marifilue

[marifilue]

Part 6: Thin Thread

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n.

Summary: You're an X-Men member with regenerative healing ability and skilled marksman. On a routine mission with the team things take a drastic turn when a mutant-inhibitor collar is forced onto you, leaving you vulnerable, unable to heal. With no quick fix in sight, Logan becomes your reluctant anchor, helping you get through each day as you fight to survive, unexpected bond with Logan begins to grow, one that becomes far stronger than either of you could imagine.

Warnings: Explicit language, Violence, Blood

WC: 7.7k

<- Part 5

The morning greeted you with a dull, relentless headache that pulsed at your temples, a buzzing ache that had been your unwelcome companion through the night. You’d tried ignoring it, relying on the painkillers Logan had slipped you last night, but the reprieve had been temporary. Now, as the sunlight filtered through your blinds, the ache roared back, louder than before.

You sat up in bed with a groan, pressing your fingers to your temples in a futile attempt to soothe the pain. A glance at the clock on the nightstand made your stomach drop. 9:00 a.m. Shit. You were supposed to be up an hour ago.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face to wake yourself up. The mirror reflected the exhaustion etched into your features—the dark circles under your eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead. You pushed the thought aside, finishing your routine quickly before heading downstairs for breakfast.

The kitchen was quiet, the usual chatter of students absent, leaving only the hum of the refrigerator to keep you company. You grabbed a bowl of cereal and sat at the counter, eating mechanically, the food doing little to ease the fog in your mind. By 10:00 a.m., you were already bored, the monotony of your restricted days weighing heavily on you.

With the collar limiting your abilities and activities, Charles had given you a break from teaching. “Take the time you need,” he’d said. You hadn’t argued. A day off, especially one where you weren’t feeling well, wasn’t something you’d pass up. But now, with nothing pressing to do, you found yourself wandering the halls aimlessly, searching for a distraction.

The library called to you like an old friend. The quiet space had always been a sanctuary for you, a place where the noise of the world faded into the rustle of pages and the scent of ink on paper. It wasn’t the same as your old life, back when you’d spent hours organizing shelves and helping readers find their next favorite story. But it was close enough.

You stepped inside, the familiar stillness wrapping around you like a warm blanket. The rows of books stretched out before you, their spines a comforting reminder of simpler times. Running your fingers along the shelves, you let your mind wander, the weight of the headache momentarily forgotten.

One title caught your eye: 1984 by George Orwell. Your fingers hesitated before plucking it from its place. The worn cover felt familiar under your touch, the pages yellowed with time. You’d read it before, years ago, but something about it called to you now. A story about control, about power, about losing oneself to forces greater than you, a theme that felt all too real these days.

Clutching the book to your chest, you left the library and stepped into the yard. The afternoon sunlight was bright but not overwhelming, the kind of warmth that invited you to linger. You found a quiet spot under a large oak tree, far enough from the students that you could sit undisturbed.

Settling into the grass, you opened the book, letting its familiar words draw you in. The headache still pulsed faintly at the back of your mind, but here, surrounded by nature and the quiet murmur of life around you, it felt manageable.

For a little while, at least, you could lose yourself in the pages, in the world Orwell had created, and let the weight of your own reality slip away.

••••••••••

The memories drifted through your mind like whispers from another life. You could still picture the shelves of your old job, rows upon rows of books arranged just how you liked, each with its own story, waiting to be found. You’d been happy there, in that quiet space, finding purpose in your work as a librarian. But your father had never seen it that way.

“Wasting your potential,” he’d say, the disgust clear in his voice. To him, every day you spent outside the military was another day you failed him. He couldn’t fathom why you’d choose books over bullets, college over combat.

You were supposed to follow in his footsteps. He’d trained you to handle a rifle from a young age, pushing you to perfect your aim until you could shoot as easily as you could breathe. He’d always wanted you to enlist. When you turned 18 and told him you wanted to study English, to build your life in your own way, the disappointment in his eyes had been searing.

Nine years passed. You’d found your own stability, your own peace, a steady job, an apartment you paid for yourself. You kept your distance from your parents, seeing them only on occasion, which kept the resentment at bay. But when you visited them that day, you hadn’t known your life would take a turn.

You still remembered the way your father had mentioned it over thanksgiving dinner, casual and offhanded, as if it were nothing. “I’ve got a friend coming over tonight. Wants to talk to you about an opportunity.”

That “friend” had turned out to be Dr. Emmy Killebrew, a name you would come to loathe. His glasses caught the light as he studied you, his expression unreadable but oddly pleased, like he’d found exactly what he was looking for.

“We’ve got a guy in the Marines who could use your particular skills,” he said. “It’s just a two-year contract, short and simple. Your family could really use the money.”

The words echoed back now, a dark, hollow promise that had lured you in. You’d wanted to help your parents; you’d agreed, believing it would be a standard military experience. Six months of training, intense, but doable. You thought you’d be home soon, maybe a little stronger, with stories to tell.

But instead, the injections had started.

There had been no way out once they began, no choice in the matter. They told you it was necessary, part of a new program to build “better soldiers.” You remembered the searing pain of each injection, the way it tore through your system, altering you, until you could feel it in your bones. Your father’s betrayal hit you harder than any training ever could. They’d manipulated your DNA, spliced it with something beyond human, the Wolverine's genetic material. You didn’t fully understand it at the time, but within weeks, your body began to change.

You were no longer just a soldier. You were a mutant, immortal, nearly indestructible. You could heal from any wound. The realization had terrified you. But to them, it was a success, proof that you were now a weapon, unbreakable, expendable, and no longer your own.

••••••••••

The sharp snap of fingers brought you back from the haze of your mind. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, the yard of the X-Mansion coming into focus around you. Afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows over the green grass. Logan was standing in front of where you were sitting, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re lost in there, varmint?” he asked, his gruff voice tinged with something like concern.

You scowled, brushing the memory away. “Stop calling me that.”

You stood up clutching the book, avoiding his gaze. The children in the yard caught your eye, some of them whispering to each other as they watched you. Some looked sympathetic, others fearful, their expressions reminding you of the weight of your condition. You glanced away, not wanting to see the pity in their eyes.

Without a word, you turned, walking toward the open expanse of the lawn, hoping Logan would leave you alone. But he didn’t. You heard his footsteps a few paces behind you, steady and unrelenting.

“Jean asked me to get you,” he said. “she and Hank needs to see you in the lab.”

You stopped, shoulders tensing. The last thing you wanted was to go back inside, to face whatever new test or evaluation they’d thought up for you. But you had no other choice. With a sigh, you turned, reluctantly heading toward the mansion. Logan kept his distance, letting you lead the way, but you could feel his presence, a steady shadow.

As you neared the doors, you heard more whispers from the students who lingered nearby. Their eyes followed you, wide and nervous. You caught a few of their words, murmurs of sympathy mixed with fear, as though they were hoping they’d never end up in your position.

Logan threw a sharp glance at the kids, his expression darkening. “Get back to class,” he ordered, and the whispers stopped instantly.

With clenched fists, wishing you could forget the eyes on you, forget the memories that still felt so fresh.

As you walked straight back to the library, the book still clutched in your hand. Logan followed close behind, his boots echoing against the polished floors. He couldn’t seem to help himself, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “Where are we going? They need to see you in the lab.”

“I’m putting the fucking book back!” you bit out, lifting the book over your shoulder for him to see without turning around. Your tone was sharp, your frustration bleeding through. You didn’t care if it sounded rude—your patience was wearing thin.

Logan snorted, clearly unfazed. “Shit, whaddya have for breakfast? Bees?”

You knit your eyebrows together, ignoring his remark as you pushed the library door open and stepped inside. “What do you care? Stop following me like I’m gonna fall on the floor any second,” you shot back, your words clipped.

Reaching the shelf where you’d found 1984, you slid the book back into its spot with more force than necessary. The neat rows of books, once soothing, only served to agitate you now. You turned on your heel, intent on leaving the library and Logan behind, but he wasn’t letting this go.

“You look like you’re about to,” he said, his tone dropping the playful edge and adopting something more serious.

You froze mid-step, glaring at him over your shoulder. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t move, just stood there watching you, his expression unreadable. Something in his gaze made you uneasy—not pity, but something close to concern, and it only made you want to push him further away. Without another word, you stormed out of the library, refusing to let him see how much his words rattled you.

As you walk through the mansion’s hall, you heard a small voice calling your name. It was familiar, one you’d heard just a few nights ago. You looked up, and there she was—Maya, the little girl you and the team had rescued from one of Killebrew’s facilities. She ran toward you, her short legs carrying her as fast as they could. Barely reaching your waist, she threw her arms around you in a tight hug.

Maya looked so much healthier than the day you’d found her, her face glowing with a newfound vitality. Smiling, you knelt to her height, returning her embrace with a gentle hand on her back.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her small voice laced with concern.

You managed a soft smile, touched by her care. “I’m okay, Maya. Do you like the school?”

Her face brightened, eyes sparkling with excitement. “I love it! I have two BFFs now! ‘Best friends forever,’ they said!” She beamed, and you reached out, stroking her cheek and running your fingers through her long hair. The relief of seeing her safe, healthy, and happy here filled you with a warmth you hadn’t expected.

"Yeah? What are their names?" You smile widely

"Ellie and Carter!" She exclaimed, announcing her new two BFFs to you.

“I’m happy to hear that, sweetheart,” you replied softly. You squeeze her shoulder gently. She glance down at the collar around your neck and place her tiny hand on the cold metal.

"What is this for?" She asked innocently. You sell her another smile this time didn't quite reach your eyes. "It's something like a necklace, but not a good necklace. I'm goin' to take them off." You told her reaching his arm on your collar. “I need to go now, okay?” You said as you rise from your knees.

Maya nodded, waving her tiny hand as she backed away. “Bye-bye!” she chirped, a sweet, innocent grin on her face. You waved back, matching her smile. “Bye, Maya.”

As she turned, she saw Logan standing a few steps behind, watching the two of you. She greeted him with a cheerful, “Bye, Mr. Howlett.”

He gave her a nod, his gruff voice softening as he replied, “Bye, kid.”

For a brief moment, you caught the look in Logan’s eyes as he watched Maya skip away down the hall. Something flickered there, a warmth, a tenderness. But as quickly as it appeared, he turned his attention back to you, that familiar, steely expression returning.

You walked through the winding halls of the X-Mansion, descending the staircase toward the basement. Logan was still following a few steps behind you. His heavy boots echoed softly against the polished floors, a constant reminder of his presence. You couldn’t help but wonder why he was trailing you. Surely, you could handle this on your own—Jean and Hank were waiting in the lab, and whatever test needed to be done, they had it covered.

Unless...did Hank need Logan for another one of those dangerous tests? The kind that required someone who could withstand extreme damage? You tried not to dwell on it, focusing instead on the approaching double doors.

••••••••••

As you entered the lab, the faint hum of machinery filled the air. Both Jean and Hank turned their heads as you arrived, their expressions tight with concentration. Jean offered a small, reassuring smile, but Hank’s focus was on a small device in his hand—a thin, rectangular chip that fit neatly between his fingers.

“Take a seat,” Hank instructed, gesturing to the chair in the center of the room.

You sat down, feeling Logan’s presence just a few feet away. He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, but his sharp eyes missed nothing. Always observing, ready to step in if needed.

Hank moved closer, holding the chip up for you to see. “This is the latest iteration. It’s designed to interface directly with the collar’s locking mechanism. If it works, it should override the suppressive controls.”

You nodded, a flicker of hope sparking in your chest. God, you wanted this to work. Four days of living with your powers suppressed, your body weakening, and that persistent ache in your head, it had been pure misery. You gritted your teeth, refusing to let the desperation show, but deep down, all you wanted was an end to this nightmare.

Jean placed a comforting hand on your shoulder as Hank moved closer to the collar. “Just stay still,” she murmured.

“Got it,” you replied, your voice steady despite the tension tightening your throat.

Hank worked carefully, sliding the chip into the thin slot along the collar’s edge. The device emitted a faint beep as it connected, and the three of you waited, watching and listening for any sign of change. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours. The collar remained silent.

Hank frowned, his brows furrowing as he adjusted the device. Still nothing. “Come on,” he muttered under his breath, his tone tinged with frustration. He pulled back slightly, checking his equipment. Jean leaned over to assist him, her telekinetic abilities lifting tools to his side as they inspected the chip.

“Is it supposed to take this long?” Logan’s gravelly voice broke the silence.

“It shouldn’t,” Hank admitted, his voice tight. “But these things are notoriously difficult to bypass. I thought—” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “I thought this would work.”

You sat there, staring ahead as the hope you’d clung to began to fade. Jean placed her hand on your shoulder again, her touch firm but comforting. “We’ll figure this out,” she said softly, though the strain in her voice betrayed her own frustration.

“I know,” you said flatly, your hands gripping the edges of the chair. You exhaled slowly, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Hank straightened, looking genuinely apologetic. “I’ll go back to the drawing board. There’s still more we can try—”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “Not today. I need...I just need a break.” You said as bringing your finger again to rub your temple.

Jean and Hank exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond. Logan, however, stepped forward, his sharp gaze locking on yours. “Then take one,” he said simply. “You don’t have to sit here feeling sorry for yourself. Hank’ll figure it out. You just focus on holding up until then.”

It wasn’t the most comforting thing anyone had ever said to you, but somehow, it helped. You nodded, slowly standing from the chair. “Let me know if you make any progress,” you said to Hank and Jean before heading toward the door.

Logan didn’t say anything as he followed you out, but the quiet strength of his presence was enough to steady you, at least for now.

••••••••••

You paced back and forth in the kitchen, the glass of water in your hand trembling slightly as you brought it to your lips. The headache was relentless, a dull thrum that echoed with every beat of your heart. You knew the painkillers Logan had given you earlier had worn off, but you weren’t about to ask for another. Not with him looming behind you like an immovable shadow.

Logan leaned against the counter, silent but watchful, his arms crossed over his chest. His presence only added to your growing irritation. You didn’t need his pity, and you certainly didn’t need him following you around like some overprotective watchdog.

The sound of footsteps broke the tense silence as Storm walked into the kitchen. She glanced between you and Logan, her expression curious but calm. “Good, you’re both here,” she said, her voice firm but warm. “Charles wants us in the meeting room. It’s important.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples as if the motion could banish the ache in your head. “Can’t it wait?” you muttered.

Storm’s gaze softened slightly, but her tone remained resolute. “It’s urgent.”

Logan pushed off the counter, his boots scuffing against the floor as he straightened. “Let’s go, varmint,” he said gruffly, his tone almost teasing. Almost.

You shot him a glare but said nothing, setting the glass down with more force than necessary before following Storm out of the kitchen. Logan trailed behind you, his heavy footsteps matching yours as the three of you made your way to the meeting room.

As the three of you walked down the hall toward the meeting room, Ororo turned her head slightly, her brow arching in curiosity. “What is a varmint?” she asked, directing the question toward you.

You shrugged, your tone dry. “I don’t know. Ask Logan.”

Ororo’s gaze shifted to Logan, who smirked and muttered your name. “She is. She’s a varmint.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Ororo’s lips quirked up as she observed the exchange. Something in the way Logan’s smirk lingered and the way you rolled your eyes told her everything she needed to know. You two were a fifty-year-old and a hundred-seventy-year-old mutant, yet somehow, the two of you bickered like high schoolers.

She chuckled softly, the sound low enough for only the two of you to hear. Both of you snapped your heads toward her, your glares sharp enough to cut through steel.

“What’s so funny, ‘Ro?” Logan growled, his tone defensive. “Nothing,” Ororo said smoothly, though the amused glint in her eyes betrayed her. “Absolutely nothing.” You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “Didn’t sound like nothing.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed with a knowing smile, turning her attention back to the hallway. “Let’s not keep the others waiting, shall we?”

Logan muttered something under his breath, and you let out an annoyed huff, but neither of you pressed further, though the irritation simmered between you like static electricity. Ororo, on the other hand, kept her quiet amusement to herself, thinking that perhaps this tension was more entertaining than it should have been.

•••••••••

The meeting room was brightly lit, the long table surrounded by familiar faces. Professor Xavier sat at the head, his serene expression tinged with quiet determination. Ororo took a seat to his left, while Scott stood at the opposite end, a tablet in his hand. Logan pulled out a chair next to you and sat down, his proximity both grounding and irritating.

Scott cleared his throat, tapping the tablet to project an image onto the wall behind him. It was a grainy photo of a familiar figure: Dr. Emmy Killebrew.

“We’ve got a lead,” Scott began, his voice clipped and professional. “Killebrew was spotted in Manhattan last night. Intel suggests he’s attending a private gala tomorrow night, hosted by the Manhattan Medical Research Society.”

“What kind of gala?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

“A high-profile event for medical professionals,” Scott explained. “The guest list includes pharmaceutical executives, genetic researchers, and biotech innovators. Killebrew’s name wasn’t on the list, but sources confirm he’ll be there.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Logan asked, his tone low but focused.

Scott glanced at the professor, who nodded before continuing. “We’ll infiltrate the gala and confront Killebrew directly. The goal is to extract information—discreetly if possible, but we’re prepared to use more... aggressive measures if necessary.”

You shifted in your seat, the headache pounding harder with every word. Before you could stop yourself, the question slipped out. “Do you even need me for the mission?”

The room fell silent. All eyes turned to you, and for a moment, you wished you could take the words back. But you didn’t. You held your ground, even as Scott’s expression hardened.

“No,” Scott said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This mission requires precision and subtlety, and you’re not in any condition to—”

“Then why am I even in this meeting?” you interrupted, your voice rising. Frustration flared, both at Scott’s dismissal and the relentless pounding in your head. “If you’re not going to let me help, maybe just leave me out of it!”

“Enough,” Xavier’s calm voice cut through the tension like a knife. His gaze was steady, his tone gentle but authoritative. “You’re here because this mission involves a key figure in your past, and we believe you deserve to be informed. That said, Scott is correct. This is not a mission you should undertake.”

Your hands curled into fists under the table. You wanted to argue, to demand that they let you go, but the professor’s words left little room for debate. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, exhaling sharply as the tension in the room eased slightly.

Scott continued, his focus shifting back to the group. “Logan, Ororo, and I will handle the infiltration. Jean will provide remote support. The priority is information. We need to know what Killebrew’s planning and if he’s connected to any larger operations.”

You tried to focus on Scott’s words, but the room felt stifling. The headache pulsing in your skull grew sharper, your breaths shallow. The walls seemed closer, the lights too bright.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cut through Scott’s explanation, and you stood abruptly, the scrape of your chair echoing in the room.

“I—uh—please continue,” you said, your tone soft but hurried. “I just need some air.”

Without waiting for a response, you stepped out of the room, your pace quickening as the door slid shut behind you.

Logan’s gaze didn’t leave you, his eyes locked on the door long after you’d disappeared. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered behind his sharp features.

Outside, you leaned against the cool wall, closing your eyes and focusing on your breathing. The tension in your chest loosened slightly, but the frustration remained. You hated the way they dismissed you, how powerless you felt, and most of all, how much you wanted to prove them wrong.

Back inside the room, Scott exchanged a brief glance with Logan. “We should move on,” he said, though his voice held a tinge of unease.

Logan didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening. Finally, he muttered, “You all know she’s tougher than you think,” before shifting his attention back to the plan, though his thoughts lingered elsewhere.

•••••••

The equipment room was filled with the familiar scent of gun oil and steel. It was your refuge, the one place you could let your thoughts quiet and just be. You moved between the racks, your fingers grazing the cool metal of various firearms until you stopped at the DSR-1.

You grabbed the rifle, hefting its weight and feeling the sting in your side flare. The dull ache from the wound still hadn’t eased after four days, making you limp slightly as you adjusted the weapon in your hands.

“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath, the frustration bubbling up as you hung the sniper rifle back on its rack. Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Logan stepped into the room, his presence unmistakable. “Knew I'd find you here” he said, with voice low and steady.

Your focus was on the DSR-1 still on its rack. “I was on sniper duty with this gal,” you said, your tone distant. “DSR-One. Guarding George H.W. Bush. Back in the 90s.”

Logan raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting you continue.

“He was visiting New York. I was stationed on one of the tallest buildings, just watching, waiting for a threat.” You traced a finger along the rifle’s edge. “Long hours. Quiet, but tense.”

Logan nodded slightly, his eyes not leaving you. After a moment of silence, he spoke. “If you really want to go on the mission tomorrow... I could convince the team. As long as you’re under my watch.”

You froze for a second, the offer catching you off guard. It wasn’t what you expected from him. Intriguing, maybe even tempting. After all, it was a simple gala—just find Killebrew and get information. You’d already thought of ways to hide the collar, like covering it with a scarf.

But reality set in as quickly as the idea tempted you. You shook your head, more at yourself than at him. “No, that’s dumb. I can’t risk the team any further.”

Your gaze landed on a Mini Uzi. Its compact frame was sleek and practical, perfect for your current state. You picked it up, sighting down the barrel with ease, satisfied with how manageable it felt.

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he could see through the lie you just told yourself. “Well,” he said with a shrug, “I just thought you could use a night out.” His nonchalance was infuriating and, somehow, comforting.

“Ridiculous,” you muttered, shaking your head at his suggestion, though you couldn’t deny the flicker of interest it sparked in you.

Logan smirked faintly, stepping aside as you moved toward the door. “Just say the word.”

You shot him a look "No." As you kept walking, heading to the indoor shooting range.

The muffled echo of gunfire filled the indoor shooting range as you fired the Mini Uzi, each shot sharp and precise. Your arms were steady, the stance you’d perfected over years of experience still second nature. The paper target at the far end of the range was riddled with neat, tight clusters—proof that, even with an annoying wound and a relentless headache, your accuracy remained impeccable.

Logan leaned against the doorframe behind you, arms crossed as he watched in silence. His eyes weren’t just on your shooting. If eye-fucking were a crime, Logan would’ve been guilty without a trial. The way you stood, with both arms raised, your figure outlined by the loose t-shirt tucked into your jeans, the sweats on the back of your neck made Logan notice a visible mark there.

With your hair in high ponytail, he stare the mark, it was a tattoo. But also looked like some codenames, he can't see clearly but they're a few bunch of random numbers. It held his attention far longer than it should have.

The faint dip of your waist, the slight shift in your stance as you adjusted between rounds—it drove him mad in a way he couldn’t quite name, and the way those jeans hugging your hips didn’t help. He’d never admit it aloud, but he’d lost track of how long he’d been staring.

The last of the bullets left the barrel, the magazine clicking empty. You lowered the Uzi and set it down, your hand instinctively rubbing at your temple. The gunshots noise didn't exactly help your headache, in fact they're worsen now.

“You should really ask Jean to look into those migraines,” Logan said, breaking the silence. His voice was flat, casual, but his eyes hadn’t softened from their earlier intensity.

You jumped slightly, startled by his presence. “It’s not a migraine. Just a headache,” you snapped, dismissing him as you turned to put the Uzi back in its place. “What are you still doing here?”

“Watching,” Logan said, shrugging lazily. “I like guns.”

You turned a sharp look over your shoulder. “No, you don’t. They’re not even your style.”

He smirked, the kind of smirk that made you want to wipe it off his face—or kiss it off. You couldn’t decide which. “Who are you to judge what my style is?” he countered smoothly.

You rolled your eyes, turning away again as you began walking out of the shooting range. He followed, his boots heavy on the floor behind you.

“Oh boy, does It not written all over your face,” you said, voice clipped but teasing.

“Really?” Logan asked, his tone carrying a challenge now. “Tell me, then. What is it?”

You stopped abruptly, swinging around to face him, your hands on your hips. His sudden stillness told you he wasn’t expecting you to turn.

“You think guns are toys,” you said evenly, holding his gaze. “A joke.”

Logan didn’t reply immediately, his expression unreadable. You could see a flicker of recognition in his eyes, though. Part of what you’d said rang true, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Guns weren’t his style—they never had been. He’d always relied on raw power, his claws, and the ferocity that came naturally to him.

“You don’t respect them,” you continued, your tone a little sharper now. “You think they’re a quick fix, a lazy shortcut. Like pulling a trigger is the easy way out instead of doing the work. You think it’s all about power, but you don’t understand what it takes to handle a weapon. Guns are precise. They’re not for show. They’re tools for survival. But you, you think they're some kind of crutch. You think they’re for people who can't fight their own battles face to face.”

You paused, watching his reaction. He didn’t say anything, but you could feel his resistance, like you were pushing him into a corner he didn’t want to be in. “Thought so,” you muttered, half to yourself, but you knew he’d heard.

But there was something about the way you held them, the precision in your movements, that gave him pause. He didn’t know if it was respect, admiration, or something much more dangerous but whatever it was, it had him hooked.

His eyes lingering on your retreating form. You didn’t look back, but you felt his gaze like a weight on your shoulders.

He stood there for a moment longer, trying to decide whether to chase after you or let you go. But then he finds another reason to jab about, to chase you again wherever you go this time. He wants you to get checked. He's worried, or maybe even cares in the oddest way.

••••••••••

As Logan followed you into the medbay, the sharp scent of antiseptic stung your nose, mingling with the sterile chill of the room. You moved with purpose, throwing open cupboards and rummaging through their contents with a single-minded desperation. Your fingers tore through boxes and bottles, pushing aside anything that wasn’t what you were looking for.

Painkillers. That was all you needed.

The buzzing ache in your skull was relentless, a cruel reminder of your vulnerability. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt anything like it. Not after being thrown across war zones, not after enduring blasts that should’ve killed you. Back then, nothing had fazed you. But now, your head throbbed, sharp and insistent, as if mocking you for being weak.

Behind you, Logan entering the room, observing the frustration clear all over your face. His sharp eyes followed your frantic movements. He hated to ask, but he could see it—the way your hands shook as they rifled through the shelves, the tension radiating from your rigid posture.

“Are you okay?” His gravelly voice broke through the silence, laced with something unfamiliar: concern.

You didn’t stop, didn’t even look at him. “No!” you snapped, your voice sharp and raw. “Fuck, this headache is driving me crazy. I… I can’t even” You broke off, shoving another drawer closed with more force than necessary.

You kept moving, invading every inch of the inventory as frustration clawed at your chest. “Where the fuck is it?” you muttered, your voice trembling with barely restrained anger.

Logan stepped further into the room, his boots heavy against the tile. He scanned the shelves calmly, his sharp instincts making it easy to locate the bottle you so desperately needed. Without a word, he pulled it from its place and turned toward you.

“I can’t fucking do this anymore,” you said, your voice cracking as you slammed another drawer shut. “I hate it. I hate being h-” Before you could finish the sentence, a sting in your throat deepened, and for a moment, you froze, your hand gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself.

Logan stepped closer, holding the bottle of pills in front of you. “Here,” he said simply, his tone steady.

You glanced down at his hand, at the label reading Painkillers, but didn’t reach for it. The tears you’d fought so hard to hold back began to blur your vision. Logan’s eyes met yours, his gaze unwavering, and something in the quiet strength of it made the walls you’d built start to crumble.

“You hate what?” he asked, his voice softer now, coaxing. His eyes stayed locked on yours, searching for an answer you were barely holding onto.

Your throat tightened, and you shook your head, your hand finally trembling as it took the bottle from him. “I hate being human,” you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

There it was. The admission hung heavy in the air, as raw and unfiltered as the tears that threatened to spill.

Logan didn’t flinch. He didn’t pity you. Instead, he nodded slightly, like he understood. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady. “But bein’ human ain’t all bad.”

You scoffed bitterly, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand before they could betray you further. “Feels like it is right now.”

He leaned against the counter, his rough exterior softening just a little. “Bein' human is bearable, when you don’t have to carry this alone, y’know. Let someone help for once.”

You looked at him, startled by the sincerity in his tone. His expression was unreadable, but the weight of his words lingered, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I’ll think about it,” you muttered, shaking a pill from the bottle into your hand and swallowing it dry.

“Good,” he said simply, straightening up. He stayed close as you leaned against the counter, waiting for the pain to ebb. “You needs to get checked for those headaches.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” you said quickly, hoping to end the conversation. Logan wasn’t having it. “What about tonight? After dinner.”

“Why the rush?” you shot back, trying to mask the fear bubbling beneath the surface. The idea of knowing made your stomach churn. You weren’t ready for answers, not yet.

“The sooner we know, the better,” Logan muttered your name, his voice gentler this time., and the way he said it made the tension in your chest tighten.

You didn’t respond immediately, letting his words hang in the air between you. Part of you wanted to argue, to push back, but the quiet insistence in his tone softened your defenses. “C’mon,” he urged, his voice low and coaxing. “I’ll keep you company.”

“What if Hank asks you to be the guinea pig for another experiment? I bet you won't be there.” you asked playfully, recalling the last time he got jolted by the electricity from your collar.

Logan’s lip twitched, but his tone was reassuring. “I don’t care. I’d still be there.” You raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “Did you secretly enjoy it? Being electrocuted?” He scoffed, his head tilting slightly as he shot you a deadpan look.

“Ha! Knew it! I knew you’d be one of those freaky masochists,” you teased, slapping his shoulder lightly with the back of your hand.

“That’s a little far-fetched, don’t ya think?” he grumbled, avoiding your playful accusation, though the corner of his mouth twitched in the faintest smirk.

The brief exchange pulled a smile from you, easing some of the tension lingering between you two.

With a heavy sigh, you finally relented. “Fine, after dinner.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his gaze never leaving yours. The intensity of it made you break the contact first, looking down as you pushed away from the counter. “I’ll see ya,” he said, his voice almost teasing but laced with relief.

You nodded, your throat tight as you headed toward the door. “See you,” you murmured, stepping out of the medbay and making your way to your room, trying not to think about what you’d just agreed to.

••••••••••

The team gathered around the long dining table, a comforting spread of food filling the air with warmth and familiarity. Charles was at the head, his serene expression softening as he listened to Hank animatedly discuss a recent breakthrough in his research. Scott interjected occasionally with skeptical questions, while Jean tried to keep the conversation light. Ororo added her own input with quiet humor, her calm presence a counterbalance to the lively exchange.

Logan sat across from you, his usual gruff demeanor softened by the glow of the evening. He wasn’t much of a talker during meals, but his sharp gaze flickered to yours more times than you could count. You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on picking at your food and chiming in when necessary.

“Logan, you ever consider shaving that beard?” Scott asked, smirking as he sipped his drink.

Logan raised an eyebrow, chewing deliberately before answering. “You ever consider mindin’ your own business?”

The table erupted into laughter, Ororo shaking her head as Charles chuckled lightly.

“You two are like oil and water,” Jean teased, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Logan’s gaze flicked to you again, and you felt your stomach tighten. He was watching you more than he should, and it wasn’t helping the creeping anxiety in the back of your mind.

The meal ended too soon for your liking, and as the others began to drift away, you found yourself trying to stall. Rising to your feet, you looked to Ororo, who was gathering plates. “Here, let me help with the dishes,” you offered quickly.

Ororo raised a brow but handed you a stack. “If you insist.”

Jean passed by, placing her glass in the sink. “Don’t forget about your check-up,” she reminded you, her voice tinged with gentle concern.

You hesitated, focusing on the plates in your hands. “I’ll be there in fifteen,” you said, keeping your tone light.

Logan knew immediately what you were doing. He's still sitting by the dinner table, his arms crossed. “You can’t keep puttin’ this off.”

“I’m not putting it off,” you replied briskly, focusing on scrubbing a plate. “It’s just a little delay. Fifteen minutes won’t kill anyone.”

Ororo glanced between you and Logan, sensing the charged air. She gave you a knowing look, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she patted your shoulder. “Alright,” she said lightly, though her eyes lingered on yours. “I’ll let you two talk. Maybe Logan can help with the dishes instead of lecturing you.”

The air grew heavier the moment Ororo left, leaving just you and Logan.

“You’re scared,” he said, his tone calm but insistent.

You clenched your jaw, scrubbing harder at the dish in your hand. “I’m not scared. I just don’t like being in that lab. It’s not exactly my idea of a fun night.”

“You’re lying to yourself,” Logan pressed, standing from his seat. “You’ve been draggin’ your feet on this. What are you so afraid of?” He said as he walk closer.

You turned to glare at him, your fingers still gripping the sponge tightly. “I’m not afraid of anything, Logan. I just—”

“You just what?” he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “You’re tougher than anyone else, but right now, you’re actin’ like a damn coward.”

The word hit you like a punch to the gut, and you slammed the dish back into the sink. “Coward? Do you have any idea what it’s like to think something might be wrong with you? To not be able to fix it? To not even want to know because you’re terrified of what you’ll find out?”

Logan didn’t flinch, his eyes boring into yours. “So, admit it. You’re scared.”

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. The vulnerability was suffocating, but his relentless gaze refused to let you off the hook. Finally, you exhaled shakily, your voice breaking.

“Yes I'm fucking scared!” you confessed. “For the first time in my life, I’m scared...”

The silence that followed was heavy, the kind that pulled you under and made it hard to breathe. Logan stared at you, his expression caught somewhere between shock and something softer.

“Then let them help you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Do this for the sake of yourself, you deserve to know.”

His words struck a chord, and you glanced away, blinking back the sting of tears. “I don’t know if I can handle it, Logan.”

“You can,” he said firmly, stepping closer. Muttering your name with his gravely voice. “And you will. C’mon, finish up here, and we’ll head to the lab.”

You sighed, picking up the sponge again.

Logan stayed close, leaning against the counter as you finished your task. His presence was grounding, even as your nerves buzzed with the weight of what was to come.

When the last dish was placed on the drying rack, Logan gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Let’s go.”

You nodded reluctantly, wiping your hands on a towel. As you walked toward the medbay, his steady presence at your side, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of fear and comfort. Whatever the outcome, you wouldn’t face it alone.

The lab was dimly lit, the hum of machinery filling the quiet air. Jean gestured for you to take a seat near the MRI machine, her expression calm but tinged with concern. You followed her instructions, lying back and allowing the machine to begin its scan. The cool metal beneath you felt impersonal, amplifying the knot in your stomach.

Halfway through the procedure, Hank and Charles entered the room. Their quiet murmurs with Jean were a background noise you tried to tune out. As the scan concluded, you sat up, waiting in tense silence while the machine processed the data.

Fifteen minutes passed like hours. You stared blankly at the ceiling, your mind a mess of chaotic thoughts. Across the room, Jean and Hank hovered over the printed results, their conversation too quiet to hear. You could see the shift in their expressions—the furrow of Hank’s brow, the way Jean’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Your chest tightened when their eyes flicked to you, their gazes heavy with hesitation. Jean finally walked the results over to Charles, who studied the scan in silence. He didn’t look up, his expression grim.

Logan, standing off to the side, watched the exchange. His body tensed as he stepped closer to the group, his voice low but demanding. “What’s goin’ on?”

Jean glanced at him, her words too soft for you to catch. Whatever she said made Logan’s expression darken, his jaw tightening as his eyes flicked toward you. Sympathy radiated from his gaze, and you hated it.

You couldn’t sit still any longer. You stood, your movements stiff as you approached the group. “What is it?” Your voice was sharp, demanding an answer.

Jean turned to you, the scan in her hands. She hesitated, as if weighing how to say what she needed to. “There’s... a glioma. A mass of cells growing around the right side of your brain.”

Your breath caught. “It’s a damn cancer, isn’t it?” you asked flatly, cutting through her attempt at a gentle explanation.

Jean glanced back at Hank and Charles for support. The professor moved forward in his wheelchair, his tone measured but serious. “Yes. We believe it’s a brain tumor.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Your voice came out hollow, stripped of emotion. “How long do I have left?”

Hank adjusted his glasses, clearly uncomfortable as he answered. “Approximately six months.”

Charles rolled closer, his gaze steady. “We’ll find a way through this. Don’t you worry,” he assured you, his voice calm but filled with determination.

Your chest tightened, your breathing shallow. The words felt distant, like they were happening to someone else. You wanted to break down, to cry or scream, but all you felt was a cold hollowness.

Logan moved to your side, his presence grounding even as your world spiraled. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, his hand brushing yours for the briefest moment.

“You’re not facing this alone,” he muttered, his voice gruff but steady.

You couldn’t meet his gaze, afraid of what you’d see there. Instead, you stared down at the scan in Jean’s hands, the shadow of the tumor a stark reminder of what was coming.

“I’m dying,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.

Jean stepped closer, her voice gentle but firm. “We’ll do everything we can to fight this. You’re not out of options.”

But you barely heard her. All you could feel was the weight of the diagnosis settling in, an immovable force pressing down on your chest. Logan’s hand finally rested lightly on your shoulder, the simple touch anchoring you just enough to keep you from falling apart.

For now.

Part 7 ->

[marifilue]

Guess who just updated the 7 chapters up to 10 chapters. Sorry not sorry people, I loveeee to write another dozens words of stolen glances and yearning. Anyway here's my newest edit

Part 1: New Guy In Town

Part 2: A Mission For Rogue

Part 3: Glimpse Of The Past

Part 4: Bound and Fading

Part 5: Losing Ground

Part 6: Thin Thread

Part 7: Silent Wars

Part 8: Edge Of Mortality

Part 9: Breaking Chains

Part 10: What Remained Of Us

Read here!

[marifilue]

Part 5: Losing Ground

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n.

Summary: You're an X-Men member with regenerative healing ability and skilled marksman. On a routine mission with the team things take a drastic turn when a mutant-inhibitor collar is forced onto you, leaving you vulnerable, unable to heal. With no quick fix in sight, Logan becomes your reluctant anchor, helping you get through each day as you fight to survive, unexpected bond with Logan begins to grow, one that becomes far stronger than either of you could imagine.

Warnings: Explicit language, Violence, Blood

WC: 7,2k

<- Part 4

A piercing, sterile light blurred above as you slowly blinked your eyes open, the muffled sound of voices filtering through the haze of your mind. Groggily, you raised a hand to shield yourself from the brightness, every muscle heavy and weak. Your throat was parched, lips dry and chapped, you swallow your saliva, wincing at the faint soreness that pulsed through your body.

Jean’s face soon appeared above you, her gaze gentle but assessing. "How are you feeling?” she asked, her tone soft yet concerned.

“Thirsty, actually,” you murmured, voice raspy. Feeling the dehydration, when is the last time you drink water, you pushed yourself and tried to sit since the headache from laying too long start taking it's toll. You noticed the IV in your hand. The sight of needle strapped trough your skin made your stomach twist uncomfortably, and you instinctively tried to tug your arm away.

“You’ve been out for about nine hours,” Jean explained, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder to steady you. “It’s seven in the morning now.”

Before you could respond, Hank’s voice caught your attention from across the room. “The collar,” he said with a slight frown, eyeing it with a mixture of fascination and concern. “It has a far more advanced protection mechanism than the ones I’ve dealt with before.”

He approached, adjusting his glasses as he examined it carefully. “I’ll need more time to determine how to disable it safely, without risking harm to you… or anyone nearby. Be careful not to accidently made skin contact with it, for now.”

A small grumble from your stomach made Jean chuckle softly, her gaze shifting back to you. You looked up at her, gesturing toward the IV with a faint grimace. “Can you take this out? I think I could really use a real food.”

Just then, the medbay door swung open, and Logan strode in, wearing a brown flannel tugged into his jeans with huge belt clasping around. You wonder how long did he spent Infront of the mirror with that hairstyle every morning, his usual gruff expression softening slightly as he took in the sight of you awake. Jean smiled, nodding at him. “Logan, could you bring her some breakfast?”

Before he could reply, you interjected quickly, “Can I eat in the kitchen instead? I…uh I don’t really want to eat in here.” Your gaze fell to the sterile surfaces, the clinical smell thick in the air, a sharp reminder of past memories you'd rather forget.

Jean glanced at Hank, who gave a brief nod of approval. “Alright,” he said, understanding in his gaze. “But take it slow.” With that reassurance, Jean turned back to you, gently taking hold of your arm.

“Let me take the IV out before you go,” she said, her tone calm and steady. You watched as she reached for a small gauze pad, her movements precise and careful. She placed it gently against your skin, then pulled the IV needle out in one smooth motion, pressing the gauze over the tiny puncture to stop any bleeding. “There we go,” she murmured, applying a bit of tape to hold the gauze in place. “All set.” You exhaled, feeling a small wave of relief as the IV was finally out.

Logan moved to help you, extending an arm, but you waved him off, determined to make it on your own. Despite the slight limp, you pushed yourself forward, refusing his support even as he trailed close behind, his expression a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. As always, you couldn’t help but meet his silent offer of help with a stubborn sense of independence.

“Good morning to you too, varmint,” Logan greeted with his gruff voice, the new nickname slipping off his tongue with a smirk. You shot him a look, eyebrows furrowed. “What did you just call me?”

“Varmint,” he replied with a casual shrug. You narrowed your eyes, clearly puzzled. “What the hell is that?” You said, clearly having a hard time taking a step by step, but refuse to visibly show the struggle.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You don’t know what a varmint is? You sure you’re a marksman?” You rolled your eyes, correcting him with a quick retort. “Markswoman, this is the twentieth century.”

The teasing banter, even first thing in the morning, was so typical of you two, and Logan couldn’t help but enjoy it. But beneath the back-and-forth, he noticed every wince and shift of discomfort in your steps. Watching you push forward despite the obvious pain stirred a mix of pride and concern in him. He knew better than to offer again, yet every step you took, each moment you hid a grimace, tugged at him, wishing he could do more if only you’d let him.

All he could do now was stay close, ready in case you faltered, even as he watched you struggle with that damn stubborn streak he’d come to admire, and maybe even care for, a little too much.

Despite the high walls you kept around yourself, you couldn’t help but think about last night, the way Logan had stayed by your side, squeezing your arm gently as Jean stitched you up, how comforting and reassuring it was from him. You still hadn’t properly thanked him, but you’d get to that later. A flicker of appreciation settled deep down, where you rarely let anything get through. His story lingered, too, a shadow of a memory you couldn’t quite shake, making you wonder just how many other stories he had tucked away, left untold from fragments of a life lived through wars and loss.

Trying to shake off the thought, you refocused and glanced over at him. “What is a varmint, anyway?” you asked, as you stepped into the kitchen. You opened the fridge, feeling his presence behind you as he leaned against the counter. Logan’s eyes glinted with that trademark mischievous look. “I’ll let you figure it out. Where’s the fun in just tellin’ you?”

You gave him an unamused look, already making a mental note to Google it later. Turning back to the fridge, you grabbed a potato and a carton of eggs, shoving them directly into Logan’s hands. “Chop chop, mutton chops, you’re cooking. Mashed potatoes and scrambled egg.” you said, closing the fridge door with a smirk and easing into a chair, chugging a glass of water to freshen up your throat, relieved to take some of the weight off as the pain from walking flared again.

Logan chuckled, eyeing the ingredients in his hands. He shook his head, but there was a faint smile playing on his face. The comfort of the moment settled around you, and for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to relax, even if just a little.

Logan set the eggs and potatoes on the counter, rolling up his sleeves with the look of someone gearing up for a challenge. He glanced over at you, eyebrows raised. “So…mashed potatoes and scrambled eggs, huh? Easy enough.”

You leaned back. “Just make sure to wash the potato first before you start peeling.” He paused, giving you a look as if to say Really? but followed through, rinsing the potato under the tap before he started peeling it with a bit more force than necessary. The way he handled it was almost comically rough, chunks of potato skin flying in every direction. You held back a laugh, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“What?” he muttered, glancing over. “Nothin,” you said, still holding back a smile. “Just…careful not to take off half the potato with the skin.”

He grunted, focusing intently on the task, but when it came time to mash the potato, he just dumped the chunks into a bowl and started mashing with a fork. Before he could pour in a carton of milk into the pan which he almost do, you warned him, quickly gesturing toward the pan. “Wait! Butter first. You don’t want to dry out the potato.”

Logan shot you an exasperated look but stopped, grabbing the butter and slapping a hunk of it into the pan a bit clumsily. He went to pour in the milk, but you cleared your throat again, eyes widening as he looked over. “What now?”

“Butter…then the milk. It mixes smoother that way,” you explained, the amusement in your voice barely contained. Logan gave a small, amused shake of his head, muttering something under his breath. “I knew you’d be a backseat chef.”

“Only because I’d like to avoid a disaster,” you replied, raising an eyebrow as he half-glared at you with a smirk. He continued to stumble his way through the basics, cracking eggs with more shell fragments than you’d ever seen and stirring the scrambled eggs a little too vigorously, sending bits of yolk flying. All the while, you couldn’t stop yourself from correcting him, feeling oddly comfortable as you did. Logan was an absolute disaster in the kitchen, and seeing him out of his element like this was almost endearing.

Eventually, he managed to get the eggs and potatoes onto plates, and he set one down in front of you, leaning against the counter with a triumphant grin. “Not bad, huh?” he said, crossing his arms.

You eyed the slightly burnt edges of the eggs and lumpy potatoes, your amusement evident. “Not bad, exactly,” you teased, taking a bite and managing to hide a grimace. “It's closer to inedible than it is to edible, kinda.” Logan chuckled, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Oh, you think you could do better?”

“Definitely,” you replied, a spark of challenge in your gaze. The banter, the little corrections, his quiet grumbling, it all felt natural, easy. And as you ate, you caught him watching you, a warmth in his gaze that softened his rough edges. It was a strange moment, one you hadn’t expected, but the quiet rhythm of it felt like something you could get used to, even if you’d never admit it.

After a few bites you decided to fill your glass with some orange juice from the fridge. Pushing yourself out of the chair a bit too quickly, a sudden, sharp pain shot through your side, freezing you in place. You tried to brush it off, but Logan was already watching, his eyes narrowing as he took in your discomfort.

“Just sit down,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Whaddya want to drink?" You sighed in frustration, muttering a few choice words under your breath as you lowered yourself back into the chair. “Orange juice,” you grumbled, arm clutching your side.

Logan poured the juice for you, setting the glass down beside your plate with a smug smirk. “Happy?” You gave him a reluctant nod, still annoyed but appreciating his help, even if you wouldn’t admit it.

As you both back to sit quietly eating, a thought lingered at the back of your mind. Eventually, you cleared your throat, looking down at your plate. “Thank you…for last night,” you said, hoping to keep the gratitude brief and to the point.

But Logan wouldn’t let it slide that easily. He let out a low chuckle, and you glanced up, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What?” you asked, not sure what he found so funny. He grinned, his tone teasing. “You almost sound like every woman in a bar after spendin' a night with me.”

You rolled your eyes, regretting the thank you instantly. “Ew, gross. You know what? I take it back. I forgive you.” Logan looked genuinely amused and a little puzzled. “Forgive me? For what?”

“For crossing my personal space and boundaries,” you replied with mock indignation. “You carried me without my consent.” Logan chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh, you sure you don't want to sue me as well while you're in it?”

You gave him a wicked smile. “I’m considering it.” He shook his head, laughing, but beneath the banter, there was a hint of something softer, a rare moment of mutual understanding that neither of you needed to put into words. For now, the teasing would do just fine.

As you took another sip of juice, Hank and Professor Xavier entered the kitchen, their faces set with a hint of urgency. Hank’s eyes settled on you, then shifted to the collar around your neck. “I’ll need to run some additional tests on that collar of yours,” he explained. “It’s… more complex than I’d hoped. I want to apply a temporary layer that could block any accidental shocks, but for safety… well, I could use some assistance.”

His gaze landed on Logan, who arched an eyebrow, clearly not thrilled but not surprised either. “What?, you need me to play your guinea pig?” Logan drawled, voice a low rumble.

“Something like that,” Hank replied, a faint smile betraying his own unease. “Your healing factor can handle the worst of the shocks if the layer doesn’t hold up as expected."

With that, the four of you made your way to the medbay, footsteps echoing through the quiet hallways. Each step weighed heavily on you, soreness from the last night beginning to catch up. But as you glanced at Logan walking beside you, you felt a small surge of determination to keep up.

Once in the medbay, the sterile room filled with the faint hum of medical equipment, he could sense the quiet tension emanating from you. A subtle pulse beat in your throat, the sound of your heart quickening with each step though he knew you had no idea he could hear it.

Standing beside where you were sitting, he noticed how your breathing grew shallower. Despite the casual front you put on, Logan could tell his proximity unsettled you. When Hank gestured him forward, Logan drew closer, reaching out to help him adjust the protective device. His fingers brushed your shoulder as he steadied it, and your pulse sped up a quick staccato beat that only he could hear.

Logan couldn’t help but smirk slightly, feeling an odd amusement. He’d never been one for delicate feelings, but this was different. There was something about the vulnerability hidden behind your resolve that tugged at him.

“Relax,” he muttered under his breath, catching your gaze as his hand lingered on your shoulder. “This’ll be over before you know it.”

When Hank initiated the first low-voltage test, a shock traveled through the collar, and Logan took the brunt of it with a grimace, his skin tingling painfully. He heard you murmur an apology, voice slightly shaky, your expression a blend of guilt and concern. “Don’t worry, varmint,” he reassured, his tone gruff but soft. “Ya ain’t gon’ kill me.”

You bit your lip, and he caught the faintest quiver in your heartbeat again as he held your gaze, refusing to let you look away. Something raw lingered in the air between you both, neither of you could fully name. But he didn’t move back, didn’t break eye contact, letting you see that he was there, steady, no matter what.

The final layer was applied, and Hank sighed in relief. “All done. It’s stable now, and we shouldn’t have to worry about accidental contact.”

Logan's fingers brushed the collar one last time as he stepped back, catching one more pulse of your heartbeat a little steadier this time. He’d heard enough to know he affected you, even if you’d never admit it.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, though exhaustion settled into your limbs as the relief took its toll. The professor must have noticed, because he gave a slight nod. “You’re free to go,” he said gently. “Hank will monitor the collar’s function from here. Take some time for yourself.”

You nodded, already feeling the pull of sleep as you rose. Logan gave you a brief nod, his gaze lingering, but you brushed it off, determined to handle this last stretch alone. The stairs were a different story. Every step seemed to taunt you, the soreness sharpening with each push. By the second flight, your leg trembled slightly, but you gritted your teeth and continued, refusing to let the pain win. Finally, you reached the top, pausing to catch your breath.

As you approached your room, a faint shadow fell across the hallway, and you knew he’d followed. Logan lingered at the corner, watching with his arms crossed, that usual mix of exasperation and silent pride in his eyes. You almost said something, but he turned away before you could muster the words, leaving you with just enough strength to stumble into your room.

As you stepped into your room, the familiar, untouched stillness washed over you. The place was just as you’d left it before the mission, a strange reminder of all the events since. On your bed lay your cracked rifle, a heavy, silent witness to your day. You sighed, moving it carefully, feeling the weight irritate the still-tender stitches on your side. Gently, you slid it back into its case, then pushed the rifle bag under your bed, its worn fabric catching faintly on the frame.

The bathroom offered a quiet reprieve as you cleaned yourself up, the cool water refreshing against your skin. You changed into a comfortable T-shirt and shorts, savoring the soft, loose fabric after the tension of the day. With a sigh, you sat on the edge of the bed, reaching over to pull your laptop closer. Curiosity had been tugging at you since Logan tossed that new nickname at you: “Varmint.” The way he’d said it, half-smirked as he helped you, made it clear there was more behind it.

You typed in the word and read the definition that popped up:

Varmint:

noun, informal, dialect

• a troublesome wild animal.

