensity of his confession stealing the breath from your lungs. You blinked up at him, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

He took another step closer, his gaze burning into yours, and this time, there was no hesitation in his movements. Slowly, carefully, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek, his touch warm and rough against your skin.

“Logan...” you breathed, your voice trembling as you leaned into his touch, the warmth of his palm sending a shiver down your spine.

Logan’s eyes darkened, his thumb brushing gently along your jaw as he stepped closer, his body inches from yours now. “If you want this... if you want me... I’m here,” he murmured, his voice thick with the weight of his emotions. “But if you’re not ready, just say the word, and I’ll back off. No pressure.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tight with the feelings swirling inside you. “I want you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and before you could say another word, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a fierce and tender kiss, a release of all the pent-up longing that had been building between you for months.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as the world seemed to fall away. The kiss was intense, filled with all the emotion neither of you had been able to express, but it was also careful—Logan holding back just enough, making sure not to overwhelm you.

But it wasn’t long before the rush of emotions became too much.

A wave of heat flooded through you, a tidal wave of longing and desire mixed with Logan’s own intense emotions crashing into you all at once. It was too much. Your powers flared, and you felt a surge of everything—his grief, his pain, his need—pressing into your mind.

You pulled back, gasping for breath, your chest heaving as you tried to steady yourself. “I—I can’t—” you stammered, your voice shaky as you stepped back, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

Logan’s eyes widened, his hands dropping to his sides immediately, giving you space. “Hey, it’s alright,” he said softly, his voice calming, reassuring. He reached out but didn’t touch you, his gaze filled with concern. “You’re okay. We can take it slow. Whatever you need.”

You closed your eyes, your hands trembling as you tried to gather your thoughts, but Logan’s voice grounded you and pulled you back from the edge.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he murmured, stepping closer, but still keeping enough distance to let you breathe. “You’re in control. I’m just here.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his steady gaze. The intensity was still there, but it was softer now, more patient. He wasn’t pushing. He was waiting.

“I want this,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain. “I just... need time.”

Logan nodded, his eyes softening as he gave you a small smile. “You’ll get all the time you need, darlin’,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a warmth that made your chest ache. “I’m not in any hurry. I’ve waited this long... I can wait a little longer.”

The tension between you shifted, the moment softening into something quieter, more intimate. You weren’t rushing. You weren’t running. You were just... together. Finally.

[colbychu]

Crush

logan howlett x fem!shy reader - slight angst, misunderstandings, struggle expressing feelings, crushes, introvert reader, x-men cameos, logan being jealous, fluff at end

You have a crush on Logan but being shy and introverted makes it hard for you to tell him that.

read on Ao3

You had a painfully obvious crush, at least to yourself. You kept it locked away, buried under layers of awkwardness and forced indifference. There was no point in admitting it, no point in setting yourself up for the kind of rejection that would leave you reeling for weeks. That’s why they called it a crush—it hurt. And you’d rather avoid the sting altogether.

Logan, of all people, would never look at you that way. Why would he? The man was a living embodiment of rugged confidence, the kind of guy who attracted the attention of bold, sexy women without even trying. Women who exuded confidence, who knew how to flirt without stumbling over their words or turning beet red at the slightest hint of interest.

You were not that woman.

You were awkward, sometimes downright clumsy with your words, and whenever Logan was nearby, you either avoided him completely or turned into a jittery mess. The few times you’d actually spoken to him, you’d kept it short, clipped even—anything to hide the way your heart raced whenever he was within arm’s reach.

But today? Today, fate was not on your side.

"Hey," Logan’s low, gravelly voice cut through the air, pulling you out of your swirling thoughts.

You jumped, nearly dropping the stack of books in your arms as his voice startled you. A squeal escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you cursed under your breath, feeling heat flood your cheeks.

"Hi!" you blurted out, avoiding his gaze as if your life depended on it. Your eyes darted anywhere but at him, settling on the wall, the floor, even the damn ceiling—anywhere but on Logan’s piercing hazel eyes.

You stood there, clutching the books like they were some kind of shield between you and him, your heart hammering in your chest. Logan stood in front of you, his hands casually in his jacket pockets, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. His brows furrowed slightly, probably trying to figure out why you were acting like a deer caught in headlights.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice gruff, though there was a hint of amusement in it.

You nodded quickly, a little too quickly, your palms suddenly sweaty. "Yep, fine," you muttered, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “Just busy.” You gestured vaguely to the books in your arms as if that explained your entire existence.

Logan's gaze lingered on you, those damn intense eyes scanning your face, trying to read something in your expression. You swallowed hard, willing yourself to act normal, but normal wasn't exactly your strong suit when he was around.

"Right," he said, his tone skeptical but not unkind. "You sure? You look like you’re about to bolt."

You forced a laugh, though it came out more like a strained chuckle. "No, no bolting," you lied, though the urge to flee was strong. Your nerves were screaming at you to make up some excuse and leave before you made an even bigger fool of yourself.

Logan didn’t move, didn’t let you off the hook that easily. He stood there, hands still in his pockets, watching you with that calm, unshakable presence that made him impossible to ignore.

"So, I was thinkin’," he started, his voice a little softer now, almost hesitant—something you weren’t used to hearing from him. "You and me, we should... hang out sometime."

Your heart nearly stopped. Hang out? Logan wanted to hang out with you?

Your brain went into overdrive, trying to process the words, but instead of the cool, collected response you wished you could give, you blurted out, “Why?”

The word came out sharper than you intended, and you immediately winced, mentally kicking yourself. Of all the ways you could’ve responded, why was probably the worst? It sounded rude, and defensive, like you couldn’t believe he would even suggest it.

Logan raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why not?”

You blinked, feeling your face grow even hotter. “I-I don’t know, I just—” You stumbled over your words, trying to backtrack but only making it worse. “I mean, you don’t usually talk to me, and I figured you’d rather—uh—hang out with someone else, you know?”

The smirk on Logan’s face softened, his eyes narrowing slightly in the way they did when he was trying to figure someone out. "I’d rather hang out with you," he said, his voice low and steady, without a hint of hesitation.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, your mind reeling. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t mocking you. He was... serious and that realization only made you more nervous.

You shifted on your feet, clutching the books tighter. “I’m... not exactly the best company,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze again. “I’m awkward, and—well, I’m not really good at this kind of thing.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and almost warm. “Darlin’, you think I’m lookin’ for someone perfect to hang out with? I’m about as rough around the edges as they come.”

You hesitated, sneaking a glance at him from under your lashes. He was still watching you, but there was something softer in his expression now, something that made the knots in your stomach loosen just a little.

“I don’t know,” you murmured, feeling your voice wobble under the weight of everything unsaid. Uncertainty hung in the air between you and Logan, thick and suffocating, making your chest tighten with every awkward breath.

Logan stepped closer, his usual gruffness softened by the unspoken question in his eyes. His hand moved toward your face, almost instinctively, but he stopped short, his fingers lingering just inches from your cheek, as if he was afraid to touch you—afraid of crossing a line. His jaw clenched the hard edge of frustration in his expression barely masked by the vulnerability he wasn’t used to showing.

“Do you hate me or somethin’?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, so sudden and raw that they knocked the wind out of you. Hate him? Your throat tightened as you stared at him, the disbelief written all over your face. How could he think that? How could anyone hate Logan? The idea was so far from the truth that it left you speechless for a moment, caught between the shock of his question and the overwhelming desire to fix whatever misunderstanding had led him here.

“No—” You shook your head, the word falling out of your mouth clumsily, but it wasn’t enough to erase the hurt that flickered behind his eyes.

Logan’s face hardened, that familiar guarded look slipping back into place like armor, shielding him from whatever pain he thought you were hiding. He shifted his weight, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that felt more like a barrier than anything else. “Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, his voice low, almost resigned. “You don’t talk to me. Hell, you barely look at me.”

You winced, feeling the truth in his words like a knife twisting in your gut. He wasn’t wrong. You had been avoiding him, dodging his gaze in hallways, keeping your conversations short, brushing him off whenever he tried to get close. But it wasn’t because you hated him—not even close. It was because every time he looked at you, your heart raced in a way that terrified you, a way that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.

The last thing you wanted was to fall for someone who could never want you the way you wanted him.

Logan took your silence as confirmation of his worst fears. His jaw clenched tighter, the hurt in his eyes hardening into something closer to anger, though not quite—more like frustration and resignation rolled into one. “Look, if I’ve done somethin’ to piss you off, just say it,” he said, his voice rough around the edges, but quieter now, like he was trying not to let the hurt show. “But this whole… act? This avoidin’ me all the damn time? I don’t get it. I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve this.”

His words cut deep, guilt gnawing at the edges of your heart. You could see it now—how your awkwardness, your fear, had been misread as rejection. How Logan, of all people, had been standing there, arms outstretched, only to be met with walls you didn’t even realize you were building.

You opened your mouth to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t know how to explain the mess inside your head, the way you’d convinced yourself that keeping distance between you and him was safer, easier, than admitting how much he affected you. How much you wanted him, despite everything telling you it could never work.

Logan’s eyes flashed with frustration as the silence stretched between you. He ran a hand through his hair, his rough fingers tangling in the strands like he was trying to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. “You’re really not gonna say anything, huh?” His voice broke a little, rawer now, like the frustration had finally worn him down.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the weight of his words suffocating. The look on his face—the quiet hurt, the way his eyes flickered between anger and something far more vulnerable—was too much. It was too much to bear, too much to know that he’d spent all this time thinking you hated him when the truth was the exact opposite.

“I don’t hate you,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips, but they carried more weight than you realized.

