#caliban smut

[snicketverse-fic-finder]

any jacquelyn and olivia stories you recommend?? i like smut but honestly anything will do atp because there is barely anything of them 😓

[Word count: 1,519]

🗣️Main Character: Olivia Caliban

🫂Main relationship: Olivia Caliban / Jacquelyn Scieszka

Set: During Canon 🕰️

Fic Type:

Oneshot 📕

Romance, Sharing a bed

💘🛏️

Description:

‘Jacques can't come pick up Olivia, but she still misses the trolley. What's a girl to do now that she's stuck in The City?’

[This fic doesn’t contain smut however I have high hopes that you have not read this before as it currently has only 1 hit.]

•~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~•

A series of works. [No.of fics in series: 12]

[Total Word count: 28,356]

🗣️Main Characters: Olivia Caliban, Jacquelyn Scieszka and Esmé Squalor

🫂Main relationship: Olivia Caliban / Jacquelyn Scieszka / Esmé Squalor

Set: A timeline in which the unfortunate events of the Baudelaire children do not occur.

Description:

‘Olivia Caliban, Jacquelyn Scieszka, Esmé Squalor - The City and VFD's most important girlfriends (!)

This is the first collection of their adventures in love, work, more love, the occasional espionage and even supernatural and witchy encounters.’

[All works in this series are rated either ‘General Audiences’ or ‘Teen and up’. ]

•~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~•

[Word count: 23, 039] [5/? Chapters. Last updated 2019 ⚠️]

🗣️Main character: Olivia Caliban

🫂Main relationship: Olivia Caliban / Jacquelyn Scieszka

Set: During Canon 🕰️

Fic Type:

Multichapter (unfinished) 📚

Smut

❤️‍🔥

Rating: Explicit ❌🔞

Description:

‘Jacquelyn Scieszka does not call a taxi for Olivia Caliban the day they meet.’

•~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~•

[Word count: 774]

🗣️Main characters: Jacquelyn Scieszka and Olivia Caliban

🫂Main relationship: Olivia Caliban / Jacquelyn Scieszka

Fic Type:

Oneshot 📕

Smut, Fluff, Established relationship, PWP

❤️‍🔥

Rating: Mature❗️

Description:

‘ “Jacquelyn, darling, if you let me finish this chapter, I’m all yours.”

“Who says you can’t finish your chapter?”

~ Or, Jacquelyn is a pain, and Olivia loves it. ~’

[I personally don’t enjoy smut however judging by the comments this is a good fic so hopefully you will like it!]

•~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~•

[Word count: 17, 838]

🗣️Main Characters: Olivia Caliban, Jacquelyn Scieszka, Isadora Quagmire, Duncan Quagmire and Quigley Quagmire

🫂Main relationships:

Olivia Caliban / Jacquelyn Scieszka

Olivia Caliban & Jacquelyn Scieszka & Isadora Quagmire & Duncan Quagmire & Quigley Quagmire

Set: Post canon ⌛️

Fic Type:

Multichapter 📚

Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Found Family

❤️‍🩹🖤👩‍👩‍👧‍👦

Rating: Teen and up

Description:

‘Olivia finds herself thinking, not for the first time, back to Prufrock. It's as far and faded as a past life. What would life be if she'd never left? What life would be if she had simply gone home, or if she succumbed to those starving Caligari lions...

"Olivia?"

She looks up in surprise, "Sorry, is everything alright?"

"Yes, better than alright! But... are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she smiles fondly, "Promise,"

She is okay. Her wounds have healed, and without them, she might never have escaped that organization with her fiancée, never met these children, her children, never to be snatched away again. They had been burned down to their lowest, until they built each other back up from the ground. And she would do it all over again, if it meant to be where she was now.

Jacquelyn, Olivia, and the Quagmires get the home that they deserve.’

[‘Anything, if it’s with you’ is honestly speaking one of my favourite snicketverse fics!!! It has brought tears to my eyes before and it’s just…I don’t have the words to do justice to the emotions this fic evokes. It doesn’t contain smut (which you mentioned having a preference for) however Olivia and Jacquelyn’s relationship is a central (+extremely well written) part of this fic so I would definitely recommend reading this if you like Olivia/Jacquelyn.]

•~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~•

Thanks for the ask!! I hope at least 1 of these fics is what you were looking for! 👀

Feel free to send another ask if you would like more recs whether it’s more recs for Olivia/Jacquelyn or anything or anyone else!💛

If anyone knows of any good Olivia and Jacquelyn fics not mentioned in this post then feel free to comment your recommendations!

[eufezco]

LIKE THE FIRST TIME

it has been a long time since you and logan had sex. you should show him that despite everything he hated about himself, you still craved him.

logan x afab!reader (smut, angst) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!). gif credit to @/asgardswinter

it was a shitty place where you were living with logan. it was always dirty, no matter how many times you cleaned it, it was noisy, because despite being in the middle of nowhere, the train tracks were very close to it, and it was the least home-like thing in the world. both of you were working your asses off to get out of there as soon as possible.

in your free time, you helped caliban with the housework and took care of old charles xavier while logan spent the whole day out, driving and having to deal with one of the things he hated most in the world, people.

he always came home late, tired, with his whole body aching. some nights you would fall asleep while waiting for him and even though logan asked you to do it, to not to wait up for him, most times you stayed up so just to make sure he arrived safely. you waited for him curled up in bed. when he was a minute late, your heart began to beat faster and you imagined the worst. but then he would come into the room, dragging his feet and with his head bowed down.

—how was your day?

logan grunted as he sat at the foot of your bed, you felt how the mattress sagged with his weight.

—did something happen?

you crawled to him and rested your chin on his shoulder. he let out a sigh of relief when your arms wrapped around his body and you hugged him from the back.

—just a tired fuckin' day, that's all.

you hummed, understanding. —well, now you are home so you can finally relax. would you like something to eat?

logan shook his head as he let it fall back and rest on your shoulder. he just wanted to stay like that a little longer with his body between your legs and his eyes closed. he placed one of his hands over yours resting on his stomach as you hugged him. one of his big hands was enough to cover both of yours.

—i've missed you, lo. i always miss you when you are away.

you placed a kiss on his neck. the first thing he did when he entered the house was to get rid of his shirt, keeping only the white tank top he was wearing underneath. his broad shoulders were at your disposal, his muscular arms and warm skin as well.

logan swallowed when he felt your lips on his neck. you noticed so you placed another kiss there.

—i miss you too. every second i spend away from you, i miss you.

you hummed, your heart gave a small jump of joy. while your love language was words of affirmation and you were always reminding him how much he was loved by you, logan was more of an act of service man. removing makeup from your face when you got home and were too tired to do it yourself, washing your hair and massaging your head when you showered, and leaving your coffee ready when he went to work earlier than you. hearing those words come out of logan's mouth meant the whole world.

your hands traveled down his abdomen until they reached the hem of his tshirt and easily slipped under the fabric. you felt his perfect abs under your fingertips and the hairs growing below his belly button as well. he took a deep breath, it had been so long since the last time he had allowed you to touch him like that.

you took your hands out of his tshirt and moved one of them to his neck to make logan turn his head resting on your shoulder and look at you. you connected your lips with his, his bushy beard pricked your face as you kissed him, but you didn't mind, it had been so long since you and logan had kissed so passionately that you could take it.

your tongue slipped past his lips and logan moaned, allowing his to go inside your mouth as well. you moved on the bed, putting one leg on each side of logan's body and sitting on his lap, all this without stopping kissing for a second. his hands now rested on your lower back, yours were on the back of his head to deepen the kiss.

his cock got rock hard the moment you sat on his thighs and you started to roll your hips timidly against his crotch. you felt his growing bulge rubbing against your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. god, how bad you needed to feel him.

your hands slid down from his neck, caressing his entire torso, until they reached again the hem of his tshirt. you tried to pull the white tank top over his head, but logan stopped you. his lips parted from yours and he shook his head.

—it's okay. i want you, logan. i promise everything is fine.

you held his cheeks so he would look you in the eyes.

he was getting old, there was nothing left of the young and charming boy you met at charles' academy. his body had changed, his hair and beard were becoming whiter every day, and you were still young and full of light while he was fading away. yet you still loved and desired him, like the first day you craved his body. you found him just as hot, even hotter now, but you didn't want to force him to do something he wasn't going to enjoy.

you kissed him so he could stop worrying. —let me take care of you. i want you, lo, i need to feel you —.you mumbled against his lips. he let out a grunt when he felt you pressing your pussy harder on his bulge.

your hands traveled the same path down his chest one more time until you reached the edge of his tshirt again. you expected him to take your hands off him again but he not only allowed you to keep going but he also lifted his arms so you could pull the white tank top over his head.