• a troublesome and mischievous person, especially a child.

The words sank in, and you muttered a soft curse under your breath, though a smile pulled at the corners of your mouth. That asshole. You couldn’t help but picture the look in his eyes when he’d said it, that mix of teasing and something almost affectionate. He probably thought it was a perfect fit.

Still smiling, you closed the laptop and lay back on the bed, exhaustion pressing down on you like a weight. The stitches, the collar, and the strain of the day blurred into one heavy ache, and as your head hit the pillow, the last thought in your mind was of Logan’s voice and that infuriating nickname. The quiet drifted around you as sleep pulled you down, the sky still bright outside as afternoon slowly faded into evening.

•••••••

Dust rises around you, stinging your eyes, blurring the world into a smudged haze of gunfire and shadows. The heat is unrelenting, baking down on your skin as the weight of the rifle digs into your hands. The sound of boots pounding against cracked ground, the shouts of soldiers, and the relentless thud of explosions make everything feel surreal. It's a landscape of Iran-Iraq chaos battlefield in the 80s.

Ivan's voice cuts through, clear and steady with his Russian accent. "Right flank, cover me!" His words are as familiar as your own heartbeat, grounding you in the nightmare. You turn, catching a glimpse of him. Young, so damn young, but his eyes have that determined look, that same fire he's always had since you met him at twenty one. He'd idolized you, looked up to you with a quiet, steadfast admiration. You'd taught him everything, every trick and tactic you knew. He had become your closest friend, almost something more.

But suddenly, that determination in his eyes falters. You see his lips form words, calling your name, right before a shot rings out. The echo of it slices through the noise, louder than anything else. In slow motion, you watch him stumble, that flash of surprise on his face as his body collapses, his rifle slipping from his fingers. There's blood on his temple, spreading, blooming against his pale skin like ink soaking into paper.

"No...no, no, Ivan!" you scream, scrambling forward, your hands shaking as you reach him, ignoring the chaos around you. You press your hands to his wound, feeling the warm, sticky blood seep through your fingers, knowing it's useless. "Stay with me, please," you beg, feeling your voice break, but his eyes have already gone blank, staring past you.

"I'm so sorry," you mutter, your voice strangled. You'd promised him- promised that when you both made it back, you'd show him New York. He'd laugh, light-heartedly mocking the idea of skyscrapers and traffic, but you knew he'd been looking forward to it. And now he'll never see it. You'll never see him again.

The scene shifts violently, flickering to his childhood stories of Montana, a place he once said was like no other. He'd wanted you to see it, too, promising you a tour of his small town, the mountains, the rivers. Now, it all fades, slipping from your grasp as you scream his name again and again, but it's just you alone in the dust, Ivan's blood staining your hands.

The scream still echoes as you jolt awake, drenched in cold sweat, Ivan's name a raw ache in your throat. After the long hours you drifted into a fitful sleep, only to wake up around two in the morning, feeling groggy and disoriented. The collar pressed against your neck, an uncomfortable reminder that even in your own body, you weren’t free. Frustrated, you shifted, trying to find a position where the collar wouldn’t dig into your skin. It was no use. Resigned, you pushed yourself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom.

The mirror reflected a pale, worn face back at you. You traced your fingers over the bandages where bullet wounds were still healing, noticing the edges of the injuries, raw and irritated. Changing into a warmer sweater to stave off the night's chill, you thought about grabbing a snack.

But as you made your way toward the stairs, a muffled noise caught your attention. You paused, listening. It was coming from Logan’s room. The sounds were low and garbled, but you could tell he was muttering, though the words were too distorted to make out. You hesitated, then shook your head. Probably none of my business, you thought, forcing yourself down the stairs.

After finding a bowl of blueberries and drink a glass of water, you turned to climb the stairs, heading back to your room, only to hear the sounds from Logan’s room again, louder this time. You stopped, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your chest. His voice sounded tortured, as though he were reliving something terrible. Without really thinking, you moved toward his door. You stood there, unsure, your hand hovering over the handle. Finally, you pressed down. The door clicked open.

In the darkness, you could make out Logan, tangled in his sheets, eyes shut tight but muttering as if in pain. You placed the blueberries on his nightstand and flicked on the light, he's wearing a white tank top with jeans, what kind of psychopath sleep in jeans? You extend your arm reaching out, lightly shake his shoulder, calling his name. He jolted awake with a sharp gasp, his claws springing out instinctively. You barely managed to jump back, waist stumbled at his nightstand roughly, avoiding the glint of metal, your reflexes saving you but the sudden movement sent a sharp, searing pain through your side.

Logan looked horrified, retracting his claws immediately with his heavy breath. “Shit. I didn’t mean.. are you okay?” He asked voice slightly trembled.

You took a shaky breath, clutching your side. “Fuck...M' fine. But you were yelling. I thought…” You smirked slightly, hiding your discomfort.

“I swear I thought you had someone in here, keeping the entire floor up ‘til two in the morning.” You told him with hitched breath.

He almost cracked a smile, though a flash of something haunted lingered in his eyes. "Not exactly."

Feeling another throb in your side, you sank onto the edge of his bed, letting yourself sit for a moment. He scoot over to give you more personal space next to him, you picked up the bowl of blueberries, offering it to him with a shrug.

“Blueberries?” Logan accepted, and you both sat in a quiet, unexpected moment of ease, passing the bowl back and forth, the silence a balm for both your wounds. It’s rare to see his hair not styled in the way he always wears it, almost resembling cat ears. You’ve always wondered if that was intentional, but you could never be sure. Now, though, you can see how thick his dark brown hair truly is, with a slight touch of untidiness. A rare sight.

Both of you sat against the headboard of the bed, the room dimly lit, the quiet hum of the night filling the space. You felt the sting in your side with every slight movement but tried to ignore it, distracting yourself with the blueberries as you popped one into your mouth. You weren't exactly sure what to say to Logan. Should you ask if he's okay? The thought felt ridiculous, considering the two of you hardly knew how to talk about such things. It was easier to just let the silence hang. But it was suffocating, thick enough to choke on, and you needed to break it somehow.

“So,” you began, forcing casualness into your tone, “The PTSD from a hundred and twenty years in the military really got you good, huh?”

Logan glanced over at you, the faintest amusement flickering in his eyes. “What does twenty do to a person anyway?” He raised a brow, a little playful edge creeping into his voice.

You shrugged nonchalantly, popping another blueberry into your mouth. “Same thing. Probably why we’re both here at two, eating blueberries.”

Logan chuckled softly, the sound low and rough, as if it hadn’t been used in too long. There was a comfort in that, his laughter, even if it was bitter at the edges. You got him in a way few could, the way he handled pain, how he tucked it away under layers of sarcasm and distance. You weren’t sure if he even knew how much you could read him, how the small moments the way he carried himself, the flicker in his eyes told a whole story.

“That’s a hell of a breakfast,” he muttered, shaking his head with a grin that softened the edges of his usual guarded demeanor.

“Breakfast, midnight snack, same thing,” you shot back, a smirk tugging at your lips as you leaned back against the headboard, clutching your side again in an attempt to ease the pain.

A long pause followed. You caught him watching you out of the corner of his eye, like he was trying to figure something out. It didn’t bother you, though. After all, you’d both been through things most people couldn’t even begin to imagine. And you understood that, understood him better than anyone else.

Logan glanced down at the bowl, then back at you. “Guess we just keep eating until we’re tired of it, huh?” he said with a half smile. You smiled, feeling a little lighter. “Sounds about right.”

The air in the room grew still for a moment, the light dim and the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging between you both. Logan's voice broke the silence, softer now, tinged with something he didn't quite want to admit.

"I could've killed you, y'know," he said, trying to sound casual selling his nonchalant face, but there was a slight edge to his voice that made it clear he was anything but nonchalant. His eyes flicked to yours, searching, a trace of concern buried in his usual guarded expression.

You met his gaze without flinching. "You didn’t," you said simply, your tone light, but you knew what he was getting at. His worry was clear, even though he was trying to mask it, you broke the eye contact now staring down at the bowl.

"You might've just opened my stitches again, which, I think, is worse." Logan's gaze hardened as he caught the scent of fresh blood. He pushed himself up from the bed, voice firm. “Wait here.”

You blinked, confused, watching as he stalked to his bathroom. He rummaged around for a moment before reappearing, his expression annoyed. Apparently, he hadn’t found what he was looking for. “Just wait,” he said again, sharper this time. “I’ll be right back.”

Left alone in his room, you found yourself glancing around. The room was sparse but lived-in: unfolded clothes thrown over a chair, a cigarette-filled ashtray on his nightstand, and a couple of empty beer bottles lining the windowsill. You smirked a bit at that, wondering how Charles hadn’t whipped his ass for sneaking those in.

Before you could delve deeper into the small details of his space, Logan stepped back in, a med kit in hand. He shot you a look that bordered on impatience and determination. Your eyebrows shot up as he set the kit down. “What do you think you’re doing with that?”

“Well,” he said flatly, “you’re bleeding all over my bed, and I’m not in the mood to be blamed for murder.”

You scoffed, moving to stand, still clutching your side as the pain spiked. The blood had already soaked through the fabric of your cream-colored Brooklyn sweater, stain spreading visibly. “No, I’m not letting you do that. Do you even know how to stitch?” You took a couple of steps toward the door, ready to brush him off and leave.

But Logan stepped in front of you, effectively blocking the doorway with his full frame. His expression was one of deadpan defiance. “Told you, I’ve lived too many lives. I know a thing or two. Now, sit down.”

You scowled, the pain now pulsing sharply with every movement, but his unyielding presence made it clear he wasn’t giving you much of a choice. “No, I’ll be fine,” you insisted, though your voice lacked conviction. Logan’s eyebrow quirked as he tilted his head, unconvinced, not budging an inch from the doorway. You tried to nudge him aside, but he didn’t even flinch. The effort triggered fresh pain from your wound, and you cursed under your breath, feeling the sting intensify.

“Just sit down,” he said with a faint irritation. “I even brought painkillers this time.” His comment was a jab at the last time you’d been stitched up, without any anesthesia, which had been a special kind of hell.

Reluctantly, you made your way back to the chair he’d hastily cleared of laundry, watching as he shoved the empty bottles in the windowsill aside to make room for the medical kit. With a quiet sigh of resignation, you sank down, your movements stiff and strained. You set the blueberries on the windowsill beside you, grimacing but knowing you didn’t have much of a choice now.

Logan handed you a small pill from the kit, his expression giving nothing away. You tossed it back but quickly realized you’d need water. Without missing a beat, he grabbed a sealed bottle of beer from his nightstand and held it out to you.

You looked at him, half-exasperated. “How’d you manage to sneak this in? Charles is gonna be furious.”

Logan smirked, giving you a quick, deadpan shrug. “Oh, it’s my weekly pay for teachin” he replied, clearly amused with himself.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you twisted off the cap. “Right. Because Charles would pay you in beer.” With no other choices you sip the beer anyway, sending the pill down your system.

Ignoring your jab, Logan prepared a syringe, carefully transferring a regional anesthetic from a vial. He seemed steady, his brow knit in concentration, but there was a faint tremor in his hands that told you he didn’t do this often at least, not like this. Still, he looked confident enough to keep you from second-guessing.

You took a breath and lifted the hem of your sweater, the chilly night air prickling your exposed skin as you braced for what was to come. Logan knelt beside you, his face softened by the dim light, he wiped down your skin with alcohol wipes to sterilize the area before injected the anesthetic carefully around your wound, aiming to block the nerves around your stomach.

The sensation was more disorienting than painful, and you clenched your jaw, trying to focus on anything else but the sharp reminder of how vulnerable this all felt. The pain had been long absent, a dull ache you’d forgotten, but tonight it was sharp and real, gnawing at the edges of your patience.

Logan retreated to the windowsill, waiting the anesthesia to function giving it at least ten minutes. He take a swig from the beer you’d just opened, his gaze flicking back to you as you reached for another blueberry. You caught him watching you, the hint of concern masked beneath his usual guarded stare.

“You don’t seem to do this often,” you said, popping the blueberry into your mouth, trying to sound casual.

He glanced at the bottle in his hand and shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ve got enough experience.”

You offered a small, skeptical smile, sliding your hand under the collar around your neck, scratching at the itch that had settled there. It was an irritating reminder of everything this collar had taken from you. Your power, your freedom, and, in a twisted way, even the luxury of forgetting what it felt like to be so breakable.

Logan’s gaze dropped to your hand at your neck, but he didn’t say anything, just took another swig of his beer. For once, the silence between you both felt almost...safe. He wouldn’t pry, wouldn’t push, and you knew that even if he did, he’d understand more than most.

As the two of you waited for the anesthetic to kick in, Logan walked over to his nightstand, rummaging through a drawer until he found a cigar. Meanwhile, you felt the trickle of blood from your re-opened stitches and reached for some gauze, pressing it against the torn wounds in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Four ugly, circular scars, a nasty reminders of where bullets had torn through you. Only one suture held, while the other three had unraveled under the strain. You sighed, wondering how long you could keep dealing with this before you could stepped in this damn collar.

Logan sit in the edge of his bed, lighting his cigar with a flick of his lighter, his eyes on you as you dabbed at your side. Frustration is written all over your face as he observed your attempt to manage the bleeding on your own. He sigh and walk towards you again, placed the cigar on the windowsill and pushed the window open, letting the smoky tendrils drift out into the night air, you despised that smell so much.

Finally, he grabbed the med kit and knelt beside you, extending his hand toward the gauze in a silent offer to take over. You didn't hesitated this time, willingly to let go when his rough fingers brushed against yours as you handed over the gauze. Your left hand still held the fabric of your sweater up, and your right arm rested on the edge of the chair, giving him room to work.

Logan’s face was set in concentration as he wiped the blood from your side, tearing open another alcohol wipe and cleaning the area around your wounds. He was careful, his touch firm yet unexpectedly gentle. After ensuring the area was sterile, he picked up a small pair of scissors and nudged it against your skin. “Feel anythin'?” he asked, his voice a little softer, making sure the anesthesia had taken full effect.

You shook your head. “No, it’s numb.”

Logan's brows drew together as he worked, his expression locked in that rare, focused intensity you’d come to recognize, and even find comfort in. The dim light from the windowsill cast shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the slight crease between his brows. You’d traced those lines in your mind a hundred times by now, memorized every edge, every angle. But tonight, as he worked with that raw focus, his face took on a different weight, a heaviness you could almost feel through the precision of his movements.

He held the metal scissors between his fingers, his hands steady, despite the faint flicker of hesitation in his eyes. Gently, he pull the teared suture trough your skin, putting all the old stitches down before guided the needle through your skin, pulling it through with a practiced care that made each puncture bearable. You could feel the slightest tug as he drew the suture tight, securing it with a small knot, his gaze unwavering, as if each stitch were a piece of armor he was layering over your vulnerability.

You tried to focus on his hands instead of the needle. He didn’t look up, not even once, and you wondered what was going through his mind as he stitched each small wound, patching you up like it was a matter of necessity, not choice. You felt his grip tighten a little as he threaded the next stitch, a silent determination in the press of his fingers.

Logan’s mind, however, was far from calm. Beneath his outward resolve, there was a nagging unease, an urge to make sure he didn’t cause you any more pain than you’d already endured. The sight of the torn stitches, the fresh blood trickling down your side, sent a quiet rage through him, one he was careful to keep hidden. He’d seen plenty of wounds in his time, but with you, each drop of blood felt personal, like a failure he hadn’t planned for. He pushed the thought aside, though, focusing instead on keeping each stitch even, precise. He couldn't afford to let his own frustration cloud the task at hand.

You studied him in silence, feeling the coolness of the anesthetic but still sensing the pressure as the needle punctured your skin again and again. Each pull of the thread was a reminder of how close he was, yet how distant he could seem. His breathing was even, steady, but every so often, you saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, a reminder of the strain he kept hidden. The Logan before you wasn’t the snarling fighter or the distant figure, he was here, in this quiet, steady moment, each movement deliberate, each pull of the suture a silent promise.

Another stitch slid through, and he adjusted his angle, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that left a faint warmth where his touch lingered. You felt yourself tense, not from pain, but from the awareness of his closeness, the weight of his hand pressed against your side. He glanced up briefly, catching your eye, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. He held it for just a second, before focusing back on the task, his jaw tightening as he continued to work.

In the silence, you found yourself grateful for this quiet, for the way he grounded you, even with the thick smoke from the forgotten cigar drifting through the air. Despite his own guarded nature, Logan’s presence carried a steady calm that dulled the ache, that let you release the fear of being so vulnerable in front of someone who’d seen it all, and maybe even felt it all.

Though he’d never say it. He could see the way you trusted him, even as your body flinched from each stitch. The way you held yourself still, giving him your silent approval, it did something to him, stirred something that he knew he couldn’t afford to dwell on. He finished the final suture, tying it off with a slight flick of his wrist, but he didn’t let go immediately. His hand rested against your skin for just a moment, almost like he was hesitant to break the connection, before he finally pulled back, a slight softness lingering in his gaze.

With the stitches complete, Logan finally sat back, his hand lingering near yours for just a moment before he pulled away completely.

As Logan returned the medical kit to the windowsill, your blood is staining all over his hands, he picked up his forgotten cigar, pressing it back between his lips, exhaling a thin trail of smoke. You sat quietly, should you even tell him to wash those blood stain? He doesn't seem to care.

Inspecting the new stitches one last time before pulling down your sweater. They were tight, clean, a reminder of his steady hands, though they left a faint, uncomfortable prickling sensation beneath the fabric. Logan perched by the windowsill, the soft glow from the moonlight outside casting a warm shadow across his face, lending a quiet stillness to the room.

Standing carefully, you felt the weight of lingering awkwardness. There was no reason to stay, no reason to let yourself get tangled up in his space any longer than necessary.

All of this, this wound, this time spent at his mercy, could’ve been avoided if you’d just ignored the sounds coming from his room earlier. A part of you wished you’d done just that, stayed in your own corner, kept your focus inward. But here you were. You picked up the half-empty bowl of blueberries, eyes drifting to him briefly.

“Thanks,” you muttered softly, not looking back as you turned toward the door.

Logan gave a small nod, his voice low, almost resigned. “You should rest.”

“I know,” you replied quietly, before stepping out. Closing his door behind leaving him and the thick, smoky air. Crossing the short distance to your room, you closed your door gently and set the bowl on your nightstand, then melted into the bed, the weight of exhaustion pulling you down. The collar pressed uncomfortably against your neck, a constant reminder that rest would be scarce tonight. You sighed, eyes tracing the ceiling as your body tried to settle, though the tight ache of tension lingered.

Meanwhile, Logan stood by the window, his gaze lost in the night sky as he took another drag of the cigar. The smoke drifted outward, mingling with the faint scent of antiseptic and the lingering trace of vanilla. Your presence hung thick in the room, an echo of moments both fleeting and unexpected. He found himself staring at his bloody hands, then the medical kit, its open lid and scattered supplies a strange, quiet reminder of you—your resilience, your stubborn refusal to back down.

A feeling twisted inside him, raw and unfamiliar. Something about you had begun to grow in his mind, a constant, persistent thought that clung to him no matter how much he tried to shake it off. It didn’t make sense, you two had only met two weeks ago, yet he could already recall the details of your presence in a way that both frustrated and intrigued him. The vanilla scent was etched into his senses, something that lingered even after you’d left, the scent of your soap, shampoo—probably even your perfume, he figured. Vanilla, sweet and subtle, weaving through the air as stubbornly as you.

He couldn’t deny it anymore, you were driving him crazy. Every instinct told him to let it go, to put some distance between the two of you. But your determined, relentless spirit was wearing at him, chipping away at walls he’d thought were firmly in place. He closed his eyes, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. Whatever was growing inside him, you were a part of it, a force that tugged at his thoughts no matter how hard he tried to push you away.

With a final drag of his cigar, he stared out at the moonlight, each one sharp and unwavering against the night. And as the smoke drifted into the cool air, he realized that maybe, just maybe you had already rooted yourself somewhere deeper than he wanted to admit.

Part 6 ->

[marifilue]

Part 4: Bound And Fading

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n, you have regenerative healing ability, skilled with guns and rifles, reader in her 50s but because of her ability looked like in her mid 20s. Logan is from the first X-Men movie era.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence, Blood

WC: 6.172

<- Part 3

The afternoon stretched out, each passing minute heavier than the last. You lay on your bed, staring at the cracked rifle beside you, a hollow ache gnawing at you. Mr. Santiago’s face flashed in your mind, memories flooding back with bittersweet clarity.

Your first day meeting him replayed in vivid detail. Your father brings you, fourteen years old, almost tall enough to steady a rifle, standing awkwardly on a makeshift shooting range deep in the woods. There wasn’t much, a low wall cobbled together from old tires and scrap wood, set up to catch bullets. The place was rough, but it felt like a world apart from everything else you’d known.

Mr. Santiago had been there, a short, serious figure with a warmth that softened his intense gaze. He’d handed you the rifle, steadying your hands with a patience you hadn’t expected. "Hold it here," he’d said, his voice low but encouraging. "Every weapon is a good weapon, depends on who's holding it." You’d never felt more focused than in that moment, taking aim under his watchful eyes, your nerves and excitement blurring into one. He’d believed in you from that first shot, seeing potential where others hadn’t, and you’d dedicated yourself to the craft ever since.

Logan stepped out of his room, glancing toward yours across the hall. He headed downstairs for lunch, fully expecting you to show up any second. But as he took his seat in the kitchen, finishing his meal, he still hadn’t seen you. He frowned, tapping his fork against his empty plate, a hint of concern breaking through his usual indifference.

He found himself hesitating, but the idea had already taken root. Muttering a swear under his breath, he grabbed an extra plate and filled it with another serving of aglio olio, adding a few ice cubes to a glass of water before balancing it all carefully.

With a resigned sigh, he climbed the three flights of stairs back up to his and your floor, pausing just outside your door. He had no idea why he was doing this, really, except for some strange, nagging urge to apologize. The memory of your frustration and the guilt of seeing that cracked rifle pushed him forward.

“Here we go,” he muttered to himself, bracing himself for another one of your epic insults. With his arm balancing the water, he knocked on the door, keeping his face blank but already steeling himself for another epic insults you’d give him.

A gentle knock at your door broke your reverie, pulling you back to the present. You sighed, reluctant to answer, but the knocking continued, soft but insistent. You got up, crossed the room, and opened the door halfway, your eyes narrowing as you saw Logan standing there with a plate of aglio olio in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

You raised an eyebrow shocked by the small gesture but irritation still simmering beneath the surface. “What are you doing?” you asked, voice sharp. Logan held your gaze, unflinching. “Making amends. You skipped lunch,” he replied, his voice carrying its usual gruffness. You can smell his usual tobacco scent filling your nose, it made you sick most of the time. The man isn't gonna die because of tobacco poisoning, so he might as well smoke dozens of cigars each day.

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered, attempting to close the door, but Logan quickly wedged his foot in the doorway. You sighed, exasperated, and finally looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone quieter than usual. “For throwing your rifle…and for, well, having my genetic material around.” The faintest hint of a smirk softened the line of his mouth, though he immediately sobered, sensing your struggle.

You turned away, letting the words hang between you. “Look, Logan. First, an apology won’t fix the rifle. And it’s not ‘just a rifle’—it’s a PCP rifle. My mentor’s rifle. I’ve taken care of it for years, and…” You paused, frustration flashing across your face as you admitted, “I don’t even blame you for the second thing, it's not fair for you to take the hit. I'll just hate myself even more now.. knowing I carry a part of you with myself all this time.” You said as the fact will now forever altered your mind, how can a guy you've never even heard of until two weeks ago is somehow have been a big part of your life?

Logan scoffs "Wow, you're makin' it sound even worse now." as you walked to the chair under the window ignoring him, folding your arms as you looked out over the mansion’s vast backyard. Logan hovered at the door, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “Can I come in?” he asked, almost reluctantly.

“Fuck off,” you muttered, though there was less bite in your tone. With a faint chuckle, Logan stepped in and placed the meal on the windowsill next to you. He glanced at the rifle on your bed, the fracture visible even from here. “Always have a rifle on bed with ya?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

You shot him a look, your expression stern. “Too soon.” you said, your voice edged with a warning silently asking him not to joke about the rifle further. He nodded, the apology unspoken but understood. “Alright,” he replied, stepping back. “Enjoy your meal. I’ll uh.. see you tonight on the mission.” He lingered for a moment, giving you a look of quiet understanding before he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

You sank back into the chair, glancing at the plate of pasta Logan had brought you. Despite your earlier resistance, you found yourself eating, thankful for the warm meal. It wasn’t Logan who’d ruined your appetite today, it was the thought of facing Killebrew, the man responsible for turning your life upside down, the specter you’d dreaded for years.

As the sun began to dip, casting long shadows across your room, you steeled yourself, forcing your mind away from your fears. Tonight would be your chance to confront your past, to face the man who had altered your life without a second thought. You weren’t sure what would happen, but with the rifle at your side even damaged, you knew you wouldn’t face it alone.

•••••••

The Blackbird loomed ahead, its sleek silhouette casting long shadows over the hangar. You moved quickly, bags slung over each shoulder, the weight of your weapons familiar and reassuring. You had your usual twin set of handguns holstered at your waist, a collection of firearms stowed securely in the bags. As you stepped up the ramp, Scott and Ororo were already seated inside, going over last-minute details.

You set your bags down, securing them beside you as Logan stepped into the Blackbird behind you. Scott made his way over, his expression serious. With calling your name he began, glancing down at your equipment. “We’re gonna need you to stay on high ground for this one, guarding the perimeter. Sniper duty.”

You frowned, caught off guard. “Sniper duty?” The confusion in your voice was unmistakable. “I’ll be useless out there—those kids will be inside.”

Scott’s expression tightened, but he didn’t look away. “Me and Logan will handle the retrieval. We just think it’s best for you to stay off the building, not face Killebrew directly. In case…” He trailed off, and the hesitation in his voice stirred something hot in your chest.

“In case what, Scott?” You could barely keep the anger out of your voice. "And who's we? I know this is your decision, without involving anyone's opinion because apparently you hate opinions." You spats back letting your voice echo inside the cockpit. Logan, standing nearby, caught the exchange but stayed silent, his gaze flickering over to you.

Scott sighed, muttering your last name. “You’re either in or you’re out, but I’m not risking anyone on this mission.” Your jaw tightened. “I’m not taking sniper duty, Summers. That’s useless, I’ll be sitting on my hands the whole night while you go in. I’m going inside with the rest of you.”

Scott opened his mouth to respond, but Logan was already stepping forward, clapping a firm hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Take your seat, bub,” Logan said, his tone steady, cutting through the tension. “We’re taking off any second.” Logan said while Scott let out a sigh, retreating to his seat without another word, though you could feel his frustration simmering.

Logan’s gaze shifted back to you, his voice a bit gentler than usual. “You okay?” It was more a rhetorical—he could tell you were far from okay. He heard the adrenaline in your heartbeat, sensed the tension in your stance. Without waiting for an answer, he squeezed your left upper arm, quick but firm and gentle. You tensed by the affection, no room left in your head to wander why did he just do that.

“M' fine.” you replied shortly, your voice tight. Logan gave a slight nod, accepting your answer, then moved away to take his seat.

As the Blackbird’s engines roared to life, you settled into place, securing your gear with practiced hands. The cockpit filled with a quiet, determined energy. Jean, Ororo, Scott, Logan, and you—all on edge, yet focused. This was your chance.

•••••••

In the cover of night, the team advanced quietly through the dense woods, moving with purpose and precision. The jet was parked nearly ten minutes behind them, hidden under the canopy of trees, with Jean remaining on standby, ready to extract them if things went south.

You shouldered your MP5, feeling the familiar weight settling comfortably against your back as you moved, close to Ororo, who kept pace with you. Scott and Logan led the way, their silhouettes barely visible under the pale moonlight filtering through the branches, casting ghostly shadows across the ground. The night was cold, and a chill seemed to seep into your bones, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the task ahead.

As you reached the edge of the lab’s perimeter, you dropped into a crouch, scanning the scene. Through the brush, you saw a handful of guards positioned outside, their breath visible in the cool air. They were stationed loosely, some pacing, others standing guard by the entrance, the glow from their flashlights casting eerie beams into the night.

Scott signaled for everyone to stay low, his hand slicing through the air in a motion to hold position. Then, with a final nod to each of you, he made the call. There was no time for drawn-out tactics; the element of surprise was on your side. The group moved as one, slipping from the shadows in synchronized silence.

In a swift, decisive motion, Scott took out the first guard with a silenced shot, while Ororo summoned a quick surge of wind, knocking two others off their feet. You were already moving, twins set of gun raised from your holsters, firing short, controlled bursts as you closed the distance, the shots muffled but effective, guards dropping in quick succession.

Logan leaped forward, claws out, taking down the last guard standing outside with a fierce swipe, his movements fluid and feral. The team regrouped just outside the entrance, hearts pounding but movements steady. You exchanged a quick glance with Logan, his eyes narrowed and focused, the brief acknowledgment of your presence reassuring in the tension.

With the outer guards down, Scott led the way, his voice low but resolute. “We’re in. Stay close. We stick together and move fast.”

••••••

The alarm blared through the sterile, white-walled corridors, echoing sharply against the cold concrete as red warning lights flashed overhead. You tightened your grip on your MP5, heart pounding but focus unbreakable. Scott signaled, and the team split to cover more ground, leaving you and Logan to search the lower levels while Scott and Ororo handled the main floor, diverting as much attention as possible.

You hurried down the corridors, firing off rounds as guards swarmed toward you. One by one, they came at you, but with precision and practice, you dropped each of them, moving closer to the underground access. Logan cleared the way ahead, his claws flashing in the dim light as he tore through the remaining guards with brutal efficiency.

Reaching the stairs, you stopped for a second, recognizing the layout—Killebrew’s distinctive architectural style was unmistakable, every corridor and staircase designed to confuse intruders but familiar to you from the countless diagrams you’d studied. You knew exactly where the holding cells were likely kept and plunged down the stairs, each step echoing under the deafening wail of alarms.

At the bottom, another cluster of guards appeared, blocking your path. They fired at you, and you ducked, retaliating with short, controlled bursts. Logan took the lead, bulldozing through the last line of defense, his snarling presence clearing a path right to the heavy metal door of the holding room.

You burst into the room, heart sinking as you took in the sight. Twelve young mutants, barely more than children, huddled behind thick metal bars, their faces pale, eyes wide with terror. They were cramped, confined like animals, thin blankets and scattered food wrappers indicating how they’d been kept for weeks, maybe longer.

You pressed a finger to your comms device. “Scott, I’m with the kids. They’re in bad shape.” Static crackled, and Scott’s voice came through, urgent. “I’ve got the guards busy with Ororo’s help, she’s whipping up a storm, literally. But we’re running low on time. Get them out, now.”

You nodded, then glanced back as Logan came down the stairs, his gaze shifting from you to the caged children. His fierce expression softened, a flicker of empathy crossing his face as he stepped forward, his claws retracting. He approached the bars, nodding to you as he positioned himself to rip them open.

The children shrank back, eyes widening at the sight of Logan’s raw power. They’d likely heard the rumors about Wolverine, the man with metal claws, and you could see the fear twisting their young faces. Moving forward, you knelt beside the bars, speaking softly. “Hey, it’s okay," You said introducing your name to the kid "We’re here to help you. What’s your name?” You met the gaze of a young girl, no older than eight, with hollow eyes that darted nervously from you to Logan.

She hesitated, then whispered, “Maya.” You gave her a gentle smile, keeping your voice calm and soothing. “Maya, that’s a beautiful name. I’m here to take you somewhere safe. We won’t let anyone hurt you.” The children began to relax, inching closer, the fear in their eyes slowly fading as they sensed your sincerity. Logan watched the scene in silence, a mix of awe and quiet respect in his gaze as he saw the bond you created with the children. You exchanged a brief look with him, his nod of approval a silent message that he’d follow your lead.

“Alright, Maya,” you said gently. “We’re going to open the cage now, and we’ll need you and the others to follow us, okay?” She nodded, clutching a younger boy’s hand as Logan tore through the cage door with a swift pull. The metal bars groaned, breaking free, and he pushed the door open, extending his hand to help the kids out.

The children crowded around you, clinging tightly as you led them out of the room, Logan taking up the rear. You signaled Scott, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “We’ve got them, Scott. Moving to extraction now.”

“Good. Get them outside safe,” he replied, his voice firm but laced with relief. As you guided the children through the corridor, Logan stayed close, his silent strength a comforting presence for both you and the kids. The way forward was still uncertain, but for the first time, surrounded by those you’d come to protect, you felt hope replacing the dread you’d carried in.

Scott and Ororo stood at the edge of the lab's entrance, ready to lead the children to safety. Dozens of guards lined up between you and the way out, rifles raised, blocking the escape route. You took in the scene, heart racing, and shouted, "Scott, Ororo-get the kids out of here! Now!" Without hesitation, Scott nodded, signaling for Ororo to shield the children, and they slipped past the guards, racing toward the woods and away from the lab.

As Scott and Ororo led the kids away, you and Logan squared off against the wall of guards still blocking the path. The air was thick with tension, broken only by the echo of boots as the guards advanced. You quickly checked your MP5, reloading it with smooth precision, fingers moving on instinct as the magazine clicked into place.

With a curt nod to Logan, you raised the weapon and fired a controlled burst, dropping two guards instantly. Logan darted forward, claws flashing as he sliced through the first row of men, his ferocity drawing their attention. Using the opening he created, you stepped to his right, pressing forward as a group of guards rounded the corner ahead, weapons raised.

You fired again, each shot landing with sharp accuracy, taking down guard after guard. Moving in tandem, you and Logan flowed around each other with practiced ease. He charged ahead, clearing the way, while you provided cover from behind, your MP5 barking as more guards swarmed toward you both.

Logan lunged, taking out three guards in one swift motion, his claws slicing through their armor like it was nothing. As he dispatched them, you reloaded your MP5 with a practiced flick, feeling the weight of the new magazine settle in your hands. You fired at another guard aiming for Logan's back, the shots precise, dropping him before he could pull the trigger.

The guards kept coming, but you and Logan were an unrelenting force, holding them back with lethal precision. Another guard attempted to flank you, but you pivoted, firing a short burst that sent him crumpling to the ground. Logan was beside you in an instant, claws slashing in a wide arc, and together, you pushed forward, cutting through their ranks.

You'd barely caught your breath when another guard lunged at you from the side. You sidestepped, aiming and firing in one smooth motion, taking him down before he could get close. Pausing just long enough to reload, you watched as Logan cleared a path ahead, each movement fluid and deadly. The two of you had created a rhythm, an instinctive understanding that kept you one step ahead of the guards.

As the last of the guards lay unconscious on the floor, you felt a surge of satisfaction. But just as you lowered your MP5, you heard the click of a gun behind you, followed by a sharp, blinding pain. Seven bullets tore into your left side, four embedding themselves deep into your flesh, the pain staggering. You stumbled, your vision blurring as another guard closed in, grabbing you in a brutal chokehold.

You gasped for breath, trying to wrench free, but he held fast, forcing you to drop your MP5. Desperately, you struggled against his grip, only to see another guard approaching with a metal collar in his hand. The sight made your stomach lurch. You knew exactly what it was, and the mere thought of its effects turned your blood cold.

"No, no! Get off me!" you yelled, thrashing against the hold, but it was useless. Before your healing factor could spat out the bullets and close the wounds that is now flesh deep, the guard... Wait it wasn't just 'any' guard. You knew the malicious face, behind those thick glasses. It's Killebrew, snapping the collar around your neck, cold metal pressing against your skin with a final, menacing weight.

"Fire and flesh, my my.. look at you now, playing pretend hero with your new friends. Have you forgotten who you are? what we made you? your nature? Tell me, does your new friend knew what kind of weapon you are?" Killebrew voice echoes inside of your mind. Instantly you felt its effect-your powers suppressed, your ability muted by the collar's pulsing radiation. Logan, busy fending off a group of guards just a few steps away, heard your scream and whipped around, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the collar clamped around your neck. With a furious snarl, he abandoned his fight and launched himself at the guards holding you, ripping him away in a savage arc.

Before you could even warn him, his claws touched the collar in motive to break you free but an electric jolt burst from it, sending a shockwave through him. Logan staggered, his face twisted in agony, and he collapsed to one knee, his body spasming from the surge. The collar's hidden defense mechanism activated, shocking anyone who dared to touch it. He hadn't pay attention to Killebrew, the moment he turned his head, the man is gone. Leaving no trace behind like some ghost.

Panting heavily, you swayed in place, the pain in your side throbbing with each heartbeat, your skin clammy from the radiation. Logan shook off the lingering effects of the shock and struggled to his feet, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness as he reached out to steady you.

You pushed yourself up, shaking off Logan’s arm with a wave of your hand. “I can manage,” you muttered, feigning toughness as you steadied yourself and started toward the exit, gritting your teeth against the ache in your side. Together, you looked over the guards lying defeated around you, the battle-worn corridor now quiet save for your labored breaths. Ignoring the pain that radiated from your side, the two of you began the slow trek back toward the exit, determined to get out alive.

Logan followed close behind, his sharp gaze tracking every movement you made. “You okay?” he asked, voice low and wary. “I will be,” you replied shortly, not bothering to look back. The tightness of the collar against your neck was irritating, and each step sent a fresh stab of pain from the bullet wounds hidden under your black leather suit, but you didn’t let it show. You kept your pace steady, refusing to let Logan see any weakness.

As the two of you entered the darkened woods, Logan pressed again. “You sure you’re fine?” His tone was gruff but layered with a trace of concern “Yes,” you answered curtly, quickening your pace. But he didn’t miss the slight stagger in your step, and his nostrils flared at the unmistakable scent of blood, though the suit concealed the damage. After a moment, he asked, “What’s on your neck?”

“It’s a mutant inhibitor collar,” you replied flatly, still not looking at him. “Hank’ll figure out how to take them off.” You kept your eyes forward, refusing to let him see the strain on your face as the pain intensified with every step.

Halfway back to the Blackbird, your legs gave a faint tremor, and you leaned against a nearby tree, pressing one hand to the rough bark for support. Your other hand drifted to your waist, where the bullet wounds throbbed beneath the fabric. Logan slowed, watching you closely as he stepped beside you, arms crossed.

“You’ve had enough?” he asked, a knowing look in his eyes. He could tell you’d never ask for help, even now. “Just… catching my breath,” you managed, struggling to keep your voice steady.

Logan narrowed his gaze, exhaling sharply. “Alright, that’s it. The team’s waiting for us.” Before you could protest, he slid one arm under your knees and the other around your back, scooping you up in a swift motion. The shift in position made pain flare through your side, and you couldn’t suppress the faint whimper that escaped your lips.

“Shit, put me down, Logan! You're making it worse!” you shouted, anger flaring as you tried to push against him. “Can’t do it, bub. You're slowin' me down back there, any second you'll end up bleeding to death” he replied, unfazed.

“I can walk just fine!” You clenched your fists, the irritation bubbling up despite the pain. “Yeah, sure you did,” he muttered, his voice laced with sarcasm as he carried you through the forest. "You're an asshole!" You spat again as he kept his gaze forward, determined, his grip gentle but unyielding as you realize he wasn’t about to let you go.

As Logan approached the Blackbird, your breath is already off the track since inhaling for air is even triggering the pain. You caught sight of Jean in the distance, her expression shifting to one of deep concern the moment she spotted you in Logan’s arms. Despite your efforts to hold it together, the exhaustion and pain overwhelmed you, and a tear slipped free, tracing down your cheek. Logan tightened his hold, his own eyes darkening with a hint of worry as he strode forward, determined to get you back safely.

Jean's eyes widened as she spotted you in Logan’s arms, her voice immediately edged with concern. “What happened?” she asked, leading Logan briskly toward the medbay in the Blackbird.

Logan followed closely behind her, keeping his steps steady to avoid jostling you. “She got hit. Bullets in her side, and they got a some anti mutant collar on her, she can't heal.” he replied, his voice gruff but calm. As Jean guided him to the narrow medical bed, Scott joined, his gaze sharp as he took in the situation.

“Everything okay?” Scott’s tone was tense, but Logan gave him a short nod. “She’ll pull through. Just get us back to the mansion.” he added, giving Scott a firm look. Scott nodded, glancing toward the rescued kids to reassure them, before returning to the cockpit.

Logan carefully laid you down, but the movement triggered another wave of pain. You clutched your side, stifling a cry, the pain was too much. Your breaths came shallow and fast as Jean quickly cut through the torn leather on your left side, exposing the deep bullet wounds, four of them. Blood seeped steadily, and Jean’s brow creased with worry as she assessed the injuries. Logan stood close by, his eyes never leaving you, a storm of worry in his gaze.

As the Blackbird’s engines hummed, Logan watched anxiously as Jean paced the room back and forth, her expression tense. After a moment, he cleared his throat, his voice edged with concern. “Anythin' I help with?”

Jean looked up, snapping on a pair of gloves. “Yes. Grab the rubbing alcohol, it’s near the door and check the cupboard for anesthesia. We’ll need it.”

Logan nodded and moved quickly, scanning the shelves until he spotted the bottle of rubbing alcohol. Grabbing it, he went to the cupboard, rummaging through the supplies, but there was no sign of the anesthesia. Frowning, he called out, “Jean… there’s no anesthesia here.”

Jean’s face fell, her brow furrowing as she crossed over to check herself. She reached into the cupboard and pulled out an empty box marked “Anesthesia.” Her lips tightened, and she closed her eyes briefly, clearly frustrated. “Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, then turned to Logan, her face a mix of determination and regret.

“We’re out,” she said quietly. “I forgot to restock after the last mission.” She took a deep breath, her gaze shifting back to you, lying pale and struggling for breath. “I have to get those bullets out now, or she’ll lose too much blood.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, a fierce protectiveness flickering in his eyes. “What do you need me to do?” Jean looked at him steadily. “Distract her. Without anesthesia, this is going to hurt—a lot. Keep her focused on you, talk to her, anything to keep her grounded.”

Logan nodded, moving closer to your side. He leaned over, his rough hand settling on yours, his touch grounding. “Hey,” he murmured your name, trying to draw your attention, his voice gentle but steady. “Listen to me, alright? We’re getting you patched up, so you gotta hang in there.”

You looked up at him, pain clouding your vision, but his voice cut through the fog, giving you something to focus on. Just as Jean started to work, she sterilize the open wounds with alcohol gauze as gentle as possible but the sharp pain still flared, stinging you as you gasped, squeezing Logan’s hand tightly. He sensed that you were hanging by a thread, the pain pushing you close to breaking. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a softer, steady tone.

“Alright… I’ll tell you a story,” he said, locking his gaze with yours, his presence unwavering. “Back in nineteen forty five, I was in Japan. Right there in Nagasaki.” You forced yourself to focus on his words, his voice grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“It was August 9th, middle of the summer,” he continued, his tone both gritty and somber. “The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight. I was with a guy named Yashida, a soldier. We were in this underground bunker, and I didn’t know what was coming. Nobody did. Then… the whole world lit up. The ground shook like it was tearing itself apart.”

Jean worked carefully, extracting a bullet with delicate precision, still the pain flared sharply, making you clench Logan’s hand even tighter you could feel the cold metal is now in your flesh. Sensing it, he went on without missing a beat, his voice steady, strong. “That bomb… it was like nothing you could imagine. Fire hotter than anything I’d ever felt—burned the whole city in a flash.” His gaze held a mix of haunted memory and strength. “I saved Yashida that day. Shielded him with my body, took the brunt of that blast so he could live.”

You gritted your teeth as Jean extracted another bullet, but Logan’s story held you steady, his words weaving through the pain like a lifeline. “After the blast, the world was unrecognizable,” he murmured. “Buildings leveled, people… gone. But I was still standing. Broken, after burned to a crisp… but still managed to be alive. Had to dig myself out of the rubble. Kept going, even when I thought I couldn’t.”

He paused, meeting your gaze with a depth of understanding that was rare for him to reveal. “You’re strong, bub,” he said quietly. “I know it hurts like hell right now, but you’re tougher than this. You’ll get through it.” Even when you're overstimulated by the constant pain in your side, the itching and yet burning sensation with cold metal around your neck, you find yourself comforted by Logan's presence, by his hold warming the palm of your right arm. The man you had screamed at just this morning, after throwing him a hurtful insults, he has proven himself to be a reliable friend once again.

Jean finally pulled out the last bullet, stitching the wound as swiftly as she could to stop the bleeding, you felt the first prick of the needle sliding into your torn skin. The pain was sharp and immediate, a fresh agony layered over everything you’d already endured. A quiet groan slipped out before you could catch it, and, on instinct, you started to turn your head, trying to see the damage Jean was working on.

Logan’s hand was there in an instant, his fingers gently but firmly guiding your face back to him. “Eyes on me, alright?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, grounding you. “Don’t need to look at any of that. Just focus here.”

You bit down on your lip, the weight of his hand and the steady warmth of his gaze giving you something to hold on to, pulling you back from the edge of panic. You clenched his hand tightly as the needle continued its work, every stitch another reminder of the pain, but Logan kept his voice low and even.

“Think about something else,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Like where we’re going after this. Maybe somewhere with some sunshine, yeah? You, me, a little R&R… without bullets for a change.” A small, weary smile tugged at the corner of your mouth despite the pain. “Maybe... some place with a beach, I've had enough of woods today.” you murmured, your voice faint.

“There you go,” he said, his own lips twitching up just slightly. “Sand, sun, and no anti mutant collars. We’ll even make Scott carry the bags.”

The corners of your vision began to blur as Jean worked, but Logan’s face stayed clear, his gaze steady, unwavering. Every time you felt the sting of the needle, his hand held yours a little tighter, silently encouraging you to stay with him, to hold on.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jean finished the last stitch, wiping her hands and casting Logan a relieved look. “It's all done,” she said softly, giving you a nod. “You did well.”

Logan’s eyes softened as he looked down at you, his thumb brushing a gentle arc over your hand one last time. “See?” he murmured, a hint of warmth in his voice. “You’re tougher than anything they could throw at us.”

Exhaustion washed over you, and despite the lingering pain, your eyelids began to flutter. The toll of the battle, the wounds, and the weight of the day’s events were too much. You slipped into sleep, breathing softly, the strain and tension fading from your face.

Jean glanced at Logan, giving him a reassuring nod before quietly stepping out of the medbay, leaving the two of you alone. Logan sank into a chair in the corner, watching you as you rested. The flicker of the medbay lights cast soft shadows, and he sat quietly, hands folded, absorbed in his own thoughts.

Seeing you like this—worn out, vulnerable, but resilient—brought a wave of unexpected protectiveness to him. You were stubborn, hot-headed, and determined to a fault, always refusing to let anyone in or ask for help, even when you clearly needed it. It irritated him, the way you’d snap at him, brush off his help, or dive headlong into danger. But, in a strange way, it also drew him in.

It was rare for anyone to challenge him like you did, to stand up to him without a second thought, and to never back down. As he sat there, his gaze softened, a small, almost amused smile crossing his lips. He realized that, as much as your defiance frustrated him, it also fueled something deeper—a respect and a connection he hadn’t expected.

•••••••

Logan sat in the quiet of the medbay, half-asleep in the chair, his head resting against the wall. Hours had passed, and the steady rhythm of your breathing had lulled him into a light, restless sleep. But a sudden tremor shook the Blackbird as it began its descent, jostling him awake. He blinked, glancing around, his senses snapping back to focus. Outside the medbay’s small window, the midnight sky gave way to the lights of the mansion grounds below.

Jean, Ororo, and Scott stepped into the medbay, their faces tired but relieved. Ororo’s gaze shifted to you, still fast asleep despite the Blackbird’s rumbling descent. “Will she be alright?” she asked, her voice soft with concern.

Jean hesitated, her eyes lingering on your sleeping form. “Hopefully, yes,” she replied quietly. “We managed to get the bleeding under control, but she still needs further care.”

Scott looked at Logan, a flicker of worry crossing his face. “Think you can carry her again, Logan? Hank’s waiting in the lab, and he’ll want to take a closer look.”

Logan gave a single nod, already moving toward you. Gently, he slipped his arms under you, lifting you as carefully as he could to avoid disturbing the fresh stitches. You stirred slightly in his hold, but he held you securely, shielding you from any bumps as he stepped off the Blackbird with you cradled in his arms, Maya’s small voice suddenly piped up from the back of the Blackbird.

“Is she okay?” she asked, her eyes wide and filled with concern as she watched Logan carry you toward the exit.

Logan paused, glancing down at her. His usually gruff expression softened as he met her worried gaze. “Yeah, kid,” he said, his voice low but reassuring. “Don’t you worry.”

Jean stepped in beside Maya, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ll make sure she’s alright, okay?” she added softly. The little girl nodded, reassured but still watching as Logan carefully carried you down the ramp, her eyes following until you disappeared from view.

Ororo and Scott quickly took charge of the rescued kids, guiding them into the mansion’s warmth. The children, wide-eyed and visibly exhausted, followed closely, glancing back once at you and Logan before Ororo offered them a reassuring smile. “Come on,” she said gently, her voice calming. “We’ll get you all settled. You’re safe now.” She led them down a separate hallway with Scott beside her, and together they showed each child to a quiet room where they could rest and recover.

With the kids now taken care of, Logan turned his focus back to you, his hold steady as he made his way toward the lab. Jean walked alongside him, her expression thoughtful as she kept a close eye on you, her fingers brushing against the lab door ahead to push it open.

Inside, Hank was already waiting, his gaze sharpening as he spotted the two of you. Without hesitation, he moved to prepare the equipment, his worry masked by his usual calm. Jean gave Logan a slight nod, silently thanking him as they approached Hank, who was ready to begin your treatment with steady hands and a reassuring presence.

Part 5 ->

An: Told ya it's getting longer each chapter, thank you for interacting and I'll see ya next chapter

[marifilue]

Hell yeah

[marifilue]

Part 3: Glimpse Of The Past

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n, you have regenerative healing ability, skilled with guns and rifles, reader in her 50s but because of her ability looked like in her mid 20s. Logan is from the first X-Men movie era.

Warnings: Explicit Language, slight PTSD Mentioned.

WC: 5.570

<- Part 2

Two weeks had passed, and nothing much had changed between you and Logan. You’d shared a handful of interactions, each one short and tense, just enough to remind you how much he got on your nerves. He was stubborn, quick-tempered, too much like you in all the wrong ways and it was infuriating.

Logan was settling into his new role, slipping into the position of history professor with a certain ease that only came from experience, a literal, first-hand experience. His lectures were magnetic, filled with anecdotes that felt too vivid, too personal. The students were enamored, hanging onto every word, captivated by the way he made history feel alive.

Still, you could feel the invisible wall he’d built around himself, his guard firmly in place. It made sense, you'd do the same in a new environment. Though it irked you at times. You still doesn't know much about him, not that he'd be interested to talk when the whole team held out a dinner occasionally and share some fun fact about his life for the past century. Everytime the table chats comes up with questions get asked, he'd quickly dismissed them. You remember one time Ororo was joking and teased Logan about his love life which he just shortly respond "Nothin much, it's boring." As far as you acknowledge, he's just old as fuck.