Logan stilled, his eyes locking onto yours, searching for something—some hint of truth, some explanation that made sense of all the confusion that had built between you. “Then what the hell is it?” he asked. “’Cause I don’t get it, darlin’. One minute you’re actin’ like I don’t exist, and the next you’re—” He stopped himself, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to find the right words. “I just don’t know what the hell I did wrong.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his voice, at the way he seemed so sure he was the problem. The truth weighed heavy on your chest, but fear kept your mouth shut—fear that once you said it, once you admitted how you felt, there’d be no going back.

Logan wasn’t going to wait forever. He took a step back, pulling his hand away from where it had hovered near your face, his eyes flickering with something close to disappointment. “Forget it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna beg.”

He turned as if to walk away, and panic surged through you, your chest tightening with the fear that you’d let him leave without explaining, without fixing what you’d broken. Your hand shot out instinctively, grabbing his arm before you even realized what you were doing.

“Wait—Logan, please.” Your voice cracked, your grip on his arm tightening. He stopped, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you with those sharp hazel eyes, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

He waited. His silence a heavy, painful thing as you struggled to find the right words. “I don’t hate you,” you repeated, more firmly this time, your heart pounding in your ears. “I… I just—” You swallowed hard, your chest aching with the weight of what you were about to admit. “I didn’t know how to be around you.”

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing as he studied your face. “What d’you mean?”

You bit your lip, your mind racing for an escape, any way to pull yourself out of this vulnerable moment. You could feel the truth bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill out, but fear clenched around your chest like a vice. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t tell him.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, your voice tight, forced. Your eyes flickered to the floor, your stomach twisting as you scrambled for something, anything, to steer the conversation away from the truth. A lie formed on your tongue, half-formed and desperate, and you latched onto it before you could stop yourself. “I’ve just been... distracted.”

Logan’s frown deepened. “By what?” His voice was quiet, but there was a sharpness to it, a need to understand that made your stomach churn. He was getting too close, too damn close.

Panic surged through you, and before you knew what you were saying, the words tumbled out. “It’s... someone else.” You cringed inwardly as the lie left your lips, feeling the weight of it settle between you like a barrier.

Logan’s expression shifted, confusion flickering across his face, and then something darker. He tightened his jaw as his eyes hardened. “Someone else?” he repeated, his voice low, carefully controlled.

You nodded, your heart sinking. You couldn’t stop now. The lie was out, and you had to commit to it. “Yeah, um... it’s just—I’ve been kinda... into someone from the team.” The words felt foreign, clumsy like they didn’t belong to you. You hated how easily they fell from your lips, how they felt like a betrayal of everything you actually wanted to say.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he studied you. “Who?” The word was clipped, sharp, like he was bracing himself for something he didn’t want to hear.

You froze. Who? You hadn’t thought that far ahead. Your mind raced, and in your panic, you blurted out the first name that came to you. “Scott.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Logan’s reaction was immediate—his jaw clenched so tight you thought you could hear his teeth grind. His eyes flickered with something hot and dangerous before he quickly masked it. He took a step back, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his posture rigid. “Scott, huh?”

You nodded, swallowing the guilt that rose in your throat like bile. “Yeah,” you mumbled, hating yourself more with every second that passed. “I mean... I know he’s kinda, you know with Jean but...you can see why I didn’t want anyone knowing—”

Logan let out a sharp breath, cutting you off. His eyes, usually so intense but warm, were cold now, narrowed and unreadable. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” His voice was rough, edged with something that made your heart ache. “Because you’re into Scott?”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You just nodded, the lie sitting heavy on your chest, suffocating you.

Logan’s laugh was humorless, more of a bitter scoff than anything else. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, his movements tense, almost angry. “Well, should’ve seen it.” 

You stood there, the room suddenly feeling too big, too empty, the weight of your lie pressing down on you like a heavy stone. Logan had left without looking back, his words still ringing in your ears—“Should’ve seen it”—and you wished, more than anything, that you could take it all back. But the damage was done, and now you were left with nothing but the bitter taste of regret.

You slumped into a chair, burying your face in your hands, replaying the moment repeatedly, wishing you’d had the courage to just tell him the truth.

Meanwhile, Logan was storming down the hallway, his mind a tangled mess of frustration, confusion, and something he couldn’t quite name. He wasn’t one for feelings—hell, he’d spent most of his life trying to bury them—but this? This hit him differently. The thought of you having a crush on Scott had thrown him, and for his life, he couldn’t figure out why. What the hell did you see in the guy?

His footsteps echoed through the mansion as he made a beeline for the training room, where he knew Scott would be. When he pushed through the door, the room was mostly empty, save for Scott, who was busy adjusting one of the control panels near the Danger Room entrance.

"Summers," Logan growled, his voice low and sharp as he approached.

Scott turned, eyebrows raised beneath his visor, clearly not expecting Logan to barge in like this. "Logan," he said, keeping his voice neutral. "What’s going on?"

Logan stalked closer, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Did you know she had a crush on you?" he demanded, his voice rough with barely contained frustration.

Scott blinked, clearly confused. "Know about what?"

"Her," Logan snapped. "She’s got a crush on you. You knew about that?"

Scott looked completely taken aback, his mouth slightly agape before quickly composing himself. "Wait, who are we talking about?" he asked, genuinely bewildered. "Are you talking about... her?"

Logan clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking beneath his stubble. "Yeah, her. She told me she’s been into you, and now I’m tryin’ to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on."

Scott’s confusion deepened, and he shook his head. "I had no idea," he admitted, sounding as baffled as Logan felt. "I thought she had a thing for Kurt."

Logan's scowl deepened. "Kurt?" he repeated, the name coming out like a low growl. "You’re sayin’ she’s into Nightcrawler?"

Scott shrugged. "That’s what I thought. I’ve seen them talk a few times, and she seemed... I don’t know, shy around him. Figured she liked him."

Logan’s frustration flared even higher, his temper fraying as the conversation spiraled further away from what he thought he knew. First, he’d thought you were into Scott, and now Scott was telling him you might have a crush on Kurt? None of it was making any sense, and the knot in Logan’s chest tightened.

"Thanks for nothin’, Summers," Logan grumbled, already turning on his heel and heading for the door.

Scott held up his hands, his visor catching the light. "Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just telling you what I saw."

Logan grunted in response, barely acknowledging Scott as he stormed out of the training room, his mind racing. If Scott didn’t know, and if you weren’t into him... then maybe Kurt had the answer. Logan’s jaw clenched at the thought, a surge of jealousy he hadn’t expected twisting in his gut. He needed to get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

Logan found Kurt in the garden, perched on a stone bench, lost in thought. The air around him was peaceful, the soft sound of birds chirping and the rustling of leaves in the wind providing a calm backdrop to the scene. But Logan wasn’t here for calm.

"Kurt," Logan called, his voice cutting through the serenity like a blade.

Kurt looked up, his yellow eyes widening slightly as Logan approached, clearly sensing the tension rolling off him. "Logan," he greeted cautiously, his tail twitching nervously. "Is something wrong?"

Logan stopped a few feet away from him, crossing his arms over his chest. "You and her," he said bluntly. "There somethin’ goin’ on there?"

Kurt’s brows furrowed in confusion, his tail curling around the leg of the bench as he tilted his head. "Her?" he echoed, trying to follow Logan’s line of thought. "Who are you talking about?"

Logan huffed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "The girl," he growled. "You’ve been talkin’ to her. Scott thinks she’s into you. Is that true?"

Kurt blinked, completely thrown off by the accusation. "Into me?" He shook his head quickly, standing up from the bench. "No, Logan, that’s not true. We’ve spoken, yes, but nothing like that. She’s... well, she seems reserved around everyone."

Logan’s jaw tightened. "So you’re tellin’ me you haven’t noticed her actin’ strange around you?"

Kurt smiled gently, trying to diffuse the situation. "Everyone acts strange around me at first, Logan. But no, I don’t believe she has feelings for me. I think you might be mistaken."

Logan let out a frustrated sigh, feeling no closer to an answer than when he’d started this ridiculous search. "Great," he muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "First Scott, now you... I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on."

Kurt watched him for a moment, his expression softening with understanding. "Perhaps," he began carefully, "you’re looking for answers in the wrong place. If you want to know who she cares about... maybe you should ask Ororo."

“Why would I ask her?” Logan growled, more to himself than anyone else. “What’s she got to do with this?”

Kurt, ever patient, tilted his head and gave Logan a knowing smile. “Because she and Ororo are friends. I’ve seen them spend a lot of time together. If anyone knows what’s going on, it’s her.”

Logan grunted, rolling his shoulders, his tension palpable. He didn’t want to involve Ororo—didn’t want to turn this into more of a thing than it already was. But if Kurt was right, and Ororo knew something… well, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Thanks,” Logan muttered, already turning to leave.

Kurt nodded, watching Logan go, but his yellow eyes were filled with something more than amusement—something that hinted at the truth Logan was too stubborn to see for himself just yet.

Logan found Ororo in the greenhouse, tending to a row of plants that thrived under her careful touch. The humid air clung to him as he stepped inside, the smell of earth and rain filling the space. Ororo didn’t look up at first, her focus on the delicate leaves of a blooming flower, but she knew he was there. She always did.

“Logan,” she greeted calmly, her voice like the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. “What brings you here?”

Logan wasted no time, his frustration still simmering just below the surface. “I need to ask you somethin’,” he said, his tone gruff as usual.

Ororo finally looked up, her serene expression unwavering. “Go ahead.”