—fuck —. you let out in a mix of moan and gasp. his body was breathtaking. your hands were quickly attached to his chest, hairy, hard under your touch, warm, with each of its muscles perfectly defined. abs, pecs, perfect broad and muscular shoulders, and wide strong arms, with veins running from his shoulder down his arms to the back of his hands. you ran your fingers along the thick scars that marked his body. —fuck, you're so hot.

with his hands on your back, logan gently pushed you to keep rubbing yourself against him and you moaned, he was harder if possible and you were so wet that you knew that your panties would be completely soaked. you kissed the crook of his neck while his fists clenched, clutching at the tshirt of his that you were wearing as your pajamas. logan fought against his instinct, against the animalistic way you were making him feel, but his grip became so tight that he ended up ripping the fabric.

—it was one of your favorite tshirts.

—don't care.

and logan kissed your lips as he ended up tearing the fabric completely and threw it on the floor. you grabbed the back of his head when his lips moved down your neck and collarbone. your nipples were already painfully hard when logan cupped one of your tits and wrapped his mouth around your sensitive bud.

all of a sudden you got up from his lap and he had to let your nipple go. he was worried about the way you had moved away from him, had he done something wrong?

now you were standing in the middle of the room, in front of him, only wearing your panties. your body was the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever witnessed, with scars very similar to his, with all those things you hated about yourself. was that how you felt about him? if it had not been for the pain in his whole body he would have fallen off the bed on his knees in front of you.

he huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes once you started swaying your hips from side to side while you slid your underwear down your legs. you laughed too, you felt stupid, but at least you had managed to make him smile. you two weren't the type to do those things, things were always more animalistic, more passionate, rougher. you walked towards him and leaned in to kiss him as your hands worked on the zipper of his jeans.

—you're beautiful —. he whispered.

logan helped you to straddle him again. you held your body over his thanks to your knees on the bed. with one hand you grabbed his hard cock resting impatiently against his stomach. he gasped because of your firm grip and squeezed your hips when you lined it up against your aching entrance.

you lowered yourself just enough for his tip to go in. he let out a deep grunt straight from his chest, you let out all the air you had in your lungs in a moan. you never forgot how big he was, the thickness of his cock, the patch of hair on its base, and the veins running along his shaft, but you did forget about the way it stretched you open, about the sting that his dick going deeper inside you caused.

—careful —. logan mumbled against your lips.

you kept taking him, closing your eyes shut and biting your lower lip, hissing every time you took a centimeter more inside of you. you rested your forehead against his and whined when his cock finally bottomed you. —i need a moment.

logan nodded. one of your hands sneaked in between your bodies and found your clit while his hands lovingly caressed your back. it had been so long since you had sex. logan wouldn't let you touch him, he was disgusted by his own body and he was afraid that you would see him the way he saw himself. that's why that night you decided that you would make him feel so good that he would never doubt the way you felt about him or his body.

you started by slowly rolling your hips as your fingers worked on your clit. his jaw tightened while he felt your body moving with his whole cock inside. his big hands on your hips helped you to move, setting a pace and keeping you from going faster so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

—that's it, take your time —. he said. young logan wouldn't have given you a second to get used to it, he would have fucked you mercilessly and you would have loved every second of it. but now, his eyes were focused on where your bodies became one, enjoying how your pussy adjusted to his size thanks to your fingers rubbing your clit.

he moaned once you lifted your body just a little and then dropped back onto him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips while you repeated that same move again and again. your cries and his moans mixed in your mouths. all his body jerked every time you lifted yourself a bit more and then sucked his cock completely inside you again.

—you make me feel so good, logan. always have, fuck—. you purred in his ear. his hands, previously resting on your hips, slid all the way to your ass your hands and squeezed it. in those little details you could see how he was gaining confidence, which encouraged you to keep moving without changing your pace. it was slow, passionate, intense and intimate.

between moans and cries, you kept worshiping him, telling him how much you had missed feeling him inside you, how your fingers were no comparison to his cock, how you didn't want to share these moments with anyone other than him. there was no one like him. you didn't care about his scars, his moodiness, the gray of his hair, there would never be another one for you but logan, you did not want another one.

you were close, he could feel it in the way your walls were squeezing his cock and he knew he wouldn't last longer. logan wrapped his arms around your body, pressing you against his hard chest, and your fingers knotted into his hair. he groaned, your little jumps became irregular, your legs began to shake. logan hugged you tighter and sunk his teeth into your shoulder, getting a little choked cry from you.

—cum inside me, lo. fill me up, please, i need it. let me have it, please.

oh god, your words were driving him insane and after how well you had treated him, who was he to deny your wishes?

logan held your body down on his cock as he came, hugging you tighter against him. you buried your head into the crook of his neck, moaning into his skin while your legs shook and your pussy clenched around him. it was too much. as he released himself inside you, his claws came out and trapped you between them and logan's body, you had no escape. he groaned when he felt the pain of the adamantium ripping the skin off his knuckles mixed with all the pleasure of cumming inside you.

—shit —. he immediately put the claws away when he realized. —i haven't hurt you, have i?

you shook your head, still coming down from your high. he exhaled with relief. once you had caught your breath, you straightened your back, still sitting on his lap and feeling his cock getting soft inside you. you brought his hands to the front.

—are you okay? that probably hurt —. you caressed his knuckles.

—felt too good to even think about it.

you smiled proudly and kissed him. when you broke away, he noticed the mark of his teeth on the skin of your shoulder. —'m so sorry, fuck.

—don't be. i wish you had bitten me harder.

he shook his head, keeping himself from laughing. —you're a freak.

[flowersforbucky]

for always and ever is always for you

old man!logan x healer!reader

word count: 15.2k

summary: logan is getting sicker by the day, and charles' seizures are occurring more and more frequently. logan didn't think he'd ever see you again - but desperate times call for desperate measures.

warnings/tags: 18+ only mdni, smut, descriptions of blood and illness, angst, logan's pov, reader is afab, language, slow burn as far as one-shots go, no use of y/n, caliban being sassy, mutual pining, friends to lovers, unprotected p in v, oral (m&f receiving), face sitting, cream pie, some dirty talk and pet names

author's note: thank you @embbarnes for reading this and letting me rant about it and assuring me that it's worth posting 🫶🏻 this took me an embarrassing amount of time and i have to say i am pretty proud of it. flashbacks are in italics

divider by @saradika-graphics!

“This is the third time in the last week, you know.”

Logan stares down at the deep red splatters of blood that creep towards the drain. The skin of his knuckles begin to turn white from how harshly he grips the edges of the sink – he’s surprised the ceramic doesn’t shatter. He turns the faucet on, lowering his lips to the weak stream to collect enough water to rinse the taste of iron from his mouth.

“I know that,” Logan spits the now pink tinged water into the bowl and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You don’t think I fuckin’ know that? I’m the one hacking my lungs up here.” He shoves past Caliban, exiting the small bathroom.

Logan doesn’t want to snap at him – hates that it happens as often as it does. But right now he’s late for work and the last thing he needs is to hear Caliban harping on about this again while he scrambles to find his car keys.

“You know I hate to keep bringing this up,” Caliban continues as he follows Logan into the makeshift kitchen of the abandoned smelting plant.

“I find that hard to believe,” Logan mumbles under his breath. He finds his keys hidden under some junk mail and shoves them in his coat pocket before pouring himself some coffee to take with him to work. It’s day old and not as strong as he’d like for it to be, but he’ll be glad that he has it when midnight rolls around.

“Charles,” Caliban continues. “The medications are doing very little to help him anymore. We’re having to give him twice as much as we were a month ago, which means we are running out twice as fast. He’s getting worse. You both are. We need to find a… specialist that can help with both of our problems.”

Logan snorts in response, practically able to feel Caliban’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head.

“There ain’t a thing that any doctor can do for me and you know it.”

Maybe Logan hasn’t had the flu, or strep throat, or even the common cold in two hundred odd years, but he knows there’s no prescription that any physician can write that would stop his very bones from poisoning him.

“Let me rephrase that, then. Not a doctor. You need to see a healer.”

Logan freezes, his posture going rigid.

“If you’re about to say what I think you’re going to say, I suggest shutting the fuck up.”

“He’s had a record number of seizures so far this week,” Caliban implores. “You’re barely standing upright. There’s a chance that she could help you both.”

“She’s out of the question,” Logan spits before storming past him. He yanks the door open and slams it closed behind him as he steps into the late evening Mexico sun.