On a quiet Saturday morning, autumn breeze outside with the mansion still cloaked in early light, you found some refuge in the garage, preparing your gear and checking over your rifle before zipping it into your dark green bag as you planned a solo hunt. The stillness was just beginning to sink in when the faint sound of footsteps snapped you out of it. Glancing up, you saw Logan leaning casually against the doorframe, watching you with that same half-amused smirk.

“You goin’ somewhere?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence like a rock tossed into still water. You barely looked up, focusing on adjusting your scope. “Going hunting,” you replied tersely. Logan raised an eyebrow, his interest obviously piqued. “Hunting?” he repeated, amusement thick in his tone. “Out here?” Your patience was already wearing thin. “Yeah, out in the woods. It’s a quiet spot, about an hour away.”

He crossed his arms, clearly not dissuaded. “That so? Sounds like a perfect way to kill some time. I’ll come.” You stiffened, giving him a hard look. “Look, it’s a solo trip. Don’t need any company.”

A spark of defiance flickered in his eyes, and that irritating smirk just deepened. “Didn’t ask if you needed it. Just saying I’m bored. Got nothing better to do, so I’ll come along. Unless you’re afraid I’ll out-hunt you.” You clenched your jaw, the challenge hanging between you like a dare. He had no idea what he was getting into, but if dragging him along was the only way to shut him up, fine. You rolled your eyes. “Fine, whatever. But you’re bringing your own bike.”

A slight chuckle escaped him as he pushed himself off the doorframe, clearly pleased with his victory. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

With engines roaring, you hit the open road. The wind was cool against your face as the trees blurred by, and with every mile, you felt the tension of the mansion fading. Logan’s bike kept steady behind yours, the low rumble matching your own, and by the time you reached the forest clearing, you’d almost forgotten you had a company behind.

••••••

The spot was perfect: a quiet, open stretch beneath towering pines, with a lake gleaming in the early morning light just a few yards away. You slid off your bike and shrugged your rifle strap over your shoulder, taking in the familiar scent of pine and fresh earth. Logan dismounted, his eyes scanning the area with a skeptical look, as though it weren’t quite wild enough for him.

Reaching into your pack, you pulled out a second rifle and handed it to him. “Here. Pre-charged pneumatic rifle. Same as mine.”

Logan took the rifle in his hands, looking it over like it was a toy. He raised an eyebrow, chuckling as he examined it. “An air rifle? What, are we going after rabbits?” He scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You sure you don’t want to give me a slingshot while you’re at it?”

You felt the heat rise in your chest, your grip tightening around your own rifle. “It’s called PCP, Logan,” you shot back, voice edged with irritation. “These aren’t toys, and they’re not some cheap replacement for a ‘real’ weapon. Just because it’s not your style doesn’t mean it’s useless.”

Logan chuckled, clearly unimpressed. “Right. Just don’t expect me to take down anything serious with this thing.” You squared your shoulders, meeting his gaze with a defiant glint in your eyes. “You’d be surprised what I can take down with this thing. But hey, if you’d rather just watch, go ahead.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, something sparking in his eyes as if he was finally beginning to understand that this wasn’t a joke to you. Without another word, you turned and started toward the trees, steps purposeful, daring him to follow if he thought he could keep up.

The morning wore on, and Logan followed you through the dense trees, rifle in your hand but with no real intention of using it. Logan moved with the instinctive grace of a predator, completely at ease, his senses sharp, picking up on every rustle and movement around him. It wasn’t long before he spotted a squirrel perched high in the branches, his eyes narrowing as he took aim. A split second later, his rifle went off, and the small animal dropped to the forest floor. Logan glanced back at you, a smug satisfaction evident in his expression.

“See? Not bad for a ‘toy,’” he muttered, half-teasing. You managed a tight smile, adjusting the rifle in your hands, though it felt heavier than usual. As he scoped out his next target, you followed, keeping your expression neutral. Another squirrel appeared on a nearby branch, and Logan gestured for you to take the shot. You lifted your rifle, sighting down the barrel, but at the last moment, you let the bullet go wide, the squirrel darting up the tree and vanishing.

Logan gave a low chuckle, and his eyes gleamed with that knowing look. “Missed, huh?” he said, a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “Didn’t seem like your usual aim.”

You kept your gaze on the ground, shrugging slightly. “Guess I’m a little rusty.” But Logan’s scrutiny didn’t ease up, and he’d clearly seen through you.

Logan’s eyes were sharp as he watched you line up another shot, this time at a squirrel nestled on a higher branch. You steadied your aim, but when you squeezed the trigger, it was with just enough force to send the shot wide, the squirrel scurrying off into the trees. Logan’s low chuckle made you glance over, and you saw that familiar, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t miss that one by accident, did you?” he remarked, amusement glinting in his eyes. "I told you I'm just a bit rusty." You said again.

“You didn't squeeze the trigger, you flick em with your finger way too harsh. Tryna scare it off, maybe?” Logan teased which caught you off guard, you raised an eyebrow, studying his expression. “You sound just like my old man.” You told him, recollecting lost memories since you haven't heard those words in ages. Stop pulling the trigger, you need to squeeze it. Your father used to scream those combination of words every. Single. Time. A rifle is in your hand. Stop pulling it, just squeeze. "You two used to hunt together?" Logan voice a bit softer, suddenly brings you back from the pit and let the lost memories to float away once again.

You ignored his rhetorical question as your curiosity mingling with surprise. “Most people wouldn’t notice something so small about a trigger pull.” Logan shrugged, glancing down at his own rifle. “Been around long enough to pick up a thing or two,” he said. “One of my many lives, I was in the military, then special forces. Spent a lot of time with weapons—and people who didn’t always want to shoot straight.”

You nodded, absorbing the new bit of information, of course he'd been in the military at some point, though part of you wondered just how many “lives” he’d actually lived. Logan turned back to the forest, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible softness in his gaze now, as if he understood more than he was letting on.

“So, why come out hunting if you don’t actually want to kill anythin'?” he asked, watching you intently. The question hung in the cool morning air, and you felt a knot tighten in your chest. With a deep breath, you straightened, memories uncoiling in your mind.

“My father used to take me hunting when I was a kid,” you started slowly, eyes tracing the bark of a nearby tree. “Every weekend, he’d drag me out there, make me practice my aim. I hated it, the thought of killing something that didn’t even know I was there.” You paused, voice tightening, but pushed through. “Eventually, he stopped caring if I didn’t shot anything. I’d just aim for the fruit stems, watching them drop." You scoffs recalling another details "I'd bring home a bag full of persimmons, my mum loved them.” You smile sheepishly, remembering the sweet memories you used to have with your family. Even if it's for a really short time.

Logan’s expression softened just a bit, as if he were picking up on the edges of something deeper. When you fell quiet, his gaze never left you, and he waited in that steady, quiet way of his.

“It was… before he sold me to the military,” you added in a clipped tone, almost an afterthought. The words surprised even you, slipping out with a bitterness that had dulled over the years but still lingered. After your words hung in the air, Logan's face shifted, his usual hard expression momentarily cracking. He blinked, caught off guard, brows pulling together as he absorbed what you'd said. His mouth opened as if to speak, but for a beat, he just looked at you, his eyes carrying an unexpected softness.

Finally, his voice came low and careful, the rough edge softened. “I’m… sorry,” he murmured, like he almost couldn’t believe he was saying it.

You gave a short, almost dismissive shrug, lips quirking into a half-smile. “I’m not,” you replied, the words wry but surprisingly honest. Logan’s gaze lingered, his respect for you deepening as he caught the steel beneath your half-joking tone. Without another word, he nodded, the forest around you both settling into a silence that felt almost like understanding.

“You’re a strange one,” he finally said, his voice gruff but softer than usual. He glanced down at the rifle in his hand. “But I get it.”

You didn’t say anything, but you felt a small, unexpected weight lift from your shoulders. Logan turned, heading further into the trees, but he didn’t ask you to take another shot. Instead, he led the way, rifle lowered, the two of you moving together walked in silence for a while, curiosity gnawed at you until you finally asked, “So… how long did you serve?”

Logan glanced at you, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. He gave a short laugh, looking off as if doing the math in his head. “Since the Civil War,” he replied simply.

You stopped in your tracks, caught off guard, blinking as you took in his words. “The Civil War?” You’d guessed he might have been in World War I, but this was something else entirely.

Logan chuckled at your reaction, his lips quirking as he kept walking, and you scrambled to catch up. “What about after that?” you pressed, genuinely curious. “I mean… until when?”

He raised an eyebrow, thoughtful, and then shrugged. “After Vietnam around the 80s,” he answered. “Finally called it quits after a while.” Your mind raced as you did the math. “So that’s….. like more than a hundred and twenty years in the military?” You shook your head, a little awe mixed with something close to disbelief.

Logan just grunted, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but then he looked back at you. “What about ya? How long?”

“Twenty,” you replied with a half-smile. “Not even a quarter of your time.” The two of you shared a look, something unspoken but deeply felt passing between you, an understanding of battles fought, the weight of service, and the scars it left behind. Logan’s gaze softened a bit more, his voice quiet but steady. “Guess we both know a thing or two about how it changes you.”

You nodded, feeling a connection that went beyond words. As you walked further into the woods together, a quiet understanding settled between you, each of you carrying the weight of those years but somehow feeling just a little lighter with someone who understood.

As you and Logan trekked further into the woods, a flash of orange against the dense green foliage caught your eye. You stopped in your tracks, looking up at a tall persimmon tree, the branches laden with ripe fruit, a few of them dangling low within sight but just out of reach. It was like a piece of your past had somehow woven itself into this moment, in the middle of the quiet forest with Logan by your side.

Without explaining, you turned to Logan. “Hold still for a second,” you murmured, unslinging your rifle. He raised an eyebrow but complied, watching curiously as you stepped up behind him. Hoisting the rifle up, you positioned it on his shoulder, trying to steady the barrel.

Logan tensed as he felt the weight of your rifle settle. “So, twenty years in the military, and this is what they teach you on rifle safety procedure, huh?” he muttered, his usual sarcasm laced with a flicker of amusement.

You smirked, squinting down the scope as you zeroed in on a particularly plump persimmon. “Cry me a river, Logan. It’s not like if I accidentally blow off an ear, it wouldn’t grow back.”

Logan huffed, shaking his head slightly but careful not to disrupt your aim. “Real professional,” he grumbled. “I didn’t live over a century just to become someone’s human bipod.”

You stifled a laugh, your gaze still fixed on the fruit, the tiniest stem all that kept it hanging. “Do me a favor and shut up. Hold your damn breath my rifle's trembling." You said firmly with slight irritation in your voice.

Logan’s muttered complaints quieted, though his annoyance was clear as he held his breath, his whole frame going rigid beneath the weight of your rifle. “Unbelievable,” he managed to whisper, voice muffled as he exhaled in controlled bursts.

With a steady hand and laser focus, you squeezed the trigger just as your father had taught you. The shot rang out, clean and precise, and with a satisfying snap, the persimmon detached and fell gracefully into the forest floor. Stepping back with a triumphant grin, you patted Logan on the shoulder as if he’d actually contributed.

Logan exhaled, glancing between you and the fallen persimmon. “You really went through all that trouble for one fruit?” You shrugged, retrieving the persimmon and wiping it clean on your sleeve. “Not just any fruit,” you replied, studying it with a small, nostalgic smile before taking a bite. “It’s a piece of home.”

Logan watched you for a beat, his usual snark softened, something like understanding flickering in his gaze. But of course, he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction without one last jab.

“Next time, maybe just ask for a ladder,” he muttered, though the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied, biting back a grin as you stashed the persimmon for later.

Logan’s gaze settled on another branch of ripe persimmons hanging just out of reach, and you saw the challenge spark in his eyes. Without a word, he raised his rifle and took aim at the slim stem of a fruit, clearly bent on proving himself.

“Careful,” you warned, munching on your own persimmon. “It’s not that easy without something to steady your aim.” But he only smirked, cocky as ever. “Shut up"

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, I’d give you three chances with that,” you shot back, a teasing glint in your eyes.

Logan rolled his eyes, muttering "I don't need three bullets." something under his breath as he braced the rifle, using only his left arm for support. He took his first shot, and the bullet whizzed by the stem, barely brushing it. A slight frown replaced his smirk as he reloaded, now more focused.

“Still sure you don’t need three?” you taunted, crossing your arms as you watched. He grunted in response, taking aim again. The second shot missed by a hair, and he huffed in frustration, your expression already broadcasting an I told you so.

“Huh. Not exactly fair,” he muttered, a faint grumble in his tone. “You had my shoulder as a bipod, and it’s not like I can use yours.” His eyes flicked to your height as if to emphasize the point, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth.

Raising an eyebrow, you smirked back. “Have you ever thought about just asking for help?” Before you could second-guess the impulse, you stepped in front of him, lifting your right arm and offering it up. “Here, use this.”

Logan’s smirk faltered as he looked down at you, clearly caught off guard but game enough to try. He gave a short nod, settling his rifle on your palm with arm raised above your head, though he quickly realized it wasn’t quite steady. Without a word, he reached out, his calloused fingers wrapping around your wrist to gently adjust the height. The touch was firm, grounding, but the warmth of his hand sent a jolt through you, making your heart skip a beat. You hadn't fully thought this through, and now, standing this close to him, you became acutely aware of every detail. The roughness of his hand against your skin, and the subtle brush of his fingers as he guided your arm into position.

He adjusted your arm a little higher, bringing it closer to his shoulder, his focus entirely on the rifle. But for you, every second of contact felt charged. The way his hand lingered, steadying you, almost made you forget why you’d offered in the first place.

“Hold it there,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. You nodded, words catching in your throat, as he finally let go, his hand slipping from your wrist, leaving your skin tingling where his fingers had been.

For a moment, you were hyper-aware of the closeness between you, his face inches from yours. Your heart picked up its pace as you took in every detail—the rugged lines, the odd yet charming mutton chops, and the hint of green that softened his hazel eyes. How could a man this old look so… timeless?

With steady focus, Logan finally pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, sharp and clean, hitting the branch dead-on. You turned your head just in time to see the cluster of persimmons break loose, tumbling to the ground with satisfying thuds.

Before you could react, Logan lowered the rifle from your raised arm, his smirk unmistakably triumphant. He looked at you, eyes twinkling with that signature cocky satisfaction, and held your gaze a moment longer than expected. The intensity in his eyes made you catch your breath, an almost silent exchange passing between you, his smirk softening just slightly as if savoring the moment.

But before he could notice the warmth spreading across your face, you quickly turned away, breaking the spell. Without missing a beat, you strode toward the fallen persimmons, dropping to your knees and reaching for them, your heart still pounding.

“See?” you said, grinning as you picked up the fruit, keeping your focus on them. “I don’t make the rules. Everybody needs a bipod.” Logan gave a low chuckle behind you, clearly amused, but you kept gathering the persimmons, not quite ready to face him again. The weight of that brief look stayed with you, lingering just like the warmth of his hand on your wrist.

As you pocketed the last of the fallen persimmons, you began walking deeper into the woods, Logan by your side. The familiar path led you to a small, serene lake you’d often visited. You knew these woods by heart, every hidden trail and shaded grove. The early morning sun cast a warm glow over the still water, and without a word, you both sat down on the soft grass by the lake’s edge.

The peaceful quiet settled around you as you leaned back, savoring one of the persimmons Logan had shot down. You glanced at him thoughtfully. “So, why did they call you Wolverine?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Someone invented that name for me,” he replied shortly, brushing it off. "Why do they call you Hollow?” he asked, his voice low, almost as if he were reluctant to break the peace of the early hour.

You looked down at the half-eaten persimmon in your hands, a slight smile tugging at your lips. “I invented that name myself. Better than what they used to call me. Fire and Flesh,” you replied, your tone casual, though the weight of those words still lingered. His eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued. “Who called you that?”

“Jarheads,” you replied, using the old slang for Marines, which Logan seemed to understand. His face softened, a flash of recognition in his expression. “Semper fi,” he murmured, the famous Latin phrase among Marines meaning always faithful, familiar in his voice.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes a bit, though with a soft smile. “Oorah,” you replied weakly, echoing the battle cry you’d once shouted alongside fellow Marines. It had been years since anyone had greeted you with Semper fi and it stirred something within you, a sense of camaraderie, a reminder of a time long past.

But as you sat there, looking out over the lake, you felt an unexpected calm wash over you. The overwhelming weight you’d carried for so long felt lighter in this quiet moment. Sitting by the lake, eating persimmons with your new friend from work, far removed from the chaos of life, gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t known you needed.

As you pocketed the last of the fallen persimmons, you rose and dusted off your hands. The quiet of the lake had been soothing, but the early morning sun was beginning to creep higher, casting golden beams through the trees. “We should probably head back,” you said, glancing up at the sky. “It’s almost nine.” Logan gave a nod, and together, you began the walk back through the woods.

After a few minutes of silence, you broke it with a question that had been lingering. “Does it hurt…when your claws come out?” Logan’s eyes flicked toward you, then back to the trail. “Every time.”

There was something in his tone—a resigned acceptance that pulled at you. Logan then returned the question, his gaze shifting to you thoughtfully. “How did they…manage to push your mutations?”

You took a breath, the memories flooding back with an uncomfortable vividness. As you walked, you found yourself speaking, the words coming out slowly, almost reluctantly. “I was human. For 27 years, I think. Feels like a lifetime ago.” You paused, watching the path ahead. “They injected me with something. Then left me in an incubator for days, where the oxygen pressure would drop so low I’d pass out. Over and over again.”

Logan’s face hardened, but he didn’t say anything. Somehow, an apology felt empty, too small for what you’d endured. Instead, he shared his own story, his voice low. “My, uh…claws. They were bones naturally.” The admission caught you off guard, and you looked at him, silently urging him to continue.

“They coated them in metal,” he explained, his tone blunt. “Adamantium. Through injections.” You winced at the thought. “That’s…sick.” There was a beat of silence, so you added lightly, hoping to soften the mood, “Do you like them better now, though? You know, because they’re metal and unbreakable? I can’t even picture you with bone claws. Kinda gross, actually.” Logan shot you a sidelong glance, half-amused. “You’re a terrible person, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you replied with a smirk. “But, come on, do you?” He shook his head, chuckling softly. “Yeah, it’s better with adamantium.” You couldn’t help but grin, triumphant. “Knew it.”

The two of you kept walking, your conversation mingling with the crunch of leaves underfoot, the forest around you somehow feeling a little less heavy. The bond between you, shaped by shared scars and dark humor, felt surprisingly natural, like the start of a new kind of camaraderie.

As you both finally made it back to where your bikes were parked, the morning's warmth faded into a colder silence. You knelt, carefully unzipping your bag and placing your rifle down, adjusting everything with meticulous care, you're always taught PCP rifle is so fragile, the stock is carved with polished woods and not some metal. Just as you were reaching back, Logan called out casually, “Hey, here you go,” and tossed the rifle he had borrowed straight in your direction.

In that split second, you hadn’t been looking, and before you could react, the rifle fell to the ground with a harsh thud.

A bolt of panic and fury surged through you as you stared at it, horrified. You reached down, fingers trembling as you inspected the rifle. This wasn’t just any rifle. It was a gift from your late mentor Mr Santiago who had taught you everything about shooting since you're fourteen years old, who had trusted you with his prized possession. The wood of the stock had cracked upon impact, a delicate fracture spider-webbing across the finish.

“You dumbfuck,” you said, your voice icy and trembling with anger. “Couldn’t you just handed me the rifle like a normal person!?” Logan looked taken aback, his brow furrowing. “Whoa, relax,” he muttered, straddling his bike. “The rifle’s fine.”

You knelt by the rifle, running a finger over the crack. It was irreparable, and your hands tightened with suppressed rage. “You cracked the fucking stock,” you spat, not even looking at him. He shrugged, still unconcerned. “Alright, sorry, that’s on me. Look, I can get it fixed or just replace it.”

“Replace it?” You turned on him, anger boiling over. “Unlike you, Logan, I actually take care of things. People trusted me and this rifle was a gift. My mentor gave this to me before he died. I’ve kept it safe for years, not a single scratch. Here you go holding it for one fucking hour and you manage to crack it. You're unbelievable, I can't believe I trusted you with it.” Your voice trembled with the weight of disappointment and resentment.

Logan went quiet, his face darkening, but he didn’t say anything. For a moment, he looked like he was going to respond, but the words died in his throat as he looked away, feeling the sting of what he’d done. Without another word, you packed your bag, zipped it tightly, and got on your bike.

Without looking back, you started up the engine and took off, the roar of the bike carrying your frustration as you sped down the trail, the tires kicking up dust behind you. You left Logan behind in the dust, his figure shrinking in the rearview mirror, a mix of guilt and regret plain on his face. He sat in silence, the gravity of his small but thoughtless mistake settling over him.

••••••

As you arrived back at the X-Mansion, the grand building loomed before you, a familiar yet comforting sight amidst the turmoil of your thoughts. You parked your bike and headed toward the mansion's entrance, not even glancing behind to check if Logan had caught up. He was still somewhere on the trail, and that suited you just fine.

Entering the mansion, you were greeted by Ororo’s calm voice as she crossed the hall. “Good morning. Professor Xavier needs to see the team after breakfast,” she informed you, her usual serene expression in place, though her keen eyes picked up on your tension. You nodded, offering a faint smile, and continued upstairs without another word.

Once in your room, you carefully laid the damaged rifle on your bed, the fracture in the stock glaring up at you. Sitting down beside it, you ran your fingers along the crack, feeling a pang of frustration and sadness twist in your chest. Mr. Santiago’s face came to mind, and the disappointment in yourself for letting this happen stung. Fixing it wouldn’t be easy—it might not even be possible—and the thought weighed on you.

But you needed to gather yourself; there was a team meeting, and breakfast first. With a sigh, you stood, tearing your gaze away from the broken rifle, and exited your room, leaving the door cracked open. You resolved to focus on one thing at a time: breakfast, the meeting, and then dealing with this mess.

As you made your way downstairs, the usual chatter in the dining area barely registered as you sat down, grabbing a cup of coffee and some toast, lost in your thoughts.

•••••••

Gathered around in Professor Xavier’s office, the team waited, exchanging curious glances. Scott, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, tapped his foot impatiently. “Where’s Logan?” he muttered.

Ororo stood near the window, arms folded. “He’ll be here,” she said, though a hint of curiosity flickered in her gaze. Jean, seated beside the professor’s desk, looked thoughtful, sensing the tension in the room.

Just as Scott opened his mouth to comment again, Logan entered, his gaze immediately locking with yours. You quickly averted your eyes, refocusing on Professor Xavier, who was already watching you both with a knowing look. Logan took his place, leaning against the wall, his expression unreadable but quietly remorseful.

Charles cleared his throat, signaling the start of the meeting. A hologram flickered to life above the table, displaying an image of a stern-looking man with a white lab coat and cold, calculating eyes. “This is Dr. Emrys Killebrew,” Charles began. “A former geneticist known for his experimentation on mutants and humans alike, pushing the limits of ethical science. Over the decades, his work has created…unintended consequences. He has targeted individuals he believed showed potential to develop powers, experimenting on them without regard for their lives.”

Your heart sank, a feeling of dread creeping over you. Professor’s gaze softened as he addressed you specifically, “Hollow, I believe you’re already aware of some of his projects, though you may not know the extent.”

You nodded, but then froze as Charles continued, “He’s the one responsible for the injections that changed you. Dr. Killebrew obtained Wolverine's genetic material in the late '70s…and used it in his experiments on you... when you were still human.”

Stunned, you tore your gaze from Charles and glanced at Logan, whose expression had gone dark with a mixture of guilt and confusion. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, as though he was processing the news for the first time himself. For a heartbeat, the two of you were frozen in a silent exchange before you turned your head back to Charles as the memories of those experiments came back vividly, the painful injections, the endless tests, the way they broke you down. The odds that Logan’s DNA had been a part of it all felt surreal.

A solemn silence settled in the room, broken by Ororo’s gentle voice. “Professor…is he still conducting these experiments?”

“Yes,” Charles replied gravely, flicking to another image of a heavily guarded facility. “We’ve located another of his labs. Intelligence suggests he’s holding a group of young mutants there—twelve in total. They’re being kept under heavy surveillance and sedation, and they are in immediate danger. I need you all to work together tonight to bring them home.”

Scott stepped forward, his tone resolute. “We’ll get them out, Professor. Whatever it takes.” His gaze traveled over the team, determination in his eyes. Jean nodded, her expression fierce. “If Killebrew’s behind this, we can’t let him keep experimenting on innocent kids. He’s not getting away this time.”

Hank, adjusting his glasses, looked thoughtful. “It will be essential to understand the facility’s layout and any possible security measures. If this location mirrors any of his previous labs, it’s likely rigged with traps for mutants specifically.”

Logan spoke up, his voice tense. “I’ll handle any of those traps. This guy’s work is…personal.” He looked toward you again, softer, a silent apology in his eyes. “More than most of you might realize.” Ororo placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Then we move quickly. Every second counts if those children are suffering.”

Charles nodded approvingly, his gaze sweeping over the group. “Thank you. Prepare to leave after sunset. Coordinate together to ensure the safest extraction possible. We bring them back to safety tonight.”

Part 4 ->

An: It gets even longer through every new chapters, the ideas is buzzing in my mind. Thank you guys for interacting, I'll see you next chapter<3

[marifilue]

Since I've been kinda busy, here's a little peek for What Makes Us Human Part 3: Glimpse Of The Past

•••

Logan’s eyes were sharp as he watched you line up another shot, this time at a squirrel nestled on a higher branch. You steadied your aim, but when you squeezed the trigger, it was with just enough force to send the shot wide, the squirrel scurrying off into the trees. Logan’s low chuckle made you glance over, and you saw that familiar, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t miss that one by accident, did you?” he remarked, amusement glinting in his eyes. "I told you I'm just a bit rusty." You said again.

“You didn't squeeze the trigger, you flick em with your finger way too harsh. Trying to scare it off, maybe?” Logan teased which caught you off guard, you raised an eyebrow, studying his expression. “You sound just like my old man.” You told him, recollecting lost memories since you haven't heard those words in ages. Stop pulling the trigger, you need to squeeze it. Your father used to scream those combination of words every. Single. Time. A rifle is in your hand. Stop pulling it, just squeeze.  "You two used to hunt together?" Logan voice a bit softer, suddenly brings you back from the pit and let the lost memories to float away once again.

•••

I'm having so much fun with this miniseries since it's my first, I can actually write so much about rifles because I grew up with them, it's been a big part of my teenage years since I do target shooting as sport for years.

Read part 1 & 2 here!

[marifilue]

Part 2: A Mission For Rogue

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n, you have regenerative healing ability, skilled with guns and rifles, reader in her 50s but because of her ability looked like in her mid 20s. Logan is from the first X-Men movie era.

Warnings: Explicit language, Violence.

WC: 4,680

<- Part 1

Evening settled over Westchester Station, the sun dipping low as a cold night began to creep in. A faint haze hung above the tracks, softening the clamor of bustling commuters and casting a muted glow over the crowd. Logan and you moved through the crowds of people, his sharp gaze scanning for Marie, focused and vigilant. The team had agreed Logan would be the best to approach her because she trusted him. You stayed close by, Ororo and Scott guards the station pacing back and forth with coms device on their ear.

“She's on the train,” Charles’s voice echoed in both your minds, calm and certain. “I’ll check the first few cars,” you told him, meeting his gaze. “You take the back.” Logan gave a brief nod, his eyes steady as he turned to the nearest car just before it began to pull away.

The dim interior was quiet, only a handful of passengers scattered across the red leather seats. Logan’s gaze flicked across them until it landed on Marie, hunched over by a window, her green hoodie pulled tight, gloved hands clasped in her lap. She looked so small, shoulders pulled up as if to shield herself from the world.

Logan approached slowly “Hey, kid,” Logan called softly, his voice gentle yet firm. Marie’s head turned, her eyes widening as a flicker of relief crossed her face.

“You runnin’ again?” Logan asked as he took a seat next to her. Marie managed a faint nod, her gaze dropping.

“I heard… the Professor was mad at me,” she muttered, looking away.

"Well, who told you that?" Logan’s eyes flashed with a hint of anger at the thought, but his voice stayed soft. “A boy at school” Marie looked up sharply, her eyes guarded. "You think I should go back" She continue. "No I think you should follow your instincts." He says with slight of encouragement.

After you were sure Marie is not on the passenger carriages you've checked, you paced towards the back, hoping Logan already find her first, which he did. You caught a glimpse of him sitting next to Marie, deciding to keep a respectful distance, you stood a few chairs away, listening to their conversations.

Marie’s mouth trembled, and she let out a shaky breath. “The first boy I ever kissed…” Her voice cracked. “He ended up in a coma for three weeks. I can still feel him… in my head.”

Logan reached an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a reassuring side hug and gently squeeze her left shoulder. You stayed back, observing the unexpected gentleness in him. This morning you had assume he's just another grumpy guy, with his guards as thick as ever. He probably couldn't care less about anyone else in his life, but there he is. Proving your assumption was all wrong, again. Something in your heart softened with the way he's comforting a teenage girl he had met yesterday. He looked up briefly as the train rumble and caught your gaze, you offered him a slight smile, both for acknowledging his care and letting him know you were here.

As Marie leaned into his side, her tears leaving faint trails on her cheeks, he whispered, “There aren’t many people who’ll understand what you’re goin’ through. But Xavier’s one of ‘em. He actually wants to help. That’s rare, especially for people like us.”

Marie looked up at him, searching his face. Logan met her gaze with a quiet confidence. “Give these geeks one more shot, yeah?” He paused, adding softly, “C'mon I’ll take care of you.” He reached giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze one last time, and she nodded, wiping her eyes. “Promise?” she murmured. Logan nodded. “Yeah, I promise.”

After giving them a few minutes Logan's eyes find yours and gave you a small nod, a sign you can approach them now. You walk slowly before taking a seat across from them, catching her eye with a gentle smile. “Marie, you okay?” you asked quietly, wanting her to feel the team’s support. She gave you a small nod, visibly calmer now, though still vulnerable. “Good,” you said, reaching over to lightly pat her hand. “You’re safe with us. We’ve got you.”

Just then, the train gave a sudden, sharp lurch, rattling the carriage. Logan’s head whipped around, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the car for any signs of danger. You felt it too, a sudden unnatural tension in the air. The train door shuddered, then screeched open, metal bending under an invisible force. Magneto stepped through, his expression cold and calculated, his gaze zeroing in on Marie.

Logan shot up, moving in front of her in an instant, claws extending with a snikt. “Not today, Magneto,” he growled, placing himself between Marie and the older man. Magneto’s face was impassive as he lifted a hand, his voice smooth but forceful. “Move aside, Logan. The girl belongs with me.” Logan braced himself, but with a flick of Magneto’s fingers, he was yanked backward, his body slamming against the metal wall, pinned by Magneto’s power. Straining against the invisible hold, he grit out, “Marie, don’t listen to him.”

Magneto’s attention shifted to you, his brows raised slightly in amusement and with a blink he's dismissing you, pinning you to the side against the cold metal wall. Fuck you cursed under your breath as you remembered having a metal guns with you, strapped between your waist. Should've seen this coming and grab the plastics one you thought, seeing your stubborn head fighting back his strong force with gritted teeth, Magneto strip a piece of metal and lock your neck in place glued within the walls behind you. He's now focusing again on Marie. “They’re just using you,” he told her, his voice almost gentle. “With me, you don’t have to be afraid of your powers. I can teach you to control them to never hurt anyone again.”

Marie stared at him, wide-eyed, caught in a mix of fear and hesitation. Logan's voice broke through the tension, gruff but steady. "Kid, you want control? You've already got it. You just need the right people to help you and it's not him!" His shout echoed, but Magneto only scoffed, lifting a finger with chilling indifference. A thin slice of metal shot forward, pressing itself harshly over Logan's mouth, smothering his words into silence. His eyes blazed, defiant, but Magneto's sadistic gaze was fixed on him, unfazed. Without a word, he manipulated a jagged strip of steel to float between his fingers, then with a slight flick, split it cleanly into two, hovering the pieces in front of Logan's face as savoring the moment for his own sick twisted amusement.

Logan barely had a heartbeat to register what was coming. With brutal precision, the blunt ends of the steel impaled through the both of his palms, burying themselves into the wall behind him. His muscles tensed, body trembling, as blinding pain ripped through his hands, spreading like wildfire up his arms. His scream is muffled under the metal piece, leaving only his strangled, agonized breaths.

You watch in horror, unable to look away. Your neck was bound by a cold band of metal Magneto had twisted around your throat, tight enough to restrict your movements and there's barely a space for air, forcing you to stay still, vulnerable and helpless. It wasn't as brutal as Logan's suffering, but you could feel its cold bite against your skin, a constant reminder of your own fragility in Magneto's grasp. Your hands clenched into fists, nails biting into your palms, you scream for his name as his eyes widened with pain and fury, his silent agony twisting the insides of your stomach.

Magneto continue to extending a hand toward her. “Come with me, Marie. They can’t understand your potential. But I can.”

Her gaze flicked to Logan, then to you, poor girl didn't know what to do, she can't just attack him, it's not how her mutation works. “Marie,” you said gently, “you’re not alone. We’ll help you, just like we promised.” You said almost chocked by your own words as the grip tightened in your neck.

She took a step back, her shoulders squared with a new resolve. “I don’t want your help,” she said to Magneto, her voice shaking but determined. Magneto’s face darkened, his patience running thin. He gestured sharply, and metal restraints began to form around Marie, pulling her toward him. Panic flashed in her eyes as she struggled. “Marie!” You yelled, fighting against the magnetic hold.

The magnetic force on your neck faded, a harsh weight easing as Magneto took off into the distance, Marie in his possession. You drew in a shaky breath, adrenaline still pounding through your veins. Ignoring the pain in your own neck, you rushed to Logan, terror filling you as you saw his hands impaled to the wall, the steel pinning him in place with blood dripping staining the rusty metal. “Shit,” you muttered, reaching for the steel. “I’m so sorry, Logan. I’m sorry.” Your hands shook as you gripped the metal, pulling with all your strength, gritting your teeth against his muffled grunts of pain. “Hang on,” you whispered, glancing up to see the tight set of his jaw, his eyes locked on yours through the agony. You yanked the metal free with a final, determined pull, and instantly his hands started healing, the torn skin knitting itself back together as if it had never been wounded.

He flexed his hands, and for a moment, the raw tension between you eased. But his gaze shifted to your neck, where lines of red cuts were still visible from the steel that had choked you earlier. You could feel the wounds slowly healing, but it was nowhere near as fast as his. Logan’s eyes darkened as he took in the damage, and with a gentleness that surprised you, he reached up, brushing the tips of his fingers lightly along your throat. His voice softened, concern bleeding through his rough tone. “Does it always take this long for you?”

You forced a half-smile, shrugging as best you could without wincing. “Sorry, not everyone heals as fast as you,” you replied with a touch of sarcasm, hoping to deflect the sudden tension thrumming between you. His lips twitched, almost a smirk, but there was something deeper in his gaze, a quiet understanding, maybe even respect as he nodded. Before either of you could say more, the communicator crackled, Ororo’s voice breaking through.

If there's any new skills you've learned since joining the X-Men, it's pacing from one to another side of the building and change your clothes so quick into a, well kinda uncomfortable tight leather suit which offer enough protection. Even though you don't really need it, because even a bullet hit would just sting and not kill you but here you go, you just thought it would be cool to have a matching sets of suit with the team altogether.

“Logan?" Ororo voice surged, following her muttered your name. "We lost the signal. What’s going on?” Logan’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he turned his attention to the comm. “He’s got her. Magneto took Marie.” A tense silence filled the line until Scott’s voice cut in, firm and unyielding. “We’ll head back to the mansion and planned further. Tell us your position.” You exchanged a look with Logan, determination settling in your eyes. “We’ll find her,” you said, your voice steady, your conviction mirroring his. A subtle, unspoken bond hung in the air between you, both knowing the chase was just beginning.

••••••••

In the equipment room, harsh lights cut across the space, casting sharp shadows that make the room look almost sterile. Steel racks line the walls, filled with various weapons and gadgets neatly arranged in their designated slots. It's cold here, the kind of chill that gets under your skin even if you don’t feel the temperature the same way most people do. You take a breath, inhaling the familiar scent of gun oil and leather, the kind of smell that would remind anyone else of trouble. For you, it’s just another day.

You stand in front of the rack, eyes scanning the gleaming rows of firearms before selecting your special pair. You reach for the twin plastic handguns. Sleek, black, well-maintained—feeling their familiar weight settle in your hands. They’re custom models, modified to go against magneto and obviously with accuracy and grip, with a dark matte finish to avoid glare. The barrels are slightly shorter than standard, making them easier to draw in tight situations, and the grips are textured to keep steady even under pressure. They fit perfectly in your hands, molded to your touch after years of training, of both sanctioned and unsanctioned missions.

As you secure each gun into its holster at your hips, there's a pang in your chest, a familiar bitterness. Guns have been a constant in your life, a tool you were taught to wield with precision and detachment. Yet, no matter how skilled you've become, there’s a shadow that lingers. You've used these weapons to save lives, but you've also used them to take lives, choices that weren't always yours to make.

Your time in the Marines was a relentless cycle of missions, one target after another, where you were pushed to the edge of your humanity, fuck they treated you as a tool because of what you could endure. The regenerative healing meant you could take the hits, walk into gunfire, and still pull the trigger. They called you the "Fire and Flesh" a title that left you both proud and hollow. The memories flicker in your mind as you load each plastic magazine with a kind of practiced ease, slotting a few extra rounds into a small black pouch strapped around your upper arm. You slip a few spare magazines in there, securing them in place as you mentally map out the ammo you'll need.

The guns may be tools, but they’re also symbols. Each grip, each click of a magazine, each time you pull them from your holsters, it reminds you of choices, of freedom and of restraint. And despite everything, you can’t deny the comfort they bring. With these, you’re in control, deciding when and where to draw the line. With an exhale, your hands resting on the metal grips. For better or worse, this is part of you.

You hear voices from across the room and glance over to see Scott handing Logan a black leather suit. Logan takes it with an exaggerated snort, holding it up and making a face as he examines it. "Really, Cyke? You want me to wear this?" His voice drips with sarcasm, but Scott just crosses his arms, standing firm. “It’s for disguise reasons, Logan,” Scott argues, his tone as flat as ever. “Blend in with the team. Makes us look united.”

You can’t help but chuckle, strolling over already wearing your own suit in. “C’mon, mutton chops. It’s just a little leather. Not like it’s gonna kill you,” Your voice has that teasing edge, enough to prod him a little without crossing the line.

Logan scowls, holding the suit like it's something foul he stepped in. He shakes his head, tossing it onto the table with a grunt. "Ain't wearin' this thing," he mutters, crossing his arms, stubborn as ever. Who the hell in their right mind would go out with that pair of jeans and old flannel into a fucking mission, we don't even know what awaits for us.

Scott sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Logan, it’s just a suit. The rest of us manage to get by without complaining."

"Yeah, well, the rest of you don’t mind bein’ squeezed like a sardine,” Logan shoots back. "I work better in my own gear."

You stifle a grin, watching the way he bristles. Real insufferable putting up a fight over a damn suit, and you have to admit, it’s a bit entertaining watching him pushing Scott's button. "Think of it as a team-bonding exercise. Or, you know, try not to embarrass us by showing up like some lumberjack out of place." Scott shot back as you parted your lips shocked by his insults.

Logan retort "What are you sayin man?" His eyebrows now knitted together taking a step closer to Scott. Before Scott could respond, Ororo and Jean stride in, their black suits sleek and professional, eyes sharp as they take in the standoff. “Oh, still fighting it, are we?” Ororo says with a raised eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her tone. She steps over to Logan, crossing her arms. “Logan, it’s a mission. Just wear the suit. You won’t die from being uncomfortable for a couple of hours.” Jean nods, giving him a half-smile. “It’s true, you know. Besides, it would be nice if we looked like a coordinated team for once. Right?” She casts a look around, her eyes landing on you and Scott for support.

Logan snorts, glancing from Jean to Ororo, then back at the suit. “Fine. But if this thing rips while I’m movin’, it’s on you, Cyke,” he growls, grumbling as he reluctantly picks up the suit and walk to a change room, muttering complaints the whole time.

The three of you share a look, trying not to laugh as Logan fumbles with the tight sleeves and zippers, clearly out of his element. Once he’s finally suited up, he shoots each of you a warning glare, as if daring anyone to comment. And with Logan finally in uniform, the team heads out together toward the Blackbird, looking like the united force Scott always hoped for, even if it took a little persuasion.

••••••••••

The night air was sharp and biting, the lights of New York City stretching out in the distance, casting a dim glow against the cloudy sky. The team had arrived at Liberty Island, a cold wind whipping around them as they approached the massive silhouette of the Statue of Liberty, rising majestically above the dark waters. Logan, you, and the rest of the team moved swiftly and quietly through the shadows, each one of you alert and on edge, sensing the danger looming just ahead.

The plan was simple but risky: Ororo would create a mist to obscure your movements, giving Logan and you the cover needed to enter the statue and reach Marie. Scott and Ororo would handle any defenses Magneto might have put up outside, keeping him distracted while the two of you located Marie and found a way to disable whatever device Magneto was planning to use to amplify her powers.

As you continued up through the statue’s dim interior, an old metal detector blocked your path. Logan strode through it, triggering an immediate blaring alarm. Unfazed, he extended all his claws and ripped the detector apart in one swift motion. Scott, startled by the noise, looked back just as Logan retracted his first and last claws, leaving only his middle one raised in Scott’s direction. Scott stifled a laugh, shaking his head in amusement before they both moved on, the brief humor a stark contrast to the tension surrounding them.

Logan’s expression was focused and grim, his gaze scanning every shadow, every corner, for signs of trouble. You kept pace beside him, your weapons drawn, every sense heightened. Each step took you closer to the top of the statue, where you could sense Magneto’s energy, a pulsing, unnatural presence hanging thick in the air. When you finally reached the observation deck, you spotted Marie in the distance, slumped against the metallic structure, her figure dwarfed by the massive machinery Magneto had built around her. The device loomed ominously, wires and metal snaking around her like a cage, amplifying her powers without her control. She looked small and fragile, her skin pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, unconscious but alive.

Logan took one look at her and gritted his teeth. “Stay close,” he muttered to you, his claws extending with a soft snikt. “We’re getting her out of this.”

Just as you began to approach Marie, a powerful magnetic force slammed into both of you, sending you skidding backward. Magneto appeared on the platform, his gaze cold and unyielding, blocking the path between you and Marie. His voice echoed through the space, mocking and confident. “You really thought you could take her from me?” he sneered, raising a hand as metal shards hovered around him, glinting menacingly in the dim light.

Logan snarled, launching himself forward, claws extended. But with a flick of Magneto’s wrist, he was halted midair, the metal in his body binding him in place. You raised your weapon, aiming for Magneto’s exposed chest, but he caught sight of it and twisted his hand, forcing the weapon from your grasp and pinning you against the cold metal wall with a jagged piece of railing.

“Enough games,” Magneto said, turning his attention back to Marie. He began to activate the machine, its hum growing louder as power surged through its structure. Logan struggled against his restraints, fury blazing in his eyes as he watched Marie’s life slipping away, her body starting to weaken under the machine’s grip.

Just then, Ororo’s voice crackled over the communicator, barely audible over the machine’s hum. “Hold on, we’re almost there,” she said, her tone filled with urgency. In a flash of lightning, she and Scott burst onto the observation deck, Ororo unleashing a gust of wind that knocked Magneto back a few steps. Scott took the opening, firing an optic blast that shattered the device’s control panel, sending sparks flying across the room.

With the machine momentarily disrupted, the magnetic force binding Logan and you released, dropping you both to the ground. You staggered to your feet, wincing from the impact, but Logan didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, making his way to Marie as fast as he could, pushing past the debris and machinery in his path.

Reaching her side, Logan dropped to his knees, gathering her limp form into his arms. Her skin was cold, her pulse weak, but she was still breathing. He pulled her close, knowing he had to act fast. Without hesitating, he pressed his cheek to hers, allowing his healing power to transfer, knowing it was the only way to save her.

The process was agonizing. You watched as Logan’s skin paled, his breaths growing ragged as his energy drained into Marie, reviving her but weakening him. Marie’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze unfocused and scared, but slowly, she began to recognize him. She reached out, her gloved fingers gently brushing his face as she whispered, “Logan…”

Just as Marie started to regain her strength, you saw Logan’s energy faltering, his grip on her loosening as his wounds reappeared, reopening as his body sacrificed itself to save hers. But he didn’t pull away, even as his breaths grew shallow, determined to make sure she was safe, no matter the cost.

Finally, the machine gave a final, deafening crackle as Ororo and Scott managed to destroy it completely, its lights dimming as it shut down for good. Magneto, realizing his defeat, retreated into the shadows, his figure vanishing as he made his escape. You hurried to Logan and Marie, relief flooding you as you saw color returning to her cheeks, her breaths becoming steady and strong again.

Logan, however, was on the brink of exhaustion, barely able to stay conscious. You reached out, steadying him, offering him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “You did it,” you murmured, watching as Marie slowly came back to full awareness, glancing between you both with gratitude and a touch of awe.

With Magneto’s plan thwarted and Marie safe, you all made your way back down the statue, the midnight air now filled with the quiet comfort of victory. And as you helped Logan to his feet, his strength gradually doesn't seem to return any soon, you exchanged a look, knowing this was only the beginning of the battles yet to come but for tonight, we won.

The interior of the Blackbird was dimly lit, the faint hum of machinery echoing through the cabin. Logan wandered through the narrow aisles, his feet heavy, as if they were laden with lead. He fought against the growing urge to succumb to sleep, his body weary from the night’s chaos. The adrenaline that had kept him alert during the fight was fading, leaving him feeling unsteady. Each step felt like a monumental effort, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment.

Just as he reached the back of the aircraft, the world blurred around him, and he staggered before collapsing against the cold metal wall. A sharp gasp echoed through the cabin, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

••••••••

Sixteen hour passed which Logan had spent being unconscious, a concern rippled through the team as they gathered outside the medbay. Inside, where Logan lay on the bed with thin cushion. Jean was monitoring his vital signs, her brow furrowed with worry. She looked up, meeting the anxious gazes of yours.

“He’s stable,” Jean assured, glancing at the screen displaying Logan’s steady heart rate. “Just needs rest.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, your heart heavy as you watched the man who had prove himself to be become a reluctant mentor, a fierce protector, and a complicated friend in such a short time. “I still can’t believe what happened yesterday,” you said, breaking the silence. “Magneto... he impaled him with a steel in the train wall." Jean nodded, her expression contemplative. “That kind of injury would take a toll on anyone. But with his healing factor, he’ll bounce back. He’s been through worse.”

You couldn’t help but fascinated by Logan’s resilience. “He told me he’s nearly 170 years old,” you murmured, glancing at Logan’s still form. “Can you imagine how much pain he’s endured in all that time? I mean, he might’ve fought in World War I. Who knows what he’s experienced?” You thought to yourself, because from your personal experience, being alive for half a century is miserable enough. Twenty years under the military command which you just gained a freedom from three years now. This guy is almost two century. Jean listened intently, her focus unwavering. “It’s hard to fathom,” she agreed. “He’s been through more than most could bear. But he’s still here, still fighting.”

The two of you continued to speak softly, unaware that Logan’s ears were attuned to your voices, even in his unconscious state. The warmth of your words and concern seeped into him, grounding him despite the darkness. After what felt like an eternity, Jean stood to stretch her legs, casting a final glance at Logan. “I’ll be right back,” she said softly, stepping out of the lab.

As soon as she left, you took a deep breath, the weight of the past hours crashing down on you. You approached Logan, your heart racing as you exhaled, “We still need you here, Wolverine.” The words escaped your lips, raw and sincere, a plea for him to return to you and the team.

To your surprise, a faint whisper broke the silence. “M not goin' anywhere, Hollow.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you turned, eyes wide in disbelief. Logan's eyes fluttered open, glimmering with the remnants of pain yet fierce determination. You felt a flush creep up your cheeks, embarrassment washing over you as you instinctively moved to help him sit up. “Logan! You’re awake!”

He winced slightly but managed a weak grin. “Where’s Marie?” he asked, his voice hoarse but laced with concern. “Still recovering,” you replied quickly. “She’s been a bit off since everything. Picking up your behavior all morning, actually.” A small smile tugged at Logan’s lips. “She’s got grit,” he murmured, his eyes shining with pride.

Just then, the door swung open, and Professor Xavier entered the medbay, his wheelchair gliding smoothly across the floor. “Welcome back, Logan. I’m glad you’re still with us.”

“Yeah, me too,” Logan replied, stealing a glance at you. His smile widened just a fraction, a hint of gratitude in his expression, making your heart swell with relief. In that moment, the weight of fear and worry began to lift, replaced by the warmth of camaraderie and hope. You all knew the battles weren’t over, but with Logan back on his feet, the fight continued.

Part 3 ->

AN: Whooo here we go fellas, I think I've wrapped the introduction now. Be prepared because we're heading for the next chapter where the summary would take place. Thank you for reading and interacting <3

[marifilue]

Part 1: New Guy In Town

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, you have regenerative healing ability, skilled with guns and rifles, no use of y/n, reader in her 50s but because of her ability looked like in her mid 20s. Logan is from the first X-Men movie era.

Warnings: Explicit language, nothing much but we'll get there

Wc: 4,214

A voice echoes in your mind, Professor Xavier calling your name, his presence is sharp and commanding. God, he always knew how to make a grand approach. You jumped at the unexpected voice as he instructed you to meet him downstairs. You set down your book, breath caught. Then, with a quick step, you head for the door.

Grabbing a red cardigan from the hanger just behind your bedroom door and leaving your book, now neglected, by the bed, you walk down the hallway. Dusty windows let in streaks of morning sunlight, warming the cold, shadowed hallway.

You step down two floors via the stairs to reach the main floor. Just when you’re about to reach for the handle, the door swings open, and suddenly you’re staring at a stranger, a tall rugged man who left no room for the doorway, his shadow casting over you. Weird hair style, are those a mutton chops hanging by his chin? Those belonged in a period dramas, not in Professor Xavier’s polished hallway. His X-Men sweater is unzipped halfway, chest hair on full display, which he doesn't seem to be bothered. Could’ve zipped it all the way up, but for some reason known only to God, he left it halfway at seven a.m. in freezing cold.

"And, Logan, meet Hollow" Charles said, introducing the strange man to you by your mutation's name. As you peeked to the side and get a better view of Charles since this guy is blocking the entire doorway. You shot him a confused glance; must be another stray that Charles had picked up. Not that it’s a bad thing—you were a stray once, rescued by Charles after escaping some twisted government experiment.

The man turns back to Charles and points at Ororo, who’s already in the room with Scott. "Storm?" he questioned, pointing to Ororo. "Cyclops," pointing to Scott. Then, "Hollow," he said, pointing at you. You swear you've never heard a voice that deep, did he do that on purpose?

He scoffed, "And what do they call you? Wheels?" Mocking all of the names and even the Professor. Where did Charles find this guy?