He hesitated for a second, feeling foolish now that he was standing in front of her. Ororo wasn’t the kind of person you grilled for answers, but he was desperate. “You and her,” he started, his eyes narrowing. “You two are close. Has she… said anythin’ to you about someone she’s into?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “Why do you ask?”

Logan’s jaw clenched. He hated this dance, hated feeling like he was walking into a trap he couldn’t see. “Kurt said you’d know. I’m tryin’ to figure out if what I heard is true, that she’s got feelings for Scott.” The name came out like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Ororo tilted her head, her expression softening. “Logan, what exactly are you trying to figure out?”

Logan scowled, feeling the question cut too close to something he hadn’t fully confronted. “I just… need to know if she’s into someone. That’s all.” His words were clipped, defensive.

Ororo’s eyes sparkled with quiet understanding. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watched him with that unnerving calm that made him feel like she could see right through him.

When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle but firm. “Logan, if you’re so concerned about who she’s interested in, perhaps you should ask yourself why.”

Logan stiffened, his muscles coiled tight. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ororo’s smile softened, but she didn’t back down. “You’re chasing answers about her feelings, but I think the real question is about yours.”

He blinked, thrown off by her words, but before he could snap back with his usual gruffness, something clicked—something that made his heart tighten in his chest. Jealousy.

Was that what this was? All this running around, demanding to know who you were interested in, snapping at the thought of you liking someone else… it wasn’t about figuring out the truth. It was about him. It was about the way his heart twisted at the thought of you being with anyone but him. The way he couldn’t shake the anger, the gnawing insecurity, because deep down, he wanted to be the one you were looking at, thinking about.

Ororo watched the realization settle over him, her gaze steady but compassionate. “You’ve been chasing the wrong answers, Logan,” she said softly. “If you want to know how she feels, ask her. But first, figure out how you feel.”

Logan stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, the weight of her words sinking in. He didn’t respond, didn’t know how to. Instead, he gave a curt nod, turning on his heel and stalking out of the greenhouse, his mind a mess of conflicting emotions.

The rest of the day, Logan couldn’t get Ororo’s words out of his head. Jealousy. He wasn’t the type to get jealous. He’d lived too long and seen too much to get caught up in feelings like that. But damn it, whenever he thought about you with someone else—Scott, Kurt, anyone—it made his blood boil in a way he couldn’t explain.

By the time night fell Logan had had enough. He needed answers. He needed to know the truth, not just about you, but about himself.

With a deep breath, he made his way to your room, his pulse thrumming with a mix of frustration, confusion, and something he wasn’t quite ready to name yet.

When he knocked on your door, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps inside. A moment later, you opened the door, looking surprised to see him standing there. The expression on your face quickly turned to confusion when you saw the intensity in his eyes.

“Logan? What’s going on?”

He didn’t waste any time. “We need to talk.”

You frowned, your hand tightening on the doorknob. “About what?”

Logan stepped closer, his voice low and rough. “About you. Who the hell you’re really into?”

Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your face. “W-what are you talking about? I already told you—”

Logan cut you off with a growl, his frustration boiling over. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve been runnin’ around all day trying to figure this out—askin’ Scott, Kurt, even Ororo. And you know what? None of them know a damn thing. So I’m done with the guessin’. You’re gonna tell me the truth. Right now.”

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure Logan could hear it. The weight of his words, the raw frustration in his voice, wrapped around your chest like a vise. This was it—the moment you’d been running from, the one that made you feel exposed, vulnerable, and terrified.

You couldn’t run now. 

You swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “Logan... I don’t like Scott. Or Kurt. That was just—I panicked,” you confessed, the lie sitting heavy between you both, a truth finally dragging itself into the light. 

Logan’s eyes, usually so unreadable and guarded, were stormy with confusion and something sharper, something closer to hurt. He stared at you for a moment, trying to make sense of what you’d just said. “Why did you lie?” His voice was rough, almost accusing. “If you hate me, then just admit it.”

The way he said it—the bitterness in his tone—cut through you like a knife. Hate him? The idea was ridiculous, absurd, and yet it was clear Logan had convinced himself of it as if you avoiding him, your awkwardness, could only be explained by disgust.

“I don’t hate you!” you blurted, more forcefully than you intended. Your voice cracked with the weight of your own emotions, and you immediately took a step back, trying to gather yourself, but Logan wasn’t letting you go that easily.

“Then why does your heart race every time you see me?” Logan pressed, his voice low but intense. He took a step toward you, the space between you growing smaller, the air thick with tension. “I must scare you, right? You must be terrified of me because you hate me.”

The words hit like a wave, your breath catching as his eyes bore into yours, a mix of frustration, vulnerability, and anger swirling in his gaze. He was waiting for you to confirm it, to say what he thought was the truth—that you couldn’t stand to be around him.

Your throat tightened, your pulse hammering in your ears as you struggled to find the right words. How could you explain what you felt when even you didn’t fully understand it? The confusion, the fear of rejection, the way being near him made you feel so exposed like he could see through every wall you’d ever put up. 

“You don’t scare me,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Logan, it’s not that.”

“Then what?” His voice was still rough, but there was a flicker of something softer underneath—like he was holding on to the hope that maybe there was more to this than he thought.

“I don’t hate you,” you said again, your voice steadier this time, though your chest still felt tight. “I just... I didn’t know how to act around you. Because every time I see you, every time you’re near me, I—”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Logan didn’t move, his eyes still locked on yours, waiting, watching, almost daring you to finish.

“I feel something,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “And it scares me.”

Logan’s expression shifted, the anger fading as something else settled in—something that made your stomach twist in anticipation. His jaw clenched, his fists relaxing at his sides, and for a moment, he just looked at you, really looked at you, like he was seeing you for the first time.

“What’re you sayin’?” he asked quietly, almost hesitant like he didn’t trust himself to believe what he thought he was hearing.

Your breath hitched as his question hung between you, the truth teetering on the edge of your tongue. You had been running from this moment for so long, hiding behind your awkwardness and your fear. But now? Now you had to say it.

“I’m saying...” you began, your heart pounding as the words finally came, “that I could never hate you because I don’t know how to handle…you.”

Logan’s eyes softened, the frustration melting away as the truth hit him. He took another step closer, his presence almost overwhelming, but not in the way you feared. It was grounding, steady, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like running.

“I make your heart race because... you like me?” he asked, his voice low, the disbelief in it unmistakable.

You nodded, your chest tight with anticipation, your eyes locked on his. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I do.”

Logan exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again, softer, more open than you’d ever seen it.

“All this time,” he murmured, his voice rough and full of something raw, something you weren’t used to seeing in him. “You’ve been drivin’ me crazy, and I thought—” He stopped himself, his lips curving into a small, rueful smile. “I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

You felt a wave of relief crash over you, the weight of your unspoken feelings finally lifting. “I couldn’t stand being around you,” you admitted with a nervous laugh, “because every time I was, I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

Logan chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, like a quiet rumble from deep in his chest. He took another step closer, his hand reaching up, this time closing the distance and gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was warm, his fingers rough but careful as they lingered there.

“Well, now I know why you kept avoiding me,” he muttered, his smirk softening into something more tender. “Guess I should’ve figured it out sooner.”

You smiled, feeling your heart flutter in your chest as you looked up at him, the tension between you shifting into something deeper, something that felt like it had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to come to light.

“So... what now?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s eyes darkened with something unreadable, but his smile stayed, slow and easy. “Now?” he murmured, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Now…I would really like to kiss you.”

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours for a heartbeat, waiting, giving you the chance to pull away—but you didn’t. Instead, you leaned in, your heart racing as his lips finally pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the moment he thought he’d never have.

The kiss was gentle at first, cautious, but it didn’t take long for the heat between you to build, the months of longing and tension finally breaking through. When you pulled away, your breath shaky, Logan’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Should’ve told me sooner,” he muttered, his voice low, teasing but soft.

You laughed softly, still catching your breath. “Yeah, well... better late than never, right?”

Logan smirked, his fingers brushing through your hair. “Right.”

[colbychu]

Sunshine [9] - Tranquility

AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your patience! ❤️ You’re amazing! ❤️

I hope you like this as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: Simple days can be calming.

Word Count: 2853

CW: Explicit language, mentions of sex, drinking, adult themes MDNI

Series Masterlist

Well.

This was very fun.

“I mean to repeat, I do have a hammer at home,” you said, leaning your elbows on the cart as you pushed it slowly and Logan raised his brows.

“Just a hammer?”

“Yeah, I wanted to put up that framed picture of me and Theo so Jamie brought it and then forgot it.”

“Exactly why we’re here.”

Home Depot wasn’t really your favorite place to shop in, you couldn’t even remember when the last time you had been there was. Needless to say, you felt a bit overwhelmed as you looked at the aisles with many tools and construction products, but Logan seemed right at home there, and the simple act of going shopping together -whether it was at a store you were familiar with or not- made you feel all warm inside.

Who knew the aftermath of breaking your bed would be fun as well?

Logan grabbed a pack of what seemed like tiny pieces of metal to put it in the cart, and you looked around, then gasped.

“Let’s get these, they look prettier!”

“Screw anchors?”

You tilted your head.

“Well if you feel that strongly about them…”

“No I mean— that’s what they’re called.”

“They’re yellow, I like yellow!” you said, grabbing the pack off the hook to hold it up and Logan chuckled.

“Sweetheart, if we’re going to use them on your bed, they need to be metal. Your bed frame is metal.”

You looked down at the pack. “Oh, these look plastic.”

“Mm hm, they are plastic.”

“Well, where do people use these?”

“On drywall, mostly,” he said. “When you’re hanging—hold on, did Jamie just put a screw into the wall for those frames you mentioned?”