How does Caliban even know about you? Some of Charles’ rambling in his rare moments of lucidity, no doubt.

It doesn’t matter if you can help or not.

For a lot of reasons, it doesn’t matter.

The most obvious one being he hasn’t talked to you in over a year and doesn’t know where the fuck you’re at.

••••••

“You don’t have to stay back there, you know. You can come closer. You’re not in my way.”

There’s no hint of condescension in your voice. Only patience, and reassurance. Still, Logan doesn’t budge from his position in the corner of the mansion’s infirmary.

You don’t press him any further.

He had lost track of how long he’d been standing here, just watching in complete silence as you tend to the young mutant’s injuries.

Logan doesn’t even know the kid’s name. He doesn’t know any of their names. But he’d been the one to find all five of them in a locked cell on today’s mission, and he isn’t going to leave this room until he knows that they are all okay.

You’d already taken care of four out of the five. They now rest peacefully in individual beds, no doubt the warmest and safest they’ve been in God knows how long.

Your hands hover a few inches above a young boy’s chest, emitting a pale purple glow as you wave them over his torso, letting your powers radiate from your palms into his body.

Logan notices the color of your power isn’t as vibrant as it was when you’d healed the first child’s injuries, or the second, or third. Originally a bright violet, it’s now a lackluster lavender.

He also doesn't miss the way that you suddenly close your eyes with furrowed brows, but he remains in the corner, watching you carefully. You dig your teeth into the flesh of your bottom lip in concentration, causing Logan to take an involuntary step forward at the pained expression on your face.

Your hands drop down to the railing of the bed that the boy lays in, clutching the bars to keep you from falling over as the energy you’d been emitting fades away.

“Shit,” you huff, out of breath. A thin layer of perspiration glistens on your forehead.

“What’s wrong?” Logan asks as he moves closer to you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you grunt, nodding as you look up at him. You give him a forced smile that does very little to reassure him. “I’m fine. It’s just been a while since I’ve had to use so much of my powers in such a short amount of time.”

“Maybe you should sit down for a minute, yeah?” Logan looks around the infirmary, walking a few feet away to grab a chair for you. He places it next to the bed that you’re still using for support.

“I’ll be as good as new soon,” you assure him as you take a seat. “This happens occasionally.”

Logan stands beside you, awkwardly leaning against the edge of an empty bed next to the boy’s. He watches as you lean forward, taking the kid’s small hand in your own. There’s no resurgence of purple – you’re simply holding it. The boy is sound asleep, so the act makes Logan wonder if it’s for his comfort or your own.

“If I exert too much energy at once, I feel the effects of it. Not enough to really hurt me, just.. leave me feeling like I need to sleep for a week,” you explain with a weak chuckle. Logan’s eyes are fixated on the way that your thumb soothes over the skin of the boy’s hand.

“A gift that comes with a price,” Logan murmurs. “I know how that feels. Though it sometimes feels more like a curse in my case.” He instinctively glances down at his knuckles, his claws sheathed away.

“I can see how it would feel that way,” you agree, glancing up at him with a soft expression. “But it’s not what your power is that determines whether it’s a curse or a gift. It’s what you do with it. And these kids are alive because of you. A lot of people are, because you choose to use it for good. I’d say that makes it a gift.”

“I guess I should try to look at it that way more often,” he hums.

“Plus, having the ability to heal yourself has gotta be pretty neat. I think you’re the only person here who would never have to ask me for my help.” You glance back up at him, a hint of a smirk ghosting your lips.

They’re pretty, he thinks – your lips. He mentally scolds himself, knowing now isn’t the time or place to be thinking about your lips.

“You can count on that, bub.”

When Logan wakes, he doesn’t have the chance to mourn the memory he’d found himself reliving in his sleep.

He does find himself on the floor by his bed with the breath knocked from his lungs. His hands come to shield his ears, attempting to block out the high-pitched shrieking that makes his ear canals feel as if they are filling with blood.

Judging by the sunlight streaming into his room through the thin, tattered curtains covering his windows, he guesses that it’s mid-afternoon. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours – meaning it also couldn’t have been more than a few hours since he had given Charles his most recent dose of medicine.

With the world shaking around him, a half empty bottle of liquor and an old coffee mug both shatter as they fall off of his bedside table and hit the ground.

Logan and Caliban had recently cleared off all shelves in the smelting plant, moving anything that could potentially fall and break during one of Charles’ episodes closer to the ground, but after a long night of driving around drunk assholes, it’s easy to forget that even a ceramic cup on a small table is a hazard.

He can tell by the way that the air around him feels as if it weighs ten tons that Charles has to be close by. He musters all of his strength to force himself to his feet. Each movement feels as if he’s in slow motion as he fights against the psionic energy that works to keep him frozen in place.

As slow as if he has hundred pound weights attached to each of his feet, he makes his way from his bedroom and to the common area. When he turns the corner, he first sees Caliban, still as a statue with his facial features contorted in agony and his typically alabaster skin turning redder by the second from the pain. He’s less than a foot away from where Charles sits in his wheelchair, where he appears to have been watching a movie.

Logan frantically looks around the room, searching for where he had placed the bag of injections and pills when he’d forced Charles into swallowing his last dose just a few hours ago.

He finds it on what is used as a dining room table. It’s sheer good luck that Logan had thought to prepare an emergency dose of the injection earlier that day, most likely thanks to Caliban’s lecture from yesterday evening still looming in the back of his mind.

After what feels like hours, Logan finally reaches Charles with the injection and plunges the needle into his chest. The second that the medication enters his system, the seizure ceases.

Caliban and Logan both collapse to the ground in relief. Logan clutches his chest, trying to steady his heartbeat and regulate his breathing.

“You dream of her just as she dreams of you,” Charles whimpers through labored breaths.

“What?” Logan snaps, glaring at Charles from his position on the dirty floor. His ears must still be ringing from the effects of the seizure, because he can’t have heard him right. “Quit reading my mind.”

“Your thoughts are always loud when you think of her,” Charles murmurs, turning his attention back to the movie on the screen in front of him as if nothing had happened.

It's the first time, Logan realizes, that Charles has mentioned you since the day of his first seizure. Even without specifically saying your name, Logan knows exactly who he’s referring to.

“Make that four incidents this week,” Caliban grumbles as he jerks the plastic bag filled with medication out of Logan’s hand. He digs through it, pulling out a pill bottle and dumping two into his palm. “He’s averaging an episode per day, and each one feels stronger than the last. It’s only a matter of time before he kills–”

“Do you know where she’s at? Can you track her?” Logan interrupts him. Caliban pauses to look at him, visibly annoyed.

“Oh, so it’s a good idea now that he–” he jabs a finger in Charles’ direction, “mentions her once, is it?” He stomps over to where Charles watches the television, seemingly oblivious to the conversation happening right beside him.

“Take these. Both of them.” He shoves them into Charles’ palm and then storms past Logan.

“Didn’t say anything about it being a good idea,” Logan grunts, following him into the kitchen. “But you seem to think it is and I don’t know what else to do. So can you find her or not?”

“Of course I can,” Caliban retorts defensively. “As long as you have something with her scent on it.”

Logan throws his hands up in frustration, and then rakes one hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“I haven’t seen her in over a year. Why would I have anything that smells like her?”

“It doesn’t have to be dosed in her favorite perfume,” Caliban huffs. “But I can’t track anyone without some amount of their scent to go off of.”

“Goddammit,” Logan groans between gritted teeth. He turns in the opposite direction, heading back to his bedroom.

He thinks back to the last time that he saw you – the last time that his life had any sense of normalcy. The day of Charles’ first seizure, the day that he saw seven of his friends die, you weren’t there. By some miracle, you had been out of town.

But a few days before that – it had been snowing. It was the first snow of winter and you had taken a group of younger students to play outside in the middle of class.

Logan was called over by a few of the kids who begged him to help make a snowman. You kept to the sidelines, watching him with the students, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself to keep your cardigan pulled securely around your chest.

He remembers pausing what he was doing to run over to you and insist that you take his jacket until you were all back inside. He remembers how much he liked seeing you wear it, and how silly he felt when he didn’t like that you remembered to give it back.

He remembers being enveloped in the smell of honey and cream when he shrugged the jacket back onto his own shoulders. Less than a week later, he found himself in Mexico with no need to wear such a heavy leather jacket.

It's now been over a year since he’s so much as touched it.

Logan begins rifling through the drawers of the dresser that looks to be as old as he is, containing all of the clothing that he owns. It doesn’t take but a few seconds until he recognizes the feeling of the worn leather against his fingertips.