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "That’s a lot of attitude for a guy with mutton chops." you muttered, eyeing him warily as he turns his head back at you.

He scoffs, "Hollow? That even a real name?" he said, your eyebrows furrowed together, resisting the urge to show him exactly why they called you that. You ignored him and stepped forward, purposely bump his left shoulder so you could enter the room with force- since he choose to stand right in the entrance door.

"My name is Charles Xavier," Charles said. You manage to keep your voice steady as you ask, "What’s going on, professor?" But part of you wonders if you’re ready for whatever answer he’ll give.

"Logan here and his companion, a young mutant named Marie, were attacked by other mutants under the influence of an old friend of mine, Erik Lehnsherr. I'm not very fond of what Erik is currently engaged in, and I believe his intentions are not positive," Charles explained, and you catch a glimpse of the— what was his name again?mutton-chops guy looked utterly confused.

"You and Marie is safe here Logan, we need to figured out what is Magneto's up to first." Ororo said "Hollow, I believe there’s a room available across from yours on the third floor. Would you mind showing Logan around the school and then leading him to his room?" Charles glanced at you with his usual smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You had to admit that smile was a bit creepy, and his request was now undeniable.

"Sure, Professor," you replied shortly. Glancing at Logan "Chop chop, mutton chops." prompting him to follow you as you leave the office. If looks could kill, you'd be the first to die staring into those hazel eyes.

"You seem really intrigued by my mutton chops, aren't ya?" he said, following your steps from behind as you show him the classroom through the hallway. The school bells ring, and the kids make their way into the hallway, minding their own business. You snort a little laugh, low enough for him to hear. "What?" he demanded, wanting an explanation.

Now entering the kitchen and finding the door to the backyard. "I've only seen those in period dramas they haven't exactly been in style for, like, what? A century?" you said,

"Oh, I know that just fine. I was there when it was still in style," he replied stoically, stepping outside behind you. He now zips his sweater all the way up, which he should have done earlier.

"So your mutation is time traveling, huh? That's a first," you jumped to conclusions. He scoffs "That ain't it, bub. I'm just ol'." Standing beside you and staring into the green yard a hundred feet across. He tucks both of his arms into the pockets of his gray X-Men sweater.

"Like a hundred years old?" you asked, raising your eyebrows in pure curiosity. "Now that bald fella in a wheelchair have restored my memory back after attempting all night. I'm pretty sure I'm pushing a hundred and seventy. A thing I couldn't even remember for the last ten years." Logan responded whilst staring into the green yard. With this new information, you suddenly feel a slight sympathy toward him. A decade, that’s a long time to be lost.

"I have regenerative healing abilities too. If I'm right in guessing this time that's your mutation?" you said, glancing to your left to catch his profile. "Really? How old are ya?" he asks, his tone now filled with curiosity.

"Whoa, whoa. I don’t think it’s socially acceptable in today’s society to ask a woman her age," you replied sarcastically, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. "Fifty-five years old, and nobody needs to know," you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. He can’t help but smile softly, amused by your humor.

Logan brings his left arm up, rubbing his temple with the tips of his index and middle fingers. "Listen, I, uh... I've had a long night. Can we just cut the tour short and show me the room?" He said with low voice, continues to rub his temple before pinching the bridge of his nose. His slight mood shift makes you want to question him further, but you simply nod in understanding. "Come, follow me," you say as you head back into the mansion.

The next three minutes pass in silence, filled only with faint echoes from the classrooms—the low murmurs of students, chairs scraping on floors. The mansion’s grandness always felt both comforting and isolating. Logan trails two steps behind, eyes flicking over the wood-paneled walls, the high arched ceilings, and the faint burn marks from past battles. After climbing two stories, you reach the third-floor hallway. This floor has eight rooms—four on each side—and now that Logan is the last person to occupy one. You on the other hand were the first, a little over two years ago. Sometimes you wondered if you’d ever truly settle in. This floor is more sophisticated than the students' quarters, designed for teachers and offering much more privacy.

You twist the cool brass doorknob and push the door open. The faint scent of wood polish and dust greets you both. Noticing his belongings already sitting near the bed just one bag with enough clothes. Ororo must've dropped them off.

"Find me if you need anything." You said as he nods, offering a faint smile before you close the door "Thanks," he muttered. You force a polite nod with a gentle smile before heading down the hallway, sensing his gaze linger a beat too long. Whether out of interest or suspicion, you weren’t sure. though something in his tone leaves you wary.

•••••••

A few feet away from the kitchen, a polite voice stops you. “Excuse me?” You turn your head and find a young girl with brunette hair standing nearby. “Hi there,” you responded, waiting for her to speak.

“I saw you with Wolverine earlier. Do you know where he is?” she asked. You give her a polite smile, a bit puzzled. “I’m sorry, who’s Wolverine?” you said, genuinely confused.

“Oh… his name’s Logan,” she clarifies, a little awkwardly. Wolverine? The name catches you off guard, but somehow it suits him. You nod. “And you are…?”

“Rogue. Marie, sometimes,” she said, her voice soft. It clicks in your mind, and you smile as you introduce yourself, welcoming her to the school. “I showed Logan to his room on the third floor. He said he needed some rest.” She gives a small nod but seems hesitant to leave. You notice her gloved hands, the fabric stretching past her elbows as if it’s meant to keep something hidden.

"Everything okay?" you asked, noticing her hesitation. She glances down, fidgeting with the edge of her glove. “I… well, it’s different here. But I’m dangerous. My mutation, it's not like most people’s.” She hesitates, looking up at you with a worried expression.

"Tell me more about it, what's your gift?" You softly encourage her. "When I touch someone… I absorb their energy, memories, powers… everything. I could really hurt someone.” There’s a heavy silence as she waits for your reaction, her gaze searching for any hint of fear or judgment. Instead, you give her a reassuring smile.

“I can’t imagine what that must feel like,” you said gently. “But, Marie, you’re safe here. This school is a place for people like us. No one’s going to judge you, and no one’s going to turn you away because of who you are.” She bites her lip, a mix of relief and doubt in her expression.

“It’s hard, though… feeling like I have to protect people from myself. Sometimes I wish I could just be normal.” You place a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We all feel that way sometimes. But you don’t have to go through it alone anymore. Here, you’ve got people who understand and want to help you.”

A small smile breaks through her worry. “Thank you. I didn’t think… I didn’t think anyone would get it.” You return her smile warmly. “We do. You’re welcome here, just as you are.” She give a polite smiles before disappear into the hallway, after all it's her first day. She needs time to settle in.

The clock reads 7:38. It's Wednesday, and you have an English class to teach at nine—a little over an hour away—leaving you enough time to make a simple breakfast. You tiptoe over to the cupboard to grab some flour and then open the fridge to take out two eggs and a cartoon of milk. Setting down a bowl, you mix the flour with some sugar, then crack in the eggs, pour down the milk. You stir the mixture well until it forms a smooth pancake batter. You wait for the pan to heat before carefully pouring the batter just enough to form the perfect circle.

"You mind sharing a bite of that?" a deep voice suddenly appear. You glance over your shoulder, careful not to take your eyes off the half-cooked pancake, and see Logan leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.

You nudge the spatula under the pancake, flipping it with a practiced hand. "I thought you were resting," you said. "I was, but then my stomach grumbled. Haven't ate anythin' in two days," he told you.

"Alright, I'll let you have some. Sit down," you instructed him, and he willingly obliges. "Anythin I can help with?" he adds.

"No, don’t meddle with my business in the kitchen," you replied with a cocky tone, Logan’s lips twitched into a half-smirk, one brow lifting as he watches from his seat behind you when you quietly stand still in front of the stove, humming a melancholic song he’s never heard before. Your hair is messy, pulled into a bun with your favorite floral hair clip. The ends of your red cardigan sway in rhythm with your movements.

A few minutes pass, and the two plates of pancakes are ready, each stacked three high. You place them on the table, but something’s still missing—blueberries and maple syrup, you think to yourself. You head to the fridge to grab some blueberries; there are only a few left, and you make a mental note to restock soon.

"Actually, can you grab the water?" you asked him, reaching into the cupboard above the fridge for the maple syrup. "I thought you hated anyone meddlin' in the kitchen." Logan scoffed as he shifts from his seat, grabbing a glass. He fills it with water, though you didn't exactly pay attention because you're too busy on pouring just the right amount of maple syrup, not too much, just enough.

Logan returns to his seat and places your glass beside your plate. You carefully add blueberries to each plate, and when you’re satisfied, you sit across from Logan, glancing at the empty glass he placed for you. You also catch a look at his own glass, which he’s now drinking from, fully filled with water. "Seriously?" You glance him a death stare raising your eyebrows. He puts down the glass and before he could even blink, you tossed your glass directly to his chest with enough force so his reflexes could catch it, which he did.

"Whoa, relax. I'll get em for ya." He said with stupid grin and you can clearly see how much he's amused with your reaction. He shifts once again from his seat and fill in your glass. "Don't forget the silverware. And if you're only grabbing one set this time, I can eat for two." You jokingly threatened him.

"Aight, no need to get harsh." He came back to the table and handle you the silverware whilst putting the glass with his other hand. With just two of you in the kitchen, you ate the first bites in uncomfortable silences, besides you just met him not even an hour ago. He doesn't seems to mind with the silence but you sure as hell mind, a lot.

"So I guess Storm and Cyclops picked you?" You said staring at your plate and stole glances at his. He shrugged "Yeah, funny names." Bringing another spoon into his mouth, good god he's starving. "It's a code names, just like Wolverine" you tease him after learning he had his own codenames, what a hypocrite. He caught off guard with you mentioning the name Wolverine but refuse to engage further and change the topic immediately.

"What's your actual name then?" He asked and you muttered your first name. He repeated it and tells you how much better it sounds rather than Hollow. "How long you've been here?" He adds whilst taking another bite. "A little over two years now." You said.

"The kid you brought, she’s more than she seems, isn’t she?" You curiously asked as you've interact with Marie earlier. Your best assume was that she might be a relative, probably cousin? Niece?

"I actually had no idea. She's uh, sneak in the back of my van yesterday. Real tough and a fearless kid I must say." Logan said, remembering his accident yesterday.

"You just met her? Could’ve sworn you two were blood, the way you two look alike." You said bringing a spoonful of pancake into your mouth "No, I don't have any relatives left." As Logan finishes the last bite, you take a deep breath, deciding to push just a bit.

"So, I guess...the van's your home?" you asked, glancing over at him before your gaze drops back to your plate. He sets down his fork, pausing. "Home's a stretch." He gives a half-smile, but there's something dark in his eyes that tells you not to dig further.

You nod, realizing he’s probably not one to share personal stuff. "Makes sense. Things like homes don’t seem to last very long around here, anyway." Logan raises an eyebrow, and there's a flicker of understanding or maybe sympathy? But he doesn’t respond.

The silence between you feels almost comfortable now. Almost. You force yourself to finish the last few bites, knowing he’s ready to bolt. You barely have time to look up before Logan’s already heading for the door. He mutters a casual, “Thanks for the food,” without so much as a glance back. His plate sits abandoned on the table, crumbs scattered around it like he didn’t even consider cleaning up. Typical. You narrow your eyes, letting out a small huff as you grab his plate, biting back a string of curses. The water splashes as you scrub, each scrape of the sponge a bit more aggressive than the last.

Men always have it so fucking easy, you think, gritting your teeth. They breeze in, make a mess, and then just walk off without a second thought. Meanwhile, you’re here, elbow-deep in soap suds, trying not to dwell on how much that annoys you. Maybe it’s just him, you try to reason. Or maybe it’s every guy who thinks that dishes magically clean themselves.

“Welcome to the X-Men, I hope you’ll have a great stay. We might actually come with free chefs and maids.” You muttered under your breath, doing a mock impression of Logan’s gruff voice. You can’t help but smirk as you scrub the last of the dishes, feeling a bit of satisfaction in your sarcasm. “A free maid, huh?” The voice makes you jump slightly, and you whirl around to find Logan standing in the doorway, eyebrow raised.

He holds up his hands, looking almost—awkward? “I, uh… went to bathroom. Wasn’t plannin' to ditch the plate.” Heat rises in your face, but you straighten up, not letting him off that easily. “Could’ve fooled me,” you say, crossing your arms. “Most people just disappear after saying thank you.”

Logan’s eyes narrow, clearly not used to being called out. “Didn’t think I needed to narrate every move I make.” He steps closer, reaches past you, and picks up his plate. “But if it’ll get you off my back…” He gives a quick rinse and sets it on the drying rack, as if to make a point. You both stand there in silence, arms crossed, neither willing to look away first. Finally, Logan gives a low chuckle. “Guess I’ll just have to remember the maid service isn’t included next time, yeah?” You can’t help the small smirk that creeps onto your face. “Yeah, and don’t expect turndown service either.”

Logan shakes his head, amused. “Duly noted,” he says, before heading back down the hall, leaving you with an odd mix of satisfaction and lingering tension in the now-empty kitchen.

As the clock ticks closer to nine, the realization hits: you have an English class to teach. You tidy up the kitchen in haste, wipe your hands, and check your watch, calculating that if you hurry, you’ll just make it on time.

•••••••

Your days as a teacher at Xavier’s school tend to follow a steady rhythm. Teaching English to a room full of young mutants comes with its own unique challenges, but the reward is in the way they lean in during readings, or the curious questions they ask after class. You’ve found ways to weave classic stories into lessons on self-identity and resilience, lessons you wished you had when you were their age.

After the morning rush of class, the day usually settles into a pattern of planning lessons, grading papers, and managing the occasional classroom drama. You know each student’s quirks, their strengths, the places where they struggle. For many of them, this school is the first real place where they’re free to be who they are. And for you, teaching here feels a bit like giving them a piece of the acceptance and stability you found when you arrived.

As the day draws to an end, you're called to Charles’s office. When you arrive, Jean, Scott, Ororo, and Logan are already there. Jean stands with her arms crossed, tension clear in her posture, while Scott and Ororo share a concerned glance. Logan, leaning back with arms folded, looks like he’s ready to leave, but there’s something guarded in his eyes.

Charles waits until you close the door before he begins, his tone more urgent than usual. "Thank you all for coming. I have some troubling news. Rogue has run off." A murmur ripples through the group, and you can see the concern etched on their faces.

Charles holds your gaze a moment before addressing everyone. “Erik, as you know, has always been interested in advancing mutantkind, but his new plan could force that evolution at a catastrophic scale. He’s found a way to trigger latent mutations in humans, possibly by using a device.”

There’s a heavy silence as everyone takes in the implications. Finally, Scott speaks, his tone grim. "So he wants to make everyone in the city a mutant. But wouldn’t forcing a mutation be fatal for most humans?"

Jean nods, her voice steady but laced with unease. "Exactly. The human body isn’t equipped to handle that kind of forced change. If Erik’s power source is strong enough to reach across the city, we’re talking about widespread devastation." Logan shifts, his eyes narrowed. "So let me get this straight. He’s gonna flip a switch and hope people survive the change? Doesn’t sound like a well-thought-out plan to me."

Charles sighs. "Erik’s never concerned himself with risks to those he considers weak. In his mind, this is a step toward a world where mutants reign supreme. He may even believe this forced mutation is a ‘gift.’ But the outcome would be chaos, death—" Ororo interrupts, her voice sharp. "And even if he does believe it’s a gift, we know better. This will only lead to fear, violence… more division."

Jean’s brows knit together, concern flickering in her eyes. “But if he has a device powerful enough to reach so many people…where would he even get that? It would require immense energy.” Charles closes his eyes briefly, searching for the right words. "That’s where Rogue comes in."

A hush falls over the room, and the weight of his words sinks in. "Erik doesn’t just need power; he needs someone who can channel it. Rogue’s mutation, her ability to absorb the life force and abilities of others—it’s exactly what he would use to amplify his device. If he taps into her… he could make the entire city vulnerable."

Logan straightens, his face hardening. "So that's why he’s after her. To turn her into a… a conduit?"

“Yes,” Charles confirms, voice heavy. “If he takes Rogue, he could harness her ability to absorb energy and use it to power his machine.”

Scott’s jaw tightens as he glances at Charles. "But Rogue’s just a kid. She’s barely learned to control her powers, and he wants to use her in some twisted science experiment?"

"Precisely," Charles says gravely. "If Erik reaches her first, she might not survive. Her powers are still volatile. This would overwhelm her."

You feel a knot tighten in your stomach, thinking about your own past. "I'm familiar with how dangerous forced mutations can be. My.. uh" You trailed off not sure if you could ever say it out loud. "My mutation was thrust upon me with an experiment, and I was pretty lucky to develop generative healing ability which allowed me to survive. But for anyone else with different abilities, being forced into a mutation could be very fatal."

Everyone’s gaze shifts toward you, the gravity of your experience weighing heavily in the room. Logan’s eyes soften for a moment, filled with an understanding that only comes from shared pain.

Ororo looks pained, acknowledging the truth of your words. "It could create a wave of death instead of evolution." Charles nods gravely. “Indeed. The implications are terrifying. Erik sees this as a chance to elevate mutantkind, but the price is too high."

Logan’s voice cuts through the tension. "Then we get to her first." Ororo nods, her expression resolute. "Agreed. We can’t let him use her this way. But does she even know she’s in danger?"

Charles hesitates before answering, a shadow passing over his face. “I tried to warn her earlier, but… Rogue is a stubborn soul. She believes she’s a danger to those around her.” Jean nods slowly, her voice filled with sympathy. "And if she thinks she’s protecting us, she might have… left. To protect us."

You swallow hard, a sense of urgency building. "If she thinks she’s protecting us, she could be putting herself in Erik’s hands. She has no idea he’s after her." Scott stands, fists clenched. "Then we need to mobilize, track her down. We can’t afford to lose her to him."

"Where do we even start looking?" Logan asks, scanning the room. "If she’s got it in her head to run, she’s not just going down the block." Charles clasps his hands, his voice both weary and determined. "I will head to the cerebro downstairs, I need all of you to move, we can't afford wasting any seconds."

Everyone falls into a tense silence, the gravity of the situation pressing down. Logan’s eyes meet yours, and you see a flicker of worry there, maybe even something protective. “Alright then,” Logan said, his voice low but resolute. “Let’s go find her.”

Part 2 ->

an: Hi guys, thank you for reading this part. I'm honestly so excited since this is my first X-Men fanfic. My obsession came back since Deadpool & Wolverine released. I used to write a lot about Daredevil but never have the courage to post it. English is not my first language and I hope you can still enjoy it :)

[marifilue]

What Makes Us Human

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Summary: You're an X-Men member with regenerative healing ability and skilled marksman. On a routine mission with the team things take a drastic turn when a mutant-inhibitor collar is forced onto you, leaving you vulnerable, unable to heal. With no quick fix in sight, Logan becomes your reluctant anchor, helping you get through each day as you fight to survive, unexpected bond with Logan begins to grow, one that becomes far stronger than either of you could imagine.

Part 1: New Guy In Town

Part 2: A Mission For Rogue

Part 3: Glimpse Of The Past

Part 4: Bound and Fading

Part 5: Losing Ground

Part 6: Thin Thread

Part 7: Silent Wars

Part 8: Edge Of Mortality

Part 9: Breaking Chains

Part 10: What Remained Of Us

[marifilue]

will be thinking about this family pic until further notice thanks 😭

[marifilue]

Is there any chance you'd do one shot still relating to Phobophobia series? Like how they both adjusting their lives back to the mansion after two years. I just loveeee their dynamic sooo much I physically need moree <33

turns out... yes. it seems there was a chance. a large chance... so here it is <3

'Til One of Us Keels Over' – A Phobophobia Oneshot

Pairing: Logan Howlet x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: None :)

Word Count: 5.6K

A/N: BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND! to other's who've sent in requests, IM ON IT DONT U WORRY, almost halfway through one of them already and have another planned out. though whilst idk if this counts as a request i simply couldn't say goodbye to Firefly and Logan quite yet. anon, it turns out i also physically needed more of them, so we shall both be feasting

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck @sseleniaa @sadslasher13 @yallgotkik @whyamistillontumbler @maddiedinosaur @bethexo07 @pwpwppeepeoor @y08h

The shrill ringing of the school bell interrupted the calm, studious silence of your classroom, instantly every single one of your students put down their pens and started to pack up their books. It was a shame since it had been forever since you could get them into a studying trance such as this, but they’d worked hard enough and you weren’t about to be one of those teachers who kept their students behind after the bell had rung just for the sake of wielding the power of being a professor. 

“I want that mission analysis on my desk by next Wednesday. No excuses, Bobby, I know there’s a game on Monday but you have ample time to work around that,” You gave the boy one of your hard stares that told him there was no room to argue before he could even open his mouth. 

“Will we be in the danger room next Wednesday?” Jubilee asked, almost skipping up to your desk, her books held tightly against her chest. You hummed thoughtfully, casting another raised brow to the rest of your students who’d each gathered in little groups with their friends to discuss whatever it was they were doing next. 

“That highly depends on the rest of your classmates and how many reports I have on my desk next week.” You didn’t have to worry about Jubilee, whilst yes she could be a chatterbox in class, and yes she could get easily distracted by the others, she tried exceptionally hard with her studies, and you had no doubt her report would be the first one on your desk come next Wednesday.

Her eyes lit up as you told her your terms and conditions, turning back to the small group of three and bounding up to them, explaining emphatically that they all had to get their homework in or they’d be stuck in the stuffy classroom for another week. You huffed an amused smile as they all turned to Bobby pointedly, Marie poking the centre of his chest with her gloved hand. You couldn’t believe they all only had one year left of studies before they were free to be whoever they wanted to be. You knew a large majority of them wanted to join the X-Men, but you also knew there were a few who wanted to attend university as well, further their education and find their place in the world. It warmed your heart to think you’d contributed somewhat to their futures. It made everything worth it. 

With a crack of your neck, stretching your hands high above your head to loosen up your shoulders, you exhaled a heavy sigh as the last of the stragglers left your classroom, muttering apologies by the door as they exited. You frowned in confusion, looking over to ask them why they were apologising, before your features relaxed into a fond smile, now understanding that they weren’t apologising to you, but to the man currently leaning against the doorframe, broad arms crossed across his chest.

They must have bumped into him on the way out. 

Your heart grew three sizes just seeing him, any tension in your body left over from a day’s teaching leeching from your body as you took in his soft, fond smile bathed in the afternoon sunlight. 

Six months. Six months and he was still trying to adjust to having you back. To not wake up soaked in sweat and choked with grief. To not wander the halls of the school aimlessly looking for you despite knowing you weren’t there. Six months and he still had to make sure you were alive and well at every opportunity he got—break times, small gaps between classes, lunches, and when classes ended. You never needed to go looking for him because he was always by your door waiting for you. 

“You’re gonna permanently dent my door frame if you keep leaning on it like that.” You said flatly, trying in vain to seem like seeing him didn’t light you up from the inside. You turned your attention back to the stray papers on your desk, aimlessly organising them to stop yourself from looking in his direction. It was just a little game the two of you played. Logan would show up at every opportunity he could and you’d pretend to find it irritating, despite the both of you knowing you still needed this. Still needed the reassurance that the both of you were still alive and well and here and breathing and–

“Jean’ll fix it.” He shrugged, heart blossoming as you huffed a reluctant smile, finally looking back to him, your one golden eye glistening in the amber glow of the afternoon sun. Nothing really had changed about you other than that. You had no scars left from your life before, and one of your eyes was now a completely different colour, but other than that you were exactly the same as the day he lost you. 

Well, almost.

With a wry smile, you sent him a wink before dissolving into the sunlight, reassembling yourself from the shadows in front of him cast from the breaks in the windows. That was something he still needed to get used to. You had a whole new host of powers to work on, but most of it came to you naturally. When he’d taken you back six months ago, he’d carried you straight to Charles and Jean, the two of them running test after test after test on you. For the most part, you couldn’t help lashing out, the poking and prodding of white coats flaring your fight or flight response, far too similar to the horrors you’d endured. Jean had to teach Logan how to take blood since you wouldn’t let her anywhere near you. 

But when the test results came back, he’d never seen Jean so excited. Your brother’s DNA had somehow bonded itself to yours, intertwining your mutations and granting you access to a whole new range of powers previously inaccessible. You explained how you could communicate with Rowan throughout the two years you were gone, and most of the time he spent arguing with you, spitting pointless insults. The only times he would fall silent were when Logan would visit, and after countless conversations, listening to everything he was saying, he’d finally come around to your side, realising what he’d done, and what he’d taken from you. 

Logan didn’t let you out of his sight for two weeks straight after that. You got back to teaching a week later, and he would just sit in the corner while you taught your students, refusing to leave your side until you had to sit him down and explain you weren’t going anywhere. You were back, and that was that. 

It took another week for him to accept it. 

You pushed up onto your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck and softly pecking his lips with a swift kiss. His hands instinctively found your waist, lips pulling into a smile as they moved against yours. 

You hummed in contentment as you separated a fraction, leaning up to press your forehead against his, and he pulled you closer against him if that was even possible. 

“How’s your day goin’?” He asked, and you snorted a laugh, setting yourself back down on your feet before your calves cramped up. It was still slightly strange, to have limbs again after spending the last two years as nothing but consciousness, and you were still getting used to the sensation of muscles.

“As good as it was when you asked me an hour ago,” you responded with a playful grin. Logan rolled his eyes, biting back a smile when he flicked your forehead slightly, resulting in you waving him off. 

“No last class of the day bullshit from Bobby?” he asked with slight disbelief, following behind you as you returned to your desk to gather up your materials and various mugs of coffee. His surprise only increased when you shook your head, handing him the things you couldn’t carry.

“Nope, honestly they were great today. Probably because they knew this was punishment for fucking about last week,” You shrugged as Logan took your bag off you and slung it over his own shoulder. “They did grumble a bit when I said we’d be working with books today rather than their mutations, but accepted it when I reminded them of the consequences of their actions. After that, they were good as gold.” You drained the final dregs of your coffee, grimacing as little bits of bitter grounds flooded your mouth and you suddenly remembered why you’d left the little bit at the bottom in the first place. 

Logan set his chin atop your head for a brief moment and you leaned back into him, warm adoration wrapping around your heart. 

“What’d ya want for dinner?”

You felt his voice vibrate against the back of your head, reverberating through your skull in a way that had your mind blissfully blank, exhaling a relaxed breath caused purely by his proximity. 

“Not sure. Could make a stir fry? Oooo, or a curry? I think we still have some leftover rice somewhere. Chicken curry?” You asked, turning to face him only to find his eyes completely lost on your features, drinking you in as if it were the first time he laid eyes on you. “What…?” You prompted, watching him blink from his trance.

“Nothin’... just rememberin’ this isn’t a dream, s’all.” He explained, and your heart broke a little for him. Setting down one of the mugs in your hand, you cupped the side of his fuzzy jaw, brows pinching as he leaned into your touch as if to remind himself it was real. It was something that had happened a few times. You’d turn to find him in his own head as he looked at you, a faraway glaze hazing his eyes before you dragged him back to reality. He’d divulged once what he was thinking about, how fucking lucky he was you were back. How he didn’t understand what he’d done to deserve this twist of fate. How fucking terrified he was of suddenly waking up and you being gone again. 

“Still here…” you whispered, smoothing your thumb across his cheekbone. He breathed a gentle sigh, nodding infinitesimally, his eyes fluttering closed as he basked in your presence.

“I know.” He answered with equal quiet, readily accepting the much-needed reassurance before he placed a kiss against the heel of your palm. You stayed like that for what felt like hours, simply letting him feel you, letting his heart readjust to being able to love you freely once again when such an act would have caused so much pain six months ago.

“C’mon,” you murmured lowly, smiling softly as he breathed in your scent one more time, before allowing the moment to end. “Kids’ll be getting hungry and I really don’t wanna deal with a hangry Morgana either.” Logan chuckled in response. 

You were so fucking grateful Morgana stayed after your sacrifice. Not only for herself and her own mental recovery but also for those who had come to love her dearly. Logan had told you all the good she did in the two years you’d been gone, she’d been a key player in reminding him not to wallow as much, sharply kicking his ass the way he knew you would when getting out of bed seemed like such a monumental task. They’d been each other’s anchors. Each other’s rocks. Picking the other up when they fell. And when Logan returned with you in his arms, she almost fell to her knees in sobbing disbelief, racing across the hall to envelop you in an embrace that had the air in your lungs fleeing. 

That, and the fact she’d grown extremely attached to a certain German teleporter had her sticking around. 

“Can’t argue with that. Curry it is,” Logan placed a kiss to your forehead, picking up the mug you’d placed down and tucking you against his side as you both left to deposit your belongings in the staff room and make a start on dinner. You didn’t often cook for the older kids, they were content with making or ordering their own meals, but you found immense satisfaction in cooking for the younger ones. Calling them to the dinner table with Ororo in tow, sitting them all down, making sure they ate not only the ‘nice’ parts but the vegetables as well. Most of them were good at eating it all, but there were a few who stubbornly would try to hide broccoli beneath their cutlery. 

Thank fuck for Ororo, because honestly? You didn’t have the heart to make them eat it. 

You were just about to enter the staff room when Logan stopped in his tracks, pulling you closer to him as he sniffed the air, a snarl bubbling from his throat, arm tightening around your shoulders. Cautious adrenaline leaked into your veins as you looked from your partner to the closed door. 

“What?” You asked, placing a hand on the centre of his chest as if you could feel what was going through his head. But your question shouldn’t have been ‘What?’, but rather ‘Who?’.

“Erin.” He ground between clenched teeth, eyes narrowing at the panels of the door as if he could see right through it. Your whole body tensed, eyes blowing wide at his answer. What the fuck was she doing here? “Wha’d’ya wanna do?” His gaze slid from the door to your side profile, watching as you entertained the multiple courses of action. You could turn around, wait until she left and asked what the fuck she was doing later on in the evening, avoid her altogether and continue as if she never existed.

Or…

“Never been afraid of confrontation before…” you raised your chin at the unexpected challenge, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips as Logan pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“Atta girl.” He murmured into your hair, and you steeled your nerves before pushing the door open and stopping as five pairs of eyes turned in your direction. Most of them you knew well, saw them every day. But there were two you hadn’t seen in a very long time. 

Atlas gasped your name, mouth agape in disbelief, his eyes welling up as you clenched your jaw. It wasn’t that you had a problem with him, specifically. After all, he’d practically brought Morgo back from the dead. It was the way he’d forgiven Erin for what she did. Not only that but found a way to love enough to ask her to marry him. The way she’d been allowed to get a happy ending whilst you and Logan had been forced to separate for two fucking years, neither of you knowing if you’d ever see the other again. 

Logan placed a steadying hand against your waist, and you could almost feel the waves of anger emanating from his body. His protective streak had only increased since getting you back. In unison, you both turned to look at Erin, who’d been staring at you in complete and utter astonishment that you were standing before her. Alive. Your eyes flickered down to the gnarled scar on her neck, and you couldn’t help the twisted satisfaction in your gut that she would forever have a reminder of what she did. 

The room was thick with unbearable tension, everyone waiting for someone else to be the first one to say something. You reserved the right to keep your silence, even if it meant you didn’t say anything for however long this situation was going to last. But, predictably, Charles cleared his throat, wheeling forward as Morgana stepped out of the way and closer to you, casting you a glance that you could only interpret as ‘the nerve of this bitch’. 

“I believe we should leave these four to catch up. Ororo, Logan, outside please.” 

“You’re crazy if you think I’m goin’ anywhere,” Logan growled, tightening his hand against your waist, his thumb swiping soothingly against your shirt. 

“I’m not gonna do anything… I just wanted to talk. To see if it was real.” Erin offered weakly, and Logan almost lunged for her throat for the crime of merely opening her mouth. But you settled a hand atop his on your waist, 

“‘S’okay. She’s harmless to me now,” venomous threat laced your tone as you pulled both light and shadow toward you as if to emphasise your point, allowing the molecules of each to fuse to your shoulder blades, two juxtaposing wings flaring from your back. One of glittering shadow, the other of glowing light. 

Logan’s chest flared with pride when Erin took a slight step back, fear dancing in her traitor’s eyes as she slowly put the pieces together of just how much stronger you were now, and how that had come to be. Morgana grinned with complete unrestraint at you, unafraid to show how delicious she was finding your lack of fucks to give now. 

“Okay,” he cupped your jaw, tilting your head to look at him before he descended on you, capturing your lips in a searing display of passion. You knew why. You knew it was a fuck you to Erin, a demonstration of what she almost took from the both of you and a message to say, despite everything, you’d made it through. “I’ll be outside, yeah?”

You nodded, breathing a long, grateful sigh against the lower half of his face, before turning to deliberately look at both Erin and Atlas. Logan sent them one final, knife-edge glare before turning to follow Charles out the door. Ororo placed a hand on your shoulder as she passed you, sending you a concerned look.

“You going to be okay?” She asked, loud enough for the two to hear her. You wondered if they’d all had a meeting about this, about how they would behave if Erin ever showed up again after you returned. You sent her a grateful smile in response, nodding with the surety you genuinely felt. 

“I’ll be fine. Like I said, she’s harmless now. I’m not the one suffering with the guilt of what I’ve done.” You shrugged, looking over her shoulder to see Erin’s expression falter slightly, her eyes meeting the floor. Ororo clamped her lips to stop herself from smiling, squeezing your shoulder briefly before heading out, shutting the door behind her. 

You’d lived through your fair share of awkward silences before, but nothing even came close to his. You could almost taste the unspoken words. 

“You’re looking well,” Atlas was the first to speak, attempting to break the thick ice with the verbal equivalent of a toothpick. “Both of you are–”

“Cut the shit, Atlas,” Morgana interjected with venom lacing her tone, eyes hard and lips taut. You blinked in surprise, before remembering that you weren’t the only one who suffered at the hands of Erin. Though they’d seen each other since, Logan had told you just how frosty Morgo was toward the girl, never truly forgiving her for what she did. “Why’re you here? I’m assuming it’s not for wedding gifts.”

Your eyes fell to the matching bands around their fingers, a kernel of spite curling in your gut. How fucking dare she have the audacity to get fucking married. To live a happy life whilst you were readjusting to being alive again. 

“No… Erin just wanted to–”

“Did Erin lose the ability to talk after my brother slit her treacherous throat?” You asked with a disgusting amount of faux sweetness in your tone. Atlas visibly bristled, and Erin narrowed her eyes to you.

“Obviously not, since you just heard me speak.” She spat back.

“Point still stands.” Morgo set her hand on her hip, jutting out her chin in challenge. The room fell silent again, charged tension humming in the space between you. Would this end in a fight? You honestly wouldn’t be mad. You’d been itching to beat the shit out of her ever since you returned. 

But the fight fell from the green-haired girl’s eyes, her shoulder slumping, a hand braced against the side of her temple. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. Nothing excuses what I did, but you gotta understand, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to get Atlas back.” She linked her fingers through her husband’s.

“Yeah? I hope that helps you sleep at night. We done?” You asked, not bothering to wait for a response before turning to head back out the door, already sick of this conversation. You weren’t about to give her the closure she needed. The villainous bitch didn’t deserve it. 

“What if it was Logan?”

You stopped in your tracks, eyes blowing wide as if you’d just been struck by lightning. 

“What did you say…?” your tone lowered dangerously, deadly clipped notes exaggerating your words. 

“What if Kreva had Logan? What would you have done?”

You whipped back, stalking toward her, every step measured. “I would have trusted my fucking team. My friends. I would have put my faith in them and worked together to get him back.”

Erin scoffed a harsh laugh. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Hell, you were ready to storm in there alone because Kreva had Rowan, so don’t stand there and tell me you wouldn’t have broken the world to get him back.” 

You were at a loss for words. Because she was right. Fuck, she was right. You don’t know what you would have done if Kreva had Logan rather than Rowan, but you sure as shit wouldn’t have waited around for two weeks planning meticulously. 

“That’s not fair, Erin–” Morgana started uncertainly, but Erin cut her off. 

“How? How isn’t that fair? Oh, it’s unforgivable when I do whatever I have to to get the man I love back but all of a sudden it’s a-okay for Miss Martyr over here to do it? How’s that fair?”

Your jaw tensed, expression steeling to dismissal as you squared your shoulders. “You live with the weight of what you did, Erin. We all know how guilt can eat us alive but honestly? You live with its teeth sunk into your neck.” You glanced down pointedly to the scar across her throat, before turning your gaze to Morgana. “We’re done here.”

Morgana nodded as you turned to leave, but a tight grasp around your wrist stopped you. 

“You don’t understand, I was so afraid of losing him… you don’t get it.”

You mimicked her sharp bark from earlier, raising a knife-like brow. 

“I don’t get it? Me? Of course I get it, Erin. But there’s a difference,” you yanked your hand back from her grip. “I wouldn’t be here begging for forgiveness. I wouldn’t be invading the lives of the people I betrayed looking for some pathetic form of closure. I have my closure. Good luck finding yours.” And with that, you stalked from the room, past an obviously eavesdropping Ororo who immediately shifted to look like she was inspecting the backs of her nails. You didn’t mind, though. Because honestly? You were pretty proud of how you handled yourself in there. But there was one thing replaying in your mind as you marched directionless through the halls, not even noticing Logan calling your name from the lounge as you made your way outside. 

‘What if it was Logan?’

“Leave her,” Charles placed a hand on Logan’s forearm as he made to follow you, pausing only to give the Professor an incredulous look. He nodded in emphasis. “Let her reflect. Whether she thinks she needs to or not, some things said in that room need to be considered.”

Logan sighed. He’d deliberately moved away from the door, rolling his eyes at Ororo who mentioned she was dying to hear you dress the bitch down. But he couldn’t let himself impose on your privacy like that. If you wanted to tell him, that was fine, and he’d listen diligently. If you didn’t, that was fine too, and he’d serve as a distraction from whatever the hell just happened. Of course, he had a preference, but he wasn’t about to tell you that.

It was dark by the time you returned, and Logan had already rearranged the plates on the table four times out of sheer lack of knowing what to do. He had to fight tooth and nail to save you some dinner, batting away the hands of both students and teachers alike, sending glares to anyone who dared approach the bubbling pot. He’d kept the bolognese at a steady heat, hoping to shit it wouldn’t be horrendously overcooked by the time you came back. 

And though he was certain the meat would be hard as leather by now, the concern fled his mind when you trudged back through the front doors, sighing heavily. His heart cracked at how exhausted you sounded, worry eating away at his chest. His brows pinched when you entered the kitchen, looking as if you’d just fought several wars. On instinct he crossed the floor, wrapping you in his arms and guiding your head into his neck.

It was your favourite place on Earth. 

“You okay…?” He asked hesitantly, and you breathed deeply against his collar. 

“Yeah… no. I don’t know,” you answered, an unnatural quiet hushing your words. Warm hands cupped either side of your neck as he brought you to look up at him, his thumbs smoothing either side of your jaw. “It was weird. Seeing her again. Didn’t really know how it would go but it went about as well as I thought it would.” You shrugged, your hands busying themselves with the buttons on his shirt, fiddling with them to serve as a grounding point. 

“Wanna talk about it?” He tilted his head to the side, palms sliding up to brace the sides of your face, the pads of his thumbs now gliding across your cheekbones, caressing the deep purple space beneath your eyes. 

Your teeth pulled at the skin of your lower lip in contemplation, and he immediately smoothed over the hurt. “I just– she asked what I would have done if our roles had been reversed,” you began, and Logan raised a brow, silently asking you to elaborate. “If Kreva had you, and not Atlas. She asked what I would have done if I were in her shoes… I don’t know, just kinda made me think that we’re not so different after all, she and I,” You fell silent, your mind still stuck on the conversation from earlier. Taking the last few hours to contemplate your answer, you still didn’t have one. You were ready to forsake the team and go after Rowan alone if you had to. What would you sacrifice for Logan? “I was so ready to hate her for the rest of my life. So ready to condemn her for what she did, withhold closure and forgiveness but… she has a point. Annoyingly.” 

Logan tilted his head, his eyes dancing with empathy. He knew exactly what you were going through because it was only thanks to Jean’s reasoning he didn’t come after you alone two years ago. And if he didn’t have the team behind him, who knows what kind of sick, twisted things he’d have done? And now you were struggling not only with the guilt of hating someone for doing something you yourself were capable of doing but also with the heavy realisation that you would do that kind of thing. 

“Just scared me, I guess…” you shrugged again, delicate hands gently holding either of his wrists as you gave up on grounding yourself with the buttons on his shirt and used his pulse points instead, your thumbs smoothing over the tendons. 

“I get it. Ya know I do. But realisin’ you’re capable of doin’ somethin’ like that doesn’t make you the monster,” he slid his hands from your jaw down to the backs of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly from the ground and placing you on the table, standing between your parted legs. “We had a plan. A plan that, if given half the chance, probably would have worked. Erin chose to sacrifice that chance despite knowin’ everythin’ Kreva had done. 

But you? You’re smart, sweetheart. Sure, you probably would have beat the shit outta Scott a few times, but you woulda known it was your best chance. You did know,” his hands found your jaw once again, angling your face back up to meet his eyes. “Just cuz you’re capable of it, doesn’t mean you’d do it. I’m capable of dismembering innocents if it meant I’d get you back, doesn’t mean I’d do it. Though I’d think real hard about it.” Your features scrunched as you fought to fight back the burning tears in your eyes, lips pursing, brows furrowing, you choked back the feeling of being both seen and accepted. 

“Okay…” you whispered, nodding a little before fully leaning into his touch as he planted a kiss to the centre of your brow and tucking you safely into the hollow of his throat, his arms slowly wrapping around your shoulders, his fingers winding through your hair. 

“Erin chose to act. You chose to trust. Not gonna pretend there ain’t similarities between you, but the differences are greater,” he murmured, the side of his cheek resting against the top of your head. Incrementally, you allowed yourself to feel his comfort, to wrap your arms around the side of his ribs and let yourself feel supported by him. “Although I’m not gonna stand here and say the idea of you tearing the world apart f’me ain’t somethin’ I’d say no to watchin’.”

You snorted a teary laugh, and the tight chains of concern dropped away from his heart with each slight, amused shake of your shoulders. Pulling back from his embrace a fraction, you exhaled your self-hatred and guilt, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. Logan looked down at you with nothing but sheer, crushing adoration, and you leaned up to press a soft kiss to his lips, finding yourself savouring the familiar scratch of his scruff against your cheek and chin. 

“Thank you.” While it was only a peaceful breath of gratitude, Logan saw the weight behind it in your mismatched eyes, felt the depth of feeling in his very soul. 

“Anytime, Firefly,” he smiled softly before the irritated rumble of your stomach tore the blanket of reverie over the two of you. “Hungry?” He asked with the slightest smirk, and you grinned back. 

“Starved, never got round to that curry. What did the kids eat?” A fresh wave of concern donned your features, and Logan couldn’t help but fantasise for the briefest moment that you weren’t talking about the students. But your kids. His kids. 

A family. 

“Made a bolognese. Can’t balance the flavours of a curry like you can and didn’t wanna subject them to somethin’ that might be way too spicy. Or not spicy enough. Or just tasted of cardamom pods.” He watched that brief picture of concern wash away from your face, replaced by small snickers. 

“Can’t argue with that. And you do make a mean bolognese.”

“Learnt from the best.” 

“Damn right, you did.”

Logan took a small step back so you could hop down from the table, finding himself lost in the satisfied craving for domesticity he’d found with you. His eyes followed you as you went to pull out a plate from the cupboard, taking a pair of metal tongs to serve yourself a hearty portion of slightly cold spaghetti and grossly overcooked bolognese. A realisation hit him like one of your punches. He was a damn idiot for not asking you before this. 

“Marry me.”

You froze, eyes flying wide as you all but dropped your dinner to the floor, bracing a hand on the counter to steady yourself. Setting the plate down, you slowly turned to face him, those same tears from before returning to your eyes, only for a completely new reason. 

“What…?” you whispered, and Logan took a breath.

“Marry me.” He repeated with that same matter-of-fact tone he’d used so long ago, it was achingly similar to when he’d told you to teach with him. “I don’t have a ring or anythin’ yet, wasn’t really plannin’ on askin’ you in the kitchen but–”

“Yes.”

Logan blinked. If he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t exactly thought much other than asking you. Or, telling you, he supposed. “What?”

“Yes. I’ll marry you. I said I wasn’t mad about it when you basically proposed two years ago. Ya think I would have changed my mind between then and now? Of course I’ll marry you.” You laughed, your smile unrestrained as he strode across the floor, crushing you in a tight embrace, his mouth instantly seeking yours, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his heart singing for you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, a sudden and intense fervour enrapturing your soul. 

You could have whined when he pulled back, the loss of contact causing you near physical pain, but you pushed through it to see those very same tears in your eyes reflected in his own. It didn’t feel real. After everything you’d been through together, the fear, the agony, the grief. 

None of this felt real. 

“I love you, ya know that?” He murmured against your lips, and you elicited a soft laugh.

“I bloody well hope so, we’re getting married.”

Holy fuck… 

You were getting married. 

“Though…” You continued, a glint of mischief sparkling in your eye. “On one condition…” Logan raised a brow, once again silently asking you to elaborate. “We change the vows. From ‘Til death do us part’ to ‘Til one of us keels over’. 

He huffed a laugh of pure fondness, still reeling from the fact he’d finally had the opportunity to ask you what he should have asked you years ago.

“Til one of us keels over.”

[marifilue]

blame it on the ghost huh

𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘭 & 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘦 (2024).

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 ��𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵.

𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 2.7 𝘬

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 / 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Special thanks to @marifilue and @n4muqr for requesting a Halloween-themed one-shot.

Laura watched as Logan cursed out the oven for what seemed like the fifth time today. The burly man had been set on making cookies for the past 45 minutes with minimal success. Jingle twisted his way through Laura's legs and meowed for attention.

Scooping up the cat, Laura got up from the kitchen table and walked over to Logan who was standing over a failed sheet of cookies. Laura dipped her finger into the bowl and pulled a small piece of the dough off to eat.

"It tastes fine." She comments, peering over his shoulder to see the oddly paper-thin, burnt cookies on the tray.

"Dunno what m' doing wrong." Logan sighs pulling the oven mitt off his hand

"Maybe you should just start over." Laura suggests, "Probably added too much or too little of something."

"I followed the recipe perfectly." Logan growls

Jingle meows in disbelief and Laura shakes her head, clearly, he's done something wrong.

"Keep baking then, chef, I'm going to watch a movie," Laura says walking off

She switches on the TV and clicks on Netflix, scrolling through the choices while Jingle sits down on the sofa cushion next to her. Logan's grumblings reach her sensitive ears and she looks at Jingle who seems unbothered by the man's distress.

Laura knew why Logan was trying to turn himself into the Pillsbury Dough Boy, he was trying to get out of the doghouse. For the past three days, Logan had been banished to the couch for some unspoken reason. Laura wasn't worried, things always worked out but it was certainly entertaining to see him so stressed.

Perhaps she should watch Coraline, it was the perfect movie for Halloween.

Logan wanted to rip his hair off his head. Not only were the cookies failing but he felt like he was wasting his time. You'd been giving him the silent treatment for three days now and had him sleeping on the couch like he was some animal unfit for your bed. Which, much to his dismay that stupid cat he had gotten for you, was sleeping in his spot every night now. It was an anarchy.

The worst part about all this was it all started with a stupid lamp.

Three days ago, Logan had been a bit drunk, he was sitting on the couch, his elbow dangerously close to the end table that held a lamp you had found at some thrift store. This of course was no ordinary lamp, it was a lamp that looked like a flower. Now, Logan didn't specifically care about this lamp, but you? Oh, you were obsessed with it. This flower lamp, with its baby blue shade and golden stem, had you completely bewitched. Every day he'd catch you staring at it like it was your kid or something.

Of course, he had ignored your request not to rest his elbow anywhere near this lamp and somehow knocked it over when he went to take a sip of his whiskey.

It was like it was slow motion, the way it fell. Logan had reached a handout, trying to catch it, but his reflexes were dulled by the alcohol and the lamp went crashing to the floor. With glass everywhere, and that fucking cat staring at him from across the room, Logan knew he was fucked.

Three hours after the death of the lamp, you were back from a shopping trip with Vanessa. He was sitting on the couch again, gaze fixed on the TV, hoping you'd focus on him and not the lamp that was now at the bottom of the garbage can. He adjusted his white tank top, and slightly pulled it up to show a sliver of his lower stomach off, you had mentioned how hot it was when he did that. Maybe, just maybe he'd be enough to distract you. He tried to subtly flex his arms in a way that looked natural while you pet Jingle who had greeted you at the door. He meets your gaze as your eyes scan the room slowly.

"Where's my lamp?"

Shit.

Now, he was standing over another sheet of cookies, praying these ones would turn out okay. So far every tray had come out paper thin and tasting terrible. He wasn't sure where he went wrong, the raw dough tasted good but the final product was shit.

His phone ringing had him sighing and tossing the next tray into the oven.

"Hey there, my hairy little beaver. HA! That sounds like a name for a vagina."

Logan groaned, he was too annoyed to deal with Wade right now.

"What do you want?" He sighed into his phone

"Just wanted to see what you and Pumpkin were doing tonight for Halloween. Ness and I are going to this huge haunted house, you three want to join?" Wade asked

"I dunno. I'm uh..." Logan trails off, not sure if he wants to tell Wade this.

"What? You're what?" Wade chimed

"I'm just in trouble right now," Logan says vaguely

"With who? I'll get my suit on and be over in 10. Actually, make it 20 I kind of need to take a massive shit." Wade says

Logan grimaces at Wade's oversharing. When was he going to learn not everything needed to be said aloud?

"Not that kind of trouble," Logan says, "She's mad at me."

Wade's laughter has Logan wishing he could strangle the other man through the phone.

"It's not funny, Wilson. I've been sleeping on the couch for three days and she won't even talk to me." Logan groans

"What did your hairy ass do to be in such deep shit? I mean seriously someone call Porta Potty company, get this man cleaned up!"

"I broke her fucking lamp and lied about it. " Logan says

"Oh c'mon that's no big deal." Wade scoffs, "One time I lied to Vanessa about shoving a ringpop up my ass and then-"

"You don't get it, man. She loved this lamp." Logan says

"Well, you better think of something to get you out of the doghouse, cowboy. Flowers, oral sex, probably a new lamp would be best though." Wade suggests

"Can't do that." Logan says

"You don't go down on your girl?" Wade gasps

"No!" Logan yells, angrily, "I mean, yes! But that's not-"

"I know. I saw you two once."

"What?" Logan seethes, he was so going to kill Wade for this.

"I'm joking. Anyone can look at you and tell you're a munch." Wade laughs

"I'm hanging up," Logan says exasperatedly

"No!" Wade says, "Why can't you buy a new lamp for her?"

"She got it at some thrift store. It's some magical unique shit." Logan says

Long silence follows and Logan's nearly sure Wade has hung up before he speaks again. Perhaps he'll have stellar advice for Logan's current issues.

"Well...let me know if you're going to the Haunted House. Good luck, Peanut."

The line clicks off and Logan rolls his eyes, Wade was no help at all. What a waste of time.

The sound of the front door opening has him rather nervous. His cookies were still shit so he was going to have to depend on words this time around.

"Hey." He greets walking out into the living room where you're holding Jingle and greeting Laura who is currently watching some evil clown dump...salt on...a lady with no skin? What was she watching?