“Yeah.”

He blinked a couple of times, then cleared his throat and took the pack from you to put it into the cart as well.

“Yay!”

“Anything else you want from here?”

You looked over at the shelf, then shook your head and Logan threw an arm over your shoulder to pull you closer to himself as you both went into another aisle.

“So wait, you need to put stuff into the wall to put stuff into the wall?”

“Mm hm.”

“Why?”

“Well, otherwise the screw can slip out of the wall when you hang something,” he said. “Anchors make sure whatever is on the wall doesn’t fall on anyone. It’s the same logic with anchoring furniture.”

“None of my furniture is anchored.”

“Babe, you have a mirror in your living room.”

“I just leaned it to the wall,” you pointed out and Logan heaved a sigh, then gently guided you into another aisle.

“I’m guessing you don’t have a drill?”

“Good guess—Logan, we’re not buying a drill!”

He went closer to one of the shelves to grab one to check it. “Why not?”

“I’m not gonna use it.”

“I’m gonna use it, I don’t want that mirror to fall on you.”

“It’s on the other side of the room.”

“Accidents happen,” he said. “That thing needs to be anchored along with God knows what. Every home needs a drill.”

You scrunched up your face, leaning back to the shelf.

“Debatable,” you said. “Every home needs a medicine cabinet. A drill is just something people in home makeover shows use.”

“What are makeover shows?”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my God, you’ve never watched those? We’re so watching those, I need your commentary.”

Logan turned the drill in his hand and you bit inside your cheek, trying to fight the urge to jump on him in the aisle of Home Depot. Clearing your throat, you tried to focus and crossed your arms.

“Not that one,” you said and Logan turned his gaze to you.

“Why not?”

“We should get that one,” you pointed at the other drill on the shelf and Logan bit back a smile.

“Babe, that one is 12 volts. This one is 18.”

“Volt isn’t everything,” you said as if you knew what you were talking about and Logan pulled his brows together.

“It is kind of important in a drill—”

“Yeah but Logan, that’s orange,” you said and grabbed the pack of yellow plastic anchors out of the cart to hold it up. “See? They’ll match if we get this one!”

Logan stared at you as if he was trying to find the right words to disagree with you but you pulled your brows together before putting the pack next to the drill so that he could see it better.

“Same shade!” you insisted as you pressed your finger on the drill, looking up at him and the corners of his lips twitched, that fond light shining in his eyes before he nodded slowly, then put the drill in his hand into the shelf to grab the one you were pointing at.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get the matching drill then.”

                                                 *

At first you had been worried about being too much of a bother when Logan said he’d be fixing your bedframe but now, sitting on the couch eating the snacks you got on your way back home, you couldn’t help but notice Logan looked very comfortable and happy to be helping you out. Right after you got back home, he fixed your bedframe but apparently having a drill and a toolbox within his vicinity had awakened something in him that he was now working on what could be “fixed” in your living room.

You could’ve sworn his face had lit up like a Christmas tree when you mentioned you had shelves somewhere that you had been procrastinating on putting up.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” you asked as you popped a piece of chocolate in your mouth and he shook his head, holding the shelf against the wall to draw on where he’d put it up.

“No need princess.”

“I could help, I have some experience in it,” you pointed out. “Not very pleasant experience but experience nonetheless.”

“How’s that?”

“Um, when I was a child, whenever something broke in our house my dad would want to fix it himself,” you said. “And he’d ask me to hold the flashlight and but then scold me for pointing it at the wrong place.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah.”

He looked at you over his shoulder before grabbing the drill and turned it on, making you grimace at the loud noise. He drilled two holes in the wall, then grabbed the plastic anchors and the hammer to nail them in.

You’d had a wet dream like this.

“How did you learn how to do all this?” you asked him and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ve been around for some time. You pick up hobbies.”

“And that’s your hobby?”

“I like fixing things,” he said. “And building stuff.”

You sat up straighter, your whole attention on him.

“Okay, so I can add it to the list of things I know about you,” you said with a bright smile. “I’m quite proud of myself you know, growing that list isn’t the easiest thing in the world.”

Logan shot you a small grin. “Subtle.”

“Hey I’m just warning you beforehand,” you said, holding your hands up. “You won’t even see me coming and before you know, you’re opening up to me.”

“Oh is that what’s gonna happen?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m too stubborn to quit.”

Logan’s smile was calm before he took a deep breath, then started working on the shelf again.

“It’s just…” he murmured. “A long story, you know? Too much to tell.”

“That’s okay,” you said softly. “I’ve got time. And until then, you can listen to me talk about absolute nonsense.”

“I like doing that, in case it escaped your notice.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest and you took a deep breath, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“So yeah, I apparently held the flashlight wrong. And there was also that one time—I’m just not the best at fixing things, there was that one time Julie tried to teach me how to change a tire but I ended up convincing her to go get mimosas instead. She’s really good at all that, I swear she and IKEA manuals have something going on that the rest of us human kind cannot understand, she built my wardrobe and I honestly just provided her with cookies—oh my God, Logan!” you said with a gasp. “Do you want cookies?”

A fond smile curled his lips as he looked at you over his shoulder.

“No seriously, I know you liked the chocolate chip ones but I’ve been dying to try this new recipe, it has mint chocolate—do you like mint chocolate? I hope you’re not one of those people who say mint chocolate tastes like toothpaste because I am a ride or die mint chocolate lover, but I think I can also make—”

You were cut off when he strode to you to lean down and kiss you, cutting you off before you let out a giggle.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling back to look at you better. “I’d love some.”

You beamed up at him and stole another kiss from him.

“So yes to the mint chocolate cookies then?”

He stroked his thumb over your cheekbone, that loving look in his eye making your heart skip a happy beat.

“Sure thing sweetheart,” he said. “Yes to the mint chocolate cookies.”

                                                        *

The more time you spent with Logan, the giddier you felt. You knew that you were supposed to keep yourself in check and play it cool considering everything between you two was very new, but it felt as if since you two had got together, you hadn’t been able to stop smiling.

Or it could’ve been just mind-blowing sex.

Either or.

“I’m not really much of a TV person.”

“And I respect that, but not having seen Titanic is simply just not acceptable,” you said as you poured the popcorn into the bowl and made your way to the couch. He wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you to his lap, making you let out a squeal as you straddled him with a giggle.

“You’re not distracting me this time,” you told him, pecking him on the lips before getting off his lap to sit beside him, still holding the popcorn bowl tight. You grabbed the remote to start the movie while Logan frowned at the screen as if it had personally offended him.

“I mean I heard about it,” he said. “It’s romance, right?”

“The best romance in the history of humankind.”

Logan pulled his brows together.

“So low expectations, got it,” he said. “The title suggests it’s not gonna end well?”

“Listen, they may have only known each other for four days—”

“Four days?!”

“Yeah but it was true love,” you said in a solemn manner, nodding your head and Logan’s frown deepened.

“I don’t think that’s how it works, babe.”

“That’s totally how it works,” you said. “It’s like opposites attract wrapped in star-crossed lovers wrapped in a tragic love story. I watched it for like 50 times, it’s my comfort movie. I always cry at the end.”

“Your comfort movie is a movie that makes you cry?”

“Yeah,” you said and grabbed at his arm when turned to look at the screen. “Look, that’s Jack! That’s who Rose falls in love with—wait, Logan, I have a question.”

“Hm?”

“So you were around when Titanic happened?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember it?”

“I remember the news of it, yeah,” he said. “Everyone was shocked by it.”

You took a deep breath to ask him another question but your doorbell rang. You turned your head and stood up but Logan was faster than you, so he walked to the door to open it and as soon as he did, Julie’s voice reached you.

“Holy shit you’re tall.”

“Julie?” you asked as you approached the door and Logan stepped aside. “Hi!”

“Hey, sorry I didn’t…” she motioned at Logan. “It’s just that I texted you and you didn’t answer, and I was on my way here anyway because who just got out of a terrible argument with her ex dickhead of a boyfriend and needed some distraction?”

“Jesus, that asshole again?” you asked and she nodded.

“Yep.”

“Come in!” you said and Julie shook her head.

“No no, I really don’t wanna interrupt your sexy time.”

Logan tilted his head while you shot her a lighthearted glare.

“Come in,” you insisted, pulling her by the arm before closing the door. “We’re watching Titanic. Logan, this is Julie, my best friend. Jules, this is Logan—” you paused for a moment, trying to find the right words.

Boyfriend was a big title and you hadn’t really talked about it before, and you actually didn’t know where Logan stood on this whole thing so you decided to play it safe.

“I told you about him,” you ended up saying and Logan extended his hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Julie said, shaking his hand. “You really are a good looking dude, and I was so right about the lumberjack vibes.”

Logan blinked a couple of times as if he didn’t know how to answer. “…Thanks?”

“No problem.”

“I’m pouring you wine,” you said, making your way to the kitchen with Julie following you, and Logan lingered in the hallway for a moment before going back to the living room.

“Are you sure it’s cool I’m crashing your date?”

You took out a wine glass before pouring some wine in it.

“I’ll be offended if you ask me that again,” you told her and she hugged you, making you smile and press a kiss on her cheek.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to like, buy a baseball bat and threaten him?”

“Nah I’m fine,” she said as she pulled back to take the glass from you. “It’s just fucking frustrating.”

“Screw him, he’s an idiot,” you told her as you held her other hand and you both went into the living room.

“Hey man, sorry about the interruption,” Julie told him, flinging herself on the armchair and Logan shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it. No interruption other than me trying to figure out how these two people will have the ‘greatest love story’ in four days.”