He brings the jacket up to his nose, inhaling where your skin and hair had rest against the collar. He breathes in deep, concentrating on the scent that transports him back to before his life was completely uprooted and turned upside down. With his eyes closed, it’s easy for him to let himself believe he’s standing in the kitchen of the mansion with your arms around his neck.

It's faint. If he didn’t have enhanced senses, he may not have been able to detect it at all. But it’s there – familiar and nostalgic and unmistakably you.

••••••

It takes Caliban all of sixty seconds to pinpoint your location.

Logan doesn’t quite know how to feel about learning that there’s only one state in-between the two of you. He wasn’t sure where he expected you to be, really – it doesn’t surprise him that you didn’t stay in the state of New York, and he didn’t think you would return to your hometown, but knowing that you’ve possibly been just a half day’s drive away from him this entire time makes a lot of emotions surface that he’s been trying to push down for the last year.

He begins the drive just after six in the morning. By the time the sun starts to set that evening, he enters the city limits of Silverton, Colorado.

Nestled in the snow-capped Rockies, the small town couldn’t be more polar opposite of where he has resided for the last thirteen months. The stark differences nearly cause him to turn his limousine around and head back to the smelting plant without even bothering you – if you’d chosen somewhere like this to live, there’s no way you’d be content with the brutal, dry heat of northern Mexico.

But this is the closest he’s been to you in nearly four hundred days, and despite the fact that he’s spent the last ten hours of this car ride thinking about what he’s going to say to you and still doesn’t fucking know, he can’t bring himself to go back to Mexico without trying.

Without at least seeing your face. Without at least seeing for himself that you’re doing okay.

He knows it’s selfish. He knows he made his choice when he took Charles to Mexico without even letting you know that they were alive. It doesn’t matter that he had his reasons for doing so, it doesn’t matter how much it killed him inside – he made his choice and he should have to live with it, without disturbing your peace and asking any of this of you.

He justifies it by telling himself that it’s for Charles, and Caliban. Maybe it’s his pride, but he refuses to make his ailing health your responsibility. Asking you to help with Charles is already asking too much.

He turns down a dirt road, following the approximate – not exact – instructions that Caliban had provided. Thankfully, it’s a small town in both size and population, so it doesn’t take him too long to find the neighborhood that Caliban had described.

He knows he has found the right house when he sees your car. He recognizes it instantly due to the cracked rear bumper that you still have yet to have replaced and its unique sage green color that peaks through the light dusting of snow.

He pulls into your driveway, parking his limousine next to your vehicle and turns off the engine. He takes in the appearance of your home – a small, cozy cabin with smoke erupting from the chimney. All of your curtains are pulled closed but there’s enough light peaking through them for him to know that you’re inside.

The thought occurs to him that he might not find you alone. It’s been over a year – you could have found someone to build a life with. They could pull into this very driveway at any moment. Hell, you could have a baby for all he knows. He might be seconds away from learning that you have a whole family of your own–

His thoughts only stop spiraling when he sees your front door swing open, your face peeking around the frame a second later. Confusion is etched across your features as you notice the limousine parked in front of your porch.

You don’t yet know that it’s him due to the limousine’s tinted windows, he realizes.

You exit the house, stepping onto your front porch with your arms crossed over your chest as you wait for the driver of the vehicle to make themselves known.

You haven’t aged a day. Your hair being longer than the last time he saw you is the only physical proof that any time has passed at all.

Logan attempts to clear his face of all of the emotions coursing through him and opens the driver’s side door, stepping out of the vehicle.

Thanks to the adamantium poisoning his body, his eyesight has started to decline over the last few months. But Logan doesn’t need to have his glasses on to know that you look like you’re seeing a ghost.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets you in a cautious voice. He stays planted where he’s at, waiting for you to respond before coming any closer to the front porch steps.

He swears he watches you go through all five stages of grief in under a minute. Confusion fades to shock, shock turns to denial, and denial morphs into anger before you’re left with a blank expression.

“I know I’ve got a lotta explaining to do,” Logan starts. “If you’ll let me, I’ll answer every question you have. I’m just asking you to hear me out.”

It takes every ounce of self-restraint that he possesses to not walk up the steps of your porch and wrap you in his arms. He may be standing just a few feet away from you, but it doesn’t feel real. He’s convinced that at any moment, he’ll wake up back in his pathetic excuse of a bedroom in the smelting plant.

You take a few small, tentative steps forward. Your eyes never leave his, an unreadable expression on your face. Logan can’t tell if you’re trying to decide if he’s real, if you’re about to jump into his arms, or if you’re about to yell at him to get the fuck out of here.

You come to a stop on the bottom porch step.

“What’s the deal with the limousine?” You nod towards the vehicle behind him.

“I’m uh – I’m a limousine driver,” he answers lamely.

“A limousine driver,” you repeat with raised brows, though it doesn’t sound like a question. “You know, there have been a lot of nights that I’ve laid awake wondering where you’re at and what you’re doing. Of all the possibilities, I never considered limo driver.”

Logan opens his mouth to respond, but quickly shuts it again when you turn on your heel, walking back up the steps and to the front door. You pause before you cross the entryway, looking back at him over your shoulder.

“Take your shoes off at the door. Don’t be tracking snow into my house.”

Logan watches you retreat into the house, his body frozen in place. As far as initial reactions go, he supposes that could have been significantly worse – but he knows he isn’t out of the woods yet.

He follows you inside, kicking his boots off at the door and closing it behind him.

The inside of your house is warm, thanks to the gentle fire going in the fireplace in your den. It’s cozy – you’ve decorated for the approaching holidays. Garland and twinkling lights adorn your mantle, and in the corner of the living room is an elaborately decorated tree. The whole place smells like a mixture of the candle burning on your coffee table and whatever you have cooking in the kitchen.

It's not just cozy, he thinks. It’s homey. And he’s about to ask you to leave it all for a dirty, grimy, old smelting plant.

He follows you into the small kitchen, where you stir something in a giant pot on your stove.

“Do I even want to know how you found me?”

He can tell that you’re trying to maintain a level tone, but he doesn’t miss the way that your voice shakes and rises an octave on the last word.

He clears his throat, pulling out a chair for himself at your dining room table.

“His name is Caliban. He’s a mutant who can track other mutants. I asked him to find you.”

You hum in response, continuing to tend to the food in the pot with your back turned to him. Logan knows that telling you he asked Caliban to track you down is just the tip of the iceberg here, but he doesn’t want to throw too much at you at once. So he watches as you grab a variety of seasonings from the cabinet above you, and lets you take your time with questioning him further.

“And why did you ask him to find me?”

“For Charles,” Logan answers. “I didn’t want to disturb you after all this time. I know you’re probably angry and you have every right to be but.. his seizures. They’re getting worse. The medications that I give him aren’t helping like they used to.”

You cover the pot with a lid, and turn the dial on the stove down to low before turning to face him. You lean up against the counter, your arms once again crossed over your chest – a telltale sign that you’re on edge, Logan remembers well.

“You mean the seizures that killed a bunch of our friends and have caused the United States government to classify his brain as a weapon of mass destruction?”

Logan gives you a curt nod. “Yeah. Those seizures. We’ve been living in an abandoned smelting plant just south of the border in Mexico. He mostly stays inside an old water tower. The metal it's made from helps keep the seizures contained to the immediate area around us, but.. they’re getting stronger. Happening more frequently.”

You chew on your lower lip, a passive expression on your face as you take in Logan’s words. You don’t meet his gaze, your stare fixated on something on the other side of the room.

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” Logan counters.

You turn away from him again, reaching into a cabinet to grab two bowls. Logan watches as you ladle some kind of soup or stew into the bowls and pull two spoons from a drawer.

You place one bowl in front of him, and the other at a chair across from him before retrieving a bottle of dark colored wine and two glasses.

“It’s only been a year since I last saw you but you look about ten years older,” you finally answer as you uncork the bottle and fill the two glasses. You push one across the small table. “Sorry. I haven’t had much of a reason to keep any whiskey on hand.”

Logan’s not surprised by the observation – you’re not wrong. He knows the adamantium poisoning his body has taken a toll on his physical appearance. His hair and beard have started to gray, his skin appears more leathered, his under eyes more crinkled.

After barely aging a day in decades, the difference between a year ago and today must look drastic to you.

But that isn’t why he’s here. He can handle some aches and pains, some coughing fits, and all of the other ailments that come with typical aging. He can hide it all from you – he won’t make that your burden to bear in addition to asking you to help with Charles.

“Yeah, well,” Logan starts, staring down at the stew in front of him to avoid your gaze. “That’s what working night shifts and taking care of a ninety-seven year old disabled psychic with Alzheimer’s induced mega seizures does to a person.”