Your eyes scan him up and down as Logan realizes he still has a bright pink apron on. He pulls it off and looks at you. You look extra pretty today, he wants nothing more than to walk right over and kiss you. Of course, he's aware if he does that you'll probably send him flying across the room, or perhaps blow a limb off his body, just because you can.

"Wade invited us to this giant haunted house. You two want to go?" He asked

Laura nodded enthusiastically and Logan looked over at you, expectantly.

"Laura, could you please tell Logan I'll go to this Haunted House tonight." You say

Laura opens her mouth but Logan stops her by raising a finger.

"So that's how you're playing it? Use the kid to communicate? What are you seven?" He seethes, upset you won't even look at him.

"So fucking annoying."

Your under-the-breath mutter has Logan's anger boiling over. He hasn't been this upset with you since before you two started dating. In a flash, he paces across the room and pins you against the wall, startling the cat away from you.

"You're driving me fucking nuts." He says ignoring Laura yelling at him, "I'll say it. I'm sorry about the fucking lamp."

He hopes you'll cave right there and accept his apology, maybe kiss him too. Instead, you're sending his ass flying across the room and into a fake witch, you insisted on putting in the corner of the room.

He hears the bathroom door slam shut and he remains on the ground. You were impossible.

You're dead silent for the entire subway ride across town to the Haunted House. He must not entirely be blacklisted in your book though since he catches you standing a bit closer to him during the ride when some shady-looking guy steps into the car, opting to stand near the three of you.

He feels you press your body to him and gently squeeze his forearm when the man inches even closer and is just two short feet away from you.

"Fuck off." Logan snarls at him as the man looks at you with desire.

"Pretty." The man compliments you in a lustful voice and then looks over at Laura on the other side of Logan, staring at her with even more interest.

"You want me to toss you out of this fucking Subway, bub? I'll beat your face into the fucking tracks so good they'll be mopping you up." Logan threatens, still a bit wound up from earlier when you tossed him into the wall.

Blowing off some steam would be nice right now. He looked down at this creeper, daring him to take another step or lay a single finger on you or Laura.

The man takes the hint though and disappears out the doors when they open.

Logan fights the smile that tries to worm its way across his face when you nuzzle your face into his chest, a small barely audible thanks falling from your lips.

Laura nudges him and wiggles her eyebrows, her face saying "Looks like you're winning this argument!". Logan feels embarrassment flood his system as he kicks her foot gently.

Much to Logan's dismay, the moment you step off the subway and see Vanessa and Wade, the tender moment is gone. Unfortunately, Wade greets everyone with a bear hug and if Logan wasn't in public right now, he'd be on the ground, with six new holes in his body.

He walks next to the toupee-wearing idiot while you walk ahead, chatting happily with Laura and Vanessa.

"Looks like you're still in trouble." Wade chimes

"Not even my fault." Logan dismisses with a wave of his hand, knowing full well he was wrong.

"Have you even apologized?" Wade asked

"Course I did." Logan scoffs, he wasn't an idiot.

"Clearly not well enough." Wade teases

The haunted house isn't all that scary. It was a bit darker than Logan would've liked, he's nearly tripped three times now as he tries to follow behind Laura, Wade, and Vanessa. Apparently, not everyone agrees with his definition of scary because he's pretty sure Wade and Vanessa have screamed at least 7 times already.

Laura seemed fine as she walked along a few steps ahead of him. He swore nothing rattled that kid.

Logan keeps glancing behind him where you walk. He's a bit worried about you but you don't seem scared at all either. You're silent as you walk along, letting him keep an eye on you.

He sighs and turns to face forward, watching as Wade converses with someone dressed as a clown who's been dipped in fake blood.

"Love what you've done with the place! I hope you're on HGTV soon!" Wade exclaims

Logan smirks a bit, Wade could be funny sometimes.

Wade snorts a laugh when he sees a guy holding a fake bloody arm, "Gordon Ramsey called, he's looking for the lamb sauce!"

A loud scream has Logan whirling around. At some point you must've fallen behind since you're absent from his side.

His long legs carry him quickly back through the rooms he'd already passed through and finds you facing off with an actor twice your size, a fake chainsaw in hand.

"Move." You order staring up at him

"You don't want to stay?" The guy asks in an over-the-top voice

In the low lighting, Logan can see another masked person, sneaking up behind you, clearly ready for a planned jumpscare.

"Wait!" He calls out to the actors, knowing how this is going to end,

He'd only seen it once but once he scared you in the middle of the night. He'd been waiting for the bathroom and you had opened the door and turned the corner. His sudden presence had you startled and before he knew it you'd used your powers on him. Warm blood had run down his right arm, soaking his clothes as you'd blown his arm clean off out of fear.

You'd apologized for an entire week out of guilt. Lucky for you he could grow that hand back. These actors however weren't blessed with such immunity.

Logan is of course ignored by the workers and the one from behind grabs your shoulders. Logan hears you let out a startled yelp before he's on his ass for the second time today because of you.

The chainsaw-wielding worker has landed on top of him somehow and Logan pushes him off with a grunt. He rushes over to you, checking to make sure you're okay before making his way over to the one who scared you.

To his luck, the stranger is whole and fully conscious.

"What the fuck?" the actor groans on the ground

Logan looks over at, trying to wordlessly assure you that they were okay. He steps away from them and grabs your hand, pulling you away before they ask questions.

"You okay?" He asked, his hand in yours as he led you along

He half expects you to continue to the silent treatment but much to his relief, you answer him.

"Fine." You sigh

"Good." He huffs and looks around to try to see if he's caught up to Wade yet.

Logan doesn't miss the way you refuse to let go of his hand for the rest of the night.

Back home, you're cuddled into his side, Coraline playing on TV after you nixed Laura's suggestion of watching Terrifier 2 aka the clown and salt movie Logan saw her watching earlier. The scent of the pumpkin spice candle you've lit fills his nose as he takes a deep breath.

"Dangerous what you did today, bub," Logan says, glancing at Laura who has passed out in the recliner. Jingle in her lap and a bowl of popcorn resting on her knee.

"I didn't mean to." You murmur, eyes fixed on the screen

"I know." He sighs glancing at the end table where your lamp once was, "Got lucky though. Remember when I lost a hand after you got scared?"

"Yeah..." You sigh, "I probably shouldn't go into any more haunted houses huh?"

"Nope." He says softly

Logan watches the movie as Coraline's other mother suggests sewing buttons into her eyeballs. He doesn't miss the way you're staring at him instead of the screen.

"Sorry, I made you sleep on the couch the past few nights." You say, "You can come back to the bed tonight."

"Apologize to my back." Logan chuckles

"You're fine." You scoff, poking his side with your finger.

The movie fills the silence as Logan sighs, knowing what he'll have to do now.

"I'm sorry about breaking your lamp." He says, sincerely this time

"I know you are." You say, head resting on his chest

"I'll find a replacement...somehow," Logan vows

"No, you won't." You giggle

"No, I won't." Logan sighs, knowing his chances of finding a perfect replacement are low.

Logan presses a kiss to the top of your head, happy that this fight has ended and he's survived his nights on the couch. He's excited to be able to sleep with you in his arms again tonight.

"Logan?"

"Hmm?"

"If you ever break something and lie and try to blame it on a fucking ghost again, I'll ship you off to Wade for a week."

Next Part- Coming Soon

Currently not feeling well. This will be the last update for a bit.

I fear this doesn't feel like Halloween enough. That being said. I have another Halloween part in the works.

For reference, here's the lamp Logan's dumbass broke:

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[marifilue]

Necrophobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of death. Those with this condition will do anything to avoid their own death or the death of somebody they love. But in the end, death is inevitable.

Ch.8, Ch.7, Ch.6, Ch.5.5, Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <–

Ch.9

Pairing: Mutant!Reader x Logan Howlet

Warnings: strap in and strap on folks, it's gonna be a long one... MDNI

Word Count: 29.7k (y'all wanted this as one chapter sooooo)

A/N: i actually can't believe this is it. like, this is the end of Phobophobia... how crazy is that? thank you all so much for the love and support on this series, it's been a while since i got back into fic writing so it means so much that you've all been reading along. i read and cherish every single one of your comments and reblogs, and now the only thing left to say is LET'S. FUCKING. GO.

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck @sseleniaa @sadslasher13 @yallgotkik @whyamistillontumbler @maddiedinosaur @bethexo07 @pwpwppeepeoor @y08h

It would be two days later before you and Morgana could convince Erin there was no threat here, and that she was safe. Another day for her to be comfortable enough to let Charles come anywhere near her, let alone bring her memories back. 

“Give her time, darlin’. She’s terrified.” Logan would remind you, only to fuel your frustration. You didn’t have time. You needed her help to get Rowan and the others back, and the longer she refused to restore her memories, the more danger he was in. 

You sighed heavily after the umpteenth time Logan reminded you, leaning on the balcony overlooking the gardens. He’d found you pacing back and forth, clearly trying to remind yourself that Erin was just how you were before you had your memories. She was scared and alone and you didn’t know how to convince her she wasn’t. Erin was never your speciality. Atlas usually could get through to her, but he was still with Kreva, like Rowan, Joes and Naji.

Logan took his position by your side, leaning his forearms against the stone wall of the balcony, his bicep brushing against yours as you leaned your head on his shoulder, exhaling a breath. “I know she is. We all were. But fuck, this is taking too long, Lo’. We haven’t even started planning for the mission and it’s already been too long. I just…” you trailed off, gazing into the middle distance as your mind wandered back to your brother. He would always seem so big and protective outside the experiments, but you couldn’t count how many times you had to act out to protect him when the white, overhead lights hummed to life in those observation chambers. How many times had you taken the hits for him, just for him to be used against you as persuasion? 

Logan’s arm lifted to wrap around your shoulders, tucking you safely into his side. “I know, but Kreva won’t kill him. If anything, he’ll use him as bait to lure you back.” The idea had his stomach churning, because there was very little that could convince you to return other than to save Rowan, and he was almost certain that’s why Kreva sent Joes to retrieve just him. Because the bastard knew you wouldn’t leave him behind. He knew you’d go back for him. If it was just Naji, Joes and Atlas, perhaps you would trust their rescue to the rest of the team. But Rowan was your brother. Your flesh and blood. He’d been with you since the start.

You weren’t going to abandon him. Everyone knew that. 

“Would you lock me away if I said it would work?” You asked with a half-hearted smile, and he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, rubbing his hand against your shoulder. 

“Most likely.” He responded, revelling in your little bubbles of laughter. Just the weight of his arm around you was enough to ease some of the anxiety that had been your constant companion since waking up, the ever-present fear of what was going on beyond the walls of the school keeping you up at night. But Jade was right about one thing. 

You weren’t alone. Not anymore. Almost every waking moment Logan was by your side, keeping a watchful eye and jumping at the opportunity to provide for you. His warm embrace kept you sane even into the wee hours of the morning, never failing to stay awake with you when you had trouble sleeping. And these last few nights hadn’t been the most restful of your life. 

He could see it. Just how exhausted you were. You still had to regain the muscle you’d lost in the last two months, but that wasn’t what concerned him most. It was the dark purple bruises beneath your eyes that had him staying up with you, stroking your hair and engaging in murmured conversations until you’d finally fall asleep. Only to wake up an hour or so later, and take yet another lifetime to fall back asleep, by which point it was already morning and time for the two of you to start the day.

It was how he’d spent the last two nights with you, with you settled against his chest, staring at nothing in particular, talking about absolutely anything. It was a delicious slice of normalcy, certainly, but it worried him how little you were sleeping. And how hard you were training to get back to your muscular physique of before. He hadn’t seen you cook once, either. Though he supposed it had only been a few days, and it wasn’t like you had buckets of time to spare, between your lack of sleep, nutrition and overexerting yourself…

He didn’t really know what to do. What issue to tackle first. 

“You think any louder and Charles is gonna wonder what the hell’s going on,” you prodded lightly, nudging his side with your elbow. “How’re you holding up? We’ve spoken a shit ton about me but now it’s your turn,” Logan opened his mouth to tell you it didn’t matter, but you instantly cut him off, a glare sharpening your typical gaze of adoration. “And don’t lie. I mean it, Lo’. Let me in.” You placed a hand on the centre of his chest and he sighed heavily, clutching it in his own calloused palm.

“No lies?” He asked with a raised brow as if asking whether or not you really wanted this.

“No lies.” Your determined nod solidified that you were there for him, that you wanted to know how he was doing in the vague, possibly slightly selfish hope that it would make you feel a little better, or that perhaps there was a way you could help in some way, which would also make you feel better. 

“Total honesty?”

“Logan!”

“Okay, okay,” he huffed a laugh at your incredulous tone. He was stalling, to be completely honest. He didn’t want to open up about how this whole thing had affected him because he was so damn scared of making you feel worse, or, god fucking forbid, that you weren’t worth it. But he also knew you couldn’t stand lies. You’d had enough of those in your life, so the one thing he could give you now was honesty. Raw, weeping honesty. “I uh– It’s rare that I’m scared of anythin’. It’s happened, sure, but not often,” he ran a hand through his hair, and your thumb smoothed soft caresses against the centre of his chest. “But I don’t think I’ve been more afraid than when I thought I’d lost you for good,” his words came out a jumbled, murmured mess, but you caught them nonetheless. “An’ this ain’t over yet. We gotta go back for the others and ‘m fuckin’ terrified it’s a trap.”

“Logan…” you breathed his name with a sigh, resting your cheek next to the hand you held over his heart. His arms encased you in a home of pine-scented sinew, warmth seeping into your very bones.

“I don’t wanna lose you.” He whispered into your hair, and your heart cracked a little.

“I can’t say you won’t, because I don’t know what’s going to happen and I don’t wanna lie to you. I don’t know what we’ll find when we go back or how things will go down,” you paused, raising your head so your chin pressed into the dip between his pectorals. “But I can say, it’s certainly not my intention to die sooooo–”

“That makes me feel so much better.” He rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his tone as the vibrations of your laughter invaded his chest, causing a chain reaction within his soul. 

You let the hushed silence of the clouded late afternoon blanket the two of you, content to bask in his presence after being deprived for so long. He was everything to you. He’d been by your side ever since you’d laid eyes on each other, even if you weren’t the easiest person to get to open up. He’d forgiven you for lashing out. He’d forgiven you for trying to kill him. He’d forgiven you for everything you’d done before. You didn’t think there was anything you wouldn’t do for him, and his actions towards you proved the same. 

“Besides,” you continued after a little while, flexing your fingers ever so slightly, the shadows on the ground responding with obedience you hadn’t experienced in a long time. “I got all corners of my mutation back, so I’d like to see Kreva try anything, the sleazy little fuckstick.” From the silhouette of the balcony rose one of those figures Logan had seen you conjure in your sleep, though this time it wasn’t looking at you with any kind of intention. Rather it seemed to be waiting for your command, standing unnervingly still, shadows rising like smoke from its corporeal body. 

“That’s one less thing to worry ‘bout. Not gonna wake up to you having dissolved on me.” He shrugged, watching intently as the figure raised its hand ominously toward the two of you. Logan bristled, holding you tighter and turning you slightly, his teeth bared. He thought you had control of your mutation now, why the fuck was it–

That extended fist rotated to the side before giving him a thumbs up. 

“Gotcha.” You grinned wickedly, the figure dissipating back into the shadows and Logan looked down at you with utter disbelief, the smirking satisfaction on your face singing to his very core. Wordlessly, he picked you up, delighting in your squeal of surprise, holding you suspended above him like he would a misbehaving puppy. 

“Jail time.” Was all he said, holding you firmly as you squirmed in his grip, breathless bubbles of laughter bursting from your chest.

“Put– put me down, Logan. M’not– a dog.” You managed to gasp through fits of giggling, reaching down to hold his arms to steady yourself. 

“I could just drop ya.” He mused, unable to stem the smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Don’t you dare.” It was tricky to glare at him when thrilled adrenaline coursed through your system and you could barely stop laughing. Logan quirked a brow, pretending to debate whether or not it was a good idea to just let you go and watch you hit the floor, before his slight smirk grew to a full-blown grin, and his hands disappeared from your body.

You barely had a second to register your stomach launching into your throat, a frisson of excitement spiking through your system as you lurched down. Though you didn’t fall far until his arms caught you beneath your thighs, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, elbows hooked around his neck.

“Gotcha.” He mimicked your exact tone from not moments ago, and you huffed a breath against the side of his neck, still clinging on. Not out of fear he would drop you, but just because you could. You were here, you were back, and you remembered every perfect detail of the eight months you’d spent with him before Kreva snatched you away.

Withdrawing from the side of his neck, you brushed a stray dark hair from his forehead, glowing as he leant into your touch, your hand sliding to cup the side of his face, fingers gently scratching through his beard, drinking in every peak and valley of his features, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the quirk of his lips, the pinch of his brows. You devoured his visage as if it were the first time you laid eyes upon him. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He murmured, and you felt your heart swell three times its size. You didn’t know just how badly you’d missed him. Only since waking up again did you feel an empty ache in your chest in the rare moments he wasn’t by your side, only feeling whole again when he returned. It was overwhelming, your sheer love for him, your insides squeezing to make room for the remarkable amount of adoration you held for him. 

Logan panicked slightly when your eyes started to sparkle with unshed tears, fearful he may have said the wrong thing, or something that reminded you of the two months with him you’d just lost, but his heart settled when your lips moulded against his, your thumb smoothing his cheekbone with every languid movement. He held you tighter, his arms crushing you against his body as if at any moment he’d wake up, you’d be gone, and this was nothing but a dream. 

But you didn’t disappear, not as your lips parted for him and you sighed into his mouth, your arm shifting back around his neck to meet him with equal strength, your nails combing the back of his hair soothingly as if you could read his mind just as easily as Charles or Jean, feeling his fears and reminding him you were here. You were back. And you weren’t leaving him anytime soon. 

Pulling back a fraction, your breaths fanned his lips with each exhale, before your hushed words had his whole world igniting.

“I love you, Logan.” Your eyes shone with earnest as his gaze flickered between them as if searching for the indication that this really was nothing but a dream. 

He thought he’d have to die before he heard those words again. 

Fearful that his voice would crack if he responded, he set you down so he could thread his fingers through your hair and kiss you again with as much love as he felt in his soul, gasping through his nose when your fingers grazed up the sides of his ribs, muscles tensing beneath your tickling touch. 

“Sorry to interrupt your disgusting display of a happy relationship,” Logan almost growled in irritation at the sudden intrusion, reluctantly pulling away from you to raise eyes of daggers at Morgana’s smirking face, her arms folded across her chest as if she’d just caught two teenagers making out behind the bleachers at school. “But we’re gonna try again with Erin, not to convince her of anything, just to talk to her. Need your help,” she paused, gesturing to the both of you. “If you’re all done here, that is.”

You snorted a laugh at Logan’s irate furrow of his brow, and you knew it was taking a lot of his self-control not to bare his damn teeth at her. You placed a placating hand against the centre of his chest, feeling is heartbeat settle a tad before nodding to the redhead. “Sure thing. I’ll be right there.”

Satisfied with your answer, Morgana cast one last faux disgusted glance in the minimal space between you and Logan, before turning on her heel, her hair bouncing as she returned back inside. 

“The hell you will,” he seethed, his grip shifting from the side of your neck to your waist, holding you tightly. You flashed him a crooked smile, patting his chest gently.

“I doubt it’ll be a long conversation. Besides, I’ll see you for dinner, kay?”

“You’ll see me before dinner, darlin’.” 

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Your smile twisted into something a lot more mischievous, and Logan almost groaned aloud at the thought of what he’s now definitely going to do to you later.

“Why can’t it be both?” He responded, matching the lust dusting your tone. You bit your tongue behind your teeth, taking a step back before you cracked beneath his gaze and offered yourself to him then and there.

“You’re filthy, Howlett.”

“You love it.”

With a subdued chuckle, you turned away from him intending to follow Morgana to help her with Erin, before Logan’s broad hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged you back into him, not even giving you time to blink before his lips were on your in a lingering, passionate kiss. 

“I love you too.” He whispered, and you didn’t even try to tame your smile before he let you go, choosing to stay out in the fresh air a little longer, mainly to cool himself off. You had such a gift in riling him up that it was always difficult to hold himself back when he couldn’t have his way with you, so he opted to remain outside, erasing the risk of following you and throwing you over his shoulder to take you upstairs. 

“See you in a bit.” You pecked the corner of his mouth briefly before actually managing to get more than two steps away from him, the buzz of anticipation fading in your veins as you headed back through the doors inside, only half expecting him to race after you and do exactly what he promised.

“Surprised I could pull you away from your man for longer than three seconds.” Morgana grinned as you strode down the hallway, seeing her waiting outside Erin’s room, leaning against the doorframe with her arms still folded. You rolled your eyes dramatically.

“We’re not joined at the hip, but I was robbed of the last two months with him so excuse me if I’m a little clingy.” You shot her a faux glare, cut short by the way her face split with a toothy grin. 

“I’m messing with you. It’s real nice actually. I only ever saw snippets of you like this with Jade before you’d revert back to whatever emotionless shell you needed to be so I’m not complaining. Just jealous he got there before I did,” she winked and you slapped her arm with a light chuckle. 

This was the usual dynamic between you and Morgana, having lighthearted, occasionally flirty banter whilst living your ‘lives’ until you’d be taken for experiments. It was rare Kreva would take the both of you, but when he did, you always gave him one hell of a fight back. 

Maybe that was why he would usually separate the two of you. “So,” you continued, leaning opposite her against the doorframe. “What’s the plan this time? Since the last fifty conversations with her haven't worked, you got a new special approach? Or is this just gonna be failure number fifty-one?” 

Morgana placed a hand on her heart dramatically, her mouth falling agape as if you’d just insulted her meticulously preened appearance. “Okay, first of all, we’ve only tried like, what, five times max? Second of all, did you really think I’d drag you from your boyfriend for no reason and risk waking up with several claws stuck in my stomach? Fuck no. Of course I have a plan…” She paused, and you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Or… I will have a plan. When I think of one.”

“Morgo…” you sighed tiredly, dragging a hand down the side of your face. 

“Look, I can’t do this by myself. If Atlas was here, we could just hand this whole thing over to him and be done with it. But he’s not here, and we need Erin’s help to get him back. And Rowan. And Naji and Joes. And we don’t exactly have a cheat code when it comes to her like we did with you.”

“The fuck do you mean ‘cheat code’?” you asked defensively, a little insulted at the way she looked at you as if it was obvious. “Oh Logan is not a cheat code, that’s so unfair!” you protested avidly, pouting when she gave you another one of her looks. 

“We can talk about your complete lack of self-awareness at a later date,” you had half the mind to slap the girl. “And about the fact you somehow managed to back one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen in my life. Your descriptions did not do him justice, by the way.” She wiggled her brows and you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Can you stop thirsting over my partner, please?”

“What’s sex with him like?”

“Morgo!”

“Okay okay, I’ll stop,” she held her hands up in surrender, though her wicked grin didn’t fade in any way. “Fucking gatekeeping, so mean. Throw a girl a bone here… literally.”

“Oh my god.” You groaned, pushing up from the wall to slap your hand over her mouth. Unfortunately, she anticipated and nimbly stepped back before you could even approach her. 

“I can hear you guys outside… if you’re going to come in just do it already,” Erin called from behind the door. The poor girl sounded utterly exhausted, and your heart broke as you imagined her inside, most likely curled up in a corner, surrounded by nothing but hard, dead wood. Useless for her mutation. 

You cast Morgana a sheepish glance, an expression she mirrored, before unlocking the door and stepping through a little hesitantly. They’d made special precautions with her the same way they had with you. A lack of windows meant she had no sightline to the copious greenery beyond the mansion’s walls. All and any plant life had been removed from the room just to make absolutely certain she had no way of escape. It hurt, but you knew it was necessary. 

Necessary evils. How many times have you heard that phrase and genuinely believed it?

“Hey Woods…” Morgana uttered quietly, hoping in vain not to startle the girl. Not that either of you had even seen her yet. She seemed to be hiding somewhere amongst the furniture, or maybe under the bed. It hadn’t been the first time she’d hidden from either of you. “We don’t wanna try convince you of anything. We just wanna chat…” she continued warily, creeping around the side of the bed to where you both assumed she’d curled up. “We’re your friends, Erin. We don’t wanna– huh?”

Morgana stopped when she peered around the double bed to see nothing but empty space. You sidled into the ensuite, nudging open the door a fraction only to once again be met with nothing. “Erin, where’re you–”

You were cut off by the sound of hurrying feet behind you, the slamming of the door, and the click of the lock, barely having enough time to whirl around before you registered your absolute idiocy. 

“You’re fucking joking…” Morgana spat, crossing back to the door Erin had just locked behind her. “Very funny Woods, glad to see you’re feeling better. Now let us out.” She huffed, trying not to let her irritation seep through her voice. Though nothing but silence greeted her from the other side. Morgana tugged at the door a few times, but the oak refused to yield. Defeatedly, she took a step back, throwing you an apologetic glance, before her foot collided with the centre of the panels.

“Fucking ow!” She recoiled to your inappropriate amusement. She shot you a look darker than before. “I’m not the brawler okay? I don’t tackle shit as strong as this.” 

Rolling your eyes skyward, you flicked off the light switch before placing a hand on her shoulder wordlessly. Morgana’s eyes widened as panic flooded her face. “Nononono I hate it when you do this. Can’t you just sift outta here and unlock the door for me?” She pleaded, already skittish before you’d even partially dragged her into the shadow with you.

“Nope. Don’t have the time. It’ll only be two seconds. Promise.” You actually had no idea how long it was going to be, seeing as most of the mansion was drenched it light around this time of the afternoon, but you knew which room this was. And you knew the room above it. 

And it was rare that the room had much light in it at all. 

Not giving her a word of warning, you kept a firm grip on her shoulder as you pulled the both of you into the shadows, pulling on the strings of darkness to keep her consciousness with your own.

With the corporeal world nothing but the stark contrast between light and shadow, you felt your way upwards, through the little cracks between the ceiling and the floor above, weaving up through the crevices in the floorboards. You weren’t expecting the room to have so little options for where to materialise again, your consciousness writhing with the surprise of the bedside lamp being on. But you chose the dark corner by the wardrobe, pulling both yourself and Morgana through the various shadows across the floor and into the sizeable darkness against the wall. 

“Jesus Christ!” 

The last Logan had heard, you’d followed Morgana in the hopes of convincing Erin she wasn’t in any danger here. So he couldn’t contain the shock you gave him when you melted into his room from the corner, a dishevelled-looking redhead by your side. Were you trying to kill him? 

“Nope, just me. Sorry Lo’, didn’t mean to scare ya.” Though from the subdued grin pulling at your lips, he knew you definitely found no small amount of amusement in taking him off guard. 

You managed to suppress your light chuckle at his incredulous expression, choosing instead to tend to your friend who seemed to be struggling majorly with a bad case of motion sickness.

“Ugh… I don’t understand how you do that so often… I think I’d off myself if that was my mutation…” she managed to grit, holding her stomach as if she was about to throw up. You pointed her toward the bathroom just in case as Logan stood from his extremely comfortable position on his bed.

“Though you were talkin’ some sense into Erin. What went wrong?” His first instinct was that, immediately upon entering the room, Erin had most likely thrown something at the two of you and you’d retreated to rethink a strategy.

Though the silence after his query was deafening.

“She uh, she got out.”

Oh. Nevermind. This was a deafening silence. Logan swore he could hear your blood cells in your veins the room fell so quiet. “Whaddya mean ‘she got out’?” 

“Oldest trick in the book. One of the ones I tried and failed on you. Told us to come in, hid behind the door and bolted when we were far enough in the room.” You explained flatly, lifting Morgana’s hair from the back of her neck in an attempt to stem her queasiness. 

Logan swore lowly, instinctively checking you for injuries despite the fact you’d just reformed yourself from the shadow. He couldn’t stop himself. “Does Charles know?”

“The whole mansion will know in a moment. If she’s managed to get outside, it’s only a matter of time until–”

Almost as if Morgana was speaking the circumstance into existence, the entire room started to shake. No. Not just the room. The whole school seemed to shudder and groan, the sound of splitting wood resonating throughout the hallways and dorms, and you dragged Morgana back as a huge, knotted vine bloomed up from the corner, leaves sprouting as the vegetation started its takeover of the space. 

“Shit…” You hissed, bolting to the window and seeing the cause of the destruction. Greenery thrived around Erin, her arms outstretched towards the mansion, dolphin-fins of roots rising and resubmerging into the ground toward the building, veins of gnarled ivy spiderwebbing up the outside of the walls, sneaking in through the cracks between windowpanes and brickwork, before growing exponentially. The realisation hit you like a ton of bricks. 

She was trying to bring down the school. 

You flipped up the latch of the window before throwing open the panes and shoving your head through the leaves, your skin itching slightly as you realised it was no regular ivy. Not with the three-lobed points on most leaves, the slightly waxy texture of the surface. It was fucking poisonous. 

Of course it was.

You managed to set your jaw against the instant discomfort, pushing your way through until you could see the ground beneath. Shrouded in shadow. Good enough for you. You pulled back, only to feel a slight constriction against your throat from a snaking vine around your neck. You hissed at it tightened, flexing your tendons as if you could break free with sheer strength alone. But you succeeded only in tightening its hold, your airways becoming dangerously closed off. Thrusting your arms back through the new forest of the window, you held out your hand in desperation, instantly feeling the rough, calloused palm of Logan grasping your wrist.

You hadn’t given him time to ask what the hell you thought you were doing before you’d been completely shrouded in greenery, and the moment he saw your hand back through the expanding knots of vines, he was by your side, claws slicing through his knuckles as he started to slash and swipe at the writhing snakes. His arm wrapped around your middle, the razor tip of his claw dangerously close to your jugular as he tried to surgically remove the constraint, only to find himself being pulled in with you, itching leaves winding up his forearm and over his bicep.

Breathing became difficult, the lack of oxygen making your brain hazy and your movements slow. You felt like you were trying to inhale through a straw after running a marathon, every part of your exposed skin itching and burning from even slight contact with the leaves, red rashes already rising around your face and neck. You hadn’t really thought she’d try to kill you, or anyone for that matter. In all honesty, you saw this as a desperate attempt to stall everyone before she made a run for it. Not kill everyone inside the goddamn school. Your oxygen-starved mind sluggishly thought to the kids in their classrooms, how terrified they must be, and you fucking hoped Storm or Scott had already started evacuating them as your vision started to tunnel slightly, your mouth agape in a futile attempt to draw breath. 

“C’mon…” Logan groaned with effort as he managed to wrench his arm free of the vines, nicking the side of your shoulder with his claws as he did. He didn’t have time for the instant, overwhelming feeling of guilt before he started desperately slashing again to get you free. Silver clashed with emerald with each savage claw until a soft hand got in his way, blood splattering across the wall. 

“Fuck! Those things are fucking sharp!” Morgana cried out, scarlet leaking from the deep slice across the back of her hand. Logan looked at her as if she’d completely lost her mind. 

“The fuck’re you doing?!”

To his chagrin, she just rolled her eyes, before the rivulets of blood running down her arm started to rise and expand, weaving through the now all-consuming wall of poison, staining the beige vines deep red. In his panic, he’d completely forgotten her mutation. It was deliberate. Her getting in the way. It had been on purpose. Understanding her plan, he sheathed his claws and wrapped his other arm around your middle, his grip like steel as, all at once, a sheet of blood exploded from just beyond the window, slicing through the snaking tendrils, useless ends falling lifeless to the floor.

Like a drowned man rescued from the water, you gasped a deep inhale, feeling yourself be tugged backwards from the crimson display and into a tight embrace that was, whilst unhelpful for your breathing, extremely helpful for your panic. You’d have been humiliated if you’d survived everything Kreva had put you through only to die became Erin was too fucking stubborn for her own good. 

“Y’okay?” Logan asked, concern dripping from his voice as he smoothed your hair from your face, wincing as he caught sight of the angry rashes around your neck and across your collarbones, winding up to frame the sides of your cheeks and brow. You couldn’t stop your nails dragging across the unholy itching in an attempt to soothe it, pulling loose bits of skin as you scratched fruitlessly. 

“Shadows…” your voice was raspy, and you felt like you’d swallowed a bag of nails, a bolt of pain shooting through your vocal cords as you tried to speak again. “Need shadow.”

Logan shifted into the path of the lamp and you dissolved into his silhouette instantly, returning only a beat later looking no worse for wear, though fury furrowed your brow and had your jaw tense. 

“Y’okay?” He asked again, only this time he felt a sense of calm seeing you unhurt. Your rage intimidated him only a little, but at least you were breathing this time. 

“M’fine. Fucking bitch. The fuck does she think she’s doing?” You seethed, casting a glare out the now-covered window as if you could kill her with your mind. Morgana huffed abruptly, still in control of the stained glass made of her own blood. 

“What exactly was your plan there? Or was almost suffocating to death a way of trying to get her to see what she the consequences of her actions?” She asked savagely, sliding her now glowing eyes to you and you could feel her irritation at your actions. 

“I was trying to see if I had a quicker way down to her. And I did, until she tried to fucking kill me.” You braced your hand around your throat as if you could still feel the constrictions around your neck. 

Seeing your phantom discomfort, Logan brushed the back of his hand against the one on your throat, a silent reminder that you were safe again. You laced your fingers between his, another silent way of communicating your gratitude, before once again returning to look beyond Morgana’s barrier. 

Unspoken agreement passed between the room, Morgana leading the way as the three of you sped down the stairs, shouting to any passersby to use the passage and get the hell out of there. You almost collided into a panicking Artie, clutching a small stuffed toy in his hands as he looked around desperately for Jubilee. At least you assumed he’d be looking for Jubilee, she’d taken on the role of protector for the boy, though not being that much older herself. 

You crouched and enveloped him in a tight hug, relieved to see he was unharmed. Though through the rushing crowds, it was difficult to make out specific faces. Until a shock of white hair bobbed through the heads of students, Storm managing to fight her way through the throng and in your direction. 

“How did this happen?” She asked by way of greeting, taking Artie from your arms and tucking him into her side. Shame and guilt tightened your gut. You couldn’t help but interpret her question differently. How could you let this happen?

“She got passed us,” Morgana stepped in, placing a hand on your shoulder and no doubt feeling exactly the same as you. “We weren’t careful enough. But we’re gonna fix it. We’re gonna fix this. We just need to get out there.” She nodded to the covered window where you knew the source was. Ororo sighed gravely.

“There’s only two ways this can go. Make sure it’s option one.” Was all she said, before guiding Artie down the hall and disappearing into the thinning crowd. At least most students had managed to get out, though you could only pray none of them had touched the leaves. You clenched your jaw, Storm’s words sinking in. 

She was right. There were only two possible ways this could go. You could convince her she was safe here, and that you all really were trying to get back and rescue the others.

Or you had to kill her. 

A glance at Morgana told you she’d realised the same, her eyes staring unblinkingly at the floor as she processed what the two of you might have to do if you couldn’t get through to her. “It won’t come to that.” You tried, but it was hard to sound convincing when you weren’t entirely convinced yourself. 

But she went along with your false confidence, choosing instead to gaslight herself right alongside you. “Yeah… it won’t.”

It broke Logan’s heart to see your desperation to fix things. To see the guilt etched into the crease of your brow. Broke him further as he watch the both of you understand that you might really have to kill her. You were torn between trying to save your old family and protecting your new one, he could feel it in his own damn soul. 

You couldn’t be battling with yourself like this right now. You didn’t have the fucking time. People were getting hurt and it was your own damn fault. And the familiarity of the situation flipped something in your brain. All at once, the hesitation you’d been feeling disappeared. Concern faded away. Fear locked up. You had a damn job to do. 

“Cut through the vines like before.” You instructed Morgana, steel icing your tone as you weaved through the stragglers, making a beeline for the double doors that normally would have led out into the gardens. Only right now they led into a wall of vines. 

“I uh– yeah, s-sure.” Logan watched recognition dawn on Morgana’s features, a deep sadness flickering in her eyes as she used her fingernail to reopen the wound on the back of her hand, hissing slightly at the hurt, before blood rose from the gash and seeped beneath the door, solidifying and slicing the climbing vines at the base, creating an opening for you. 

With a flick of your wrist, eight separate figures rose from the shadows around you, gliding to your side and waiting with obedient anticipation. Logan’s stomach dropped as darkness slid up your leg, across your abdomen and settled over your face, solidifying in a glassy, thin mask. Morgana gasped weakly, shaking her head at your new visage in a way that had a kernel of concern bubble in Logan’s chest. 

“I’m sorry if I have to kill her.” There was nothing apologetic in your tone. If anything, it sounded like you were completely devoid of emotion, lacking both empathy and compassion for your best friend as you stepped through the threshold and onto the balcony, your shadows following like dogs. 

“Is this–” He started before Morgana cut him off. 

“How she was before? Yeah…” She confirmed quietly, splitting her concentration between maintaining her mutation and watching you jump nimbly from the balcony onto the grass, striding toward Erin, your shadows in tow. “This was how she coped. All those missions. All those victims. This was how she kept going. It wasn’t solid, and she would break sometimes, but she’d just get better at it. And who’s better at hiding than someone who’s made of the dark?” 

His chest constricted with the realisation that, in the relief and disbelief that he really had you back, he hadn’t truly processed everything you’d remembered. You hadn’t been given the time before you launched straight into trying to help the girl you now might have to kill. And when you released your emotions again, when you let down that wall and they all flooded in, he couldn’t stand by and watch as you relived the moment you ended her life. 

He promised he would keep you safe, and he failed. He promised he wouldn’t leave you, and he’d failed. 

But he’d promised he’d find you. And he promised he’d protect you. Even if that meant from yourself. 

“Stay here, help them in any way you can.” He told her, before following where you’d leapt from the balcony. If he could save you the emotional turmoil of having to kill Erin, he would. And if that meant he had to kill her himself and have you hate him forever, he’d be okay with that. But you’d been through enough shit, you’d been made to feel like a monster because of the things you were forced to do.

Not this time. 

“ERIN!” Your voice echoed off the trees, bouncing back to you as you strode toward her, eight smoky figures fanning out behind you, the manifestation of each member of your family. Their heads twitched skittishly as if understanding their purpose in the situation, waiting for the command to rip. To tear. To wreak havoc.

Erin’s outstretched hands faltered, her eyes focussing back to you as the snakelike roots halted, the blooming of flowers and weeds around her feet stalled. She bit back a bitter laugh.

“All this time. You’ve been tryna convince me they helped you. They saved you. But look at you. You’re worse now than when we were back with the others. You tell me Kreva did some fucked up shit to us, which I can fucking smell is bullshit,  but look at what they’ve done to you.” 

Her words fell washed over you like water from a duck’s back, ignoring every pathetic attempt to make you feel bad about what you were. You felt the pull on the threads of your puppets, felt their yearning to make her suffer for what she’d said, but you held them back, tightened their leashes until they came to heel. 

“This was always who I was, Erin. I’ve only changed from your perspective because you don’t know who you are. Who any of us are. Not really Do you really think we spent the last ten years living in harmony? Going to work, coming home, meeting the neighbours, drinking and watching movies? People like us don’t get to have that life.” You were losing patience already. If she wasn’t going to calm down and come to her senses, you’d have to neutralise the threat. The figures shuddered with excitement. 

“Do you know how fucking crazy you sound? When you’re trying to tell me the last twenty years of my life have been a lie? Naji replaced all our memories? He wouldn’t do that,” She shouted desperately, roots and vines around her feet snaking and writhing in response. “Whatever happened to the flat… what happened to Atlas… I can’t explain it. But if we go back, if we go back and just talk to whoever that was, he’ll set them free… He has to…” she pleaded, and you took a steady step forward. “That’s why I have to do this. I can’t abandon him. I have to help them, but I have to help them now. I don’t trust these people. I don’t know these people. Look what they’ve done to you. To Morgana. I can’t let them do the same to me. Not whilst he’s still in danger.”

You tensed your jaw against the sudden wave of melancholy that broke through your walls, pushing it back as hard as you could, your face falling neutral again behind the mask of shadow. “What do you think we’re trying to do here? He’s got Rowan, Erin. He’s got my fucking brother. And I know the kinds of things Kreva will do to him because I remember. That’s what we’re trying to help you to do. To remember so we can form some kind of plan. But if we have to do this without you,” You paused, raising your hand slightly. “So be it.”

Before you can flick your wrist, a large, calloused hand wrapped around your palm, stopping you in motion. 

“Don’t,” Logan growled lowly, though there was no threat in his voice. You clenched your jaw again, testing his strength only to find your wrist held fast in his grip. “This is not what we do.”

You shook your head. “No. This isn’t what you do. You wanted to know what would change when I remembered. Here it is.” You raised your other hand, quickly flicking your wrist before he could catch it, and eight figures walked forward, heads twitching as they went. 

“Call them off.”

“She’s a threat.”

“Call. Them. Off.” He urged, eyes hardening. “Now.” He could see your eyes flicker behind the mask as if something was fighting to get through. You glanced back to where Erin had crouched, arms outstretched in preparation to fight back. She was a threat. The mansion was under attack.

And it was all because of you. 

“I have to put a stop to this.” Your steely voice started to bend, cracks peaking through the shell. Logan caught it instantly, tugging on that small thread you’d left exposed.

“Not like this. You don’t wanna do it like this. Call them off, Firefly.” He heard your breathing stutter, eyes widening as the mask from your face melted away. He dropped your hand, his palm sliding up the side of your neck to cup your face, acutely aware of how close the shadows were to Erin’s location. “Not like this.” He muttered softly, and your resolve shattered. You lowered you hand, splaying your fingers as the figures dissolved into nothing, returning from their positions back up the balcony and through the door where you pulled them from. 

“I–”

“It’s okay. I know. I know.” He pulled you in, cupping the back of your held to hold you beneath his chin, his fingers coursing through your hair, a strong sense of comforting calm soothing the sudden, immense wave of guilt. 

“This is real… isn’t it?” Erin asked quietly, her own resolve seemingly breaking apart. You cracked your eyes open, pulling back ever so slightly to look at her exhausted form, nodding in confirmation. 

“Yeah. This is real. We haven’t lied to you, Erin. We wouldn’t lie to you. Not about this. Not about your life. Who you are. You’ve had enough lies told to you. And Charles can help you sift through what was real and what wasn’t. Just let us help you.” You implored, stepping from Logan’s embrace and toward her, holding out your hand in an entirely different way to before. “Please. You’re my family, Erin. Let me help you.” 

Her toxic green hair fell in front of her face as her head dropped, small sobs shaking her shoulders, and you were by her side as her knees buckled, arms around her frame before she fell to the floor. 

“It sucks. I know. We both know, me and Morgana. We know, but it gets easier. It’ll get easier once you remember. I promise.” Despite the horrors of your own past, it had gotten easier once you were restored. You knew who you were, and you’d come to terms with the things you’d done. You know Morgana had too. And you knew Erin would be the same. 

“‘Morgana and I’…” she corrected weakly, and you raised a brow.

“Huh?”

“It’s Morgana and I. ‘Not me and Morgana’.”

You chuckled slightly. “Well excuse me grammar police.” Your heart soared as she hiccuped a laugh, raising her head to look at you, her eyes shining, tears staining the sides of her cheeks. 

“I’m sorry…”

You offered her an empathetic smile, your brows creasing. “I know. We all are. For everything. Remembering isn’t easy, and it’ll fuck you up for a few hours, but you’ll be okay.” You brought her into your embrace, soothing gentle caresses against her shoulder. “We all will. And we’re gonna get the others back too. I promise.”

“You make a lot of promises now.”

“Cuz I know I can keep ‘em.” You felt her laugh again, sniffing into your collar before removing herself from your arms and standing up. 

“Guess I should probably do something about that…” You turned back to where she was looking at the mansion, overtaken with greenery and wrapping vines, briefly catching Logan’s proud gaze on you. 

“And easy fix. Don’t worry. We have telekinetics for this kinda thing.” You shrugged, getting to your feet as Erin raised her palms, the school creaking with relief as the invasive vines snaked back into the earth with a slight hiss. The moment they disappeared from the doorway, Morgana came sprinting out, racing down the stone steps.

“Everyone okay!?”  She called out, her footsteps pounding on the grass as she all but tackled Erin into a hug, the girl barely able to maintain her footing. 

“We’re fine, Morgo. Just an intense reality check.” Erin responded from where she’d been buried in Morgana’s hair, spitting out small strands as she spoke. “I uh… I’m sorry for causing such chaos. I was just scared, I guess.” She explained meekly, and Morgana only tightened her grip. 

“It’s okay. We both did the same. Not mansion-crushing poison ivy kinda same, but we weren’t exactly quiet either.” She responded brightly, placing both her hands on Erin’s shoulders. “You ready to remember?” She asked, and Erin nodded slightly. 

“Think so… need to see Charles, right?” 

“Right. He should be downstairs keeping track of the students. They’re probably on their way back now actually.”

“Way back?”

Morgana scratched the back of her head, almost sheepish to admit what Erin had caused. “We uh, sorta evacuated the school. Ya know, poison ivy and stuff. Not great for kids.”

You watched them continue their conversation, Morgana’s arm tucked tightly in the elbow of Erin’s, the two girls seemingly thrilled one of them wasn’t trying to kill the other. You smiled slightly before it faded with the realisation of what you almost did. What you almost robbed the both of them of. 

“‘M prouda ya,” Logan said, tucking you safely against his chest. But you just sighed, resting your temple against the beat of his heart.

“I almost killed her, Lo’. Not sure that’s something you should be proud of.” You retorted a little savagely, clearly shamed by your actions. Logan’s heart clenched.

“But you didn’t. You snapped out ‘ve it and chose option one.”

“And if you weren’t here, Erin would be dead and Morgana would be devastated. And I don’t even wanna think about what it would have done to me…” You closed your eyes as he tilted your head up to look at him, lids fluttering open when his thumb smoothed your brow.

“Then it’s a good job I’m here, isn’t it?”

“And if this happens again?”

“I’ll be here for that too. Not gonna let you go, darlin’.” He murmured into the top of your head, pressing a kiss to the crease between your brows and you felt the tension melt from your bones. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, your arms winding around his neck when you felt his lips graze yours, mouth parting instinctively for him. His arms settled around your waist, holding you tight not dissimilar to the way he held you earlier, before this whole thing. 

Fuck, how did he breathe the last two months you weren’t with him?

‘I hate to interrupt,’ You both exhaled an irritated sigh as Charles's voice echoed in both of your minds. ‘However, once Erin’s memories are restored, we have a meeting and I would like the both of you to be present. We start planning today.’ 

Though the intrusion had been unwelcome, once again, a buzz of anticipation flooded your veins. Finally, you’d start forming a plan to get the rest of your family back. Finally, you could start thinking about getting Rowan back. You didn’t have to pace anymore. You didn’t have to think about what he was going through at Kreva’s hands anymore. 

You were coming for him. Coming for all of them. And you promised yourself you’d make Kreva wish he was never fucking born. 

The meeting didn’t go as planned at all. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks. That was how long Charles had said it would take to gather significant intel and stage a rescue mission. It was too fucking long. Who knows what Kreva would be capable of in two weeks? Two weeks! Fuck’s sake. 

You threw open the door to your room, rage burning through your system. You were ready now. Fuck, you were ready two fucking days ago, before you’d even got your memories back. You couldn’t wait another two damn weeks. It was too long. Far too long. 

Maybe you could head out on your own. Take Morgana and Erin with you and just go there yourselves. No plan, no backup, just the three of you. You didn’t particularly like the odds, but it was better than just sitting around and waiting. You were back to pacing, back to laying awake at night thinking. Worrying. Two fucking weeks.

“These things take time,” Logan attempted to placate from behind you, softly shutting the door as he watched you restlessly march back and forth, your hands tangled in your hair. 

“Is that what they told you when it was me they were looking to rescue? Is that what you convinced yourself when it was my life on the line?” You spat back, tone savage as your mind spun, uncaring of how cruel you sounded. You couldn’t tame your tone. Couldn’t tame your fury. And whilst in the back of your mind you felt bad Logan was the one taking the brunt of it, there that feeling stayed. In the back of your mind.

He sighed, understanding perhaps more than anyone how difficult this was. “No. I was thinking the exact same things as you are now,”

“Oh yeah? Didn’t know you were a telepath. What ‘m I thinking then?” You barked, barely pausing long enough to shoot him a glare before you resumed your fruitless pacing. 

“That you should just head out yourself. That it would be easier to do this alone. That they’re being too fucking cautious and you should just storm the place yourself, nobody behind you.” He explained exactly what was running through your head, almost word for word. Huh.

Maybe he was a telepath. 

Or maybe you were just two halves of the same soul. 

You huffed a sigh, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed, your leg bouncing with pent-up energy. “I’m assuming you didn’t do that.”

He shook his head, taking his rightful place by your side, a broad hand settling on your bouncing thigh. “No. ‘cause I knew the best chance of gettin’ you back safely was to wait. It fuckin’ killed me, don’t get me wrong, but it was worth it. ‘Cause I did get you back. It worked and you’re here now because of it, not in spite of it.” 

You rested your head atop his shoulder, trying to calm the electric adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I’m scared, Logan. The things Kreva did in the two months… it felt like a punishment. I’m fairly certain it was a punishment. And now I’ve escaped him, I know he’ll be taking it out on Rowan.” You closed your eyes, fighting against the images flashing through your brain. Bloodied scalpels, exposed organs, your own arms tearing at the restraints on your wrists. 

“What did he do…?” He asked quietly, his hand squeezing your thigh slightly. You shook your head. 

“I’ll spare you the details, but it was some fucked up autopsy kinda thing. Only we were alive. And fully conscious. Ya know, average Kreva things.” 

Fury curled in his gut, and he tensed his jaw to keep from snarling. The moment he got his hands on Kreva he’d delight in tearing him apart. He hated the way you said it so nonchalantly, though he knew it was a way you coped. You had to normalise it in your head, at least for most of the time. 

“Christ…” 

“Yeah… so I got a few new scars to commemorate the occasions. Fun, huh?” You nudged him gently, and he rolled his eyes. He didn’t quite have the same devil-may-care attitude as you did to your scars, both mental and physical, but he could appreciate the way you managed to find humour. No matter how dark it may be. 

“You’re insane.”

“Mhm? You spend almost a century with psychopaths prodding and poking you, see how sane you turn out.” You provoked with a small, mischievous grin, and he genuinely found himself wondering how you managed to be so fucking perfect for him. His body hummed with yearning, fingers dancing across your thigh and he watched your eyes grow heavy-lidded, turning your head to inhale into this side of his neck. “Logan…” you whispered, and he could hear that exact same yearning he felt in his bones against the shell of his ear. 

His fingers inched towards the crease between your thighs, your body heating up in response to his delicate touches, your lips peppering kisses against the side of his neck. He suppressed a groan when your nails dug into his forearm, leaving little crescents that quickly faded. 

Becoming impatient with his teasing, you swung your leg over to straddle his lap, settling yourself on his growing arousal, your fingers dragging lines of flame up the muscles of his back, scratching beneath the white singlet. 