“It is true love!” you said, smacking the back of your hand into your palm to emphasize each word and Logan chuckled.

“Yeah alright, sorry. True love.”

“Weren’t you around when this happened?” Julie asked, motioning at the screen and you grinned.

“We share one braincell,” you told her and Julie crossed her arms, looking at Logan.

“Did you meet Thomas Edison?”

Logan looked almost confused. “Uh, no?”

“Good, he was an asshole. Did you meet Victor Hugo?”

Logan paused for a moment, then turned to look at you. “Are you guys all secretly French?”

“No, we just watched Les Miserables one hundred times,” you answered while Julie sighed.

“A masterpiece, if you will.”

“Better than this whole true love in four days thing?” Logan asked, motioning at the screen and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Careful there buddy, you’re on thin ice.”

Logan shot you a grin, making you smile back before you turned to Julie.

“Seriously, what happened with that jerk?”

“Oh you know, the usual drill. He called me drunk, started with begging and then that whole thing turned into him listing every single bad thing about me.”

“He was the one who cheated on you.”

“Yeah and you’d think he’d remember that.”

Logan threw an arm over your shoulder to pull you closer to him.

“I can beat him up if you want,” he said in such a matter-of-fact tone that it made you look up at him in confusion. Julie let out a small laugh.

“You, I like you,” she said, pointing at him before she looked at you. “I approve.”

“Aw thank you.”

“That being said,” she said. “Logan, you seem like a really nice guy but make no mistake, if you upset her in any way, I’ll get the biggest magnet I can find and point it at you so that I can pull that metal skeleton of yours out of your body.”

“Julie!” you exclaimed, your eyes widening and Logan’s smile widened as if he was merely amused. “Don’t listen to her. She’s nice to me and terrible to everyone else.”

Julie blew you a kiss and Logan nodded his head.

“Noted,” he told Julie and Julie grinned at him.

“See? You and I are gonna get along just fine.”

You heaved a sigh, then grabbed the bowl to hold it out for Julie to take some popcorn. She grabbed a handful, then leaned back to watch the movie while you leaned your head on Logan’s chest, trying to pay attention to the movie. Logan nuzzled into your hair and pressed a kiss on top of your head, making your stomach do a happy flip and you felt a smile warm your face before you bit on your lip, then turned your gaze to the screen again.

[colbychu]

✧"The Pickpocket" Masterlist✧

Part [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ] [ 11 ] [ 12 ] [ 13 ] [ 14 ] [ 15 ] [ 16 ] [ 17 ] [ 18 ] [ 19 ] [ 20 ] [ 21 ] [ 22 ] [ 23 ] [ 24 ] [ 25 ] [ 26 ] [ 27 ] [ 28 ] [ 29 ]M [ 30 ] [ 31 ] [ 32 ] [ 33 ] [ 34 ]

Pairing: Heimdall x fem!Reader

Synopsis: You are a mortal and show up inside Kratos’ and Atreus’ protection stave one fateful day. Fimbulwinter just started and you have no idea of your past so after much consideration, our two favourite bois decide to take you in. Flash forward to the events of GOW:R and you are now a part of the ever growing family. And in charge of the stupid. Which is why you unceremoniously decide to follow Atreus into Asgard where you meet a certain someone who may just simultaneously destroy you and put you back together again.

Warnings: none so far except for some light swearing (just heimdall things), update: part 29 is marked Mature for nsfw stuff!! you can skip it though, it doesn't really further the plot

A/N: i've got some? fic writing experience but really only dabbled in it so far (never shared any of it either bc i'm super shy lol) so this is definitely my first proper one😶🤞 part of me thinks i should've started smaller aksksk but really, where's the fun in that??

A huge thanks to all my lovely readers, your feedback keeps me going! mwah💋

[colbychu]

The Pickpocket - Part 33

[Prev] [Next] [Masterlist]

Pairing: Heimdall x fem!Reader

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: Heimdall watches the world burn.

Warnings: utter heartbreak ahead (not kidding)

A/N: as promised, here's your little angsty christmas present from yours truly🙏💖💖 happy holidays everyone!!! this is another pivotal chapter i've planned since the very beginning of this story so apologies that it's rather short, but this very much warranted its own post. (you'll see🥲) with that said! i hope you enjoy your time with it<33

***

Part 33

"Now who's gawking?"

Heimdall blinked. Once. Twice. Each time he expected your form to disappear again. Another painful reminder of what he had lost. Cruel. Punishing.

And much more persistent than any memory before, because when he opened his eyes the next time, you were still standing in front of him, looking at him. It made his mouth go dry and his heart beat faster, but still he resisted the obvious. How could he not? You looked exactly the same as the day he had last seen you. You looked at him with the same affection in your eyes, looked at him with the same warm smile that had kept him sane in the cold loneliness of the past days. A beacon in the darkness. His guiding star.

He fought not to let it blind him now.

Quickly he turned his gaze to the ground, clenching his jaw as he tried to rein in his torturous mind.

"Heimdall?"

His name on your tongue made him squeeze his eyes shut. He tried to concentrate only on the constant pounding in his ears. You weren't really here. It was just a memory. An echo, conjured up by the poison in his veins. Nothing more.

"Listen, I can come back another time if you're not up for visitors."

Nothing more.

Heimdall gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw cracked.

Just an echo, just an echo, just an echo...

"Seems to me they set the dose a little too high..."

As much as he resisted, as much as he refused, he couldn't stop your words from entering his mind and clouding his thoughts. Filling him with longing. Only for a brief moment, but it was enough to make his heart skip a beat. He gasped and opened his eyes. His gaze immediately found yours again, that wore an amused twinkle now.

"You with me again?"

Your words hung in the air between you for a little while as he couldn't help but stare at you. Suddenly, he no longer dared to blink, not even once.

"You are here...", he finally breathed.

His incredulity turned this rather silly statement into a question, which you answered with a nod. "That I am."

"You are... real."

You looked down at yourself. "Last time I checked..."

Heimdall finally began to realize, but what followed was by no means clarity. No, instead his head suddenly felt as if it was about to overflow. He shook it briefly, as if to get rid of his excess thoughts, and then turned his eyes away from you again - but not for long. The sight of you was like balm for his aching mind, and he was only too happy to feast on it. He felt like rejoicing; all his worries of the past days had been unfounded and the brute seemed to have told the truth, at least about this one thing: You were alive and well.

And now tilted your head to the side questioningly, making him feel compelled to explain: "I... have trouble remembering what happened before... all this." He grimaced in the direction of his general surroundings. "It's slowly coming back, but every time I get these... these annoying blackouts and-"

As if on cue, another painful twinge suddenly shot through his temples. He groaned and doubled over as he heard a voice- his voice scream: "You do not get to decide MY FATE!"

The last gap in his memory was filled in fast forward.

Within a few seconds, he felt the Bifröst grow his arm back, and then he moved on to defend his fate. Only one thing mattered now: Winning. At all costs. For Asgard, for the All-Father.

And for you and him. Your future.

Everything else faded into the background, all caution, all restraint, all strategy. What remained was pure violence. Barbaric. Primal. Heimdall had never been less in control, but he had also never cared less as he struck at his opponent with his bare hands. Of course, he often missed, but it was the times when his blows hit the mark that spurred him on to new brutality. That soon made him lose himself completely in his rage.

So much so that, at first, he didn't even realize going down. It was only when the Godkiller suddenly smashed his face into the ground, over and over again, that his mind caught up with what was happening.

Heimdall gasped for breath as he slowly regained consciousness and felt the cold, damp cave air on his sweaty skin again. But his mind was still far away. His mouth was still full of blood. He still heard the traitor head's pleas falling on deaf ears. And he still saw the wild gaze of the monster above him, as his claws crushed his neck.

Until the very end, he had never believed that his last hour had come. His pride had simply not allowed it. Even when the lack of oxygen had set his lungs on fire and his rapidly deteriorating strength had made it impossible to keep up his Bifröst arm... The God of Foresight, Watchman of the Aesir, had fought on - until darkness had swallowed him whole.

Heimdall took a few rattling breaths now, until the shameful memory slowly faded and took its rightful place in his aching head. The puzzle was done, his failure complete. He should've died. Right then and there.

The only thing that made this shame more bearable for him was you. You, and the certainty that it wasn't too late. That there had to be a reason why he hadn't died yet. And this could only be one thing:

Redemption.

He was still alive because he could still redeem himself. From every mistake, every misstep. Because he still had a role to play, he could still be of service, could still be useful. Why else would fate, which he had defended so vehemently, have sent you to him now? It was a sign, had to be.

He was meant to right his wrongs - and he would start by bringing you home.

He took a shaky breath and then looked at you again, putting his whole heart into his gaze. "There was... not a single moment in the last few days when I haven't thought about you." About holding you, hugging you, kissing you... "You have been on the forefront of my mind, always."

"That so?" The corner of your mouth twitched.

This rather... muted reaction to his heartfelt declaration should have given him pause, but he preferred to focus on the question of why you seemed so intent on standing so far away from him... In the next moment, however, the thought that just one drop of the poison that had been pumped into his veins would mean your certain death eased his irritation a fair bit. Especially since he would have plenty of opportunity to take you in his arms- his arm once he was out of here and had taken care of this mangy pack of rebels.

Those absolute idiots. It was a miracle that they had been able to stand up to Asgard's forces for so long, considering how utterly incompetent they were in every other aspect. But they could rejoice; letting the two of you talk like this would definitely be their last mistake.