“No one asked you to do that, Logan. I would have helped you if you had given me the chance. I would have followed you any–”

“I know,” Logan cuts you off. “I know you would have. But I had just watched almost everyone that I love die. I couldn’t risk it, letting you get hurt too. Staying away from you for the last year, it’s.. it’s been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But I did it because I knew it would mean you’re safe.”

You’re silent. Your lips quiver, and Logan loses his appetite at the way your eyes begin to gloss over with unshed tears.

“Did you at least think about reaching out?”

If your watery eyes make Logan lose his appetite, the brokenness in your voice makes him feel sick with himself.

“Every single day.”

He doesn’t tell you that you frequent his dreams, or that he thinks of you every time a Pink Floyd song comes on the radio, or that he hears your voice in the back of his mind telling him to drink more water when all he’s had that day is coffee and bourbon.

He wants to. But he doesn’t.

You give a small nod to his answer, but otherwise say nothing. You pick up your spoon and take a small, unenthusiastic bite of the food in front of you. Logan forces his attention to his own stew, not really wanting to eat but knowing that he needs to – he had only stopped for gas and a bathroom break once during the drive here. He hasn’t eaten anything since he choked down a stale granola bar before leaving Mexico early this morning.

The two of you sit in a loaded silence. Despite how heavy it feels, he can’t help but feel more relaxed in your presence than he has in a long, long time.

Your spoon clinks against the empty bowl when you finish eating. Logan looks up to see you gulping down the last of your wine.

You sigh. A long, exaggerated sigh.

“Why couldn’t you have shown up yesterday, before I put up all of my Christmas decorations?”

••••••

Logan thinks that the interior of his limousine will smell like a Christmas tree threw up in it for the next few months.

Not that he’s complaining. The sickeningly sweet scent of balsam is a small price to pay for you agreeing to come to Mexico.

He knows he probably shouldn’t feel as relieved as he does – he doesn’t even know if your powers will be effective in helping with Charles’ seizures.

But he can't lie to himself. The entire time he spent the better part of the night helping you pack your things into totes to load into your car and his limousine, he was on edge – afraid that you'd change your mind at any moment.

Of course he felt relieved when he watched your car pull out of your driveway after typing the smelting plant’s address into your GPS early this morning.

Approximately eleven hours later, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so glad to be in Mexico. The drive to Colorado, packing for hours into the night and then getting a few hours of shut eye on your couch, and then the drive back to the smelting plant has taken a toll on him.

His hips ache from sitting for so long and he’s experiencing what has to be a pinched nerve in his lower back.

That’s a first for him.

When he arrives back home, he’s relieved to find that he got here before you. Maybe he’ll have enough time to take a long, hot shower and let some max strength ibuprofen go into effect before you can notice the way that he hobbles inside.

“Oh, thank God,” Caliban exhales when he sees the door open and Logan limps inside. “You haven’t answered any of my calls or texts. Did you even think to check if I was alive? He could have had a seiz—”

“Sorry,” Logan grunts, walking past him to retrieve the bottle of painkillers from a cupboard in the kitchen. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied, trying to get back here as soon as possible and what not.”

He tosses back four pills dry and then turns to face him again. “And I knew you weren’t dead. You blew up my phone enough to assure me of that.”

“Well, a reply or two keeping me updated would have been nice. Tracking you only tells me so much.”

Logan rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have the energy for this right now.

“She’s on her way here now. How’s that for an update?” He pushes past Caliban, just wanting to go stand under a painfully hot stream of water.

“You actually managed to get her to agree to come here?”

“I’m as surprised as you are.” Logan grabs a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen counter and starts walking towards his room. “And get the spare room cleaned up for her.”

••••••

“I know it isn’t much, but I’m gonna get you a better mattress tomorrow.”

A few hours later, long after Caliban and Charles have retired to the old water tower for the night, Logan stands in front of where you perch on the edge of the twin sized cot in your bedroom – if it can even be called that right now.

Aside from the sad excuse of a bed, the only other things in the room are a small bedside table with a lamp, and several storage totes containing your belongings that Caliban had brought in from Logan’s limousine.

If he’d had more time to prepare, he would’ve done more, but just forty-eight hours ago he never would have guessed that you would actually be sitting here in front of him.

“It’s okay,” you shrug. “It’ll be better once I have some of my things unpacked.”

“Right,” Logan nods. “Well, I'll leave you to that then. Just.. let me know if you need anything.”

He turns to exit the room, but freezes when he grabs the doorknob. He turns back around, and finds you looking at him expectantly – almost hopeful.

“I appreciate it. You coming here. You don’t owe me anything after the way I just ran off without any explanation. But I'm really glad that you’re here.”

His heart swells when he sees the way that your expression softens. You’re too good, too forgiving and understanding. The fact that you let him into your home, served him dinner, and packed up your entire life into a few boxes and came here after a year of no contact proves it.

He takes a step closer to you, trying his hardest to ignore the sharp burn that radiates from his lower back as he forces his body forward. Despite how hard he tries to hide the discomfort, you seem to notice that something is bothering him – he can tell by the way your brows furrow together and your mouth sets in a harsh line. You scoot back a few inches on the cot mattress, making room for him to take a seat next to you.

“And I just want you to know that I’m sorry,” he continues, cutting you off before you can even ask if he’s okay.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to hear me say it. I’m sorry for the way I handled things. It wasn’t fair to you. I was just scared shitless and wanted to do what I could to keep you safe. Getting as far away from you as possible seemed like the best way to do that at the time.”

Logan internally curses his rambling. Typically a man of few words, he can’t help but feel silly at the sentiment. You’d always had a way of drawing a level of vulnerability from him that no one else ever had. He still feels that effect today.

“I understand why you did what you did, Logan,” you start. You look at him with such understanding that he feels himself physically relax at your words.

“It just… hurt.” You give a small shrug, bringing your hands together to dig your nails into your palms. “I lost my friends too, you know? You and Charles included. I know that you and I, we were never…” you trail off, but he knows what you mean without saying it.

Together. Never truly together.

A million almosts that never amounted to what he truly wanted run through his mind. He’d long ago accepted that you and him would never be more than an unspoken thing but the reminder of it still stings, coming from your lips.

“Anyway,” you shake your head. He wonders if you’re thinking of the same memories that he is – the seemingly small ones.

The ones that he wouldn’t have expected to stick with him, but ended up haunting him. Having a drink in the mansion’s courtyard together after particularly exhausting missions – or even just particularly exhausting days of teaching children. Walking into the kitchen to find you making lunch – and you just so happened to have made enough for him, too. You, on the back of his motorcycle with your arms secured around his stomach, your bodies pressed as close together as they ever had been.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still hurt over it. But the truth is, I was too relieved to find you standing in my driveway to tell you to leave. And I missed you too much to not come back here with you.”

Your voice is barely a whisper by the time you finish speaking. A singular tear leaks from the corner of your eye, which you hastily wipe away.

“Just don't fucking do that again, okay? I definitely wouldn’t be as forgiving if it happened a second time.”

“I wouldn't forgive myself if it happened a second time,” Logan tells you – and he means it. He still doesn’t know if he can forgive himself as is. But you seem to forgive him, and that's enough for him for the time being. “I promise. M’not going anywhere.”

“Good,” you murmur with a small smile, seemingly content with his reassurance. “So, about Charles… I was thinking, if the seizures are as bad as you've told me, I probably won't be much use if he's actively having one. I was thinking that starting tomorrow, I could try to work with him using my powers little bits throughout the day. Not too much at once so he doesn't get frustrated.”

You're right. There’s nothing that anyone can do once one of Charles’ seizures begins, except for Logan. It’s solely due to his healing factor that Logan is able to muster enough strength to administer one of Charles’ injections during a seizure. Humans – as well as mutants like you and Caliban – are rendered incapacitated.

“I’ll let him know that you’re here in the morning,” Logan nods in agreement. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

“I hope so,” you sigh. “I’ve missed him.”

As content as he’d be to sit here and talk to you all night, you’ve both had long days of driving and tomorrow brings a lot of uncertainty, so he knows that he should let you get some rest.

“We should probably try to get some sleep,” he says reluctantly. He starts to push himself off of the cot when the nerve in his lower back catches and causes him to hiss in pain. He tries to play it off, hoping you didn’t notice the way he visibly grimaced at the sudden sharp pain.

“Logan? What's wrong?” You ask, concern etched in your voice. He refuses to meet your gaze, knowing it'll be harder to lie to you if he looks you in the eyes. Instead he forces one foot in front of the other, and takes a slow step forward.