He couldn’t stifle his reaction to your touch, mouth falling open with a quiet moan, his hands coming to either side of your waist, holding you down as you slowly rocked onto him in a vain attempt to ease the ache between your thighs. You hadn’t had sex with him yet since your memories were restored. If Logan was being honest with himself, he was a little afraid of triggering something for you, but the way you panted softly against his lips showed him you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. 

“You sure?” He murmured, inhaling your scent from the dip between your shoulder and collarbone, shuddering as your familiarity washed over him, combining with the sweetness of your arousal. How did you always smell so fucking good to him?

“Do I not seem sure?” You shot back teasingly, pinching the shell of his ear between your teeth and tugging a little deviously. Logan huffed a heated breath against your temple as your hands placed firmly against his chest, pushing him until his spine settled against the comforter atop your bed. You teeth sank into your lower lip, your hands skirting up beneath the white singlet, mapping the plains and valleys of his abdomen with your fingertips, scratching down the sides of his ribs, his muscles contracting and relaxing with you exploring touches. You wanted him so fucking badly. You had been wanting him so fucking badly for the last two days, but you respected his self-control to hold back. You knew he was waiting for you, and you were eternally grateful for his consideration. However, the amount of times he’d unintentionally left you high and dry was driving you up the goddamn wall. 

You stood from his lap, hooking your fingers beneath the hem of your t-shirt and making a show of pulling it from your body. It didn’t matter what you were wearing. Whether you were dressed to the nines or hanging out in your sweats and a hoody, Logan always made you feel hot as fuck. The way his eyes would shamelessly roam your body, scars and all, made you feel like you never needed to hide from him. Everything about you was desirable to him. It was part of the reason you loved him so fucking much. 

Discarding your t-shirt to the floor, your fingers deftly pulled down the zipper of your jeans, swaying your hips as you tugged them down. How you managed to elegantly step from the pool of tight fabric would always be a mystery to him, but a mystery he would attempt to solve at a later date when you weren’t standing before him in nothing but your underwear. You weren’t kidding earlier when you told him you had a few new scars. His mouth watered with the need to run his tongue down the newest one starting from just above your left breast and finishing beneath the right-hand side of your ribcage. He didn’t even want to know how you got that, but he assumed it might have something to do with the live autopsy you were talking about earlier…

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You quipped cheekily, placing a hand on your hip as if to pose for him. Left in just your bralette and bikini pants, Logan had to check himself to make sure he wasn’t fucking drooling as he sat up, shrugging off his plaid shirt and pulling his white singlet up over his head, dumping them both at the foot of your bed. 

“C’mere,” you squealed as he lurched forward, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist to tug you between his spread legs, his cock already throbbing for you, calling needily for attention he would ignore. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, ya know that?” He murmured against your stomach, nipping sharp little marks into your skin, his tongue tracing that new scar up to where it disappeared behind the fabric of your bra. “S’in my way.” He muttered almost to himself, a hint of irritation lacing his tone as he shoved it to bunch up above your breasts. Your snorted a laugh before pulling it up over your head, tossing it to the small pile of clothes you’d left on the floor.

“Better?” You asked, amusement woven through your tone. Logan shook his head, the tips of his fingers tracing the elastic of your underwear, making you shiver.

“No. Still in my way,” he snatched the hem with his teeth, pulling it back before letting it go with a snap against your hips, leaving you gasping for something more. With a sly, wicked smile, Logan released the constant tension he had on his claws, letting one slip through the gap in his knuckles, tracing the back of the warm metal along your inner thigh. “Didn’t forget about this…” he whispered against your skin, eyes torn between concentrating on what he was doing and watching what it did to you, your back arching toward him as he slotted his claw in the apex of your clothed cunt, biting back a grin as you all but ground against the blunt edge. 

“Such a fucking tease.” You hissed, your fingers winding into the soft, brown locks of his hair, nails digging into the top of his head, pulling a low groan from the back of his throat. You grinned to yourself, tugging harshly on the threads woven through your fingers, earning yourself yet another wanton growl. If he was gonna tease you all damn evening, you’d be damned if you weren’t gonna tease him right back. 

Logan angled his claw down slightly, giving you further room to grind down against it simultaneously making sure he wasn’t in any danger of cutting you at all. That wasn’t something either of you had explored yet, and whilst he was okay with you toeing the line of danger, he wasn’t quite open to hurting you. Not yet. Not when he just got you back. Hurting you was the last thing on his mind. “C’mon princess, use me.” He encouraged lowly, his other hand guiding your hips in slow, languid strokes, pressing his thumb against your hip bone. You whined at his words, sandwiching your lips between your teeth to deliberately deprive him of your sounds. You knew he fucking loved it when you moaned for him, you knew he loved it when he could hear just how well he was treating you. 

Not today. Not if he was going to do nothing but fucking tease you.

He could feel the heat from your soaked cunt, feel every slick movement as you soaked the crotch of your bikinis. All that from the slightest pressure from one of his claws. The implications had his mind spinning. He had an inkling you were locking your sweet noises away from him on purpose, but Logan was nearly always up for a challenge. Removing his claw from your apex, he deftly sliced through the elastic of your pants, growling a chuckle as you gasped again. Sliding to his knees, his palm grabbed the meat of your thigh, shamelessly throwing your leg over his shoulder, exposing your glistening centre. 

“Gonna make you fuckin’ scream, darlin’.” You barely had time to think of a witty quip back before his tongue gently nudged between your folds, hot pleasure spiking through your veins as his nose nudged your swollen clit. You sucked in a harsh breath, your fingers tightening their hold on his hair, twisting through soft locks to hold him in place. Logan’s eyes rolled back behind closed lids, lapping up your sweet nectar with his tongue. 

You couldn’t hold back your guttural moan when his mouth settled over your throbbing pearl, sucking gently against the sensitivity. Your spine curled around his head and you had a front-row seat to the way the muscles in his back tensed with the effort to not throw you on the bed and pick you apart. He snarled hotly when one of your hands left his hair to claw up those same tensing muscles, earning yourself a harsh suck against your clit, vibrations from his voice sending little waves of ecstasy through your system. 

“Logan…” you breathed airily, your tone pitching with a whine when his hand skirted up your inner thigh for his fingers to tease your slick entrance, seemingly content to feel you gush against his fingertips before slowly burying his middle finger inside you. 

He revelled in your gasps, your moans, knowing that no matter how hard you tried, you could never hide just how fucking good he could make you feel. It stroked his ego, your wordless praise going straight to his throbbing, leaking cock. That mixed with the natural aphrodisiac of your essence had him gripping your outer thigh tightly in an attempt to ground himself and keep his shit together. But it was becoming increasingly more difficult the moment you arched into him as the rough pad of his finger reached that little bundle of nerves deep within your silken walls. 

Oh, how he fucking yearned to replace that finger with his cock. 

Your back bowed as liquid pleasure flooded every fibre of your being, unable to stop your desperate grinding against his face, sharp nails clawing into the meat of his shoulder, feeling his soft laughter beneath your palms. He had you. He knew he had you. Exactly where he wanted you. And if you were being honest with yourself, you were all too happy to accept that if it meant he wouldn’t stop. 

“Fuck! Fuck Logan…” You whimpered, hips undulating onto his tongue as he introduced a second finger, scissoring you open before exploring deeping, once again finding that little spot that made your eyes cross and stars dance in your vision. The tension in your gut started to become unbearable, every breath laced with a pitched moan of his name, repeating it like a prayer to the skies above as you threw your head back.

He wasn’t lying. He was going to make you scream. 

Nimble fingers curled inside you repeatedly, massaging your inner walls whilst his tongue continued to lap at your clit, beckoning you further towards that cliff, dangerously toeing the edge when his lips wrapped back around your pearl of pleasure and sucked long and hard.

A quiet scream tore from your throat, somehow still mindful of the fact you were in the mansion and screaming any louder would definitely alert your poor neighbours of what was going on inside the walls of your room. Heated lightning flashed behind your eyes as your arousal crested into sheer ecstasy, your thighs clamping around his head to hold him right there whilst your orgasm shook your very core, your muscles contracting with every endless wave of pure, hot rapture. 

Logan groaned long and deep into your cunt, using his own voice to heighten and lengthen your orgasm before it became too much for you and you were forced to tug him back, faced with his glistening visage of proud glee. You guessed two months of no sex had been building your sensitivity to a crescendo, your thighs still trembling slightly though you were by no means done. Fuck you wanted to devour him.

“Jeans. Off. Now.” You managed to pant darkly, watching his eyes sparkle with the unspoken promise as he wiped your slick from his mouth, maintaining your gaze as he lapped at the back of his hand. Christ, he was fucking filthy sometimes. 

“Yes ma’am,” he quipped back, slowly lowering your leg from his shoulder, making certain you could still stand on your own before he rose to his feet, capturing your lips in a brutal, passionate kiss as he passed your face. You gasped into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue, your own hands flying to the buckle of his belt, flicking open the steel and tightening the leather around his waist briefly, a small display of assertion, before removing it entirely and looping it around your hand. Oh, you had plans tonight, plans to show him just how much you’d missed him. To show him you had no intentions of letting him go. 

Dexterous fingers popped open the brass button atop his jeans, carefully dragging the zipper down before shoving both jeans and briefs from his hips, leaving him to handle the rest whilst your coal-hot palm circled his pulsing length. 

Logan’s jaw fell slack as he kicked off the fabric, brows pinching as you slowly pumped his cock, your thumb dragging along the prominent vein running down the underside of his length. The clinking of his belt in your other hand had his eyes drifting down, his mind straining to form a coherent thought as you looked at him questioningly. 

“What’re you thinkin’?” he managed to grit, having to wrap his fingers around your wrist to stop your motions before he lost himself again. You pursed your lips, dragging your leather-bound hand across his chest and up to his shoulder.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

You paused for a moment, a wicked glint gleaming in your eye. “I wanna wrap this around your neck and pull on it whilst I suck your fucking soul out of your cock.”

Logan almost choked on his own gathering saliva, and he should really be ashamed of how fucking hot you just made him, his cock throbbing at the mere thought of your intentions. “And you said I was filthy… fuck darlin’. Might’ve been the hottest thing you’ve ever said.” He breathed, delighting in the downright villainous look in your gaze. Holy fucking shit. 

“Yeah? Want me to collar you like a dog?” You had no idea where any of this was coming from. Sure you’d had fantasies of tying him up and worshipping him the same way he’d done to you, but all this dirty talk? You had no damn clue. 

“Fuck yes.” He hissed, and your lips split into a devilish grin. 

“Sit.” You instructed, and he did just that, no questions asked, legs spread for you to kneel between, his cock twitching needily. “So obedient.”

His chest inflated as you rose on your knees, twirling the length of the belt from your hand and winding it around his thick neck, feeding the end through the buckle and pulling until it was snuck against his skin. All the while he nipped sharp bites wherever your wrist was in reach of his mouth, his palm holding your arm still so he could trail his teeth up to the crease of your elbow. 

You gave the belt an experimental tug, admiring the way he gasped at the leather tightened briefly around his neck, pulling his head back from your skin. You felt his cock nudge your stomach with the slight buck of his hips in response to the sensation. 

Settling back down to sit on your heels, you kept the end of the belt clasped tightly in one hand, the other returning to palm his cock, admiring the way he gasped loudly as the centre of your hand circled his sensitive tip, spreading clear pre-cum up and down his shaft. You leaned forward, savouring the bite in your knees as your hot breath fanned the underside of his length, your tongue only gently grazing that same vein you ran your thumb down earlier. 

“Fuck…” he sighed, his head tipping back, bracing one hand behind him and the other atop your head, fingers scratching at the roots of your hair. It had been too fucking long since he had you like this, and the tightening leather around his neck only served to further his heightened sensitivity. 

Opening your mouth, you wrapped your lips around his leaking tip, your tongue lapping against his frenulum, tugging at the belt as his hips bucked into your mouth, craving more. He hissed, baring his teeth in a silent snarl as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking in time to the rhythmic pulsing of his length, your other hand dragging teasing nails up and down what you hadn’t fit in your mouth yet, before all at once, you tore your hand away, opened your throat and swallowed the rest of his cock. 

Logan’s back arched, a stuttered moan tearing from his chest as your nose buried itself in the course hairs at his naval, gasping raggedly as you gave the belt another harsh tug, cold leather digging into the straining tendons on the sides of his neck, pressing against his prominent adam’s apple and constricting his breathing for a moment. The second it loosened, a hot wave of ecstasy coursed through his veins as he inhaled, honey-laced lightning filling his lungs when you pulled back from his cock, only to run your tongue down the underside of his length again as you sucked him off. 

“Shit… shit sweetheart. Feel so fucking good…” he groaned as you worked him, every drag of your hot mouth pulling him closer to his high, every small gag tightening your throat around his throbbing cock. Tears lined your eyes as you took him as deep as you could once again, your hand bracing against his hip as he bucked sharply, uncontrollably, into your mouth. He gasped to the ceiling as his head fell back, tightening the leather as you held the end in a death grip, not providing any slack for him. Brows pinched, mouth agape, Logan felt himself cresting the pinnacle of pleasure, hand grasping your hair as he failed to still his grinding hips.

“Gonna cum baby, f-fuck, gonna cum…!” he rasped a warning, only encouraging you to hollow your cheeks further and bring him over the edge in a similar way he’d done to you only moments ago. Your tongue danced against his pulsing vein, nails digging into his hip bone as you sucked long and hard, tugging the belt sharply and sending him into trembling ecstasy. 

A throaty, drawn-out roar wracked his throat as he tumbled head first into his orgasm, mindful to tear his hand from your head as his claws ripped through his knuckles, shooting rope after copious rope of cum down your throat, his thighs shaking with each delicious wave. He couldn’t find it in him to care for the tearing of fabric as he ripped clean through your comforter, powerful tides of liquid hedonistic gratification sending his mind spinning and clouding his senses. 

You didn’t stop your ministrations, swallowing every drop you pulled from him before continuing to circle the back of your tongue against his increasingly sensitive tip until he was bucking to escape the heat of your mouth. You had half the mind to tug on the belt once more, to get him to behave, but the fresh ache in your cunt was loud enough to release him, wanting nothing more than to feel him quake inside you. 

Pulling off with a soft pop, you delivered a few kitten licks to his still leaking slit before looking up to admire your work, Logan’s blissful, fucked out visage doing nothing to satiate your building desperation. 

When you said you’d suck his soul out, he didn’t think you meant literally. Basking in the afterglow of his orgasm, Logan had to check himself to make sure you hadn’t somehow killed him, his heart racing with the force of his high, chest heaving as he fought for breath. You loosened the belt slightly and he groaned lowly with the sudden intake of oxygen, yet another wave of pleasure forcing another bubble of milky cum from his tip. Softly, you unhooked the belt from the buckle, sliding it from around his neck and discarding it to the floor along with the rest of your forgotten clothing, your hands cradling the fading bruises on either side of his throat.

Cracking his eyes open, he genuinely had a moment where he did think he was dead because you looked otherwordly above him. A seraphim. Or a succubus. He couldn’t decide which. 

“I’d say that was a successful addition, wouldn’t you?” The audacity you had to expect him to respond right now was unbelievable, your soft arms wrapping around his freshly healed neck as you went to straddle his settling thighs, mindful of his overly sensitive cock. You knew it wouldn’t be too long until he was ready for another round, so why not spend that time teasing him a little?

“Fucking hell darlin’...” he managed, his claws sinking back between his knuckles before his hands came to cradle your waist, finding enough strength to pull you with him as he shuffled back onto the bed, propping himself up against your pillows and headboard. “You tryna kill me or somethin’?” he grinned, a brow arched at your wicked little giggle. 

“Wouldn’t be a bad way to go.” You retorted, winding your hands into his hair soothingly,  moulding your lips to his so he could taste himself on your tongue, your own essence still lingering in his mouth.

“What’s that then? Attempt three? Four? On my life?” he asked, pulling back a fraction to watch you roll your eyes playfully. 

“Who’s counting?”

Logan shook his head fondly. All the fear of losing you. All the pain of failing to protect you. The agony of waiting. It was all worth it to see you here, now, with him. He still couldn’t quite believe he had you back in his arms. “Fuck I love you. So fucking much, Firefly.” He murmured against your lips, your eyes widening slightly before pouring every ounce of adoration in your heart into a fierce kiss. 

“Want you, Logan…” you breathed, feeling his cock already hardening against your cunt, grinding your hips to catch your clit on his balls. 

“You have me, sweetheart.” He responded, bracing his hands against your back to switch positions, your world spinning for a moment before you nestled back into the pillows, strong arms caging you in. “You have me.” He repeated, teasing the head of his cock through your slick folds before slowly breaching you.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, ankles crossing at the small of his back as he filled you, the desperation of before having shifted to something more sensual, more passionate. He didn’t just want to fuck you. He wanted to love you. 

Your brows pinched, eyes closing, an airy gasp floating from your lips with the familiar stretch of his length filling your perfectly. He stilled as he settled to the hilt, basking in the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him, shaky breaths fanning your temple as he fought with himself not to cum on the damn spot. 

“Look at me…” he urged softly, your lids fluttering open to meet his intense gaze, watching his jaw slacken when he pulled out to the tip, before rolling his hips back into you, mesmerised by every micro-expression you made. Your thighs tightened around his waist, heels digging into the base of his spine as you encouraged his movements. He kept his thrusts slow and deep, reaching every inch of your inner walls, grazing deliciously against that bundle of nerves he was teasing with his fingers before you had him in your mouth. 

“I love you.” You whispered, hands holding onto the sinewy muscles of his shoulders, welcoming him into your quivering cunt with every rhythmic pulse of his cock breaching your glistening entrance. Logan huffed a gravelly groan, soft eyes searching tracing every detail of your features, the way your mouth fell open, the way you fought to keep your eyes open when his length bushed that little spot of pure ecstasy inside you, the crease in the centre of your brows when they pinched. He committed each little expression to memory, before losing himself completely in your silken heat.

Logan increased the pace of his movements, pleasure coursing through his veins as you shuddered around him, your nails piercing the skin of his shoulders, desperation fuelling the clawing across the top of his back. Your pitched moans went straight to his cock, urging him to bury his face in the side of your neck and inhale your sweet scent, driving him to give you as much as he could.

“C’mon baby… can feel you clenchin’ round me. Let go,” he instructed, savouring the way your thighs trembled, your spine arching. “Cum f’me darlin’. Show me how good it feels.”

Your symphony of moans climaxed along with your body, the shadows in the room quivering and whipping out as you struck your high, cumming in long, drawn-out waves and creaming on his pulsing cock. Logan tensed as he refrained from spilling into your for as long as he could, determined to prolong your ecstasy before he reached his own. But the moment you surged up to bury your teeth in the side of his neck, he came undone.

“Sh-shit! Fuck!” He growled your name through grit teeth, heaving gasps as he lost control of his hips for the second time that night, bucking into you with renewed desperation as his muscles contracted, rapturous nectar pulsing from his cock as he pumped into your waiting heat, your walls gripping and milking him for all he was worth. 

Phantom tides of lightning caused his length to twitch within you, and it took nearly all his strength not to collapse and crush you beneath him, rolling to the side, your legs still wrapped around his waist, keeping him nestled inside you.

Logan pulled your into his sweat-oiled chest, his heavy breathing calming slightly as you nuzzled into the hollow of his throat, your own hot breaths fanning his already heated skin whilst the two of you basked in the floating afterglow, his scruff scratching lightly against your forehead as you buried your face in his neck. 

He held you as you came back to earth, untangling your legs from his waist, hissing as he pulled out and lifted his side for you to remove your other leg from where he was essentially holding it hostage with his weight. 

“Where the fuck did that whole belt thing come from?” he asked with no small degree of humour in his voice once he remembered how to think properly. He felt you shake with laughter, tilting your head up to gaze into his mirthful hazel eyes. 

“Been wanting to do something with that damn belt since the first time we slept together. Maybe the first time you kissed me, actually…” you hummed thoughtfully, and he cocked a brow. He remembered that first morning you woke up together, your confession over leaving the belt somewhere within reach just in case.

He always wondered what the case would have been. Now he knew. And it was the single hottest thing you’d ever done. 

“Such a freak.” He mumbled, gently hitting his nose against yours as you rolled your eyes.

“You’re saying that as if you didn’t cave the moment I suggested it. I asked if you wanted me to collar you and you responded, and I quote, ‘fuck yes’.” You did your best to imitate his voice, failing miserably as you couldn’t reach that low or gravelly. Logan rolled his eyes, shoving your head back into his neck where you couldn’t see just how wrapped around your finger he truly was.

“That was a shit impression.”

“Whaddya mean, bub?” You did it again, earning yourself a sharp pinch to your waist before you devolved into fits of giggles. 

“Stop.” He fought back a grin, refusing to show you how amused he truly was by your antics. “You’re a hundred-and-five years old, act your age.”

“Logan if I acted my age I’d be dead. And so would you, for that matter,” you quipped back, earning yourself a snort of laughter above you.

“Good point well made.”

“Speaking of which…” you raised your head from his neck once again, propping yourself up on your elbow. “I never did thank you, did I? For not telling me how you found out my birthday. Guess I never got the chance but– thank you. I know you don’t like lying to me so it means a lot that you did.” 

You watch him struggle to accept your gratitude, clearly battling between the guilt of not telling you at the time and the want to keep you in the dark to stop you from dwelling.

“How long’ve you known?”

“Since Charles restored my memory. After my freakout. It was the first thing Jade showed me. My birthday in the cabin,” you responded softly, idly tracing the muscles of his bicep with your fingers. “We gotta go back, by the way. I think I left my gift there.” You admitted sheepishly.

“It’s here.”

Your eyes shot back to his face, and he couldn’t have recreated your expression of surprised awe if you had given him all the art lessons in the world. “It’s here?”

“Yep.”

“Wh- h- what? When? How?” your pitch increased with each question, your brain working overtime to try and remember when he would have had the time to pick it up in the rush of both packing and leaving that night two months ago. 

“Remember you forgot ya purse?” He asked, a fond glint dancing in his eyes.

“Well yeah but–”

“Grabbed it on the way out. It was on the mantlepiece next to that ridiculous picture you took.”

“I like that picture!” You defended avidly, remembering the day you took it. It was a freezing autumn afternoon, though there was nothing but sunshine in the sky. You’d wrapped a scarf around his neck as he worked on the bike outside, snapping a sneaky pic of him all snug. It was one of your favourite pictures, and you’d got it printed and framed without him even knowing about it. How you managed to do any of that behind his back you wouldn’t say, but he let you display it because it made you happy. 

“Besides the point. It’s uh– in my closet.” It was his turn to sound a little guilty, soft tones laced with culpability.

“Your closet? Why? It’s gorgeous.” You tilted your head as much as you could with the awkward position, struggling to understand why he would shut away such an incredible display of his woodworking skills. 

“I couldn’t look at it…” he confessed, and you inhaled a micro gasp of understanding. It was a reminder of what he’d lost for the last two months. You hadn’t really taken the time to contemplate just how hard things had been for him. In a way, having your memories completely readjusted had worked in your favour. You couldn’t miss what you didn’t remember. But Logan? He remembered all of it. And he’d spent the last two months wondering if he’d ever see you again. 

“Logan…” you murmured, your hand leaving his arm to cup the side of his face, heartbreaking as he leaned into your touch a fraction, the scruff of his beard tickling the heel of your palm. “I’m so sorry.” You didn’t quite know why you were apologising. Maybe for having it easier with not being able to miss him the same way he missed you. For not truly understanding what he went through. For being so focused on yourself and your brother, you hadn’t taken a moment to think about his experiences. Sure, you’d asked how he was holding up, but it didn’t seem enough.

“S’okay. You’re here now.” It was a reassurance for himself more than anything else, you could see it in the way he savoured your touch, your thumb dragging gently back and forth over his cheekbone.

“I’m here now.” You affirmed, nudging his nose with yours before resting your forehead against his. “I’m here.”

“I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, firefly.”

Your eyes blew wide, searching his face for the deception you knew you wouldn’t find. “What…?”

“Not a proposal or anythin’, don’t worry. Just wanted you to know. Come far too close to losin’ you to not say shit like this, I guess.” He tried to play it off like his heart wasn’t in his damn throat, watching every micro-expression you made, looking for any sign of rejection. But the way your eyes watered slightly, lips splitting into a smile of sheer, unadulterated joy, told him that there would be no such thing from you. 

“I wouldn’t be mad if it was, but I am yours. For however long you’ll have me.” You continued to trace his features, the creases at the corners of his eyes as his mouth quirked into a soft, fond smile. 

“So ‘til one of us keels over. Might be some time.”

“I think I’m okay with that.”

The rythmic tapping of nails against oak occupied your mind as you started blankly at the presentation screen ahead of you, details of the latest draft of the search and rescue mission glowing faintly on the screen. But you finding it difficult to concentrate on Scott’s authoritative voice when his plan didn’t make any goddamn sense.

“Wasn’t that the entrance you used last time? Fairly certain Kreva would have worked that out by now…” Morgana offered with uncertainty, and you grunted in agreement, your leg bouncing in growing irritation as once again, the meeting was going fucking nowehere. Logan’s hand settled on your thigh, his thumb caressing soothing circles onto the top of your sweatpants. 

“There’ll be twice as many guards there than there were last time, if there were any there at all.” You followed up, speaking through where your teeth chewed at your cuticles, your tapping nails ceasing to settle you other palm atop Logan’s knuckles, a silent gesture to reassure him you were alright. 

“Guards won’t be a problem.” He snarled quietly, resisting the urge to prove his point by releasing the tension in his knuckles. You bit back a smile. 

“We also gotta remember,” Morgana continued, flipping her hair back behind her shoulder. “Kreva will also be expecting something from us now. Especially since he grabbed Rowan for this exact reason. He’ll be expecting you.” She turned her attention to you, and you frowned in acknowledgment. You knew that. You all knew that. And you’d lost count of the amount of times people had tried to convince your to stay here and not head out with them. Each conversation ended fairly abruptly, with you telling them to fuck off. 

“And he still has his trump card, Naji.” Erin chimed in, her cheek resting on her palm as if she was bored out of her mind, her other hand mindless tapping on her phone. You knew she was actually listening pretty intently, her brain working overtime to come up with creative solutions to the problems that just wouldn’t stop arising. She wanted to get Atlas out with as little risk as possible, and she was also one of the people who had tried to convince you to step back, but backed down when you promptly mentioned she wasn’t the only one missing someone she loved deeply. 

That shut her up pretty damn quickly. 

“I thought we’d decided Jean would take care of Naji?” You couldn’t keep the frustration in your voice as you were once again having to go back over issues that had already been resolved. Why the fuck was this being brought up yet again? And awkward silence blanketed the room, Jean, Scott and Charles exchanging quick, uncertain glances. 

“We did… but we decided it wouldn’t be a good idea,” Scott said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, already defensive. As he should be.

“What? Why? Who else better to engage in a mind battle than a fucking telepath? And I’m not being funny, but I’m assuming Charles isn’t coming, correct?” You turned your head to the Professor as he nodded in confirmation.

“I’ll be there in Cerebro.” Was all he said, and you looked back to Scott pointedly. 

“Exactly. So why the hell wouldn’t we send Jean to Naji?”

“It’s too dangerous.” He stated simply, and you fought the urge to lunge across the table and slap the shit out of him. 

“Of course it’s dangerous. This is dangerous for all of us! But Jean agreed, right?” You tnow turned to her, desperate for her to confirm what had already happened. But she too looked hesitant.

“Yeah, I did.” She sighed, and you gave Scott a look of ‘fuck you, asshole’. But he only tightened his jaw.

“So why are we now deciding that sending a telepath after a memory manipulator is a bad idea?”

“Perhaps we should adjourn this meeting for later?” Hank offered after being all but silent the entire time.

“No, fuck that. This is important. Do you guys know what’s at stake here? I’m assuming Logan wasn’t the only one to read the fild, right? You do know what Kreva did to us, yes?” You asked the room to to yet another chorus of quiet, confirming your fears. Barely anyone in this room knew exactly what they were up against. “You’re fucking kidding me…” You breathed, trying to focus on Logan squeezing your leg to help ground your fury. 

“She’s right,” he chimed in, and your heart surged. No matter what, you knew he would fight your corner. He always did. “Pretty sure the only ones here who can fight against mind battles are Jean and Charles. None of us can put up those kinda defences and if that fucker snatches up one of us, the whole plan goes outta whack.”

“And what will you be doing?” Scott shot from across the table, and you felt Logan tense slightly. 

“What I do best.” He responded flatly, and you got the distinct feeling this meeting was about to become a lot more heated. 

“So whilst you’re running around carving through carrion, Jean will be fighting the real battle, that right?” Okay, now it was really taking all your concentration not to smack his glasses off his fucking face. What the hell did he mean by real battle?

“I think Hank was right, maybe we should–” Kurt began awkwardly from the corner, clearly already hating the growing confrontation. But he was instantly cut off by you, rising to Scott’s challenge.

“Oh I’m sorry, is keeping your girlfriend safe by taking out hundreds of gunmen not enough?” You bit, venom dripping from your tone. Scott scoffed as the rest of the room shuffled anxiously, Ororo pinching the bridge of her knows between her fingers as if this whole conversation was giving her a headache. 

“‘His girlfriend’ is in the room.” Jean placed a hand on her hip, her eyes hardening as she looked between the two opposing sides. But it seemed neither Logan, Scott nor yourself noticed.

“My girlfriend is the only reason you made it out that damn place with your mind still intact, and the only reason you didn’t go ape shit and kill the rest of us like you did Jade.”

“Scott!” Storm barked, but it was far too late. The damage was done. Your head tilted to the side, shadows in the room rippling and writhing as your control over the threads inside you started to slip. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Logan snarled, his hands balling into fists as he too engaged in the same battle to keep control. 

“Just because you got a new girlfriend Logan doesn’t mean you can throw mine into the fray. It wasn’t so long ago you were eyeing her up at every opportunity,” he turned back to you. “I’d be careful if I were you. Wait ‘til the next pretty girl waltzes into the school, you’ll be old news to him.”

The following silence was so thick it tasted like bitter resentment. You swore it was only two months ago Scott was congratulating the both of you on your newfound relationship. Why the fuck was he acting like this.

It didn’t matter anyway. He’d said what he’d said and you slowly stood from your seat. The room watched you with prey-like caution, Scott’s fingers dancing across his glasses, Ororo’s hands flexing in anticipation. They were still scared. Still scared of you. And you couldn’t help but think it was with good reason, because the way you were currently feeling, you could have drowned this whole room in darkness without hesitation. 

But you wouldn’t be who they saw. Only Morgana and Erin seemed at ease, Erin with that same bored look, tapping away on her phone, and Morgana looking as if she’d just watched the latest episode of the juiciest TV show.

“Meeting adjourned.” You said with deathly quiet, before stalking from the room, hearing a sharp ‘the fuck was that Scott’ from Ororo as you let your feet carry you away. You refused to feel insecure in your relationship with Logan. It wasn’t that long ago, maybe a week or so, he was saying how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. You knew Scott was bitter about the way Jean had behaved, and the man placed a lot of the blame on your partner, despite the fact she was the one who’d lead him on. Gave him hope where there wasn’t any. Not that any of that mattered now. It was in the past. Old news. And news you’d already been told, by Logan himself. 

That wasn’t even what got to you. It was his comment about Jade. Whilst you’d put your self-hatred and guilt to bed, it still didn’t mean it wasn’t easy for it to rise again. You felt the all to familiar waves of regret wax and wane in your chest, the memory of her death playing on repeat in your head, through your own eyes. You clenched your jaw against them, trying to remember that she had forgiven you for what you’d done. She didn’t hold it against you, and the locket currently bouncing against the hollow of your throat was a testament to that.

You didn’t even realise you’d made it outside until the sharp winter air seeped through your bones. At least the sky was clear, clusters of stars blinking down at you, but rather than finding peace, you instead felt judgement. Which was ridiculous. But you felt it anyway, in the passionate deaths of a million fireballs light-years away from Earth. You sucked in a deep breath, allowing the icy air to soothe the burning in your chest, letting your bubbling rage settle into a gentle stew. 

You heard him before you saw him, heavy footsteps crunching on gravel before a large, warm jacket settled atop your shoulders, bathing you in the comforting scent of whiskey and pine. You stayed silent for a moment, Logan’s hand finding yours subconsciously.

“Did you kill him?” You asked by way of greeting, and you heard a soft huff of small laughter by your side. 

“Not yet. Want me to?”

“I’m real good at hiding bodies.”

“That I don’t doubt.” 

Logan felt his gut twist as you continued looking skyward, hoping you were finding some kind of solace in the feeling of unimportance when faced with the rest of the universe. Feeling small was something Logan was too familiar with, but when staring into the infinite, glittering void above, he found a comforting sense of mortality, despite thus far proving to be immortal. But then he remembered Scott’s scathing comment, and he was brought back to the issue at hand. “You know it’s bullshit, right?”

You blinked for a moment, failing to understand what he was referring to. “What’s bullshit?”

“The whole thing about the next pretty girl…” he clarified quietly, his fingers flexing and squeezing between yours.

“Oh, pff, that? I’m not worried. Like I said, I’m real good at hiding bodies.” You grinned slightly, and you watched his face relax in relief. Was he really worried about such a petty comment? It soothed your aching heart to know he was. 

“Good.” He murmured to the top of your hair, his hand leaving yours to wrap his arm around your shoulders.

“Good that I can hide bodies?”

“That too.”

You hummed in contented agreement, basking in the warmth of his presence, returning your gaze to the night sky. “You okay? That was quite a shot fired from Scott.” You quieried, craning your neck further to look at his side profile, his eyes still trained above.

“‘M’fine. After you left they got into an argument so that was kinda cathartic to watch.”

“Who? Scott and Jean?”

“Mhm.” He hummed in confirmation, and you snorted a laugh.

“What was she saying?”

“That he needs to stop treating her like she can’t handle herself, that she isn’t made of glass.”

“Sounds familiar.” You lightly elbowed his side and he raised a brow down to you, deftly flicking your forehead before you could pull away in time. 

The quiet of the night invaded the space between you, settling comfortably atop unspoken affection. “What he said about Jade…”

“I’m fine, Lo’. Sure, it kinda caught me off guard, but I probably should have expected it. Especially since I was questioning his fragile authority.” You shrugged, but Logan knew the depth of the wound Scott had cut. He didn’t think there would be a time when digs about Jade wouldn’t resurface those feelings of fear and liability. 

“I love you, ya know that?”

You sighed warmly. “Yeah, I know.” You responded, once again letting the silence settle for a beat before you inhaled a breath. “Jean? Really?”

Logan groaned in response, it was the same conversation you’d started when he’d first told you about that whole situation. “Yeah, I know. Don’t.”

“But like, okay she’s hot, and a red-head so like, double whammy, but she’s kinda creepy. Feels like something’s going on under the surface, ya know?”

“Look, she was the first person who’d shown me any kind of kindness for a long time, a’ight?”

“Okay but like, if someone helped you across the street, would you fall in love with them, too?” 

“What am I? Eight-five?”

“No, you’re hundred and thirty. Eighty-five’s pretty sprightly in comparison.”

“And that’s enough talkin’.” He wrapped both arms around your shoulder, hiding your face beneath his chin to muffle your voice, your rapid breaths of laughter fanning his neck. “It wasn’t the same, anyway.”

“Hm?” You tried to pull back, only to be met with resistance from Logan’s hand against the back of your head. 

“It wasn’t the same, how I felt ‘bout her. To how I feel ‘bout you. Never was ‘n never will be.” He didn’t need to say it. You both knew he didn’t need to say it. But that’s why it meant so much more that he did. Your soul sang within the centre of your very being, to be so loved after all you’ve gone through, you never thought something like this would be possible, let alone allowing yourself to love someone back. Even with Jade, you felt as if you didn’t have the right to love her.

But Logan? He made you feel so safe. 

“I know.” You repeated into the home you’d made in the crook of his neck. Logan exhaled a hum, Adam’s apple sending soft vibrations through your nose as he simply held you for a moment, before sniffing the air twice the combined scent of earth coated iron had his lips pulling into a slight smile.

“She’s all yours.” Logan stole a glance behind him to where both Erin and Morgana were standing silently, respectfully waiting for the sweet moment to naturally come to a close. When you pulled back this time, he let you, his hand falling to your waist before pecking your lips with a honeyed kiss. 

It was only when he stepped back from you did you realise you had company, too wrapped up in his presence to hear their shoes on the gravel. He offered you a nod of reassurance, and you offered him a warm smile in return before he turned his back and heading back inside, his jacket still hanging snugly across your shoulders. 

“That was cute,” Erin began as she tucked her phone into her back pocket, the two girls coming to stand on either side of you, both of them looping their arms through your elbows. “Scratch that. He’s cute. Can’t believe you’re actually dating that gorgeous hunk of a man. So unfair.” She pouted slightly, and you chuckled. 

“I know right? We escape for seven years and what do we do? Become strippers and gardeners. You escape for seven years and find yourself a partner, a family and a team. Talk about bullshit.” Morgana chided with a cheeky grin, her eyes flashing in the low light. 

“Yeah well… I did also kill the woman I loved so it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.” You admitted, watching their expressions morph from cheeky to melancholic in a heartbeat. You guessed they still weren’t quite used to that fact yet. You’d had longer to come to terms with it, at least after Charles restored your memories. They’d only found out a week ago. It was still a hard pill to swallow. Jade was gone. For good. 

Your breath clouded in front of your face as you returned to look skyward, finding less judgment in the stars and more comfort. If nothing else, they’d been a constant in your life. Whether you were out killing for Kreva or out fighting for your family. They’d always been there above you. Keeping you company on the long, difficult nights. 

“I’m gonna miss her,” Erin whispered into the night, her arm tightening around yours. “She was–”

“Fun.” Morgana finished, casting a glance at her two sisters by her side. You huffed a laugh.

“We were fun. Whilst we weren’t being fucked up. We had a lot of fun.” You felt a slight burn in your eyes. It was only just dawned on you that your lives together were coming to an end. When you got Atlas, Rowan, Naji and Joes back, what would happen to Nimlo? Would you all stay together? It seemed unlikely. Erin didn’t seem all too comfortable in the mansion, and you had an idea that once she was back with Atlas, that would be it for the two of them. They’d go their separate ways. Rowan would stay by your side, maybe get a job here at the school teaching physics or something. Joes could never stay in one place for very long, always flitting between rooms for a ‘change of scenery’ he would say. Naji would most likely become a recluse, not that he was particularly social, to begin with.

But Morgana? You had a feeling she was directionless. Torn between different paths. You knew she could stay here. The team would welcome her with open arms, and you’d seen the way she got on particularly well with Kurt, the two of them cracking up in the corner after one of them made some stupid joke. But there was no guarantee that, after this, you’d ever see many of them again. 

“You remember when we graffitied that guy’s wall?” Morgana broke the silence, her voice thick with a similar emotion to yours. 

“And Joes had to distract him by telling him the longest, most elaborate story about the time he went to get his ass checked out by a doctor only to realise he just had pin-worms?” Erin continued, clearing her throat slightly so she could speak without her voice breaking. 

You cracked a broad grin, shoulders shaking with teary laughter as you remembered that night vividly. You were all a bored band of misfits with a can of paint and an idea, drawing a dick and balls on one of the neighbourhood’s walls before being caught with a flashlight in the middle of the act. Joes rushed into performance mode, telling this poor man the story of his completely fabricated visit to the doctor’s in graphic detail. He was so stunned it gave you precious few moments to make a break for it, sprinting down the side streets to the disgruntled shouts of an angry man. You vaguely wondered how he was doing now, before remembering he never existed. 

“Or when we stole that woman’s car after being caught shoplifting.” You chimed, looking at Morgana pointedly. She gaped in mock offence. 

“I refuse to take the blame for that. Atlas was supposed to be on watch but somehow got distracted.” She sent a faux glare across you to Erin, who’d done her best to craft a mask of complete innocence. 

“I had nothing to do with that! You wanna talk about poor lookouts? How about we never put Rowan on scout duty ever again? Why did we think it was a good idea to put the damn light-weaver on lookout, at night time?” 

The two girls both turned to look at you. “Hey! Why ‘m I getting the blame for that? It was Jade’s idea! She said to ‘let him have a go’, so don’t you look at me like that!” You couldn’t suppress your wicked smile, feeling a little at fault but honestly, not giving a rat’s ass. “Is it my imagination or did Jade shift into a hamster and hide herself in the pet shop just to bite the finger of the guy who cut her off that one time.”

“Oh my god no she did! I remember that! She came back with a shit-eating grin saying she ‘got the fucker’ and we were all so confused!” Morgana cackled, the three of you reminiscing over the time Jade had returned from shopping only to find out she’d been pretending to be a hamster for the last four hours in the hopes the motherfucker who cut her off on the road would somehow waltz in. How she managed to actually pull it off blew your minds. How she even knew he’d come in at some point that day was even more impressive. 

Bubbles of rapturous laughter died away as reality settled in your chest, the silence of the night overtaking you once again. “What happens after this…?” You asked quietly, slightly fearful of ruining the moment. But the two girls by your side just sighed, having clearly been asking themselves the same thing.

“Who knows? We gotta get them back first.” Morgo replied with equal quiet, the looming mission now growing ever-present. “But Erin, for the love of all that is both holy and unholy, will you please tell Atlas you love him? Don’t know about the others, but I’m getting real sick of the constant glances of longing between the two of you. Makes a girl lonely, ya know?” She emphasised her point by shoving you in her direction, in turn sending you colliding with the green-haired girl by your side. She shoved you back into the redhead, and you had to tighten your arms around theirs to get them to stop. You weren’t a damn weapon!

Well, not in this context anyway.

“Yeah yeah, alright. Probably would be a good time anyway, with heightened emotions and all that. But we do realise they're not just gonna waltz out of there with us, right? Kreva’s probably done to us what he did to Jade and just forced them all to forget about us.” Erin spoke your fears into reality. It had been on your mind, the idea that Rowan wouldn’t even know who you were when you saw him again, but that was a bridge you were going to have to cross when you got to it. 

“Then we’ll just do what they did last time. Bamf them the fuck out of there with Kurt.” Morgana explained plainly as if it were the easiest solution in the world. When, in reality, it would only most likely work for Atlas. Joes could also teleport and Rowan could disintegrate into the light the same way you could through the dark. Naji would hopefully be too caught up with Jean to notice he’d been snatched away, but that plan was still apparently a raging debate. 

“Can Kurt do that? I mean, he could only do it a few times before all hell broke loose before,” Erin raised, her fingers fiddling the hem of her oversized hoodie, and you shrugged in response. Honestly, you didn’t know what was going to happen, though you knew one thing was certain, and that was getting Rowan back.

We’ll stay in touch, right? After all of this? Like, we’re not just gonna go our separate ways and never speak again. Like, we’ll still talk to each other…? Right?” You could hear the broken uncertainty in Morgana’s voice, another unanswered question. You wanted to. Fuck did you want to. These people were your family. You didn’t want them to leave just yet.

“Yeah… yeah. Course we will. Right, Erin?” You prompted her awkward silence.

“Erin?” Morgana leaned to look across you straight into the girl’s avoiding gaze.

“I… I don’t know. I’d like to. But it’s just… ya know, we’ve been through so much. We should learn how to exist without each other. How to live our own lives.”

She had a point. Ever since restoring your memories, all you’ve thought about was getting NLMO bacl together. But what if not everyone wanted to be together? What if, like Erin had just said, some of them wanted to grow apart? Start their own journeys that didn’t involve experiments or toruture or co-existing with people who could be taken and fundamentally changed at any minute. 

“I get that…” You offered quietly, earning yourself a look of indignation from Morgana and a look of gratitude from Erin. “Myself excluded, it’s hard to imagine any of the others lead extremely fulfilling lives in the seven years after the facility was destroyed. Maybe Erin has a point…” you paused, turning to Morgana’s thoughtfully hurt face. “Maybe it is the time for us to find our own ways. Obviously, that doesn’t mean we won’t be in touch with each other.”

“Exactly!” Erin encouraged with a broad smile, nodding emphatically as Morgana’s expression lightened slightly. 

“I guess so. I just… I don’t really know who I am outside of Nimlo. I’m sorta–”

“On the outside?”

Kurt’s voice chimed from above you, and the three of you looked up to see him swinging like a large, wingless bat from one of the windows. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I could hear you from my room. But I understand, Morgana.” Using his tail, he slowly lowered himself so he could drop to the floor, not wanting to startle the three of you any further by disappearing and reappearing in a cloud of smoke. “I uh– I know what it’s like to be on the outside of things…” He admitted quietly, almost sheepishly, and you cast a glance at Erin, who in turn wiggled her eyebrows at you.

“Yeah? What did you do?” She queried, looking the mutant up and down in a way that was just shy of innocent. 

“I stuck around here. Found my purpose. My purpose was with these people. Perhaps you find yours too.” You suppressed your knowing grin, the man’s shy smile making you almost giddy as Morgana pretended to think it over, placing her fingers on her chin theatrically. 

“Huh… Thanks for the advice, elf-man. I’ll think about it.” She winked in true Morgana fashion, and you gently tugged on Erin’s arm to leave the two of them out in the starlight, letting them have their moment the same way they let you have yours with Logan. 

“They’d be cute…” Erin mused, and you snorted a laugh, shrugging off Logan’s jacket as the warmth of the mansion made you almost sweat beneath the leather. 

“She’ll eat him alive.” You responded flatly, opening the door to the kitchen only for your eyes to land upon three mugs atop the table, the one in the centre you knew all too well, and the aroma of hot chocolate greeting your nose. Marshmallows slowly melted atop the surface, and you let yourself hum a smile as you lifted your mug to read the little, crinkled piece of paper beneath it, a brown circle staining the paper.

‘Cold out there. Warm up before coming to bed. I don’t mean you, Morgana. L. xx’

“I think I’m in love with your boyfriend,” Erin stated with a wry grin, lifting one of the three mugs to her lips and savouring the sweet treat. You sighed wistfully, letting the rich aromas warm you soul with the tenderness of the gesture.

“Yeah. I love him too.”

“Who are we collectively in love with?” Morgana asked, not too far behind the two of you having finished her conversation with Kurt. You didn’t exactly know what the two of them spoke about, but there was an extra kick in her step that hadn’t been present beforehand. You guessed, whatever it was, her life had some kind of direction now. 

“Logan.” You and Erin replied in unison, and Morgana nodded in exaggerated understanding, her eyes too falling on the sweet treat with an even sweeter meaning. 

“Was this him?”

“Yep.” You answered proudly, leaning against the counter, both hands cupped around the heat of the mug. 

“Oh girl you got it good. Do you know how good you got it? Cuz you got. It. Good.” Morgana hummed into her drink, and you really didn’t know how she managed to guzzle down half of the mug’s contents considering it was still scalding hot. But the way she sighed in satisfaction had you chortling. “Why can I have a smoking hot boyfriend who makes hot chocolate for me?”

“Because yours is busy pining from the room upstairs,” Erin commented over the steam of her drink, and you clamped your lips tightly shut, eyes widening as you knew Morgana definitely would have heard her.

“Aaaaand that’s my cue. Have a good night you two. Please try not to kill each other, it’s so tricky to get bloodstains out of this flooring.” You grinned, opening up one of the top cupboards and stealing a packet of smoked mixed nuts before you left, still clutching your hot drink in both hands. There was no way Logan would already be asleep by the time you joined him in bed, and you also knew there was no way he would say no to having a little pre-bed snack. Usually, that meant he’d lie between your thighs for hours, but you didn’t think you had the energy to let him have his way with you tonight. The mixed nuts were more of a distraction tactic than anything else. 

“Night girlie!”

“Sleep well, and please don’t be too loud if you have sex!” Morgana called after you and you sniggered under your breath. No promises, Morgana. You were making no promises.

Maybe you were the kind of person to bite at your cuticles and pull at the skin of your lips. You never thought you were, but more recently you’d found yourself with loose skin clutched between your teeth that you’d torn from your body. The air in the Blackbird was thick with anticipation, with silence accompanying the low hum of the jet engines and the constant roaring of blue flame. With Morgana and Kurt opposite you, Logan and Erin on either side of you, and Ororo, Scott, Jean and Kitty each taking up one of the seats, you’d all assembled that morning to finalise the plan of attack. It had taken Scott another few days after that argument to finally come around and agree to the idea of Jean occupying Naji whilst the rest of you set to work evacuating, and whilst he still wasn’t keen on the idea, Charles had managed to placate him with the reassurance that he would be right there with her from Cerebro. Nobody was going to be left on their own during this. You all knew you had somewhat of a battle coming up, and none of you were about to leave someone behind. 

It wasn’t in the nature of the team.

Your leg bounced slightly, every situation playing out in your head, what you were about to be faced with turning in your mind like a carousel of anxiety. Rowan. Rowan. What state would he be in when you saw him again? It had only been two weeks, but in all honesty, it had felt like months since you’d escaped again. It was highly likely all memories of you would have been replaced, but that didn’t mean you were ready to see the look of unfamiliarity on his face. Was this how Logan felt? The time he came for you? Or did he not have any ideas?

You glanced to where he’d settled his hand atop yours. You found it endearing, how he disguised his own comfort as providing comfort for you. You knew he didn’t like flying. He’d told you as such months ago. It freaked him out, being thousands of feet in the air with nothing but physics and steel standing in the way of plummeting to death. Well, some of you would die. If you landed in the middle of a field during the day, you’d be screwed for sure. 

Twisting your wrist, you intertwined your hands, slotting your fingers between his knuckles and squeezing gently. He raised a brow, turning from where he was looking out beyond the cockpit to where you were focused on tracing the patterns of the steel on the floor.  A thumb brushed gently across the back of your hand.

“Y’okay?” He murmured, and you took a deep breath, quickly debating between being truthful and everyone on the ship knowing how little confidence you had in this plan, and lying to him, which you really fucking hated doing. You knew he hated it too, but you didn’t know if you could face the uncertain looks that were bound to find their way to you if you were honest.

“Fine…” but you let him see right through to your soul, your eyes crystal clear as you showed him just how not fine you really were. You were terrified. Of seeing Kreva again, of seeing Rowan again, of something going wrong. And there were so many things that could go wrong. 

He responded by wordlessly pressing a kiss to your temple, the scruff of his beard lightly scratching the side of your face as you leaned into him, his hand leaving yours to wrap around your shoulders, resting his chin atop your head. You sighed into him, closing your eyes to bask in his scent. In his touch. This was home, for you. Wherever he was, that was home. Logan was your home. 

You hoped he knew that.

“Landing in five. Everyone ready?” Scott called from the pilot’s seat, flicking various switches above his head as you heard the clunk of the landing gear beneath your feet, the world around you fogging up as you dipped below the cloud cover, Scott engaging the cloaking device the moment you all saw the twilight ground beneath. Your heart leapt into your throat as you peeked around Kitty’s seat, the telltale lights of the ‘environmental research lab’ illuminating acres of land in the darkness. From the outside, it really did look innocent. Somewhere that was focused on saving the world through renewable energy. But you knew what lurked below. You’d hidden the skeletons in the closet for Kreva too many times to count. 

A bubble of rage curled in your gut. You’d thought long and hard about what you wanted to say to the man who’d orchestrated so much agony in your life. There was nothing you could do about his great grandfather, the fucking genius behind the whole idea, but you sure as hell could make his grandson wish he was never fucking born. 