Heimdall looked down at his perfidious restraints again. "As much as I hate to admit it, I'm out of commission as long as I am attached to this weed here. If I had access to my Bifröst magic, it might just burn the poison out of my body, but..." He sighed deeply. "But unfortunately, this stupid thing renders my powers completely useless. So we will have to come up with something else."

His gaze then wandered in the direction of the cave exit. "I guess we can't necessarily rely on anyone in here carrying around weedkiller. These people may be stupid, but they're not that stupid. Though... maybe we could try setting it on fire..."

"I don't think so."

He grimaced. "Right. I wouldn't be surprised if Frigg thought of adding some kind of fire resistance. She does know how to be a right nuisance after all. So we'd better-"

"No, what I meant was... I don't think I will help you."

Drip, drip, drip...

For a few moments, nothing could be heard except the soft dripping of water on stone.

"Very funny", Heimdall then deadpanned, "Now, what I wanted to say. We'd best concentrate on finding out whether-"

"I'm serious."

His mouth was still open as he just stared at you - and finally realized.

"Don't be silly", he immediately blurted out before thinking better of it and swallowing his growing irritation; you didn't deserve that. "Look. I know that you were forced to steal Gjallarhorn. And that those half-wits probably threatened you with who knows what to keep you in line, but now you have me again. Alright? So you don't have to worry anymore. As soon as I'm out of here, I swear I'll do everything in my power to-"

You laughed.

Loud and unrestrained. He had long found this to be one of the most beautiful sounds in the world, but as it echoed off the cave walls now, it seemed strangely... different to him. Wrong, even. Once again, he cursed the poison that coursed through his veins and corroded his mind. It was time for this farce to end.

Your next words made it clear that you were of the same opinion - but in a completely different way than he had expected.

"Forced? No one forced me to do anything. I thought that much was obvious by now."

He felt his right temple twitch briefly as he remembered the words of the Godkiller who had claimed the very same thing. But then... then Frigg had to be behind it. Some... Vanir sorcery that had allowed her to gain control over your body and-

It was only when you responded with an amused snort that Heimdall realized he had said that last part out loud.

"I can't believe you still don't get it... But then again, you've always been terribly short-sighted." You sighed loudly. "No, Heimdall, neither did Kratos or Frigg have anything to do with me stealing Gjallarhorn, nor with the fact that I'm not going to help you break out of here now."

A wrinkle had formed between his eyebrows. It grew deeper and deeper the longer he searched your face for some clue as to what made your words so incomprehensible - to no avail.

"What are you s-"

"Heavens, look at your face!", you interrupted him with a giggle, "Pathetic is an understatement. I wonder what the All-Father would think if he could see you now... If he knew how low you've sunk. Captured by the enemy, all bloodied, bruised and beaten. A disgrace, really. And so very, very far from the son he always wanted you to be... How sad."

You trailed off, giving him the opportunity to respond. But when only silence followed, your eyes widened. "Don't tell me... I rendered the biggest blabbermouth in all the Nine Realms speechless!" You clapped your hands in your elation, the sound almost deafening in his stony prison. "I thought this day would never come!"

Heimdall opened and then closed his mouth again. His forehead resembled a canyon by now as he repeated your words over and over in his mind. It simply made no sense. And yet he could already feel a tingling at the back of his neck, a slight ache in his chest, a dull buzzing in his ears...

But he ignored it. Simply blamed it on the poison messing with his body, his senses. His mind. Yes, that had to be it. He was disoriented, weakened. No wonder he had trouble making sense of certain things and misinterpreted others. After all, you couldn't really mean what he thought you meant- No. No, you didn't. It was just his mind playing tricks on him, the poison. Just the poison. He knew that now, so he could rise above it. If he just waited it out, it would all make sense eventually, he was sure of that.

If he just waited-

"You can't be serious", you exclaimed in disbelief, "Still?? Oh wow, I didn't think... Hm. Well. This is awkward. I had no idea it was that deep for you. Makes it indeed quite sad then how it all turned out... For you, that is." You paused for a moment, deep in thought. Then you suddenly walked up to him and crouched down so that you were almost eye to eye before you added: "Let me be as blunt as possible then, okay? Think of it as... as a little apology."

You cleared your throat and raised your hand, pointing first at him and then at yourself. "This? We? There is no we, never was. It's all a lie. Been so from the very beginning. My objective was Gjallarhorn, infiltrate and spy on the enemy and, maybe, try and sow a little dissent. You follow me? It was all an act. Well. In my case, anyway."

No... No, you didn't-

"I have to admit, you were a pretty tough nut at first. Lived up to your name. Mistrusted my every move... It wasn't hard to see why the All-Father chose you as his right-hand man. I had to work all the harder to make you believe that I was really just the 'worried big sister' and nothing more. But no sooner had I convinced you to accept Frigg's spell shielding my mind as entirely unimportant... I knew I'd cracked you."

You couldn't-

"I still can't believe that worked, by the way! I mean, 'I lost my memories, guess that's what makes me unreadable to you'??" You laughed again before standing up and spreading your arms in front of an imaginary audience. "The God of Foresight, everyone! All-seeing and all-hearing. Always on the lookout for lies and deception" You looked back down at him. "Except when he's dealing with a pair of pretty eyes, I guess, and you butter him up enough. That's a serious flaw in Asgard's defense, you know? You should really do something about that - as self-proclaimed 'Guardian of the Aesir', I mean."

As much as Heimdall wished otherwise, there really was no misinterpreting that anymore. And yet he couldn't help but make one last attempt to save his dwindling sanity.

"But... that night we-"

"What, never heard of a woman faking it before? Though that's pretty unsurprising, I guess..." You snorted. "All things considered."

And with that the full weight of reality came crashing down on him. Coursed through his body like a raging current and left utter chaos in its wake.

At first, it was as if his heart, body and mind could not decide how to react to this confrontation. Heimdall literally felt at odds with himself- torn. Everything suddenly seemed to consist only of extremes, standing still and moving at lightning-speed, both too sharp and out of focus, silent and earsplitting all at once.

There was absolute anarchy in his head, a yawning emptiness. Even if he had been able to raise his voice, he would have found no words, for there were none. There was also no gravity anymore, and yet it seemed as if an immense weight was suddenly bearing down on him, trying to crush him beneath it. All the while, his heart was practically pounding against his ribcage, making him feel as if his body was shaking like a leaf, when in fact he was sitting there as if he had been turned to stone- no, to ice. He was frozen, while everything else was burning to the ground.

Until there was nothing left but the brutal truth in your relentless gaze, and your voice in his head, repeating your words over and over and over again, shattering him anew each time. He had never felt like this before, had no word for the sensation, and so in the end it turned into what he already knew:

It turned into failure. It turned into death.

A nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

Only exacerbated by you casually adding: "I never thought our plan would be such a success. Had I known, I might have tried a little harder to get you on our side."

Our plan...

To get you on our side...

"Maybe they plan to take you out."

It cut through the noise like a knife. The memory of that moment when the All-Father had spoken those words to him felt centuries old. It had been your first day in Asgard. Back then, that statement had seemed absolutely ridiculous to him. A god like him, taken out by a mere mortal? Ha! Laughable. He was invulnerable! Untouchable!

And above all: A fool.

Shame and remorse exploded inside of him as he breathed: "I would never..."

"What was that?"

It was the only thing that kept him from being swallowed up by the inferno raging all around him. A familiar feeling, an oasis surrounded by madness:

His pride.

As an Aesir, the son of the All-Father. Protector of Asgard.

He should never have listened to you. So many times you had tried to make him forget. To convince him that he could do without it, that it was something to be discarded... That his destiny was something else. That he was free to choose.

In truth, however, it was the only thing he needed, the only thing that he'd ever need. And all your attempts to convince him otherwise were only meant to manipulate him and confuse him and weaken his resolve.

And he'd almost fallen for it.

An utter fool.

His eyes burned as he bored them into yours. "I would never forsake my people."

"Hm..." You looked at him pityingly. "Funny. Isn't that what you're doing right now?"

Again his blood ran cold, but this time he forced himself to maintain eye contact and not show you again how much your words affected him. How they already threatened to snuff out the spark of defiance that had just reawakened within his hollow heart.

But when you suddenly smiled the next moment, he knew that the effort was in vain. The only other person who had ever made him feel like he was on the receiving end of his mindreading abilities was his father.

Heimdall should never have let it come to this.

And what you said next only added salt to the wound.

"Oh, if only you had listened to your father..." You started to slowly pace in front of him. "He mistrusted me from the start. Almost got me to give up my cover when his damn raven left me in the middle of fucking nowhere. But luckily" You stopped moving and beamed at him. "Luckily, I could always rely on the God of Foresight. He even lied to his king for me, can you believe it? So reliable, so well-trained... I truly owe him one."

You paused for a moment before your smile widened even more. He had imagined this sight so many times in the past few days... Had feasted on its memory every time his own head had become too heavy. Had longed for it, craved it... But now that it was in front of him again, it was as if he was seeing it for the first time. All the familiar warmth, all the tenderness, all the affection had disappeared. Now your lips were cold, like everything else about you.

He wondered how he could ever have been so blind.

"...Like making sure that Kratos doesn't kill him, so that he can witness the fruits of his failure." Again you walked up to him and crouched down. "Like making sure that he can watch Asgard fall."

No sooner had you finished speaking than Heimdall jerked forward, struggling against the restraints that held him just out of your reach. You didn't even blink at his antics, but his next words made you raise an eyebrow.

"It won't."