“It’s nothin’. Just stiff from driving so much is all.”

He feels your hand wrap around his wrist as he starts to take another step, stopping him in place. He hangs his head, still refusing to look at you. He doesn't think he can handle the concern and worry that is undoubtedly written on your face.

“If you were anyone else on the planet, I might believe that.” You stand up next to him, and your grip on his wrist only tightens. His face heats up; a side effect of your questioning stare and close proximity.

“But I’ve seen you get impaled with a crow bar before. It healed before I even had time to fret over you. So what’s really going on?”

It hits him how naïve he was to ever believe that he’d be able to easily conceal what’s been happening inside his body from you. The effects of the adamantium poisoning have been becoming more physically apparent for a while now, and you of all people – someone so familiar with not only illness and injury, but also him – were bound to pick up on the fact that something is very different than the last time you saw him.

He finally looks at you, your face every bit as concerned as expected.

“My healing factor has started to slow down,” he says delicately, trying to keep his tone even. The last thing he wants to do is freak you out even more.

“Slow down? How?”

“The shit my bones are made of seems to finally be aging me.” He chooses to forgo using the word poison, but still answers as honestly as he can bring himself to.

“But you don’t need to worry yourself with that, ‘kay? That’s not why you’re here. Some back pain isn’t anything that I can’t handle,” he quickly adds when distress distorts your features.

You purse your lips, leaving him wondering how you’re going to respond.

There’s a sudden sensation radiate from where the skin of your palm and fingers are wrapped around his wrist – it’s a soft vibration, soothing and serene. It starts at his hand and travels up his arm before expanding through his chest, back, and eventually down to the soles of his feet.

For a few moments, he feels like he’s floating. The weight of the adamantium bones disappear for the first time in decades, leaving him feeling feather light. The feeling fades away as gradually as it appeared, and with it subsides the pinching in his lower back.

He realizes that he’s looking at you as if you grew a second head. He doesn’t know why he’s so taken off guard – he’s seen your powers first hand before. He just never imagined there would be a time that he’d actually learn how it feels to be on the receiving end of them.

He glances down at where you finally release your hold on his hand. When you pull away, he sees the remnants of a purple glow emanating from your palm.

“I figured you would have said no if I had asked beforehand. Am I wrong?”

“No,” he admits in a gruff tone. “Guess not.”

“Well? How does your back feel now?” You look at him with raised brows, as if you don’t already know the answer.

“Better. But don’t make a habit out of that. I want you saving your energy for Charles.”

Truthfully, he physically feels the best that he has in months. In addition to his back being free of the sharp pinching sensation, the chronic stiffness that has plagued his body is gone. Even his eyesight seems clearer.

But he thinks back to one of his earliest memories of you – the one that had presented itself in his most recent dream. He remembers the vibrancy of your power gradually dimming as you grew more tired and the way that your forehead glistened with sweat when you were worn out from excessive use of your powers.

You roll your eyes and plop back down on the edge of your cot.

“I’m more than capable of helping you and Charles both. Do you think I’d really let you suffer, knowing you’re in discomfort?”

He knows that trying to fight you on this is as about as useful as arguing with a brick wall.

“I don't doubt your capability,” he tells you gently as he eases towards the door to your room. “But I'm not the priority here. Now get some rest, alright?”

Your response is a brief nod that tells him he hasn’t heard the last of this conversation.

“Goodnight, Logan.”

Just down the hallway, he traces the tips of his fingers over where your hand had been wrapped around his until he falls into the most peaceful and comfortable sleep he’s had in over a year.

••••••

“She’s a healer. She worked at the school as a nurse and teacher. You remember her, yeah? She’s here to see if she can help us out some.”

Logan hands Charles a double dose of pills and watches until he’s swallowed them. They are already running low on the seizure suppressants as is, but he makes him double up anyway. He’d rather be on the safe side, since you are going to be working with Charles this morning.

“Of course I remember her,” Charles retorts after he’s taken the pills. “As if I could ever forget with how often I see her face appear in your mind.”

“Could you do me a favor and not mention that, maybe?” Logan grumbles. He doesn’t doubt that it’s true, but he’d prefer Charles to not mention it within the first five minutes of seeing you.

The door to the old water tower creaks open, allowing midday sun to infiltrate the dim space as you come inside. Caliban enters behind you.

“Hi, Charles,” you greet him cheerfully “It's so nice to see you.”

Your voice doesn’t give it away, but Logan notices the nervousness in your gait – in the way that your posture is rigid and your footsteps are shorter and quicker than normal as you walk over to them.

Charles gives you a smile – the first genuine smile that Logan has seen from him in as long as he can remember.

“Hello, my dear,” he beams at you. “We’ve missed you.”

You return his smile with a bashful one of your own, and wring your hands together in front of you.

“I’ve missed you guys, too,” you say, your eyes flickering between him and Logan. “I’m glad to be here. I’m going to be using my powers to try to get your seizures under control. Is that okay with you?”

“Anything sounds better than these two cramming pills down my throat like clockwork,” he grunts with a glare at Logan and Caliban.

“It’s not exactly fun for us either, you know,” Caliban scoffs.

“Enough, you two,” Logan interjects when Charles opens his mouth to respond. “We—” he motions to himself and Caliban, “are going to give them some privacy.”

He'd be lying if he said the thought of leaving you alone with Charles during what will undoubtedly be a vulnerable time didn’t make him nervous. But he doesn’t want to overcrowd and overwhelm him, either.

Though a large majority of Charles’ seizures are random, many have been brought on by a state of a emotional distress, too.

He knows that he doesn’t exactly possess a natural aura of peace like you do.

A hint of anxiety flashes across your features before you quickly compose yourself. Logan starts to follow Caliban’s lead to the door, but stops when he's directly in front of you.

He reaches out and almost puts a hand on your waist before he thinks twice of it. His fingers linger awkwardly at your hip for a moment before he drops the hand back down to his side.

“I'll be close by, okay? If you need anything,” he says to you lowly. He glances over his shoulder to see Charles now tending to his bonsai tree, not paying attention to anyone around him.

“I know,” you assure him with a smile and nod of your head. “Don’t worry. I won’t push him. If he starts to get agitated, frustrated, bored… I’ll stop immediately.”

Logan gives you one final, short nod before reluctantly following Caliban outside and back into the smelting plant.

“You sure do seem to be getting around well for someone who could barely walk yesterday,” Caliban says in a faux casual voice as he tugs the balaclava style mask off of his head as soon as he is out of the sunlight.

Logan sighs and curses under his breath, already knowing the direction that this conversation is headed.

“Now that I'm thinking about it, I also didn't hear you having any nightmares all the way from the water tower last night. Must have had a good night’s sleep.”

“What's your point?” Logan snaps. He yanks the fridge open, scanning the scarce shelves for something to eat.

He really needs to go to the grocery store once you've finished up with Charles. And buy you an actual bed. And stock back up on Charles’ medications –

“No point,” Caliban continues, “Just glad to see that you changed your mind about telling her about your condition is all. Even if you did threaten me within an inch of my life to not tell her right before you left for Colorado.”

“What can I say,” Logan grunts. “She isn't blind. She clocked it within an hour of being here.”

Logan spends the next hour alternating between pacing the floor of the smelting plant and smoking cigars outside of the water tower. He reminds himself repeatedly that everything must be going okay, because if it wasn't, he would know by now.

He also reminds himself of the intense feeling of tranquility that came over him when he felt the effects of your powers. He can’t imagine anyone not finding it euphoric – even Charles, in all of his stubbornness.

He's finishing up a cigar when you exit the water tower after what feels like an eternity. He immediately stubs it out, remembering how you used to tease him about getting cancer if he didn’t stop smoking.

It wouldn’t surprise him if that was an actual possibility for him these days.

“How’d it go?” he greets you. He tries to keep his voice neutral – doesn’t want to make it obvious how anxious he’s been for the last hour. “Did he do okay?”

“I guess we won’t really know until he either has a seizure or… doesn’t,” you sigh. “He did surprisingly well. But the damage that the Alzheimer’s has done to his brain is widespread. I doubt there’s much reversing it. My goals are to reduce the severity and frequency of the seizures and to stop the damage from progressing any further.”

The two of you walk side by side back to the smelting plant, where Logan opens the door for you.

“So that means that I might be staying here for quite some time.”

You ease past him through the small doorframe, your chest grazing against him ever so slightly. The familiar light scent of vanilla and honey lingers after you’re walking away.

Were you just smirking at him or is he hallucinating?

Scratch that, were you just flirting with him?