In fact, you intended to.

Erin secured the various pockets on her cargo pants, each labelled with a different symbol for different plants. Morgana skillfully flicked about the butterfly knife in her hands, before slotting it back into the guard at her left wrist. It was the perfect position for a quick slice to her palm. 

You guessed everyone was ready, from the grim looks they gave each other. You suppose you were too. Or at least,a s ready as you could be before facing the horrors of your past once again, hopefully for the last time. With a nod to both Erin and Morgana, the three of you stood, taking a collective deep breath. 

“We got this,” Morgana said with more confidence than you felt, but you nodded along anyway. If you didn’t truly feel it, you supposed you’d just have to gaslight yourself into feeling it. This was the first stage of the plan. Draw them out. Since Erin had said Kreva apparently needed all of you to convince the government his experiments have yielded helpful results, you knew he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to get the three of you back in one fell swoop whilst assuming he has the upper hand. That was when Jean, who would remain on the ship, would take hold of Naji, and Kurt would start the evacuation. Scott, Ororo and Logan were mainly backups to keep the guards from interfering. But it was too simple, which was why your mind was working overtime to try and plan for every eventuality. 

Honestly, if he knew, Scott would be so proud of you.

“‘Course we do. Easy stuff in comparison to what we’re used to. This is nothing.” Erin grinned, and you honestly couldn’t believe she was so relaxed, considering how close she was to getting Atlas back. You would have thought she would have been a little more anxious, but you were glad to see she was holding herself up pretty damn well.

“Hey,” Logan uttered your name, inhaling a long breath as you turned back to him. This was the part he was least looking forward to, not that he was particularly looking forward to any of this. But simply having to watch you walk into danger, willingly, he knew it was going to tear him apart when it was first agreed upon, and now the moment was here, it was a shock he was able to keep himself together. “If anythin’… goes wrong, call f’me, ‘kay?” he braced both his hands on either side of your neck, his thumbs positioned beneath your jaw as if you would even try to look away from him. “I’ll hear ya. No matter where you are. I’ll always hear ya.”

Your arms snaked around his neck, fingers winding into the soft locks at the back of his head. “I will. I promise.” You vowed, gasping sharply as he fixed his lips to yours in a kiss you wished could last a lifetime. His mouth moulded passionately against yours in long, languid movements, as if he had all the time in the world. Your heart cracked slightly, refusing to entertain the possibility that, if something goes wrong, this could be the last time you hold him. But you quickly shoved all and any thought like that to the back of your mind. You wouldn’t let that happen, and you sure as shit knew Logan wouldn’t let that happen.

You parted breathlessly, whispering his name against his lips, you lashes fluttering open to find him already looking down at you, eyes brimming with shattering adoration. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” 

Logan shook his head, resting his brow against yours. “Don’t need to. Said you’re mine for as long as I’ll have ya.”

“Til one of us keels over.” You recalled, a small smile pulling at your lips. “We’ve got time.”

“I know.” He breathed, though he was still reluctant to let go of you. He knew he had to, for the sake of this one last mission, but he found himself hesitating. 

“I love you.” You whispered against his lips, and he hated how it sounded like a goodbye. It wasn’t, of course. He’d go through hell and back to make sure it wasn’t, but it still tugged at his heart.

“I love you too.” He responded with another press of his lips against yours. The ship shook slightly as the gear touched the ground, and Logan finally released you from his embrace, stepping back as if he had to physically keep himself from bolting after you the moment you left the hold. You knew how he felt. It was taking all of your concentration to walk away from him, every step feeling as if cement had filled your legs, heavy boots thumping against the ramp as you, Erin and Morgana stepped out into the cool night breeze, the whispering of trees left you feeling slightly unnerved, as if nature itself was alerting Kreva of your presence. 

Taking the lead, with two members of your old family flanking both sides, you steeled your nerves, flicking your wrist to summon three figures of shadow to tail further behind. They were a signal for the others. If one disappears, things have gone to plan. Two meant standby. And if all three disappeared…

It meant things had gone terribly, horrendously wrong. 

You broke through the lining of trees, the glass double doors looming above you as your boots cracked and crunched against the gravel car park for guards disguised as employees. It was no wonder nobody did much research into this place when on the outside it looked so inconspicuous. There was a slight whirr of movement atop the left-hand side of the door, a white security camera twisting and zooming in on your location. You knew exactly who was watching you, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your skin crawl. 

“KREVA!” You shouted, your voice echoing through the trees, several crows flying out from the canopy behind you. Shadows whipped and writhed around your feet as you stood just outside the cone of light from the interior, Morgana’s blood floating above her hand where she’d nicked it with her knife, Erin’s hand buried deep within her pocket, her fingers no doubt tightly wrapped around a cluster of seeds. 

A crackle of static slashed through the resulting silence of your own shout, and you looked to the other side of the door where two orange lights fluttered beneath two small speakers. 

“Well well well, I’d love to say what a surprise, but that would be a lie.” Kreva’s smug voice resonated through the car park and you bristled instantly, your lips pulling back into a snarl. “I’ve been waiting for you, Eight. Quite patiently, might I add? I could have just come and raided that quaint little school again, but where would be the fun in that? It’s much more fun to watch you deal with the betrayal when you realise what’s really been going on.” 

You had to remind yourself not to ask questions. You couldn’t appear clueless, that way he would know for sure he had the upper hand. The thought of being behind on intel scared the shit out of you. How could he possibly be ahead of you? You’d been gathering information for two weeks, and you knew Kurt was extremely careful. So how the fuck could he possibly–

Your blood froze as you felt the slightest brush of something against your boot, and looking down you could feel your face drain as tiny, scattered seeds littered about your feet. Before you had a chance to whip back, a shoulder collided with the centre of your back, sending you sprawling into the light, several heads of giant Venus Fly Traps surged towards you. With a desperate flick of your wrist, you released the hold you had on the three figures back at the ship, and you knew Logan would notice immediately before a sharp pressure across your chest squeezed the air from your lungs. Morgana’s screech of fury was cut dangerously short, and you refused to let the fear of her death consume you, your hands bound by your sides by the furious clamping of teeth.

Erin stepped passed the two of you and watched Kreva appear from within the facility, the doors of a lift opening from inside the lobby, the gangly motherfucker almost waltzing as he approached the double doors. Craning your neck, your eyes met Erin’s, and you could see her internal battle between explaining herself and staying silent. 

“I didn’t have a choice…” she said after a while, tears lining her eyes. “He only needs you and Rowan. That’s what he said. He didn’t need us. And if I handed you over… he’d set the rest of us free.” She finally explained, and your throat tore with a scream of rage. How fucking stupid could she be? Did she really not know, after all this time, Kreva was fucking lying? 

“And Morgana?” you strained, watching grief pass across Erin’s features, her eyes flickering with sorrow. 

“She wouldn’t have understood. But you always wanted to protect us, right? And this way, you can protect us and set us free at the same time. I… I’m sorry, about Morgana. But this was the only way.” 

“I should have– fucking killed you!” You hissed, writhing within the jaws of the Fly Trap, crying out as one of the teeth flicked back and pierced your arm, heated blood flowing down your elbow. 

“Now now, Eight. That’s no way to talk to your family now is it?” Kreva held out his arms as if he expected Erin to run and embrace him. But at least she had the good sense to hold back, eyeing the man suspiciously. “I know what you’re thinking. How could Six have possibly told me what was going on?” He jeered, spinning where he stood as a familiar roar echoed in the distance. Your breath petrified in your chest

“Logan…” you rasped, desperation clawing at your limbs as you fought to tear your arm from the Trap’s teeth, uncaring whether the plant tore through flesh and muscle. You’d endured worse.

“You know what’s just so darn wonderful about the age of technology? It’s that nobody really notices how much or how little time someone spends on their phone! And when we received that first call from Six, oh you can just imagine how excited I was!” Your eyes flew wide as you remembered. It wasn’t something you had particularly took note of, and it wasn’t like Erin had been glued to her phone, but there had been a few instances you thought she was on it at inappropriate times. 

Like in planning meetings, for example. 

“We had a deal, Kreva. Eight for Atlas. I don’t care about the others, just give me Atlas and I’ll turn her over.” Erin clenched her fist and you grit your teeth against the mouth of the Fly Trap tightening around you, spots swimming in your vision. 

“Yes yes, alright. Five!” Your head spun as you watched your brother materialise from the light, Atlas’ elbow held tightly in his grip as he brought him through too. You watched his golden eyes fall on you, recognition flaring in his irises and you thought for one small moment Kreva hadn’t messed with his memory. 

That was before his expression darkened with fury and he extended his hand, a blade of glowing light forming around his arm, the same way you could create one with shadow.

“Take a breath, Five. I know. But revenge is a dish best served cold, especially against one’s own family. I remember the day she abandoned you without so much as a glance back. Do you?”

So that’s what Kreva had replaced you with. Memories of abandonment. You opened your mouth to scream again, only for Kreva to place a finger to your lips, Erin’s hand squeezing even tighter. “Shh, shush now. I haven’t even got to the best part yet. You see, I know of the little backup squad you have in the clearing over there. I didn’t just want Six’s betrayal to tear you apart, Subject Eight. I wanted to break you down, for everything you’ve done to me.” Quivering rage seeped into his voice before he took a breath, that same condescending smile pulling at his lips the moment after he composed himself. “So I sent Naji after your boyfriend. I’d be powerful with both you and Five on my side, but with The Wolverine as well? I’d be nigh on unstoppable.” He whispered, and terror replaced every furious fibre of your being. You hadn’t heard anything from the rest of the team since Logan’s roar. That was until heavy boots crunched through the undergrowth accompanied by the sound of something weighty being dragged along. 

“Who needs an army when you have The Wolverine?!” Kreva called out to an invisible audience as Logan lumbered through the tree line, a body slung across his shoulder and another two dragged behind in each hand. A sob wracked from your chest as you noticed his dark eyes, no trace of the fond warmth you’d come to find in those hazel irises. Covered in blood, Logan threw the two bodies at his feet, before carefully lowering the third from his shoulder. Naji, with a singed hole punctured through the centre of his chest, lay still on the gravel. 

“Shot him ‘fore I could do anythin’. Rest’re dead.” He growled and grief shattered your fragile heart. In one fell swoop, everything you loved had been ripped from beneath your feet and you felt yourself plummet, falling completely limp in the jaws of the Venus Fly Trap as the cold realisation settled in your gut. 

You’d lost. You’d lost everything.

Kreva sighed dramatically, kicking his heels against the ground as he crossed to nudge Naji with his foot. “Shame. Would have been useful to readjust her memories. Not to worry though, we’ll figure something out. Who’re these lovely specimens?” He asked, crouching low next to a blood-soaked Ororo and an unconscious Scott.

“That’s the shit-stick who shot One. That’s the bitch who fried Three.” Logan responded the complete lack of emotion in his voice dragging you deeper into disparity. Joes was dead too, it seemed. What had happened to Jean? To Kitty? You didn’t want to think about it. You already knew the answer. The crimson dripping from Logan’s knuckles told you all you needed to know. 

“You see, Eight? Things could have been so much smoother. Nobody had to die but now look. Everyone you’ve ever loved is either dead or against you. And I can’t force you to forget about it because One is dead too. We’re now the same, you and I. We both have to live with the consequences of our actions.” He spoke in mock mourning, and your eyes slid from Kreva to Logan as he was escorted to your side.

“Please…” You whispered thickly, whether you were begging him to remember or begging him to kill you, you honestly didn’t know. But a hollow void opened in your chest when you couldn’t see any trace of recognition in his eyes. He didn’t know who you were. 

Now you knew what it felt like.

“Kreva.” Erin prompted with steel lacing her tone. “Our deal.”

“Right, right, yeah. Uhm, actually, no.” Before she could react, Rowan took a swift step forward and with a swipe of his blade, cut a clean slice through her throat. Erin gurgled a gasp, her hands slowly reaching for the fresh wound, thick rivers of blood staining her pale skin, leaking down her neck, soaking her shirt. She fell to her knees, eyes wide with shock, the Fly Trap loosening its grip around your body as it died alongside her, shrivelling and sinking into nothing.  

You hit the ground with a soft thud, rolling slightly before bracing your body up on your elbows. You couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t turn and face everything you’d lost. Morgana was dead. Erin was dead. Kitty was dead. Scott, Ororo, Jean, Joes, Naji… 

And the Logan you knew, the Logan you loved, he was gone too. The sharp tip of a blinding blade sliced a thin line beneath your chin, tilting your head up to look into the eyes of your brother, eyes burning with loathing and betrayal. How ironic it seemed. 

You could let him do it. Lean forward and let the blade pierce your throat, die gurgling as Erin had if your body didn’t dissolve first. But you knew you couldn’t. Your subconscious strength to survive against all odds wouldn’t let you. 

With the slight crunch of gravel, Kreva crouched down before you, tucking a grimy lock of hair back from your face with disgusting care. “I’ve spent too long orchestrating this to let anything happen to you. Now, I know it will be harder without Naji to adjust that irritating little memory of yours, but you need to come back to us, Eight. We need you. Your brother needs you,” he murmured with the viper venom of an unfaithful lover. You didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. You let the yearning to be needed, the yearning to save consume you, and despite all the pain, all the agony Kreva had caused, you nodded slightly. “You were always my favourite subject, Eight,” he whispered, before turning back to Atlas and Rowan, the former’s eyes still trained on Erin’s lifeless body. “Deal with the bodies in the clearing. Wolverine, if you would be so kind.” He gestured back to where you hadn’t moved from the floor, and Logan stepped over you, roughly hooking his hands beneath your arms to tug you to your feet. An hour ago, you would have melted into his body, found comfort in those very same arms. 

Now all you felt was fear. Icy terror trickled down your spine where once you’d felt warmth. And whether it was because you still hadn’t processed everything you’d just lost in a heartbeat, you couldn’t discern, but your shattered heart felt the slightest phantom caress of his thumb against your bicep, the ghost of a reassuring squeeze.

The same gesture of comfort he’d give you if you were anxious in a meeting, or stressed before a class. 

Kreva glanced from where he was watching Atlas and Rowan stalk into the trees back to you, his brows raising as his eyes settled at the hollow of your throat, the golden locket glinting in the low light. With a tilt of his head, he took a step toward you, reaching out to where it rested against your neck.

“Firefly.”

Your spine straightened, breath caught in your throat as you realised. You hadn’t imagined the touch. It wasn’t some fucked up production of your overwhelming grief. With a swift slash of steel and a thick, wet crunch of splitting bone, there was a beat before you registered what had happened.

Kreva’s outstretched hand twitched on the gravel, blood staining the stone, no longer connected to his arm. There was a deafening scream of agony from the man before all hell broke loose. Shock had locked your limbs as you were shoved back, the crackle of lightning and resonating boom of thunder split the sky overhead, blasts of red energy igniting the treeline as a pitched ringing pierced your eardrums repeatedly. 

“Morgana…” You whispered, finally coming back to your senses and almost falling over yourself to get to the red-head lying limp on the floor. Sharp stones and pebbles bit into your knees as you skidded to her side, desperately rolling her onto her back to assess the damage. Her neck was swollen badly, bruises blooming around her throat. With two shaky fingers, you held them against her wrist, praying you’d feel something, anything that might even resemble a pulse. 

You waited, whilst various screams and roars echoed around you, you waited with bated breath, trying to concentrate on just feeling for her, your own panic rising the longer it took. 

“C’mon Morgo… c’mon!” You breathed frantically, pressing harder into her wrist as if you could pull a pulse from her arteries yourself. You tried to take a deep, calming breath, your own racing pulse getting in the way of feeling one for her. Quietening your mind, if only for a moment, you focussed, heart, leaping the moment you felt the slightest push from her wrist. Faint, slow, but there. 

A cry of relief tore from your throat as you gathered her in your arms, pressing your brow against hers. The rapid crunch of feet against gravel caused you to snap your head up, arms tightening around her body protectively, baring your teeth as Atlas raced towards you, his brows pinched. 

“It’s me, it’s me!” He held his hands up in surrender, and you blinked at him, confusion clouding your mind.

“Wh–– How? I don’t–”

“I don’t remember everything. Not like you do. But after you escaped, Kreva was so focused on Rowan that he almost forgot I was here. By the time he remembered, I let him think Naji had already worked on me. He showed me what I needed to know, that this was all a fucking lie.” His hands started to glow that healing blue, glowing particles flowing from his palms to wrap around Morgana’s neck, entering through the layers of her skin and repairing whatever it was Erin had broken.

Erin…

Oh fuck.

“Altas, I–”

“I’ll get to her in a second. Just… just give me a moment.” He hissed, the bruises around Morgana’s neck fading quickly as if they were never there. You still didn’t understand. Less than a minute ago, you were drowning in helplessness, forcing yourself to accept that you’d lost. Kreva had won. And now, as you finally raised your head to the chaos around you, you watched as he retreated into the facility, alarms blaring, crimson lights flaring.

And Logan, bloodstained and heaving, looking back to meet your eye. With one last glance to Atlas and a quickly healing Morgana, you struggled to your feet, taking a shaky step toward him. Then another. And another. 

Logan hesitated as he saw the trepidation on your face, his claws sinking back between his knuckles when you paused before him. He knew what you were searching for, your exhausted gaze flickering across his features and he let you see. Let you see that none of it had been real. Jean was alive and working on an unconscious Joes. Scott and Ororo were okay, Kitty by their side after securing the car park, all and any guards now buried beneath the ground suffocating. Kurt was alright, currently by Morgana’s side after bamfing onto the scene, his concern etched into his pinched eyebrows. 

“It was the only way we could get to you…” he explained softly, his voice bringing you back from the depths of suspicion, your features falling slack as you surged forward into his arms, and he wasted no time in wrapping you up, securing you against his chest.

“I thought I lost you,” You whispered raggedly against his neck, allowing the paralysing fear to leech from your heart. “I thought Naji–”

“He tried,” Logan interrupted tenderly, his fingers winding through the back of your hair. “But Scott got to him first. I’m sorry, Firefly. I’m so sorry. Joes is okay, Jean’s working on him now, but there wasn’t anything we could do for Naji…” He explained quietly, and you nodded a little numbly. In the face of losing everything, you guessed this was the best outcome you could have hoped for. 

“Where’s Rowan?” You asked, leaning into Logan’s touch as he cradled the side of your face, pulling you from the crook of his neck to look into your eyes.

“Still with Kreva. Bastard disappeared the moment Storm lit the place up. I think he’s lookin’ to burn everythin’ to the ground…”

Your breath hitched, remembering that this was Kreva’s backup plan. If he couldn’t get you back, he’d destroy everything and leave no evidence. Only the words of those who’d survive.

If anyone would survive. 

“I have to stop him. Rowan will destroy himself.” You explained, panic solidifying into determination as several muffled shouts echoed through the car park, torchlights waving erratically in the darkness and body upon armoured body flooded the entrance to the facility, three rows of masked guards pointed guns towards you and Logan. A low snarl left his lips, and he subtly moved you behind him, removing his hands from your body before his claws split through his skin.

A delicate hand on your shoulder made your head turn, Kitty’s steely smile telling you all you needed to know. She could get you there. Phase through bullets and bodies and get you to Rowan. To where you needed to be.

“Phasers forever, right?” She grinned, and you felt your own mouth split into a smile. Ororo flanked her left side, Scott sliding to a stop by Logan’s right. You knew this was it. This was the make or break. Either you succeeded here or you failed but no matter what, everything ended tonight. Right here. Where it all began. 

“Hey… freakshow!” You whipped to look behind you at the croaky, strained voice of Morgana, looking a little worse for wear but nonetheless on her feet. You sobbed a laugh of disbelief. “Give him hell for me, yeah? Fucker gets what’s comin’ to him.”

You grit your teeth, sending her a solid affirming nod, before turning back to the ranks in front of you. The back of Logan’s hand grazed your fingers, and it warmed your heart when you realised, even when faced with countless adversaries, he was still mindful not to hurt you with his claws. You brushed your thumb over his raised knuckles, bending your knees in preparation for the sprint of a lifetime, adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

“Let’s fucking go.” You hissed, taking the first step forward. 

And that was all that was needed for gunfire to reign supreme, bullets passing through your body thanks to Kitty’s touch on your shoulder, racing harmlessly through the prattle of shrapnel, Storm’s lightening striking the earth in front of you, Logan’s roar of pure, unfiltered rage fueling your every step. A burst of blinding hot energy exploded the front of the facility, rubble and brick crashing down in front of the door just as you stepped through the threshold, the immediate cacophony of battle muffling the moment you emerged on the other side. 

Pulling out of Kitty’s grip, you raced back to the ruined doorway, desperately pulling away rocks and wood. You needed to see him. You needed to make sure he was okay before you followed Rowan and Kreva. A loud thump rattled the remaining broken glass and you jumped back, watching as blood pooled on the floor, seeping through the remains of the porch. 

“We gotta go. They’ll be fine, okay? But they won’t be if you can’t stop Rowan.” Kitty urged, her hand returning to your shoulder to placate your panic. You knew she was right. You knew she was, and you knew you had to let it go. You trusted him. Of course you did. You trusted he would be okay. You’d seen him heal multiple times from so much worse than this. He’ll be okay.

He’ll be okay.

With a deep breath, you nodded, and she pulled your shoulder slightly in the direction of the elevator. It was surreal to think that, all this time, whilst you were screaming and suffering, this was above you. It looked no different to any other kind of research facility. Banners with cartoon images of trees hung from the ceiling, the words ‘Renewable Energy!’ plastered on every available surface. If you had the time, you would have looked around a bit to see just how the Kreva’s had managed to cover their tracks so damn well. But urgency pumped through your blood as you reached the elevator doors, almost punching the button through the damn wall.

But there was no response. No telltale ding. No little light. The power had been completely shut off. 

“Fuck’s sake!” You cursed, your eyes frantically searching for a shadow to slip into. But it was difficult to see with the crimson lighting constantly revolving in circles. This already wasn’t exactly going to plan, and with more voices dancing along from various forking hallways, you knew you were running out of time. 

“Okay, I got a plan,” Kitty stated confidently, crouching low to the seam of the doors and sticking her hand through the solid surface. “So, predictably, the elevator isn’t up here. But, I’m thinking that it’s gonna be real dark in the shaft, right?” She explained and you caught on quickly. “So I get us in there and you get us to the bottom without breaking either of our legs. Sound good?”

“Works for me.” You shrugged, sending one last look to the raging battle beyond the rubble. But when Kitty didn’t move, you looked back at her, raising a brow of confusion. “What?”

“Nothing… just wasn’t expecting you to agree, that’s all. Was kinda waiting for you to tell me you’ll figure it out yourself so yeah, a bit shocked…”

“Now is not the time.” You huffed, grabbing her wrist to place her hand back on your shoulder. “We’ll talk about my teamwork character arc later, ‘kay?” Kitty smiled wickedly, sticking half her body through the doors. 

“I’ll hold you to that.”

One moment you were in the lobby, the next you were falling through the elevator shaft. She was right above one thing. It was almost pitch black inside. Taking advantage of the low lighting, you gripped her tightly, releasing the threads on your body and pulling her into the shadows with you. The wind in your ears died instantly, and the feeling of gravity pulling you to your death ceased. You were nothing. You weighed nothing. You were a concept. Consciousness. A sense. You flowed like water and flew like time. 

And it took less than a second to drag yourself and Kitty down to the ceiling of the elevator below you, reassembling your molecules and knotting the threads of Kitty back together for her. She took a deep breath, her voice echoing up the shaft as she shook herself out. 

“God it always feels so weird! Does it feel weird when I phase you like that?” She asked, wiggling her fingers in front of her face to make sure they were all still there. You shook your head with a small chuckle, cracking your neck to the side. 

“Not really. Sure, it’s kinda weird to have shit pass straight through me, but not in this kinda way, I guess.” You shrugged, letting her gather herself back up before phasing the both of you through the ceiling of the elevator and through the closed doors. 

Now this was the facility you remembered. The images struck you like a ton of bricks. Clinical white hallways, bleached ceilings and walls, blinding lights on every damn surface. The stench of chemical cleaner and stale blood sent your empty stomach roiling and you had to fight the urge to dry retch. You knew where he’d be. At least, you could hazard a guess. There was always a room reserved for you and Rowan. It was your special little chamber where Kreva liked to run his experiments. A wall splitting the two of you, one drowned in shadow, the other illuminated with light. 

Steeling your nerves, you let your feet walk you down the world’s worst memory lane. For a place that had been destroyed seven years ago, they’d rebuilt it as if nothing had ever happened. Each corner was exactly the same. Each observation room was perfectly curated to mirror what it had been like before everything went to shit. It was all hauntingly familiar. 

“You okay…?” Kitty asked slowly, her eyes flickering across each laboratory you walked passed, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her you knew exactly what each and every room was for. You knew exactly what instruments lay where and what they did. You didn’t need her to know any of that. It wasn’t her burden to bear.

“Yeah… ‘m okay. S’wierd being back here, but I’m okay.” You responded truthfully, surprising yourself with how well you were taking it. It didn’t matter that every damn second you had to remind yourself you weren’t trapped here, and you were free and had been free of Kreva for the last two weeks, and the last seven years before that. You were okay. You would be okay. This was where everything ended. After this, you could do whatever the hell you wanted.

With Logan by your side. 

You rounded the corner and stopped as you came face to face with your past. Two doors stood opposite you. One for Five, and the other for Eight. For you. Kitty hung back as you squared your shoulders, taking the next few steps and using every ounce of faux confidence you could muster as you entered the code into the keypad, the one you’d seen Kreva or TS8 do so many damn times. With a hiss of machinery, the door slid open, and once again you had to remind yourself you were okay. He didn’t have you. You were free of him. 

The same table taunted you from the centre of the room. Worn leather straps lying limp on each four corners. You remembered every little detail of the steel. Every faded mark on the floor. You’d counted every little hole in the paneled ceiling and traced the round light above you as you waited for whatever experiment Kreva was about to run to start. What you never realised until now, however, was the one-way mirror across the far side of the room. You always assumed it was so you could watch whatever they were doing to you, simply yet another form of torture. But it only now occurred to you this was where the Kreva’s would watch from. This was where they would note down everything they discovered.

That was where he was now. You could almost fucking smell him. 

With a flick of your wrist, eight figures rose from the shadows in the room, each of them awaiting your command, twitching with apprehension. You didn’t need to say anything. You never did with them. Wordlessly, they each stood facing the mirror, arms raised, shadows writhing about their hands until they solidified into spiked maces. 

As one, eight shadows of your past shattered the glass effortlessly, shards of reflection scattering about their feet, revealing the observation room behind, the stench of fresh blood permeating the lab. 

Dissolving into the shadows, you reappeared beyond the window, finding a sick sense of satisfaction as you watched Kreva desperately clamber behind a console, papers and electronics clattering to the floor. You said nothing, those eight figures coming to stand patiently behind you, heads glitching and shifting. 

“I made you what you are.” He spat, blood dribbling from his mouth, his glasses shattered and sitting askew atop his nose, scarlet stump clutched against his chest. “This world would have torn you to pieces. I saved you from that. I harnessed your power. Everything I did was in the name of creating a better world!” 

You stalked forward with deadly quiet, letting the shadows overtake you and flank either side of the man whose family name had tortured you for over eighty years. You truly didn’t know what you would say to him if this moment ever came. You hadn’t let yourself think about it because you never thought it would.

But standing here, with all the power in your hands, a stark contrast to the rest of your life, you smiled. Not that warm, comforting smile you reserved only for the people you loved. You smiled like the edge of a knife, slicing through tender meat. You smiled like the adder before striking a rodent. You smiled like the shark after a meal. 

“You tortured me,” you began, one of the shadows lunging forward with clinical precision to land a blow through Kreva’s shoulder, relishing in the scream of agonised terror. “You tortured my friends,” another white-hot slice to his other hand, that same sick crunch of splitting bone as his hand flopped onto the floor. “You came for the people I care about,” a void-like hand thrust through his calf, blood and tendons exploding as the figure solidified its limb within his body, pieces of muscle and marrow splattering over the console and wall. “You tried to take the man I love,” you remembered vaguely Jade’s request, and though you didn’t command it, one of the shadows sent its foot straight into his crotch and Kreva doubled over, unable to scream through breathless agony. “And that very power you say you harnessed. That very power you nurtured,” you paused, crouching low and lifting his face akin to the way he’d done earlier at your lowest point. “I’m going to watch as it tears you apart.” You hissed, dropping his head to take a step back as every single on of those figures sank into his body, hiding within the shadows of his absent heart.

“Every part the demon I made you.” He gurgled, choking on his own blood.

“And so much more.” You responded as black tendrils entered his bloodstream, staining his veins, spiderwebbing up the side of his neck, invading his eyes before they rolled into the back of his head. You’d given them free rein to do what they wanted. You would let the shadows of your broken family get their revenge in any way they chose. 

Kreva convulsed on the floor, his back bowing as if possessed, limbs twitching and locking, foam gathering at the corners of his mouth as his death was elongated, pain creasing his eyes, mouth agape in a silent scream as your shadows tore apart every fibre of his being, 

On a molecular level.

He fell silent for a moment, stilling on the ground, before there was a loud, earsplitting crack, and you barely had time to raise a solid wall of darkness before entrails and tissue painted every surface crimson, white sharks of bone piercing into the walls, embedding into the ceiling. 

The wet dripping of pulp falling from the ceiling was the only sound in the following silence, the weight of the moment settling on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees. 

He was dead.

Kreva was dead. 

The man who’d caused so much pain. So much terror. Who’d forced you to commit the worst acts of humanity, the sole reason for the overwhelming self-hatred…

He was dead. 

You felt a sob rise in your throat, and you set it free, your shoulders shaking from the sheer force of your cries. Every moment of torture. Every fibre of agony released in your earthshaking screams, your voice scratching, tearing at your throat. You knew the moment couldn’t last. You knew you still had to find Rowan. But with Kreva dead, your chances of getting him back had just increased tenfold. 

Bracing your hands against the cool floor, you let yourself tremble under the weight of freedom, feeling the ghost of shackles around your wrists and ankles fall away, the claws around your neck releasing. 

“You killed him…”

You drew in a shaky breath, the familiarity of that voice tugging at the threads of your heart. Struggling to your feet, you turned to face your brother, Rowan standing in the shadows of the room made for you, his eyes wide with an emotion you couldn’t quite read.

“Yeah. It’s over, Rowan. You’re safe now. We’re all safe now. You can come home with me,” you breathed, extending your hand toward him through the shattered mirror. “You don’t have to hurt anymore. I’m here. I’m here…” you reassured, taking a step toward the gap between you with the intention of drawing him into your arms.

“You killed him…” he said again, his expression shifting to something you recognised all too well. “You abandoned me here, to suffer at the hands of these demons, and you killed the only man who showed me any kindness…”

You blinked as the lights on the console flared slightly. “No… that’s what he made you think. That’s what you remember because it was a memory he put there. But it isn’t real. Come with me. I can show you. Please… I can show you everything.” You begged, suffering the slice to your hand as you slid through the shattered glass of the mirror, now standing opposite him, arms open. “It’s okay… you’re safe now. He’s gone. You’re–”

You didn’t have time to finish your sentence before a flare of pure light from the hallways beyond blasted you to the side, your spine cracking against the wall, head splitting with the impact. Your vision blurred slightly, pain exploding in your mind as you struggled to regain your breath. Through the swimming haze, you could see Kitty’s arm on the door through the doorway, the rest of her body lying still on the ground beyond. 

“You took everything from me.” Rowan loomed over you, glowing wings of light flaring wide from his shoulder blades. “Now I’m going to take it all back.”

Logan heaved a snarling breath as he retracted his claws from the helmeted head of yet another faceless guard, casting a calculating glance at the bodies littering the ground, some fried, some missing various limbs, but all dead. Soaked in blood, he watched as Scott sent another beam through one of the last men standing, Ororo sending another flying over the treetops with pinpoint accuracy. 

The car park fell still as the final assailant was annihilated, falling headless to its knees, body twitching before falling still. It was eerie how silent the night felt after so much bloodshed, but Logan’s thoughts immediately turned back to you. You were down there somewhere, stopping Rowan however you could. Was Kreva still alive? Or had you already dealt with him?

A darker question entered his head, and it drove him to move. 

Were you still alive?

“Scott, I need a doorway,” was all he said, pacing over to the crumbled ruins blocking the door. Surprisingly, there was no flood of protests from Cyclops, only a sharp nod of agreement before a beam of white-hot energy sailed through the rubble, melting rocks and burning wood effortlessly. Logan breathed a quick “Thanks,” before breaking into a run, mindful to avoid the liquid fire Scott had created before he was jogging through the lobby, red lights reflecting off every surface. It was the perfect representation of his mind when his ears twitched, catching a distant scream from below. 

He breathed your name, panic sending his heart racing as he spared a quick glance to the rest of the team behind him, Ororo immediately picking up on his change of demeanour. 

“Go. We’ll clean up the rest here.” She urged as more torches pointed down either side of the hallway into the lobby. How many more of these fuckers were there? But he trusted they could handle it. He had to trust them if he wanted to get to you. With a sharp nod of gratitude, Logan turned back to the elevator, his claws sinking through the surface and cutting out a square large enough to fit through. He couldn’t look back, not as the prattle of gunfire started up again.

With his heart in his throat, Logan plunged into the darkness, slicing his claws through either side of the steel walls to slow his descent, sparks and the pitched squeal of slicing metal accompanied his fall until his feat touched a solid surface. Crouching low, he sliced through the top of the elevator, jumping through the gap before repeating the same thing on the double doors. He remembered the last time he was here, the familiar panic as he searched for you, hoping that you’d be okay, praying that you’d still be alive. He felt that same urgency now as he raced down the hallways, the lights above flaring and dimming erratically. 

Rowan.

It had to be. 

There couldn’t be any other explanation. 

The thought had him moving faster, enhanced hearing picking up every clash of power, every hiss of shadow and burst of light. 

Every pained gasp. 

You panted heavily, blood leaking from your nose as you once again rose to your feet, shadows swirling around your finger on one hand, your other cloaked in a blade of darkness as you faced your brother. 

No, this wasn’t your brother anymore. This was Solaris. This was your equal and your opposite. A similar rivulet of crimson flowed down over his lip, the result of the harsh punch you’d thrown at him before, his nose now sitting at a crooked angle. The wall between your rooms had been obliterated, dust and rubble littering the ground where he’d thrown you through into his assigned lab. Darkness in the light. Light in the darkness. You opposed each other, twin wings flaring threateningly. 

You couldn’t talk him out of this. You needed him to back down of his own free will. You couldn’t teleport him out of here like you could the others. But you knew he was too far gone. You knew you couldn’t get him to stop.

But you couldn’t fail here. 

A sharp call of your name distracted you for a moment, your black eyes widening as you saw Logan in the doorway, his expression frantic as he looked you over, from the tip of your blade to the claws of your wings. 

Solaris looked between you, a roar of betrayed agony tearing from his lips as he lunged forward, his own blade of light swinging in a high arc above his head to split your skull. You met him blow for blow, parry for parry, fighting to ignore Logan’s presence in the door. With a stray gesture, you raised a solid wall of shadow before him, an immovable, impenetrable barrier between him and your brother. 

Logan stepped back as a solid wall of darkness rose from the ground, pressing his hand against it to test its durability. What the hell did you think you were doing? Why were you stopping him? He pushed against it, finding finding equal resistance. Pushing again, he was met with his own strength coming back at him. His breath caught in his throat. Through the shifting shadow, he could see your silhouette standing against Solaris, the two of you having separated for a moment before trading blows once again. Logan sent his fist colliding into the wall, feeling the crack of bone before his hand quickly healed and he tried again. 

With half your concentration focused on keeping up the barrier protecting the man you loved, you received the point of Solaris’ blade through your abdomen, your gut twisting with pain as you strained a gasp, hearing Logan’s roar of despair fueled rage from behind the now flickering wall. Solaris pulled his blade back, his eyes nothing but pits of blinding light, the opposite of your own. 

“You can’t save them. You will burn.” He spat, taking a step back as you fell to a knee, pain consuming your system as you tried in vain to cover the wound with your hand, crimson blood flowing through your fingers like sand. 

But he was wrong. He was so wrong. Golden light started to flare from the centre of his chest, erasing every shadow from the room, and bleaching the surfaces of darkness. All shadows bar one. 

All shadows but your own. 

Charles’ words echoed through your head. ‘She cannot disappear into her own shadow or she will be lost.’ ‘That’s why we called you back. We’ve been lucky so far.’

Closing your eyes, you let a stray tear slip down your cheek, and Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. 

“No… No, no NO!” His voice ripped through his throat, claws slashing at the wall of darkness you managed to maintain. “Don’t– Don’t do THIS PLEASE! DON’T… don’t do this.” His words diminished as you turned to look through the barrier, a small smile of acceptance pulling at the corners of your lips, blood staining your teeth. 

You could save them. You could save them all. 

And all it would cost was your life. 

“Til one of us keels over…” you offered him one last promise before you surged forward to where Solaris burned bright, and he barely had time to scream your name as your own shadow flared up around you as you leapt into the blaze, your body disintegrating into shadow.

Logan watched as darkness consumed the glow, a visceral battle between shadow and light, your mutation finally releasing itself around your brother, dragging him into the void with you. The wall fell away, fading back into nothing as he lost you to the very thing you were training against. 

A prison of your own making hummed where you’d leapt forward, a sphere of glassy void, both you and your brother locked away safely where he couldn’t hurt anyone…

And he could never see you again. 

An ever-changing cell of light and dark. 

He lunged forward, vocal cords ripping in his throat as he screamed your name again and again, punching against the surface until his knuckles bled and blood splattered across the floor. Breath singed his lungs as he sobbed. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was going to spend the rest of his life with you. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. 

So why was the rest of your life taken from you? Why did he have to spend the rest of his life alone? Why was he always fucking alone? He only just got you back.

And you were gone again. This time, for good. 

You saved him. You saved him from so many sleepless nights. So many times he’d wake up to find comfort in your slow breathing next to him, placing the side of his head against your chest, feeling your breaths, listening to your heartbeat. You saved him. But the price of doing so was losing you.

Strength left his body as he crumbled to his knees. This had been your choice. You’d sealed yourself away in a cell of flickering light and swirling shadow, imprisoning Solaris along with you for the rest of time. You’d disintegrated into your own silhouette like Charles had constantly warned you against. And you’d done it to save the people that you love. 

Logan placed his hand against the buzzing wall of light and dark, pressing his forehead against the incarnation of your mutation, hoping against hope that somehow, somewhere, you were still in there. Your whispered name fell from his lips, tears falling ceaselessly to darken the floor in droplets, his head bowed low. The light from within flared and faded rhythmically, glowing inside the empty black of shadow. 

Much like the light of a firefly. 

“Please…” he whispered. “I love you. I love you.” His chest was wracked with silent sobs.

“Logan!” Ororo’s voice echoed through the chamber as she slid to a stop in the doorway, a gasp flying from her lips. “What…?” She could barely comprehend what she was seeing. “Where is she?” She asked quietly, her footsteps too loud in the grieving silence of the room. He couldn’t find his voice through the choking heartbreak in his throat. 

“Logan…?” Morgana stepped carefully through the doorway, a badly injured Kitty supported by her shoulder, blood leaking from a wound on her head. The redhead fell silent as she realised what had happened. “She did it…” she whispered, melancholy lacing her tone. “She did it.”

A new wave of grief suffocated his chest as her words struck his heart. You had. You’d done it. But in doing so, you’d sacrificed everything. 

“No…” Kitty whimpered, struggling to free herself from Morgana’s hold to get to you. “That’s not her… it’s not her!” She cried, staggering forward only to fall to the ground a few steps later, a yelp of grief-stricken pain piercing the air. Logan looked back numbly, his eyes meeting hers as she looked at him pleadingly. “Tell me… tell me it’s not her…” she begged, her voice thick with emotion. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her it wasn’t you. And the longer his silence lingered, the more hope drained from her eyes and she sobbed into her arm.

It was all he could do to go to her and drag her into his arms, listening to his own heartbreak shatter in every single one of her cries. He screwed his eyes shut, letting her shudder in his arms. 

“I’m sorry…” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

He knew there was nothing he could have done. You’d sealed him out for a reason. You’d shut him away because you knew this was what you’d have to do. And you knew he would have stopped you. He would let the world burn for you, but you wouldn’t allow it. Because living with himself after would have been impossible.

You saved him from that. You’d saved him from himself.��

“She's gone…?” Scott asked softly, joining the grieving group and reading the room. Morgana nodded in confirmation, and his jaw tightened. It was then Logan knew this wasn’t what he wanted. He spoke the truth when he’d said all those months ago he didn’t want you gone. He didn’t want you neutralised. 

“She saved our lives…” Ororo offered quietly, as if fearful her voice would break if she spoke any louder. Logan turned back to the sphere of shadow and the light pulsing within.

You’d saved so many people in your life. A sharp contrast to how many you’d hurt. But he knew you’d be happy with this. You were okay with this. Your last act was one of saving, not hurting. So he would live for you. He would live in a way you’d be proud of. Placing his hand back against the surface of your mutation, he let the promise seep through his palms as if somehow you could hear his intentions. 

“See you soon, Firefly.”

[marifilue]

you know those fanfics that have a permanent place in your heart. the ones that take your favourite characters and put them somewhere where canon can’t hurt them; the ones you go back to time and time again and find something new to love each time. the ones that feel like home, the ones you can’t believe beautiful people on the internet work hard on and post for free. whether it’s a series or a one-shot or a drabble, there’s fics out there that change people forever, that forge new friendships and resurrect old ones. there’s fics you can quote lines from, ones that make you cry like a baby over and over whenever you revisit them. fics that feel so fucking real because the people who wrote them are, and that should never be taken for granted. <3

[marifilue]

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘈 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳.

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘭 & 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘦 (2024). 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘦𝘯 𝘝, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦.

𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥/𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 30𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 3.8𝘬

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 / 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

It was raining the day the call came. You were sitting in the living room with Al and Logan, the TV stuck on pause as Wade was in the bathroom. Laura was in the kitchen, tossing another bag of popcorn into the microwave.

Your legs are tossed across Logan's lap as the two of you share the couch, a big knitted afghan tossed across both of you. Logan's big hands were resting on your calves, he'd been hesitant to place them there after you tossed your legs up on him, but you had coaxed him into it.

Ferris Bueller's smirking face stares at you through the screen and you wonder what Wade could possibly still be doing in the bathroom.

"He's gotta be shitting his brains out in there." Al says with a shake of her head, probably thinking of the poor toilet.

"Or he fell in. I bet Logan here left the toilet seat up again." You say, looking at the man across from you.

"I told you, it wasn't me," Logan says, pinching at the skin of your leg

"Hey," You wince slightly at the sharp pain, trying to wiggle away from him.

Logan has a shit-eating grin on his face as he stops, looking at you with interest.

"I can hear you two flirting over there, it's nauseating." Al groans

"How do you hear flirting?" Laura asks as she enters with a big bowl of buttery popcorn.

"She can't. If she can't find the cure to blindness, she can't hear the way those two are eyefucking on the couch from Craigslist." Wade yells from down the hall

"Is he seriously in there with the door wide open?" Laura groans

"Probably." You say, your nose wrinkling in disgust

"I need fresh air!" Wade defends himself

"Then open the window in there," Al yells at him

The shrill sound of Wade's phone ringing on the coffee table has your attention turning from Laura to it. The caller ID reads Tin Man from Wizard of Oz and you blink at it in confusion.

"Wade who is the Tin Man in your phone?"

A loud crash comes from the bathroom and in an instant Wade is back in the living room, snatching the phone from your hands.

"Silver Balls!" Wade greets the person on the phone, "You finally get tired of baldy locks? Or is this a late-night booty call? I'm actually back with Vanessa so you're out of luck."

You look over at Logan for a possible explanation, he shrugs and reaches to toss a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth.

"It's a date!" Wade exclaims enthusiastically, "I'll wear my Hello Kitty boxers and bring the strap!"

The phone is hung up and everyone looks at Wade for an explanation.

"We've been invited for dinner to night at the school." He smiles

"The school as in..." Laura trails off

"Where all mutants go to find love, of course, the home of everyone's favorite bald man. And no, I don't mean Sam Jackson. Fuck your Avengers."

You immediately catch onto what he's saying. Dinner with the X-Men of this universe. You look over at Logan who's gone a bit pale next to you.

"We have to go?" Al asks

"Course we do, silly. I've been meaning to steal Cerebro so this is the perfect chance." Wade sighs

"Not interested," Logan says grouchily, gently pushing your legs off of him before storming off to his room, shutting the door quickly.

"Oh, he is so going," Wade says with a laugh, "It's going to further the plot so, get reading, a tender-hearted conversation is comin' atcha!"

You look at Laura who seems to be as worried as you are about Logan.

"Did you even wash your hands before coming out here?" Al asks Wade suspiciously

You slip into Logan and Wade's room while Laura pushes Wade back into the bathroom to wash his hands.

"Fuck off," Logan says as he lays on his bed, facing the wall

The room is dark for the most part, stormy skies form outside blocking out the sun. You turn the switch for a small desk lamp that sits on Wade's desk before crossing the room to Logan.

"And here I thought we had been getting along so well the past few weeks," You say, sitting on his bed, "Laura's going to be so sad now."

Logan turns around with a huff, laying on his back with his arm propped under his head for support.

"Thought you were that fuckwad." Logan sighs, alluding to Wade.

"Nope." You say

You sit in silence on his bed as he lays there. You take this as your chance to observe his side of this room. It's rather bare compared to Wade's but a few things make the space his. A cigar cutter lays on the dresser, along with a stick of deodorant. A few odd things like sticky notes filled with Wade's doodles litter Logan's things. What does catch your eye is a book labeled "Controlling You Anger" clearly a gag gift but something sticks out of the pages. You pull at it and surprisingly reveal a polaroid of you and him.

Your first thought is that it's from his universe with another version of you, sleeping, tucked into his side. You feel a bit guilty looking at it at first, but upon closer inspection, you see the familiar coloring of the couch that's sitting in the living room. How did he even get this?

"Wade took that. The night we watched Hereditary with Laura, you fell asleep on me and he decided he needed a picture."

A small smile reaches across your face, you're sure Logan can't see it in the low light.

"If he needed it, then why do you have it?"

"You can get rid of it if you want." He says gruffly, ignoring your tease, "It's weird to have a photo of you sleepin' if you don't want me to have it."

You let out a small hum and place it so it's leaning against the candle that sits on Logan's dresser, no longer hidden in the book.

"I like it. It's kinda cute." You say honestly

"If it were higher quality you'd be able to see the drool leaving your mouth." Logan teases with a smile that has your throat squeezing shut.

"Shut up you ass." You say, your voice devoid of any real malice.

"You're not really going to that dinner, right?" Logan asks

"I was going to." You admit

Logan scoffs, "Why bother?"

You know the reason for his behavior, his failure to protect the X-Men of his universe, his failure to protect you.

"We don't have to go." You say, "Could just stay here and finish Ferris Bueller. Drink hot chocolate with those jumbo marshmallows you like."

Logan slowly nods before looking at you. He stares at the ceiling, clearly weighing his options.

"I'll go." He decides

"Logan, I'm sure it'll be hard to see them all again. Really, you don't have to go just because I said I was planning to." You say

"I said I'll go, I'm going." He murmurs

The drive to the school was shorter than you thought it was going to be. Of course, that could've just been Wade's lead foot on the gas pedal. It was a miracle you hadn't gotten pulled over at all.

Al, the lucky woman, had elected to stay home with Mary, claiming that she wasn't interested in the "shit show" that was about to go down. She truly was a woman of comforting words.

Wade slammed on the brakes and eagerly hopped out of the van, clearly excited.

"Last time I was here, no one was around. The studio must've gotten some more budget under their belt. Or perhaps our writer decided to get off her lazy ass and write some actual plot. I wonder what version of the Professor we'll get? McAvoy? Stewart? Maybe even Ross Marquand! He's hot in The Walking Dead."

"Are you nervous?" Laura asks as she gets out of the van with you while Wade knocks on the door

"What's there to be nervous about? I grew up here. Well...here in another universe. But it's still the same I'm sure." You say, swallowing the frog that was in your throat. You couldn't help but be a bit nervous.

"Yeah well, most of these people were nothing but comic books for me so," Laura says

"You'll be alright." You say, running a gentle hand through her long hair, "Besides you survived Logan and I arguing every day for nearly a year, this will be a cakewalk compared to that."

Laura nods and you look around for Logan who has yet to get out of the car, still sitting in the passenger seat. Laura walks off to Wade who is still awaiting an answer at the door and you walk over and knock on the window of the car. Logan rolls it down and sighs like he already knows what you're going to say to him.

"I'm getting out, bub."

"I was just going to tell you to take your time, old man." You smile and lean on the windowsill

"You seem eager to get in there." Logan says, nodding towards the door as it opens to reveal a girl with short hair and dark lipstick on, beside her another girl with bright pink hair, done up in space buns.

Logan slowly pushes the door open as rain begins to drizzle on the two of you.

"Ready?" You ask when you see him hesitate

"It's now or never." He sighs

You're greeted by both of the girls who opened the door for Wade. They both look friendly, well the one who calls herself Yukio looked a bit friendlier than the black lipstick-wearing one.

"Chrome dome! Look at you"! Wade greets, "You missed me didn't you? That's why we're here for dinner right?"

"You are here because you are only way for me to get in contact with them."

Your eyes widen as Colossus points to you and Logan. Holy shit he was tall.

"Are you alright?" The big man asks you

"Fine...It's just last time I saw you, you were well shorter, and how do i say this?" You say, "Not Russian."

"The multiverse is great huh?" Wade says "By the way I wasn't supposed to be in my suit right? Magneto isn't about to float around the corner in his helmet right? Toss Logan around like some ragdoll perhaps?"

"We are having dinner. Not fight night." Colossus says looking down at Wade, "No suit needed."

"Right, right. Lead the way silver penis." Wade says as Colossus groans in disgust when Wade slaps his ass.

"You guys have a fight night?" Laura asks enthusiastically, pumping her legs to keep up with the metal man.

Logan lets out a big sigh as you all follow Colossus through the school.

"You alright?" You ask as you walk beside him

"Fine." He brushes you off, "It's like I'm in some weird dream. Seeing all this again."

You nod, "If it makes you feel better, the last time I saw the school, I was ripping your legs off your body."

"Excuse me?" Logan asked

"After other Logan, asshole one, rejected me, I uh got upset and decided my revenge would be exacted on the front lawn of the school."

"Wasn't the place crawling with kids though?" Logan asked

"Oh it was. I guess I freaked most of them out since the Professor asked me to leave after that." You sigh, "Shipped me off to some quiet cabin in Maine until our universe started to die.

"Shit," Logan says

"Tell me about it." You say

It's odd to say the least, the whole ordeal. The Professor is the first one you see as you enter the formal dining room. Storm and Scott are there too, and much to your surprise, Jean Grey.

The Professor calls both of your names and Logan looks like he's seeing a ghost as the silver wheelchair rolls slowly towards you.

"I'm not jealous at all right now." Wade whispers to Laura, "That's Patrick fucking Stewart!"