"Oh? Is that so? And what makes you so sure? Face the facts, it's over. Asgard has already lost the moment I took Gjallarhorn from you and all you cared about was me. What did the All-Father have to say about that, I wonder...? I can hardly imagine that he was particularly... pleased." Your lips stretched into a cold smile again. "Come to think of it, you should actually consider yourself lucky to be rotting in this cave! You've failed, on all counts. As a watchman, protector of your people... as a son. And now your realm must pay the price. And for what? Love?"

You raised your hand and gently brushed a sweaty strand of hair out of his face. He recoiled from your touch. However, as much as he hated himself for it, there was a small part of him that still longed to feel your soft skin on his own, even after everything you had just told him, if only for a brief moment-

"Oh, sunshine... Who could ever love you?"

Heimdall had not known there was anything left of him that was still intact and not broken. But now your words shattered it in one fell swoop.

You looked at him for a few more moments before taking a deep breath and announcing: "Well. This was fun. Let's do this again some time, shall we? After Asgard's funeral, perhaps?"

He watched as you stood up and brushed the dust from your legs.

"No."

You snorted in amusement, but didn't look up. "No? No, what? You didn't have fun? Well, I'm sorry to hear that, but-"

"You will be the ones to perish", he growled.

"Oh really?"

"And when I'm out of here, I-"

Your laughter was instantaneous. "And how are you going to do that? Do you think daddy dearest will come and rescue you? Why would he even bother to look for you? He thinks you're dead! Everyone in Asgard thinks that. And once the war comes to them, they'll soon have forgotten you even." You straightened up again and chuckled. "Not like they'll shed a tear for you before then, don't get me wrong. After all, they've always hated you for being their protector."

You smirked when you saw him scowl at you. "If you really think about it... You lead a rather sad existence. I mean, what are you without your powers? Your duties? Nothing. You have nothing. No allies, no friends and the only family that cares about you is your father - who you betrayed."

Heimdall only vaguely noticed you turn around and head back toward the cave exit. The pounding in his ears was back, so loud and so violent that he almost missed your next words.

He wished he did.

"But rejoice! It's not like you have to worry about that anymore..." You stopped, turned around one last time and then gave him a sweet smile.

It tasted like rotten fruit.

"...You're dead after all."

***

and the oscar goes tooo....🥁 (i hope it's obvs that that wasn't reader lmao><)

hope you enjoyed thiss<3 as always, feedback is welcome and very much appreciated!!

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[colbychu]

Women are getting rid of their Trump supporting partners while they still legally can since they clearly don't give a shit about them or any other woman.

If you're thinking about getting a divorce, you should do it while you still can.

[colbychu]

Read this again in a year or so...

So, you want me to believe that you voted for a racist, rapist, convicted felon, business fraud who incited a deadly attack on our Capitol after losing the last election because of the price of eggs? That you voted for the orange-dipped dude who ran with a different VP because the last one was nearly hanged for not breaking democracy, because you’ve been getting fewer hours at your job these days?

You want me to believe that you voted for someone who nearly every economist in the world has said will grow our debt (which he did by the third largest amount ever the last time), increase our costs, raise inflation and destroy our GDP because a burger and fries at Five Guys is more expensive than it used to be? You want me to believe that you voted for the drink bleach guy who golfed while thousands of Americans were dying a day because you had it so much better then, when you were stockpiling toilet paper, than you do now?

You want me to believe that you voted for the guy who had 4 years to pass an infrastructure bill and didn’t, the guy who promised Mexico would pay for the wall when they didn’t, the guy who promised to bring manufacturing back, lower the cost of prescription drugs and end the opioid crisis but didn’t, because you preferred his “policies”? You want me to believe you voted for the “grab em by the pussy” guy who wants to destroy the Department of Education and to repeal the ACA despite the fact that he has nothing more than “concepts of a plan” to replace it, the guy who will roll back environmental protections, strip women and minorities of more rights, the guy who will hand Ukraine to Putin and Gaza to Netanyahu, the guy who has said he will be a “dictator on day one”, because you’re worried about losing your gas stove? I’m sorry, but I don’t believe any of that, and frankly, I’m not sure you believe it either.

Because the truth is that your vote wasn’t about any of that. You voted for the traitorous embodiment of the 7 deadly sins because when it came to casting your ballot for a Black woman, you just couldn’t do it. And because you like getting away with being your worst self. And because life is a whole lot easier to stomach when all that has gone wrong for you, is someone else’s fault. Let’s be honest here, that is what it was.

So when the price of eggs is $18, and your Latino neighbors have been deported or moved to some f’d up “camp” to pick the strawberries none of you will pick, and your miscarrying wife has to contend with sepsis before she’s allowed to have an abortion, and your autistic child is unable to get the early intervention they desperately need, please remember what it really was that you voted for.

Because I promise you the rest of us will never, ever forget.

JoJo from Jerz

[colbychu]

[colbychu]

[colbychu]

[colbychu]

⚠️ fem!reader, reader has a pussy, recorded sex, oral (m!receiving), cheating (pls don’t do that guys; this is fantasy not reality), begging, possessive!eddie, really really rough sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, breeding kink, revenge sex, dirty talk, pet names— good girl, pretty girl, sweetheart, angel, baby, babe, sweet thing—, language, slight choking, bestfriend!eddie, kinda actually absolutely dom!eddie, d/s undertones, brief throat fucking, going in without prep(?), missionary/mating press, lots of mentions of messy, sloppy, filthy fluids (drool, cum, pussy juice, etc) (author probably uses too much dialogue im sorry)

✏️ it wasn’t supposed to get as filthy as it did but who am i to question fate? 🤷‍♀️ also not edited yet bc it’s 1am and i need sleep im so sorry for any mistakes 🙏 [edit: finally edited lol]

━━━━━━━━ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ ━━━━━━━━...

“hey, now, pretty girl. look up at me. he’s gotta see you.”

eddie’s command was a low rumble, honey thick with arousal and almost completely fucked out. you flicked your eyes up to meet his, ignoring the glare of the flash from his phone.

eddie groaned low when you did and brought his thick thumb to the side of your mouth, where your lips were currently stretched around his cock — he pushed his thumb in ever so slightly next to it, and you shivered when hot drool slipped around it and down your chin.

“fuuuuuck.” eddie droned out, cock kicking up against your palate. “look so fuckin’ good. look at you swallow that cock.”

you nearly whined around him, pussy aching with the need to be fucked — eddie was so thick and long, you knew he could reach all the places jason couldn’t. and you really, really fucking wanted it.

“ah — shit, he doesn’t even realize what he’s missing.” eddie murmured, hips bucking up, and and you weren’t sure if he meant for you to hear it or if it had merely slipped out unintentionally.

either way, you didn’t quite care. not when his cockhead was forcing itself past your tonsils to poke at your throat, giving it such a pleasant stretch.

“mhmm, shit, take it down your throat. good girl.” eddie grunted, thumb slipping from your mouth so he could cradle your jaw, fingertips pressing against your neck to hold your head still as he shoved his cock further inside.

your stomach lurched as you gagged, the intrusion deep and intense, and the noise only stirred eddie into further action — he pulled his dick out until only the tip remained between your lips, then thrusted.

tears spilled from your eyes as he repeated the motion and over again, fucking himself down your throat and releasing guttural groans as he did so.

“perfect fuckin’ throat, baby. takes me so damn well, shit!”

your eyes nearly rolled back into your head as you went limp, allowing eddie to use your throat as he pleased. he wasn’t showing much mercy, his grip on your neck bruising and pumps even more so, but you fucking loved it. loved the way you couldn’t breathe, loved the forced stretch of your throat, loved the absolute control eddie was enacting over you.

he was so, so much better than jason.

jason, who would have never even thought of treating you so roughly. who never fucked you into stupidity. who never lasted more than a goddamn minute.

god, you should have fucked eddie so much sooner. even before jason cheated on you.

“oh, baby. look at how much you love this. he never did this, did he? never fucked your slutty little throat?” eddie cooed, almost mockingly, as if he could simply read your mind.

fuck, you couldn’t take it anymore — you needed some relief, and you needed it now. you weren’t surprised to find a goddamn swimming pool between your thighs when you shoved your hand there, fingers sliding through the slick and finding your hole almost immediately.

you pumped your fingers in time with eddie’s savage thrusts inside your throat, the stimulation to your mouth and pussy sending you straight to white hot nirvana.

“oh, so cute. look at you fucking yourself.” eddie whispered, eyes wide with faux adoration. “does she need my cock, baby? need it nice and deep?”

despite having a cock down your throat, you somehow managed to whine and nod, your fingers simply not enough. it felt like eddie was mocking you in some way, and for some reason, it completely lit a fire in you. it was hot, and made your head kind of fuzzy.

all at once, eddie paused — his cock stilled inside your throat, and your own fingers halted their movement from the weight of your confusion. you stared up at him as he stared down at you, thoughts crashing through his blown pupils.

“beg for it.” he finally muttered after a moment of silence. his hand fell from your neck, allowing you the freedom of movement. eddie leaned back slightly and those plump, pretty lips pulled into a downright devilish smirk.

“you want my cock so bad, look right into the camera and beg for it.”

your eyes widened fractionally as it dawned on you — eddie wanted you to do it for the camera. because that was the whole plan, wasn’t it? to record eddie fucking you into oblivion and send it to jason? to show him that you could do it too, and do it better?

it shouldn’t have made your pussy throb, but it did. something about being recorded, about knowing that jason would see it, see you being a complete slut for someone else, begging for someone else’s cock, was just so, so arousing.

without a second’s hesitation you released eddie’s cock with a soft pop, eyes lidded and voice absolutely wrecked from having your throat fucked so roughly.