“I think I can find a way to be okay with that.”

He didn’t expect you to go back to Colorado anytime too soon, given how much you packed – and the fact that your fucking Christmas tree sits in the common area – but he can't ignore that hearing you imply that you have no intention of leaving in the immediate future brings him more comfort than it probably should.

With your back turned to him as you open the refrigerator, he’s unable to see your expression, but he hears you hum in response – a sound somewhere between amusement and contentment.

“But if I'm going to be staying here for any amount of time, the food situation is going to have to improve. How do you live like this?”

He sighs, remembering the current state of the fridge and cabinets. He ended up settling on an overripe banana for breakfast. He normally reserves grocery shopping for his off days – Mondays or Tuesdays – but those days had been occupied with traveling to and from Colorado this week.

“I’ve got some errands to run today,” he starts, feeling an inkling of nervousness settle in the pit of his stomach. “Get some groceries and refills on Charles’ medications… if you wanted to come with me.”

He tells himself that he invites you because it just makes sense – of course you need to familiarize yourself with the area that you're going to be living in, even if it's just temporary. It's important to know where the closest grocery store, and gas station, and pharmacy is.

And it also just makes sense that he would be the one who to show you around. Charles can't even go to the bathroom by himself and Caliban is allergic to the sun.

That's what he tells himself, anyway.

“I could be persuaded to go with you,” you drawl. “If…” You trail off, leaving Logan to look at you with a cocked brow.

“If you let me ride in the backseat of your limousine?”

••••••

“Well? Was it everything you thought it would be?”

Logan sits directly across from you in a small booth at a mom-and-pop diner. It’s nearly noon and you had yet to eat today, so Logan made the last minute decision to pull into the restaurant’s parking lot after acquiring Charles’ medications.

“What?” you question as you swallow a mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes. It may not be breakfast time anymore, but he knew you would appreciate the fact that this place serves all day breakfast.

“Being chauffeured around in a limousine.”

“For some reason the limo smelled like a Christmas tree farm exploded in it,” you say nonchalantly. “But the driver insisted on taking me out for all you can eat pancakes so I’m still going to leave him a good review.”

“I’m sure he had a perfectly good reason for his limo smelling like that,” he retorts in mock defense. “But he probably should try to take care of that before he goes back to work tonight,” he adds, making a mental note to pick up some air freshener at the store.

A cheeky grin spreads across your face. You look like you’re about give him some kind of smart remark when the waitress walks over to the booth with a steaming pot of coffee.

“Good to see you in here with someone for a change,” the older woman, who Logan knows is named Lucille without having to look at her name tag, remarks as she tops off both of your mugs. “Did you finally take my advice?” She asks Logan.

“Every time he comes in here I tell him that he needs to get on one of those dating apps,” she says to you before he can answer.

You immediately cover your mouth to keep from spewing your coffee across the table.

Logan’s face heats up by ten degrees. He should have known better than to trust Lucille to be able to read the room.

“No,” he snaps. “I have not downloaded Tinder. Or Bumble, or Hinge. Maybe you should give them a try and stop worrying about my love life.”

He shoos her away, but she just cackles and slaps him on the shoulder.

“Honey, I’ve been married for forty-five years.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s your ring?” He asks, nodding towards her naked ring finger.

“We’re not allowed to wear jewelry on the clock, Nosey Nelly,” she jabs back. You sit silently, watching the interaction with pursed lips to keep from laughing.

“Nosey Nelly,” Logan grumbles under his breath as he fishes his wallet out of his pants pocket. He pulls out his debit card and slaps it into her palm.

You finally release a snort of laughter when Lucille waddles away.

“I take it that’s your best friend?”

“Believe it or not, she’s an improvement from Caliban.”

The two of you finish your meal with easy flowing conversation. You tell him what led you to Colorado, and about how you worked part time at a veterinarian’s office and part time at a bookstore. He tells you about some of the drunk, unhinged customers that he's had in his limousine lately.

It’s easy for him to forget that less than forty-eight hours ago, he hadn’t seen you in over a year.

Before your lives were irrevocably altered, you had been one of the closest friends he had ever had. One of the most important people in his life. Sitting across from you now, it’s too easy for him to remember why that was.

••••••

Logan’s reluctant to go to work tonight.

And it’s not just because he fucking hates his job and isn’t in the mood to tolerate the bachelor party currently occupying his backseat.

To an extent, he’s always nervous to go to work. He works night shifts because Charles sleeps at night, and is therefore less likely to be triggered into a seizure during the nighttime hours. It’s the safest time for Logan to be away.

It hasn’t happened before, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t. And with you now at the smelting plant, he worries about it happening while he’s away even more than he typically would.

He arrives at the strip club that the groom had requested he drive to and parks. They all drunkenly stagger out of the back of the vehicle, leaving Logan to relish in the silence after the door slams shut.

He pulls his phone from his coat pocket and sees that he has no messages.

He’d told you to text him if you needed anything, so it’s a good thing that you haven’t, right?

It’s just before midnight, so you're most likely asleep. The lack of a text is probably not anything as drastic as the conclusions that his brain is jumping to.

Still, he can't stop his fingers as he types out a message and hits send.

How’s the new bed?

After your brunch date – Lucille's words, not his – the two of you bought enough groceries to feed four people for a week and then went to the only furniture store in town to find you an upgrade from the fold out cot that they'd happened to have on hand when you arrived.

His phone dings just a minute later. He releases the breath he’d been holding before even reading your response.

It’s a major improvement. You were right - not too soft, not too firm. Though it feels a whole lot bigger than it did in the store.

He reads over the text at least five times and thinks back to your time in the mattress store earlier that day.

The first couple mattresses you tested out were too soft, the next few too firm. Logan didn’t mind that you were being indecisive – really. He was secretly relieved to have an excuse to spend more time with you, away from Caliban and Charles.

He laid down on a mattress that you hadn’t checked out yet and instantly thought that it was significantly better than his personal mattress at the smelting plant.

“What about this one?” He asks, patting the empty space next to him on the queen sized bed. You walk over to the opposite side of the bed and crawl in beside him. With your arms down at your sides, one rests against his. The mattress is more than big enough for you, but with him next to you, it’s a cozy fit.

He types: Is that a good thing or a bad thing? and presses send before he can overthink it. His screen shows that you read the message right away, and he can’t help but imagine the smirk on your face as you lay tucked beneath the covers.

The words ‘What do you think?’ appear on his screen.

He thinks he feels like a fucking teenager with the way that a few harmless, borderline flirtatious text messages from you has him imagining what it would be like to really share the bed with you.

His jeans begin to feel uncomfortably tight. He clicks the phone off and tosses it in the empty passenger seat beside him, before he says something that crosses a line that he can’t uncross.

••••••

The relief that your powers had provided Logan had been blissful but short-lived.

By the time he gets home from work at around four in the morning, his back pain has returned with a vengeance.

Everyone is asleep when he gets in, of course. He hobbles to his room as quietly as he can. Caliban and Charles are in the water tower, but he doesn’t want to wake you up. He hopes that by the time that you’re both awake later today, the pain will have subsided in his sleep.

Two hours after he lies down, he realizes that sleeping it off is an impossibility with the amount of discomfort he’s in. He’s done nothing but toss and turn in a futile attempt to find a comfortable sleeping position, the extra strength ibuprofen and his heating pad only doing so much to ease the stabbing sensation at the base of his spine.

He knows the answer to his problem is just down the hallway.

But it's early – the sun is just now starting to rise and he has yet to hear you stir from your room. He can't bring himself to wake you up over some back pain, knowing that you'll need to use your powers to help Charles soon.

He sits up with a deep groan, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. If he already can't sleep, he may as well make something to eat and settle the rumbling in his stomach.

Taking slow, short strides, he walks back down the hallway to the kitchen as quietly as he can manage.

He comes to a halt when he sees your door open, your head popping out from around the frame.

“Can’t sleep?” You ask, your voice huskier than normal with sleep.

“How’d you guess?”

You step into the hallway, still in a pair of plaid sleep pants and an oversized crewneck.

“Your bed creaks every time you move.” You cross your arms over your chest, standing less than half a foot away from him. There’s evident concern on your face when you take in his stiff posture. “This place has thin walls.”

“Sorry to keep you awake.” He looks down at the ground, embarrassed. “I’ll stay in the living roo—”

“Don’t be silly,” you stop him. You grab his hand in yours and begin to pull him back in the direction of his bedroom.

He thinks about protesting – part of him wants to tell you that you shouldn’t bother. He thinks he should tell you that he appreciates it, but he’s a lost cause, and the relief will only be temporary.