Charles' eyes scan the both of you and you're not entirely sure what to do. Surely he can just look in your mind and see everything you'd experienced.

"How extraordinary." He breathes, "Both of you."

"Uh...thanks." Logan says awkwardly

You sit next to Logan for dinner, Laura takes her place on his other side and Wade, unfortunately takes the open seat on your right.

"So, he just showed up and took you right out of your timeline?" Scott asked Logan

"Yeah, basically. Dragged me into The Void with him too." Logan says as he takes another forkful of food

"And what about you?" Scott turned to look at you

"Oh my universe was dying. I was already in The Void when Wade and this one here showed up." You gently pat Logan's shoulder and turn to him, only to find him looking at Jean who sits across from him.

You let your hand drop from his shoulder, unable to shake the dread that sinks in your stomach as Wade turns the conversation to his favorite topic, himself.

"So where have you all been when I was here? I mean all I'm used to is Colossus, Justin Beiber, and of course my sweet angel, Yukio."

Yukio waves with a big smile on her face and Wade returns it with heart hands.

"Yes well, we are busy people, Mr. Wilson." Charles says, "Lots of responsibilities as an X-Man."

Wade nods and takes another bite of his food, "Did you guys make any dessert?"

An overly large slice of cake sits on your plate but you can't find yourself to take a bite as Logan asks Jean about her science classes. Something was clawing at your chest, you couldn't name it but it felt like it was suffocating you as you watched the two of them talk.

"So what did you do in your universe before you were pruned?" Storm asks, shaking you from your thoughts.

"Oh, I was an X-Man. Nothing too cool." You say blandly "Taught a Psychology class to some of the older kids. Pretty sure I wasn't that good of a teacher since most kids slept through the class every day.

"I'm sure you were great." Storm smiles

"Good enough to get kicked out." You say, "Scared too many kids one day with my own powers."

"Well, now you're here with us. The past is forgotten and you have a second chance here in this universe." Charles says with a smile

You slowly nod and take a small bite of cake. Nothing was going to convince you to be an X-Man again. You were much happier with Matt at the bookstore.

Coffee is brought out as Charles directs everyone to the large library, answering Wade's many ridiculous questions while Laura walks along the shelves, running her fingers along the spine of the books. A flash of lightening illuminates the dreary skies outside. It's early evening as you sit in an oversized chair, watching Logan and Jean continue to talk like they've known each other their whole lives.

Your mind spins when he laughs at something she says, his pretty smile that normally sends tingles down your body is filling it with dread as you watch. You watch as he slips through your fingers again. You must've been cursed, doomed to watch him find another while you stood on the side.

Rain splatters against the windows as you try to focus on Charles' voice as he talks to Wade. You couldn't believe this was happening to you again. You were so certain that you had him this time.

Fuck, you'll admit it, you were jealous.

Jealous as you watched Jean and Logan talk. Jealous over whatever made her so special. How the hell was this happening to you again, this time in a whole different universe with a whole new Logan? A Logan you thought might've been all yours. And yet, here you sat as the universe turned you into the fool again.

"I'll be right back." You mumble before carefully setting your coffee cup down and slipping out of the library and towards one of the many doors that led out of the school.

You stood just a few steps away from the door as you stared out into the backyard. The small roof that covered the doorway kept you dry as you took a deep breath of the cool air that smelled like rain.

The air cleared your head as you smoothed out the fabric of the cardigan and jeans you had chosen to wear. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you ran a hand over your face.

"So fucking stupid." You groan loudly into the open air

"What's stupid?"

This motherfucker.

Your legs propel you off the back porch, hoping he'd take the hint. You move quicker when you hear him crunching leaves under his behind you. The rain is cold on your skin as you walk faster through the yard, hoping that you might disappear into one of the large trees and never return.

Why couldn't he just leave you alone and let you rot in your misery?

Logan calls your name as rain water begins to soak your clothes making you shiver.

"Go away, Logan." You call over your shoulder, "I want to be alone."

A hand catches your forearm and he spins you to face him. He looks a bit breathless as he holds you still, rain making his hair look a bit flatter than usual.

"What're you doing? It's raining out here, you're going to get sick." He chastises

"Just go back. I'll be in soon. I just wanted to clear my head." You say, yanking your arm from his hold

"What's wrong?" He asks, wiping at some of the rain that's dripping off the hair that sticks to his forehead

"Nothing. Go back inside." You lie, getting ready to walk away again

"Something is wrong." Logan says, catching your hand in his, "I won't leave until you tell me."

"It's Jean!"

The words tumble out of your mouth like vomit as you twist your hand from his, ignoring the way he winces when your nails scratch his skin.

"Jean?" He breathes, "What're you talking about?"

You shake your head and a small laugh leaves your lips. Was he truly that dense?

"You and her. I have watched you leave me once for her, I won't sit by and watch it happen again. If you want her, just say it now so I can stop."

Logan looks at you, taking in your wet form as your chest heaves in anger. You push your hair away from your face and take a step towards him and point a finger to his chest.

"I won't let you turn me into a fool again. It already happened once, and I will not let it happen again."

"Stop what?" Logan asks, taking a step back so your hand drops back to your side

"What?" You ask

"You said you want me to tell you now so you can stop. Stop what?" He asks

Your eyes narrow and a scoff leaves your mouth, "Forget it. Go back to her Logan. You always do."

You turn on your heel and let your legs carry you deeper into the school's grounds. Big oak trees threaten to swallow you whole as you try to be careful not to trip on their roots. At least the leaves provide a bit of protection from the rain.

Just a few more minutes out here and you'd go back inside. Maybe sit with Laura and ask Storm if you could borrow a towel to dry off.

Logan's sudden appearance from behind one of the tree trunks, nearly has you screaming.

"What are you doing?" You gasp, startled by his appearance. How had he moved so fast?

He takes a big step forward, you're a measly five feet away from him but do nothing to back away, though your mind screams at you to.

"I know what's wrong," Logan starts" And you won't say it, so I will."

"Oh great." You say, sarcasm dripping like blood from an open wound. "This ought to be good." Your heart squeezes as you brace yourself for what will come out of his mouth about Jean and how he wants her.

"I love you."

Your eyes snap to his, ready to discern the lie, yet you find nothing but truthfulness across his face, "Logan..."

" I've loved you and no one else since the moment I saw you in The Void. You were like some...ghost that had come back to haunt me. And even when I thought I hated you,"

He takes another step forward, slowly closing the distance between the two of you.

"I learned to love you again. These past weeks have been special to me. And I don't want you to say that you don't feel it too, because I know you do. "

Your head spins as your brain tries to make sense of his words. Surely you were dreaming. Or perhaps you had entered another new universe.

"We're a mess, you and I," Logan says finally closing the distance between the two of you, pressing his forehead to yours, "Please, don't shut me out over silly jealousy."

You are fully captivated by him as droplets of rain sneak their way through the big oak trees, your eyes flutter shut and you rest your hands on his solid chest. Is this truly happening?

A warm laugh bubbles up your chest and out of your mouth, "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything then," Logan says, gently brushing his thumb over your face.

Your heart pounds so loudly in your ears, you swear you're going deaf as you open your mouth again, "I love you too."

A small chuckle leaves Logan's lips as he leans in towards you, "Good."

Your heart pounds as you know what's coming next, you're not sure where he ends and you begin as he leans in, filling your mind with nothing but him.

Logan's hands find your waist and he pulls you in, letting his lips collide with yours. You can taste the cigar he smoked earlier as it mingled with the sweetness of the juice that had been served at dinner. Fireworks danced behind your eyes as you finally got everything you wanted, he was yours.

Your hands flew up to wave through his hair as he tilted his head just so to deepen the kiss. Logan pulled you impossibly closer and smiled when a surprised squeak left your lips. You don't know how he did it, but he has your back pressed to a tree as his lips pull away from yours, both of your chests heaving for air.

"Do we have to go back inside?" You laugh resting your head against the tree trunk

"I already thought of that." Logan slyly smiles before fishing in his pocket, revealing the keys to the van,

"Let's get out of here, hon."

Part Seven - Coming Soon

Kiss kiss, fall in love. MUAH.💋💋💋

The scene in the backyard under the rain is based on the song Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift.

Also, in no way do I hate Jean. I promise I love her and her cunty red hair.

Since everyone seemed to like them so much, here's more cat pictures. Her name is Ash she has a love of face masks and tries to eat them whenever she gets ahold of them. She also rips house flies apart to keep me safe. I love her.

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[marifilue]

Nyctophobia

Noun: An extreme fear of the dark. Children or adults may have Nyctophobia if they are afraid to be left alone in darkness

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: None as of yet, but we'll get there ;)

Word count: 9.2k

A/N: RIGHT FUCKERS ITS TIME. i don't think i've written a fic this long in goddamn years but here we are. DEFO ooc Logan and also timeline what timeline? Kitty is older than the rest of the students cuz i love her and i said so. reader's mutation is currently shadow-walking but that'll develop as we go on so slay boots. also I have no concept of word limits sooooo 9k chapter let's fucking go

How long had it been? Six months? A year? Two years? Honestly, you couldn’t recall. It felt like it had been forever since ol’ Charlie had sent you travelling the continent. Sure, it had been your idea to try and find mutants before they experience the most traumatic event of their lives, but you didn’t think he’d send you, and certainly not immediately. Though you were glad he did, you didn’t think Scott would make as good an impression as you could.

But, now you were back. Thank fuck. You could finally rest your weary legs and put down your heavy-as-shit bag. And at least now you could work on developing your mutation. Shadow walking. Or at least, it is now. You thought that was the extent of what you could do, just disappear and reappear whenever and wherever there happened to be a shadow cast on the ground. Or on a wall. Or anywhere really. But, Xavier had gently suggested that, perhaps, those shadows could be manipulated one way or another. You wished to fuck you knew how because your bag was all but cutting right through your shoulder.

Your boots crunched against the gravel as you took a deep breath, making your way inside. It was nice to notice nothing had changed. The lawn was still neatly mowed, brickwork hadn’t aged a day. It smelt like comfort. It smelt like home. But before you could even knock on the door, at least being courteous enough not to slip through the shadows, the oak burst open and two unidentified arms had wrapped themselves around your neck in one of the most warming hugs you’d ever received, accompanied by a high pitch squeal.

You knew instantly who that would be. Brown hair spilled across her shoulders, smelling faintly of lavender. “Hey Kitty,” you grinned, dropping your bag to return her tight embrace. It truly did feel like forever.

“I’m so happy to see you it’s been years! We thought you were never coming back! Scott thought you’d died and Charles wasn’t telling us, Logan didn’t think you even existed and that we were all lying, Jean thought you’d just got sick of this place and dipped, it was carnage!” She rambled, her deep brown eyes sparkling slightly. You had to take a minute to actually comprehend what the fuck she was saying before your lips split into a broad smile.

“Well, I can tell you that I’m not dead, at least not yet, and I do very much exist and I am not sick of this place despite what Jean may think. And– wait who’s Logan?” Your brain had only just caught up with the fact that Kit had mentioned a name completely unfamiliar to you. Just how long had you been gone?

“Oh, right yeah. A new teacher,” Kitty kept one arm around your shoulder as she guided you back inside, stopping only when you realised your bag was still left discarded by the front door. “He uh, sorta took your position as PE and combat professor… sorry.” She looked genuinely apologetic, whilst internally, you couldn’t be more grateful. You always thought you weren’t ever cut out to teach, and whilst you sometimes enjoyed it, you were always too worried about the kids being hurt. 

“I’m hurt, a girl’s gone for a year or two and you replace her? What kind of school is this?” you cracked a smile, Kitty’s face morphing from remorse to relief. She really thought you’d be upset? You were touched. “Anyway, what time is it? Where is everyone? I thought classes stopped at–” You were cut off abruptly upon entering the lounge.

“Welcome back!” you covered your face at the chorus of voices, laughing behind your hands before clutching your heart dramatically. 

“Christ! You’ve all just knocked five years off my life!” you grinned, faces both familiar and unfamiliar laughing and smiling just to see you.

“They’ve been looking forward to this for days. Ever since rumour of your return started circulating, they’ve been pestering us nonstop for a date. Eventually, someone caved,” You didn’t need to see Scott’s eyes in order to know he was giving Kitty a pointed look behind his glasses. You looked back to see her looking sheepish.

“Yeah well… they can be really persuasive.” She shrugged, taking your bag off your shoulder and placing it out of the way. You sighed at the loss of weight, rolling your joint slightly. 

“It’s good to see you,” Scott pulled you in for a brief hug, clapping your back once before pulling back, letting the rest of your friends and pupils make their way over. You were consumed by various arms of embraces, questions about your travels, introductions to new students, reminiscing with old students. It was quite possibly the best moment you’d had since you left. But a face caught your eye at the back of the crowd. A young girl, with the same dark brown hair you remember, only now a streak of brilliant white framed her face.

You made your way over, shuffling through the crowd, clasping hands and shoulders with people you knew before finally getting to her.

“Hey you,” you smiled gently, remembering how timid and easy to scare she used to be. You were caught off guard completely by her sudden bright smile. 

“Hey.”

“How long’ve you been here? I didn’t actually think you’d listen to me to be brutally honest with you, thought you’d just shrug it off and continue your own path,” you were relieved to see she had listened to what you’d said two years ago. You’d urged her down this path, to find the school. You’d already known Charles would take her, it was just a matter of her taking herself here.

“Uh… about that…” you’d only seen a smile that sheepish on Kitty. You cocked a brow, head tilting to the side slightly before a hand on your shoulder caused you to whirl. But it was just Ororo. Clearly, your travels had affected you more than you originally thought. 

But Storm wasn’t looking at you, you could only see the back of her white hair as she frantically waved at someone through the crowd, beckoning them over.

“Logan!”

Ah, you guess that made sense now.

Whoever you’d expected to walk through the crowd, you threw that image out your mental window the moment you saw him. 

Now you understood why he taught combat and PE… he was fucking ripped. White t-shirt leaving nothing to the imagination. The facial hair was an interesting choice, but you couldn’t say it didn’t suit him. He was very… rugged lumberjack looking.

You placed a hand on your hip, brows raised in intrigue as he made his way over. You don’t think you’d ever seen a grumpier-looking man. 

“Logan, this is Phantom,” your eyes slid to Ororo as she used your mutant name. 

“Ah, so you do exist,” his voice seemed a perfect match for the rest of him, just as rough and rugged as the worn jeans he was wearing. You nodded, mouth quirking into a small smirk.

“Heard there was some debate over that, glad I could put it to rest,” you outstretched your hand for him to shake, something you were surprised he actually did, calloused palm encasing your own.

“Can ya blame me?” He asked with a raised brow, dropping your hand after a beat too long. Clearly unaccustomed to civility, judging from his appearance. 

“Guess not. You’re also the son-of-a-bitch that stole my position, right?” You asked, wanting to be a lot more serious than you actually were being, but for some reason, you couldn’t help grinning slightly. 

“Language!” Storm elbowed you slightly. Guess you’d forgotten how to behave around the kids too.

Logan held his hands up in surrender. “In my defense, I didn’t think you existed,” though he also seemed serious, you thought you could detect something that could be perceived as humour in his hazel eyes. You couldn’t keep up your poorly constructed façade anymore, waving your hand as if to physically clear the air between the two of you.

“I’m kidding, you can keep it. In all honesty, I was never really cut out for it.” You shrugged. “Besides, I’m–”

“She’s being super modest by the way, she rocked as that professor!” Kitty called from the other side of the room, somehow managing to listen to your conversation. You didn’t know how, since the entire welcome party was still chatting way, but you cast her a withering look nonetheless. 

“So I’ve heard,” Logan’s eyes slid from Kitty back to you as you scoffed.

“Though, of course, it was purely hypothetical, since I didn’t exist and all.” You teased, gesturing to your very much existing self. You silently triumphed over the fact you managed to drag a small smile out of him, realising that making this man pull any other expression other than irritation was something to be proud of. 

You hadn’t realised how completely caught up in the introduction you’d been before you noticed the girl still standing next to you, eyes flicking between you and Logan with a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. 

“Anyway,” you continued pointedly, “you were saying? So you didn’t come to find this place?” your head tilted again slightly in confusion. “How did you end up here?”

Rogue looked from you to Logan, who’s eyes were still trained on you. You looked between them. “Nope, still confused. How did…?” 

“Well, after you found me, I did carry on my own path, which led me to some shady bar where Logan found me,” she explained quietly.

“More you found me but sure.” He shrugged. You could tell there was some kind of bond between them, one you could recognise was only built through trauma. You’d heard a little of what happened with Eric through Charles’ telepathic link, but he always reassured you to continue what you were doing. But you often wondered what could have happened if you’d returned. 

“So, you brought her here?” You asked, trying to prompt the story forward. Honestly, you wanted to know how he’d succeeded where you’d failed. You could be incredibly persuasive when you wanted to be, but Rogue was stubborn on another level. 

“Me? Nah, didn’t know this place existed at that point.”

“Seems to be a common theme with you,” you couldn’t help the subtle teasing grin spreading across your face, nor your laugh as he rolled his eyes skyward.

“Never gonna live that down, am I?”

“Not whilst I’m still breathing,” you winked, before turning your attention back to Rogue and completely missing the way his features shuddered slightly. “So how’d you get here if tall, dark, and broody over here didn’t know about this?” 

“Tall, dark, and– what?” He asked, bewildered.

Ororo snorted in amusement, before stepping in. “That would be us. We’d been tracking another mutant, Sabretooth, and he just so happened to be tracking Logan, or so we thought at the time. We found Sabretooth, and these two at the same time. Brought them both back.” 

You nodded in understanding, now finally having got through the whole story. Well, maybe not the whole story, you knew there were details you definitely were missing, but at least you got the jist.

“I see. Glad it wasn’t my lack of persuasive skills then. Though I guess a life or death situation isn’t much better. How’s your mutation coming along?” you asked, only now noticing the black, elbow-length gloves she was wearing. Ah.

“Still hard to control, but I’m getting better at it!” She looked genuinely enthusiastic about her mutation, so much so that it almost brought a tear to your eye. When you’d met her two years ago, you didn’t know if she even wanted help. She’d been so lost in her despair and self-loathing that you didn’t think she had long left with the way her mental health was going. So to see her so happy, your throat closed up slightly.

“I’m glad, I really am. You deserve this, Rogue. All of this,” you gestured to the room around, to the friends she’d made, to the haven she’d found.

“Oh, my name’s Marie. Guess I didn’t tell you before.” She shrugged, and you had to laugh to stop yourself from crying. 

“Marie it is.” Her story touched your heart, and to see she managed to get her happy ending… fuck you were so close to crying. You had to change the subject before you broke down in front of these people. “Oh hey, is my room still the same? Wouldn’t mind freshening up a little, been a long journey.” Two birds with one stone. You could leave the situation and cry in your bathroom whilst taking a shower so you didn’t smell like the wrong end of a skunk. Perfect!

“Uh…” Storm started.

“About that…” Kitty continued, coming over to stand alongside Storm. You looked between them, before shooting a glance to Logan who seemed to be showing absolutely no remorse.

“Your bed’s real comfy, bub” he smirked, and you gaped.

“You’re fucking kidding me?”

“Language!” both Ororo and Kitty said at the same time, and you winced.

“Fuck, sorry. Shit! Argh!” you gave up, throwing your hands in the air. “I’m not letting any of you off the hook. This is betrayal at its finest! Giving him my position I can handle, but my damn room? That’s shocking behaviour from the both of you!” You pointed at them accusingly, shooting a glare to the man next to you who was doing nothing but lowly chuckling. You breathe out a sigh. You had the best room in the whole mansion. Or at least you did, before Muscles McGee stole it from you.

“Don’t blame those two” Jean placed a calming hand on your shoulder. “we didn’t have another room made up when these two arrived. It was supposed to be temporary, but–”

“The view was too nice to pass up on,” Logan interjected. You realised he probably thought it was his turn to tease you. You knew that view was nice, it was overlooking the entire grounds behind the school. And whilst you were going to sorely miss it, you weren’t so heartless that you’d take it back from him. Besides, in a weird way, you felt like you owed him. He found Marie, and whatever transpired between them, she seemed happier now. You guessed you maybe had him to thank for that.

“Yeah yeah, alright fine. I concede. Where am I then?” you asked Jean, who broke into a broad smile.

“You’re in the one above, still got the same view, don’t worry,” she elbowed you slightly. That wasn’t so bad actually. Same view, same side of the mansion, just one story up? You breathed a sigh of relief. Yeah, you could do that.

“Good enough, I’m still mad about it though.” Your eyes narrowed at four of them, Logan included, before cracking your neck in preparation to take your bag all the way up the stairs.

Kitty clapped her hands excitedly, and you raised a brow in suspicion. “What’s got you so giddy?” you asked as she once again slid her arm across your shoulders, guiding you back towards the door. 

“Oh nothing, just glad you're home. It’s been kinda boring without you.” You laughed at that. With everything that’s been going on, you didn’t think any of them had time to be bored. But you appreciated the thought nonetheless. 

Eyeing your bag on the ground, there were times when you really wished your mutation involved some kind of super strength, because as happy as you were to be home and have a room just above your old one, you really didn’t want to lug that thing all the way up. And all the damn lights were on, so slipping up through the shadows was a no-go. You blew out a breath in preparation, rolling your shoulder once again, before you were stopped by a broad hand landing on your arm.

“I got it,” Logan’s voice weaved butterflies through your stomach. You hadn’t realised he was behind you before he was leaning down next to you and effortlessly slinging the bag over his own shoulder.

For the second time that afternoon, you gaped up at him, left almost speechless. 

“Super strength?” Was all you could say, hoping to Jesus he knew what you were asking. You watched his features morph from confusion to amusement as he shook his head slightly. 

“Nah, not quite.”

“Then how the fu–” you were reminded of the children present by a sharp elbow to the ribs from Kitty. “–uuun. How fun.” you gave up on your question, much to his mirth. The sight had your brain short-circuiting. You wouldn’t deny he was good-looking. You’d be fucking crazy to deny that. But there was something else hidden under all those knowing smirks and sharp glances. Something that you wouldn’t mind uncovering. 

Deciding that was a quest for another day, you turned abruptly on your heel, making your way to the staircase before once again stopping in your tracks. This was starting to get on your nerves a little. However, any irritation soon died as you finally saw Professor Xavier.

“Ah, I wondered whether the commotion was your return.”

You snorted a laugh. “No, you didn’t. You absolutely knew it was my return.” You quipped back, earning yourself a laugh from the man.

“As quick as ever. And I see you’ve met our Wolverine.” Charles nodded to Logan next to you, and you turned to him in bemusement. 

“Wolverine? Seriously?” you asked, laughing at his shrug. “Can’t think why…” your sarcastic jab paired with your pointed looks from his hair to his body brought another amused smirk from the man. 

“I thought you two would get along. Get yourself settled back in and meet me in my office and your earliest convenience.” You nodded back to Xavier, unable to take a moment to process what he meant when he said he thought you and Logan would get along before Kitty began dragging you towards the stairs.

“C’mon! You’re gonna love it!”You were slightly worried about what it was but followed her nonetheless.

Logan had to admit, he didn’t mind carrying your bag up four flights of stairs. It wasn’t the worst way to spend his afternoon. And as much as he wasn’t the kind of guy to stare at a woman’s ass, he wasn’t mad that he was behind you. 

Everything he’d been told about you had been proven correct. At least, everything he’d seen so far. Whether or not you could hold yourself in a fight was up for debate, but everything else, your wit, your charm, heartbreaking kindness, humour… it was all right there in front of him. 

Literally.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d had to bite back a smile or a laugh, stunned by the fact that you actually managed to break through and pull both from him. Even now, as you paused before the landing that lead to your old room and sighed wistfully, had had to stop himself grinning. And he was glad you turned back around quickly after throwing him a pointed glare over your shoulder because that was another smile he was struggling to rein in. Fuck, how did you do it? He’d only known you for half an hour and he’d displayed more expression than he had in his whole two years of being here. 

He was in huge trouble. 

The stairs finally flattened out to the top floor landing, Kitty still leading the way down the corridor until the final room. It was isolated, like his one floor below, and he guessed you must like it that way. Which he thought strange. The way you were with others, he hadn’t exactly pegged you for being someone who liked her space. But then again, he’d only known you for thirty minutes.

He had to remind himself of that. 

“Here we are!” Kitty grinned excitedly, stepping to the side to let you open the door yourself. Logan knew what you’d find behind the wood. He’d helped set it up after all. Some twisted guilt forced him into helping. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

You eyed Kitty suspiciously, before twisting the handle on the door, pushing slightly to reveal what she was so excited about. 

If Logan was being honest, your expression was worth all the consuming guilt he’d felt by taking your room. A smile of pure, unadulterated awe wiped all thought from his mind, your eyes were practically glowing.

“You… Kitty, you didn’t need to do this,” You looked back to the giddy girl and pulled her into a tight hug. Everything you remembered was here. Your posters, fairy lights, and every single plant you’d nourished and grown made your room look like a rainforest. The light in the ceiling had been covered by patterns to ensure there was always shadows cast somewhere, whether it be floor, wall, or ceiling. 

“It wasn’t just me! I employed help,” Kitty smiled, taking the liberties she knew she had to sit cross-legged on your bed. “And others offered to help.”

Logan held his breath as he felt your attention shift from Kitty to him, meeting your gaze of sheer wonder. 

“You helped?” you asked, taking your bag from his shoulder, though he was almost too caught up in your gaze to notice.

“Here an’ there…” he muttered, trying to calm himself by leaning against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest, attempting to escape your eyes by looking around your room. 

“Here and there? That’s such a lie! He’d heard about your mutation, the shadow-casting thing was his idea!” Kitty grinned excitedly, and you all but choked on the realisation. He did this for you. He didn’t even know you, and he did this for you. 

“Kitty, that’s en–oof!” Logan barely had time to react before your arms were around his neck, your chin resting on his shoulder. Your scent hit him like a truck, and it was nothing like how he’d imagine it. Not that he had imagined it…

“Thank you,” you whispered earnestly, and any guard he’d put up previously melted away. He didn’t exactly return your embrace, but his hands somehow found your waist as you pulled back, keeping your arms across his shoulders. “Maybe I can forgive you for stealing my old room now. Oh! And my job. And not believing I exist,” your grin held more mischief than he ever thought possible, but now you were back to teasing, he felt his thoughts return. 

“Anythin’ else?” He asked, mirroring your expression.

“Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll think of something,” was it Logan’s sudden and overactive imagination, or did your eyes just flicker to his lips?

Was it the sudden physical contact that made your body hum this way, or was it just the fact that he could bench-press three of you? You didn’t care, and somehow, you didn’t think he did either. 

Until very suddenly and very abruptly, you did care. You stepped out of his hands far too quickly for his liking, your arms falling back by your sides. Though you didn’t look like you regretted anything. 

“I really appreciate this, from both of you. And whoever else helped. This is… well it’s better than what I was imagining,” you gestured to the room around you. It truly was perfect for you. They’d really outdone themselves. He’d really outdone himself. And you couldn’t help the warmth that spread from the centre of your chest to your limbs. You wanted to know more about him. “What’s your mutation, by the way? You never said,” you asked before you could stop yourself, and Logan blinked in surprise.

Holding his fist up, he flexed the tendons holding his claws. He no longer winced when his knuckles split. No longer grimaced as he sliced through his own flesh, though watching your face did cause him to worry just a little. 

You held your silence for a moment, not really knowing what to say. That looked painful as fuck, but you felt that asking might make it worse. “I see…” was all you said, before it hit you. “Wolverine! I get it now. It made sense before but now it actually fits!” You exclaimed, chuckling at his confusion. 

“Whaddya mean it made sense before?” 

“Don’t think too much into it,” you winked again, and Logan swore his heart stopped. 

“Yeah, alright Phantom.” He cocked a brow at the playful narrow of your eyes before you melted into the shadows right in front of him. He’d been made aware of your mutation, having overheard Jean using both you and Kitty as examples of phasing mutants, but to actually see it for himself? He couldn’t say he wasn’t impressed. He glanced around the room, retracting his claws as he looked for where you could have gone. 

“Get it now?”

Logan whipped around to see you standing behind him, arms folded across your chest, a mischievous grin plastered across your features. 

You always felt a sense of freedom when you released yourself into the shadows, like holding yourself in this corporeal state was somewhat of an effort. But letting yourself be free, to move like liquid amongst the darkness, it was like refueling a beaten truck. 

Logan’s lips quirked into a smile as he nodded once. “Got it,” the silence lingered once again, some kind of charge energy crackled in the space between the two of you before he cleared his throat. “Kitty, we should– the fuck?” 

You popped your head to the side, peering around Logan to see the space on your bed Kitty used to be sitting in was now completely empty. “Guess she left,” you shrugged. “Or she never existed.” That earned you a flick to the forehead from Logan, and you laughed, batting away his hand. How long had it been since you’d felt this comfortable with someone this quickly? Either it had been years, or never. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” he smiled, this time completely unrestrained. And fuck was he gorgeous. But you had to remember this was a man you’d just met. 

He had to remember this was a woman he’d just met.

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll uh, see you later?” You didn’t mean for your voice to sound so hopeful at the end, but honestly? It was worth seeing him turn back to you with that same smirk you’d seen countless times already.

“Sure.” He said, before closing the door. 

You sat heavily on your bed, your head in your hands. “What the fuck?” 

Little did you know, Logan was having a similar reaction right outside your door, his back against the wood as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “What. The. Fuck?”

Having almost drowned yourself in the shower, using that shampoo you’d missed so dearly on your travels, you’d changed clothes into something a lot more comfortable, a loose pair of sweats and a spaghetti strap tank top, before heading down to Xavier’s office where he’d just spent the last ten minutes explaining his plans to further your mutation. And to be completely honest with yourself, you hadn’t listened to half of it. 

“So, in short, your ability, whilst appearing similar to Kitty’s, is actually entirely different. Where Kitty phases through objects, you become those shadows. Your molecules break down completely, unlike Miss Pryde.” He finished his explanation slowly, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him you had no idea what he’d just said. Luckily, when conversing with a telepath, you didn’t have to.

Charles sighed, rubbing his forehead slightly. “You’ve always said you felt a strain on yourself whilst corporeal, yes?” He asked, and you breathed in relief. Finally, a question you could answer.

“Yeah, it’s like I’m holding water with my bare hands. Or something like that,” you nodded, looking at yourself slightly curiously. “So, I’m not like Kitty?” you clarified, looking back up the the professor, who shook his head. 

“I’m afraid not. We were mistaken before, simply assuming you were just another phasing mutant. But Jean ran some tests on your blood, and it was quite remarkable.” You’d almost forgotten the woman was in the room until she cleared her throat, her red hair pulled up in a tight ponytail. 

“I think you describe it perfectly. Your molecules are being held together, more or less, by string, or so to speak. Not real string, but I think you understand.” You nodded. You actually did understand, because that’s how you constantly felt. It was, however, incredibly unnerving. What would happen if that string frayed? Or worse, fucking snapped altogether? Sensing your distress, Charles covered your hand with his own.

“My dear, that’s why we brought you back. We’ve been incredibly lucky so far, and clearly, you have an innate ability to control the string. It’s led us to believe that your abilities don’t stop at shadow walking.” He looked at you with understanding as you took this all in. He’d mentioned to you previously that he thinks you could do more. 

“Shadow manipulation, right?” You asked though the question was rhetorical. You knew that’s where they were going with this. Charles glanced at Jean who nodded in confirmation. 

“Essentially, yes. We think you could pull shadows from an already existing cast and wield them to your heart’s content. In… theory.” She hesitated, and you blew out a breath.

“But in practice?”

“In practice… honestly we don’t know. It will be a learning curve for all of us, to be blunt.” You nodded a little numbly. You’d only just returned and already you were being bombarded with hard truths. 

Once again sensing your distress, Charles cleared his throat. “Well, I think we should continue this discussion tomorrow. You’ve had a long day and perhaps right now isn’t the best time to be entertaining new ideas.” He threw another look to Jean and she nodded again, standing from her seat.

You couldn’t agree more. This was a lot to take in. Especially since you’d become so comfortable with your mutation, believing that you were just another phaser like Kitty. But now, you were something else completely, something unknown. Even to yourself. It… scared you. And you didn’t scare easily. Worry? Sure. Impending sense of dread? Absolutely. Fear? Never.

“Right. Thanks, Professor. I’ll uh, see you tomorrow then.” You dipped your head goodbye, before leaving his office and closing the door behind you. Tea. You needed tea. Fuck you needed something stronger than tea, but since this was a goddamn school, alcohol was strictly prohibited. 

Fuck’s sake. 

Dragging a hand down the side of your face, you absently made your way to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle. Muscle memory guided you to the drinks cupboard, moving aside the jar of decaff coffee to reveal your personal stash of teabags. Whilst primarily you were a coffee drinker, when it was this late in the evening, you tended to steer clear of the caffeine. You weren’t the best at sleeping to begin with, let alone when your mind and body were buzzing. 

You didn’t turn when you heard footsteps behind you, and the scrape of one of the chairs against the wooden floor, too focussed on rifling through the cupboard adjacent to the drinks one for our favourite mug. A gift from Kitty, she’d had custom-made for the print on the side to say ‘Phasers Forever!’. It made you a little sad to think about now. But, thankfully you found it, nestled right at the back next to the mug you’d gifted her. Also custom-made, but this just had the image of two hands with their little fingers linked. You’d made sure the gloves matched the ones you both wore in your suits. 

Dropping the teabag into the mug, you instantly savoured the scented steam as you poured the hot water, even the aroma calming your slightly frayed nerves. Wow, that meeting had seriously rattled you. Looping the string and tag over the lip of the mug, you turned back to the room, only to almost drop your freshly made drink in surprise.

Logan. Hair slightly damp, in a white v-neck tank, sat at the far end of the table, leaning back in the chair with a bottle of what you could have sworn was larger in his bear paw of a hand. That same fucking smirk pulled at his lips. 

“Phantom.” He raised his bottle in greeting. You wished you could match his energy, but honestly, you were drained from the day and the meeting. But you tried nonetheless.

“Wolvie.” You smiled back, though you could feel it didn’t reach your eyes. And clearly, he noticed too, expression shifting from self-assured confidence to slight concern.

“You alright?” Logan had only known you for less than a day, and he already knew he really didn’t like seeing you despondent. 

“Yeah, fine.” It almost pained him physically seeing your eyes remain dull with your liar’s smile. That was something else he realised in that split second. 

He really didn’t like you lying to him.

“Uh huh?” Fuck, he definitely knew you were hiding everything. How the fuck could he possibly tell that? He didn’t even know you! You sighed heavily, hoping it would help your next half-truth.

“I’m just tired. Long day, lots of emotions. Are you hungry? I’m starved and was gonna make pasta if you wanted some,” You tried your best to steer the conversation away from how you were feeling. Once again it wasn’t exactly a lie. You were starving, having not eaten since this morning, and it was now ten in the evening. 

Logan knew you turned away quickly so you didn’t have to see his suspicion. If you weren’t ready to talk about whatever was bothering you, he knew he shouldn’t push. But, to his surprise, he found himself wanting to know. He wanted to know what was up, and maybe, just maybe, he could make you feel better. It seemed doubtful, but it was worth a shot. “How was your meeting with Charles?”

Your shoulders tensed, spine straightening. Gotcha.

“Yeah, fine. Just easing me back into life here basically. Nothing earthshattering.” Now that was a flat out lie, and once again you refused to turn around as you brought the kettle over to the tap, filling it to the max line before placing it back on the stand and flicking the switch. You found it easier to lie when you were busy doing something else and making pasta seemed perfect. Crouching to one of the lower cupboards, you pulled out the pack of wholewheat, refusing to eat any of the sugary white bullshit. Unfortunately, the one downside of busying yourself so remarkably well was that you weren’t always paying attention to what was going on around you.

For example, Logan walking up behind you to take the packet from your hand and place it on the counter. You turned, realising he’d given you minimal space to move. He was so close you could smell the gel he used in the shower. Woodsy and smoky, like a forest cabin. He smelt fucking great, but to be honest, you were too busy trying to avoid eye contact to care.

“S’that why you look like your pet just died?” You knew he was trying to be teasing, trying to lighten the mood, trying to create a comfortable environment for you to open up in, but you didn’t know him, and he didn’t know you. With a deep breath, you stepped to the side and out of his reach, opening the fridge to look for something to make a nice creamy sauce with.

“Look, Logan. I appreciate it, and what you’re trying to do, but at the same time, I don’t know you. And you don’t know me. So, and I mean this with the utmost respect, fucking drop it. I’m tired and I have genuinely had a long day, what more do you want me to say?”

Logan blinked. And blinked again for good measure. He wasn’t expecting you to be so sharp. He didn’t know why he wasn’t expecting it, but you really took him by surprise. That seemed to be all you were doing since the moment he met you. Though this one stung a little more than he cared to admit. “That might’ve been the nicest fuck off I’ve ever heard. But it was still a fuck off.” He shrugged. He knew deep down you were right. You didn’t know each other, and maybe was was expecting a little too much from a three-hour friendship. If he could even call it that. 

“I didn’t mean–” You turned back from the fridge just in time to watch his disappearing form leave through the door, hearing his footsteps recede back up the stairs. You cursed inwardly, hating yourself for how you handled the situation. Though, looking at the pasta on the counter, you had an idea as to how to fix some of this. 

It had been roughly half an hour since he’d left you in the kitchen, recognising you needed space, and in all honesty? Retreating to lick his own wounds. He didn’t know why he wanted you to open up so badly. It wasn’t like he had a long-lasting friendship with you. He met you today, for fuck’s sake. Only hours ago. Shit, this morning he still didn’t think you existed! Logan groaned at the memory of you shutting him down, wishing he’d handled the situation differently, and stopped prodding when he knew he should have. Fuck!

He’d just managed to resolve to come and talk to you, before there was a thump at his bedroom door, followed by another. That wasn’t any kind of fist knocking… 

With deliberate caution, Logan stood from his bed, shining claws sliding through his knuckles as he approached the door, only for his nerves to be calmed when a familiar scent wafted through the cracks in the door. He didn’t dare get his hopes up until he turned the handle, pulling the door open to reveal you, stood before him, two steaming plates of pasta held impressively in one hand, and two bottles of larger in the other, your foot raised to kick the door a third time. 

“Before you slam the door, I brought peace pesto pasta, homemade so you know it’s good.” You were honestly surprised he opened the door, though you eyed his claws cautiously. Who did he think it was?

Logan noticed your line of sight, retracting his claws to cross his arms, a brow raised. “Peace pesto pasta?”

You nodded. “Homemade, don’t forget.” Logan smiled slightly at the hope in your eyes. “And also beer so you physically can’t turn me down.” You raised the two bottles in your hand, and he sighed as if you were a nuisance. Unfortunately for him, that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“Homemade peace pesto, beer, and…?” 

You stuck your tongue in your cheek. “An apology.” You reluctantly admitted, looking anywhere but his face. “Can I come in or are you gonna stare at me all evening? These aren’t the most balanced plates, been a while since I was a waitress so…” you mumbled in explanation, earning yourself a quizzical look.

“You were a waitress?”

“Yes and it was a long time ago but we can talk all about it if I can set these down somewhere they won’t fall on your feet,” you said hurriedly, borderline pleading with your eyes for him to let you in. It wasn’t as if he was about to say no, there was just something comical about the way you were managing to hold everything in your hands. 

With a click of his tongue, he gestured for you to enter with his head, closing the door behind you as you set one of the plates down on the window seat, rubbing the red skin of your arm where the hot plate had ever so slightly burned you. He instantly felt bad, crossing the room with the intention to take your arm to look at it before you stuck it into the shadow on the wall, removing it again to reveal your skin pristine again.

“It wasn’t that bad, just uncomfortable,” you shrugged, handing a plate and bottle to him. Logan shook his head at what he’d just seen, giving you a look of ‘fair enough’ before taking the plate and beer gratefully. How long had it been since someone cooked for him? Though you’d done it as a peace offering, it still warmed his heart slightly. That and the fact it smelt fucking divine. 

“I’m sorry…” you started, mindlessly poking your pasta around your plate with your fork after making yourself comfortable on his window seat. He guessed it used to be your window seat, but it still made him happy how comfortable you looked. “The Professor told me something in the meeting and… rattled me, that’s all,” you shrugged, popping a few pieces of green pasta into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. 

Logan decided to wait for you to continue, cracking open the bottle top of his beer with his teeth. Raising a brow as you looked over at him in slightly disturbed awe. 

“How did you not just break your jaw?” you asked, flabbergasted at his seemingly endless pool of abilities. 

“Not much can break it, considering my skeleton’s adamantium.” Logan was starting to like when you gaped at him in shock, admiring the way you jaw went completely slack, eyes wide. 

“Wait, how don't you– ohhhhh…” It had taken you a while to notice just how much the bed dipped when he sat down. No wonder he was so ripped, he had to be that strong in order to fucking walk around. “Any other secrets you're hiding?” You asked, before instantly regretting the question when his eyes met yours.

“You wanna talk about keeping secrets now?” He asked curtly.

“Walked into that one…”

“Yeah, you kinda did.” 

You sighed, fiddling with the bottle cap of your beer. Not to remove it, just to feel the sensation of the almost serrated edges helped to ground yourself. 

“You know about my mutation, the whole shadow-walking thing?” You asked, to which Logan responded with a nod, finally taking a bite of the pasta you’d made. Your heart swelled with pride as he paused, looking from the food to you with an impressed smile. “So, turns out, it’s nothing like Kitty’s. It’s not phasing like we originally thought, but something totally different.” You started to explain to an intensely listening Logan. “Kitty phases through things. I actually become the shadows I enter. Like, it’s not still my body but just in the shadow, my molecules break down to literally be the shadow,” you could tell he was trying to understand, his head tilting slightly to the side in a way you genuinely found cute. “It’s like, I’m holding water in my bare hands,” you started to demonstrate, placing your plate and bottle down beside you to cup your hands in front of you. “And this, this is my body. My corporeal body. But, when I dive into shadows, that body breaks down,” your cupped hands splayed apart, fingers spread to simulate a liquid splash. Logan nodded thoughtfully through mouthfuls of pasta. “How Jean explained it was that my molecules are held together with some kind of thread, and I control that thread, but it’s a constant strain… Like, I can feel my body being held together. And it just… I don’t know. It scared me I guess.”

The room fell into silence as you finished your explanation, Logan setting his somehow clean plate to the side, leaning his elbows against his spread knees, beer bottle clasped in both hands. “I uh, don’t really understand what’s scary bubs, sounds like this is an opportunity to develop it, right?” he asked, eyes searching your face for any sign you were reassured.

You sighed, the back of your head softly hitting the wall behind you. “Well apparently we’ve been lucky so far, and my control over this string or thread or whatever the fuck is stronger than they thought but… I don’t know, I guess what first went through my mind was what would happen if the thread snapped. Would I just stop being able to shadow walk or–”

“Would you stop altogether, and be able to do nothing but shadow walk,” Logan finished, realisation dawning on his gruff features. You nodded slightly, not wanting to speak anything into existence. 

“Exactly.” You whispered, staring into your borderline untouched pasta. You honestly didn’t know what to do, and you didn’t know what could be done. Surely, at this point, it was just a matter of time, right? The thought hit you like a lightning bolt. If it was just a matter of time, you just burdened this poor man, who you’d only met hours ago, with the knowledge that, eventually, you were likely just simply dissolve into nothing, cursed to live forever in the shadows of others. “Anyway, yeah, that’s why I had a face like, how did you put it? Like my pet just died,” You did your best to imitate his voice, hoping to shit it would lighten the mood of the room, but it only earned you a look of sympathy.

Fucking sympathy. You hated sympathy.

You’d come in here in the hopes to make things right with him and apologise for how you were earlier, but the one thing you really didn’t want, and never fucking wanted, was sympathy. You sighed heavily, preparing yourself for whatever ‘I’m so sorry this is happening speech’ he was clearly getting ready to spill. 

But for the umpteenth time in the short while you’d known him, Logan surprised you. Taking your bottle of beer from your side, he cracked the lid off with his teeth, the same as before, before handing it back to you. You, as stunned as you were, managed to take it from his hand, the soft skin of your fingertips brushing the backs of his own. You smiled in resignation, raising your bottle in some tragic excuse of a toast. ‘To the inevitable’ you wanted to say, but you physically bit your tongue before taking a long sip of the slightly bitter liquid.

“It won’t come to that,” you’d forgotten, in the period of silence, that you were waiting for him to say something. You tilted your head in confusion, and it honestly took all of Logan’s willpower not to launch into you and wrap you up in his arms. He really needed to pull himself together. “Look, I was pretty fuckin’ helpless when I came here. And I know you remember the state Marie was in. Neither of us thought we were worth savin’, but look at us now,” in complete honesty, Logan still didn’t think he was worth saving, but that was neither here nor there. “He’ll help ya. You’ll get this under control. And it ain’t all bad. He already said you had more control than he thought,” You could feel his eyes search your face as you closed yours. Maybe he was right. Charles had said you had more control over these strings than he thought. 

Logan was right. That was a good thing.

“Well, we’ll see tomorrow. That’s when we really start everything. We have another meeting before we’re straight into training, seeing if we can really develop this mutation before I cease to exist. No pressure right?” You half-joked, your lips quirking up into what you hoped was a smile. Or, at least, a lopsided one. 

Fuck he wanted to kiss you. Kiss you. When the hell was the last time he’d felt like this toward anyone? He hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone in goddamn years, and here you were, a woman he didn’t even believe existed a few hours ago, waltzing into his life and making him feel things like wanting to fucking kiss you. 

“I uh… ya know I wanted to apologise too.”

Well, that caught you off guard. “Wh– wait what? Why? What for?” you couldn’t help firing off questions at speeds you didn’t know you were capable of, utter bafflement contorting your features. 

“You were right. I don’t know you. And you don’t know me.” Logan watched as your face transformed from confusion, to hurt, to acceptance. 

“Yeah…. I did say that didn’t I? I–”

“But,” he interrupted, stopping you mid-sentence. “That doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know ya…” Logan almost laughed aloud at how your eyes went comically wide. Did you know how cute you were? When you weren’t telling him to fuck off, that is.

“I– Uh, okay, sure… what d’ya wanna know?” you asked, hoping to fuck you didn’t sound ridiculous. If you didn’t, Logan didn’t seem to mind or care. 

“You can start of by tellin’ me how or where you learned to cook so well,” you scoffed loudly, rolling you eyes. “Nah I’m serious kid, that was fuckin’ great,” Logan leaned against the headboard, an arm positioned behind his head as you too made yourself comfortable again on the window seat, resting your elbow on your raised knee.

“Kid? Do you know how old I am?” you asked, smirking slightly. Though you were a little embarrassed, there was no way you’d show it. Kid? Did he seriously think you were that young? 

“Do you know how old I am?” he retorted, that same self-assured glint dancing in his eye. You peered at him in scrutiny, emphasising how hard you were looking at him by squinting intensely.

“I’d put you at around like, early thirties? Maybe mid? Am I hot or cold?” you asked, kinda hoping he was in the same sort of age bracket as you were. Not for any specific reason of course… just for… science.

Yeah. For science.

Though your heart deflated slightly at his bark of a laugh. “Not quite. Try mid to late hundred and thirties. Give or take a few years.” Once again you gaped at him, mouth wide open, jaw completely slack. He could get used to that sight. Dangerously used to it. “Take a picture bubs, it’ll last longer.”

“B-but… how–? Y–? Hundred and– what the fuck?” You couldn’t get over it. Though your mind was still reeling, you managed to recover quickly. “Why you don’t look a day over ninety. You’re in good shape for a fossil, though I was wondering why I was getting a lot of calls from museums recently… probably looking for their exhibit back,” you smirked wildly whilst Logan just stared at you, trying his fucking damnest not to let his disobedient lips quirk anywhere other than down. 

“Ya done?”

“I’ll probably think of some more. But, in all seriousness, how?” You asked, and Logan couldn’t detect anything other than genuine curiosity.

“Regenerative. I heal real quick, but that also keeps my body in good condition. Dunno exactly how old I am, but it’s around hundred and thirty,” he shrugged, and you whistled lowly. “So?” he prompted, and you looked up.

“So what?”

“How’dya make the pasta?” 

You snorted in amusement, before launching into an explanation about your brother and how he always had an interest in cooking and had taught you to cook simple things, like how to make a béchamel sauce, or how to make pesto from scratch. And if you weren’t so caught up in your storytelling, you would have noticed Logan drinking in every damn word like he was parched for conversation. Listening to you talk, the cadence of your voice, the way you pronounce every letter and the way you occasionally drop a letter, it was hypnotic. You didn’t have an abundance of energy, and whether that was simply because you were exhausted after the day you’d had, or if that was just who you were, he didn’t know. But honestly? He didn’t really care. 

As long as you kept talking, that was all that mattered. If he could take your mind off tomorrow, or your situation by letting you ramble about the smallest of things, he would. And he would pretend the whole time like he was doing this for you. And not because, at the end of everything, he liked listening to you. 

“Anyway, that’s how you tell the difference between a Thoroughbred and a Quarter Horse. And I will not make that mistake again.” You’d somehow weaved from topic to topic, the conversation ebbing and flowing for hours, you both taking turns in sharing random stories from your pasts, little anecdotes that gave context to who you both were as people now. And it was only thanks to the brief silence and the conveniently timed chime of the clock did you realise how late it was. Or rather, how early.

It was one in the fucking morning. How the hell did that happen? Your eyes slid back to Logan, who at some point had made himself comfortable on the opposite side of the window seat, and you watched as he had the same realisation. Holy shit.

“I should probably–”

“Look, you should–”

You both started to speak at the same time, before pausing to let the other talk first. It was gross and awkward and cringey but, for the life of you, you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

You stood, gathering your long abandoned, though now empty plate, and crossed the room to grab his from the bedside table. You heard Logan sigh heavily behind you in what you assumed was exhaustion. You couldn’t blame the man. You’d been talking for hours. 

Logan followed you to the door, holding it open for you as you stepped out into the hallway. You placed the crockery onto the floor, freeing your hands to wrap your arms around his neck in a similar embrace to the one before. Only this time, you felt his strong arms return your hug, wrapping you up tightly against his chest.

“Thank you. For letting me talk for hours. You don’t need to pretend you enjoyed it, by the way. But thank you all the same.” You stepped back, and Logan leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah well, you brought peace pesto and beer. How could I say no?” He quipped, and you chuckled lightly. He wasn’t about to admit he enjoyed your company far more than he should have done, and he sure as shit wasn’t about to admit he wasn’t pretending to like it. His eyes softened at your laugh in a way he’d stopped them from doing all evening. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

You peered up at him, a knowing spark dancing in your iris. You noticed. Of course, you’d noticed. That was almost exactly what you’d said to him earlier. The same hopeful lilt and all. 

“Sure.” Was all you said in return, before picking up the empty plates and bottles off the floor, and turning away to head back down the hallway. You refused to look back, worried that if you did, you’d run straight back to his room and never fucking leave.

But if you had. If you had just turned to look over your shoulder, you would have seen him leaning against the doorway still, eyes following you down the stairs, and lingering still, long after you’d disappeared.

Yeah… he was definitely in trouble.