“please put your cock in me. please eddie, fuck me — i need it. please —”

eddie surged forward and cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. his hand flew to the back of your head and he gripped your hair in a fist. pain erupted across your scalp, and you released a sound that you couldn’t identify as either a gasp or a moan — maybe something in between the two.

eddie wasted no time in shoving his tongue into your mouth when your lips parted, dominating every single inch of it. it faintly reminded you of having his cock against your tongue, and without actually thinking, you wrapped your lips around the wet muscle and sucked.

it pulled a deep, almost feral growl from eddie, a sound that seemed to reverberate around the room and went straight to your core.

your head felt fuzzy, as if you couldn’t think. your body was moving as if on instinct alone, and you let out the smallest of whimpers as you suckled on his tongue. as he let you do it.

eddie’s arm wrapped around your middle and the breath was knocked from your lungs when he slammed your body into his.

eddie’s cock was hard between your bodies, slick from your spit, and the sensation of the hot flesh sliding against your tummy sent your mind into a frenzy. fuck, you wanted it in you, wanted him to fuck you up ‘til you couldn’t think —

you popped your lips off of his tongue and drew in a deep breath. eddie groaned when you did so, but it quickly morphed into a moan when you slid your hand between the two of you and gripped his cock.

“fuck me,” you whined, rationality completely gone. the only thing you could think of was eddie, of his scent, his taste, his skin, his warmth, his cock. “fuck me so hard, eddie. please, w-want it so bad…”

eddie let out a string of curses and before you could fully collect yourself you were turned on your axis and shoved into the mattress.

eddie quickly followed your body, sliding himself between your thighs and pulling them open. he lined himself up with your slick cunt and slid the head of his dick up and down slit, pulling a symphony of pleased whimpers and encouragements from your lips.

“fuck, baby, i can’t hold back now.” eddie warned, eyes endless pools of black as he gazed into yours. “it might hurt, angel.”

“i want it to.” you whispered without missing a beat, shocked by how true the statement was. you wanted him to fuck you up, pound you into oblivion until you couldn’t think, speak, or see straight.

no… you needed that.

the sound that eddie released was completely inhuman, as was the scream that tore from your throat when eddie shoved your knees into your chest and buried himself to the hilt in one thrust.

your pussy clenched around him and the breath was knocked from your lungs. god, he was so fucking big, you felt like you were splitting apart. he was in your fucking stomach.

“fuuuuck, tight — hah, so tight. fuck.” eddie panted, squeezing his eyes shut and stilling. his entire body was tense, and you could feel the throb of his cock against your walls.

“mmm, sweetheart, if yer grippin’ me so tight i might bust quick.” eddie admitted, and for some reason, that made you moan.

you were going to make him bust? god, that sounded fucking amazing. eddie chuckled almost darkly.

“pretty girl likes that, huh? does she want my cum?”

“yes, yes, please—” was that even you speaking any more? your voice was slurred, desperate, words rising from a purely primal origin.

“fuck yeah, she does.” eddie growled, fingers digging into your thighs as he began to piston his hips. each thrust was rough, savage, bullying his cock so deep into you it was making you see stars. “pretty girl wants me to breed her.”

words were a thing of the past — all that spilled from your swollen lips were moans, screams, whimpers and pleas, each sound egging eddie on to fuck you harder, faster, deeper.

your stomach was already twisting with the beginnings of a mind-blowing orgasm, one that was nearly being ripped from you by eddie, and you had a sneaking suspicion eddie knew it.

thick fingers wrapped around your throat and squeezed, cutting off your air briefly and launching your heart into an even more erratic rhythm.

“why don’t you beg for it, baby? beg your best friend to breed you, yeah?”

mindless babble. that’s all that bubbled in your throat; but it seemed to be good enough for eddie, who’s thrusts began to turn slightly sloppy and less pointed. his moans were picking up in volume as well, and you knew that could only mean one thing.

he was close.

and you wanted it. god, you fucking wanted it so bad. it was the only clear thought you could latch onto through the mist in your head.

i want eddie to cum. i want eddie to cum. i need him to cum—

you weren’t sure what this feeling was, this sort of overwhelming yet pleasant dissociation that seemed to heighten every sense, that intensified the pleasure wreaking havoc on your body.

but you fucking loved it.

“beg properly.” eddie demanded. “i want to fuckin’ hear you say it. i want you to say, ‘please give me your cum. i want my best friend’s cum.’”

eddie’s grip on your throat loosened just enough for you to squeeze the words out — well, when you could, at least. it was difficult to get them out past your moans.

“p-please give me your — ah, fuck, mmm — your cum. i-i want my be-best friend’s — ah! — cum.”

eddie’s hips faltered then sped up, effectively pounding your cervix straight into your stomach with each thrust. it fucking hurt, but it was so, so good. it thickened the fog in your brain, extended that wonderful dissociation that you were becoming addicted to.

“yeah, that’s a good fuckin’ girl. good girl, angel. gonna give it all t’you.”

just when you thought your moans couldn’t rise in volume or variety, they did — your body moved without conscious thought as you locked your ankles over eddie’s nape.

“gimme, gimme, gimme—!” you chanted dumbly, grinding your hips into his and throwing your weight into them. eddie groaned and his fingers once more clamped around your throat, halting your babble and stealing your air supply.

“fuck, it’s comin’ — gonna cum! take it — hng — take it all.” eddie growled, slamming his hips into yours and punching the breath from your lungs. tears sprung to your eyes, your fingers grasped at the sheets below you, and your thighs tensed as white heat shot through your body.

your vision spotted and your clit throbbed as you gushed around his cock, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, and it didn’t take long for eddie follow you into nirvana.

ropes of his cum shot straight into your cervix, painting the used channel with thick, creamy fluid. it felt so fucking good.

“god, yer fuckin’ milkin’ me… ha, shit. greedy, pretty girl.” eddie murmured, hips rocking into yours as he slowly rode out his orgasm. you bit back a whimper as your body quickly caved into overstimulation, but there wasn’t much you could do to stop eddie.

your head was still fuzzy and your body felt like a boneless cloud. eddie’s fingers had already released your throat, but you still struggled slightly to catch your breath.

“did… did we get all of it?” you asked, the first clear thought to break through the fog somehow centered around the camera and the video, the whole thing that brought this about.

eddie laughed heartily and nearly collapsed atop you, softening cock still buried within your sloppy walls.

“dunno. but… if it didn’t, we could always make another one.”

i feel like this is shit but thirst is thirst. thank you for reading bbys!! <333

[colbychu]

Professor!Logan has always been professional, but you can’t ignore the way he looks at you during his lectures anymore. It’s subtle— a look that lingers on for far too long when you raise your hand or a small smile when you answer a question correctly— but it’s enough to make your cheeks grow hot. He leaves you little notes on the papers he turns back to you, too, and you save every last one of them. Study material. “You're smarter than most of my other students,” he praises, but you just giggle out a small "Thank you."

Professor!Logan is starting to catch on. Sitting in the front row, you're doing all sorts of things to catch his attention. Twirling your hair around your finger a little, biting the tip of your pen, crossing and uncrossing your legs. When he looks your way, you make sure to hold his stare, letting your eyes drop to his lips before flashing a small smile. After class, he orders you to stay behind, but you know this isn’t about the paper you turned in. “You’re not just interested in the material, are you, sweetheart?” When he walks around his desk, he doesn’t sit. Instead, he stands in front of you, towering, and you look up at him, keeping your eyes on his. “You’ve been distractin’ me for a while,” He steps closer, and your back presses against his desk, “You want me to show you what happens when I stop holdin’ back, darlin’?” His hand slides up your thigh, fingers brushing against the hem of your skirt, teasingly close to where you’ve been needing him all this time.

Professor!Logan knows you're back for more. He’s got his reading glasses perched on his nose, running his hands through the stack of papers in front of him, “This couldn’t wait until office hours?” he asks, not looking up as he marks a paper and flips to the next one. You take a slow step forward, shrugging, “No, I…” He looks up now, leaning back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I wanted some extra help.” Logan’s eyes narrow slightly. You swallowed, “I just need to understand the material you taught today better,” you said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your voice wavered. Logan chuckles softly, lips curling into a smirk, “Is that so, darlin’? Because from where I’m sitting, it seems like you’ve got a…” His eyes take you in, looking you up and down, “different kind of help in mind.”

Professor!Logan is usually calling you back to his office after a long lecture. You’re sitting on his desk, legs dangling over the edge as he stands between them, his hands running up your thighs. “You sure you understood everything, sweets?” His lips brush against your ear before he presses a kiss onto it. One of his large hands slips around your waist, his fingers pressed firmly on your back, pulling you closer to him. You nod, leaning into his touch. “That’s good,” his thumb brushes gently over your cheek as he tilts your face up to his, “Been thinking about you all day, you know that?” He murmurs. You nod again, barely able to find your voice as his thumb brushes over your lip, and the look in his eyes tells you he’s just started.

Professor!Logan likes to keep you around now. You walk down the hallway to his office, a hot cup of coffee in your hand. You noticed the light still on under his door and couldn’t help but think about him working alone, grading papers into the early hours. Knocking softly, you step inside when you hear his short “Come in.” When you do, Logan looks up from his laptop, brows raised in surprise before they rest as he smiles. “What’re you doin’ here this late, darlin’?” He sounded so tired. You hold out the cup, and he takes it from you, his hand lingering on yours. “Thought you could use this,” you murmur, watching as he takes a sip, his eyes never leaving yours. He sets the cup down on his desk and shakes his head, “Always lookin’ out for me, huh? Come here,” he pats his open lap, “Keep me company for a while.”

[colbychu]

trump dies of congestive heart failure before being sworn in charge to like cast to reblog

[colbychu]