But your hand is too warm and your skin is too soft and in the end, he isn’t strong enough to deny himself the feeling of your touch, so he let’s you lead the way to his bed.

You drop his hand to position yourself on one side of the bed. You don’t get underneath the comforter, but you do pull it back on his side so that he can crawl beneath it.

His isn’t quite as big as your new bed – it’s only a full size mattress, so it’s even more cramped than when the two of you laid on the mattress in the store yesterday, but he isn’t complaining.

It's unchartered territory for you two, this type of intimacy. He doesn’t remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone, but if there’s one person on the planet that he trusts enough to allow next to him in such a vulnerable state, it’s you.

“Lay however is most comfortable for you,” you instruct him gently.

He maneuvers onto his side, facing you. You copy his position, your faces inches away from each other’s on a shared pillow.

“Now close your eyes,” you whisper.

He does as you ask, and then feels your palm rest against the thick stubble of his jaw. Your thumb grazes across the skin of his cheekbone. He melts into your touch before you’ve even started using your powers.

“Is this okay?” you murmur.

“Mm-hmm,” he sighs against your hand. “Could just lay like this for a while and I’d probably fall asleep. Don’t even need to use your powers.”

You snort and run the tips of your fingers through his beard.

“How about I do both? That okay?”

He nods, too tired to think about stopping you.

He falls asleep to the soft hum of your powers within minutes, and dreams of the color purple.

••••••

Over the next few weeks, everyone falls into a comfortable routine.

You continue to work with Charles for an hour in the mornings and then again in the evenings. Your powers help him more than Logan ever could have hoped for. Not only is this the longest he’s gone without having a seizure in months, but he’s also increasingly lucid and alert, and more like his old, spunky self than ever.

Most weeknights you cook dinner for everyone, and Tuesdays become the day that you join Logan in going to town for a weekly grocery restock and brunch at the same diner that he first took you to a few weeks ago.

He tries not to make it too obvious, but it quickly becomes one of the best parts of his week – even with Lucille’s relentless teasing about how there’s “no way you’re just friends” and Logan would be “the biggest idiot on the planet to not lock you down”.

Neither of you ever put much energy into disagreeing with her.

The other best parts of his week occur early in the mornings, before daylight breaks and Charles and Caliban are still sound asleep. He gets home from work and you move from your bed and into his, relieving him of any physical discomfort he could be experiencing from hours of driving around and lulling him to sleep.

The first few nights, he’d wake hours later to find that you had escaped back to your own room after he’d fallen asleep. Then, one morning, when he woke up, he opened his eyes to find your face resting against his shoulder.

You stopped bothering to go back to your own room after that.

This evening – Christmas eve – Logan sits on his bed and stares at the gift that he’d gotten you while you finish preparing the dinner that you’d been working on for the last few hours.

He feels silly. There hadn’t been any discussion on getting each other gifts and he worries that it’ll make you feel weird.

It’s an espresso machine – nothing too fancy, but it’ll get the job done. You had recently mentioned how much you miss the espresso machine that you had in Colorado. The house you had been renting came furnished, which included an espresso machine that you were unable to bring with you to Mexico.

He stopped by a Target before work a couple nights ago and picked it out. To top off how silly he feels, he’d completely forgotten to buy wrapping paper or even a gift bag, so he’ll just be handing it to you as is.

“Dinner is almost ready!” He hears your voice call from the kitchen.

The smell of honey glazed ham and fresh rolls wafts down the hallway. He places the box containing the espresso machine on the floor beside his bed, planning to give it to you after Charles and Caliban go to bed in a few hours.

When he rejoins everyone in the common area, Charles is watching Home Alone and Caliban is gathering plates and silverware for everyone while you remove a large dish of baked mac and cheese from the oven.

“Smells great,” Logan compliments as he grabs a beer out of the fridge. “Anything I can help with?” he asks, as if you hadn’t all but shooed him out of the kitchen just an hour ago.

You place the casserole dish on a trivet before grabbing one of the plates that Caliban had set out.

“Yes, actually,” you say, surprising him. You hand him the plate with a small smirk. “You can make Charles a plate.”

“Oh, can I?” He takes a step closer to you, taking the plate and grinning down at you. “Are you sure you trust me to do that?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that you’ve been alive two hundred years and haven’t taken the time to learn to cook.”

“Well, I guess I'll just have to have you teach me-"

“Would you two stop flirting and get me some ham?” Charles voice booms over the television and silences you both.

Logan notices you purse your lips to keep from smiling as you turn your attention back to the spread of food across the dining room table.

Soon, you’re all four sat around the dining room table with plates piled high with traditional holiday dishes. Logan is halfway through clearing his plate when Charles clears his throat to speak.

“This is wonderful,” he directs at you. “Thank you very much. You know, this all feels very familiar to me…” he trails off, glancing between you and Logan from across the table. The smile on his face fades, and in it’s place appears an expression of confusion.

From the corner of his eye, Logan sees your grip on your fork tighten.

“Thank you, Charles,” you tell him. You try to sound cheerful, but Logan doesn’t miss the nervous edge to your voice. He knows that you’re noticing the same thing as him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“Yes, these candied sweet potatoes are delicious,” Caliban interjects in an obvious attempt to maintain easy conversation. “You'll have to give me your rec—”

“This feels so familiar,” Charles repeats and all three of you go silent.

In his gut, Logan fears that he knows what is coming. It always starts this way. One minute, everything will be perfect. The next, something triggers a memory, or a feeling, and Charles is hit with the weight of the past – with the weight of the trauma that his brain normally blocks out.

“This feels like… how Christmas used to feel. When we’d have dinner at the.. at the mansion. With all of our friends before I.. before I killed them—”

“Charles,” Logan says firmly, but Charles continues to stare into space. “It wasn't your fault. Okay? Let's enjoy this nice dinner. Do you want some more green beans—”

But he’s unable to finish his sentence before it begins. The exact thing he’s been the most terrified of since you arrived here weeks ago.

Across from him, Caliban's face is frozen in agony. Beside him, your mouth is open as if to scream, but no sound comes out. Every one around him is still, and his body suddenly feels a few hundred pounds heavier.

It's been weeks since Charles’ last seizure, but Logan knew it was too good to be true – knew that it was bound to happen again eventually. He'd planned for this, knowing the effects of the psionic energy would hurt you as they do Caliban.

Logan forces himself into a standing position by pushing off of the dining room table, and then takes as big of steps as he possibly can to get to the opposite side, where Caliban and Charles sit.

He ignores the blinding nerve pain all over his body, he ignores the intense ringing in his ears, he ignores the way it feels as if all of the air has been ripped from his lungs and reaches down to grab the bag of medication from the compartment beneath Charles’ wheelchair – where he's made sure to keep it, in case of this exact scenario.

Despite his shaking hands, he manages to retrieve an injection and uncap it. He jabs the tip of the needle into the flesh of Charles’ shoulder with as much force as he can muster, then collapses to the floor beside him.

Charles releases a grief stricken groan, realizing what had happened. Logan hears both you and Caliban gasping for air.

“I'm sorry,” Charles cries. “I'm so sorry..”

Logan pulls himself off of the ground using the edge of the table and instantly turns his attention to you. Your eyes are wide and your hands are visibly shaking in your lap, but you exhale the breath you'd been holding when your eyes meet Logan's.

You push your chair back, standing and closing the distance between the two of you. Your hands grip the tops of Logan's biceps. He instinctively rests his on the sides of your stomach.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your voice wobbly and several octaves higher than normal.

“I'm fine,” he assures you delicately. “Are you okay?”

You nod, hesitantly at first and then more confidently as you take him in and seem to realize that he really is alright.

“I'm fine too,” Caliban grunts from across the table. “Don’t worry yourselves with me.”

Logan and you both quickly retract your hands, breaking the embrace. You turn your attention to Charles, who seems to be in another world.

“Charles? Are you alright?” You ask him softly.

“Hm?” He hums as he glances up at you. “Oh, yes. I’m alright. I think.. I think I’d like to go to bed now,” he murmurs. Logan, you, and Caliban all exchange glances before Logan tosses the bag of medication to Caliban.

“Give him a double dose of the suppressants and some sleep medicine,” Logan instructs him. Caliban nods wordlessly and wheels Charles away from the dining room table, towards the smelting plant’s door.

Once they’ve left the building, Logan turns to you. You look visibly shaken, and he can’t blame you. He remembers all too well how frightening the effects of the seizure was the first time he experienced it. Even with this one being relatively short lived, he knows it had to have been more painful and scary for you than it was for him.

“I’ll clean all of this up, okay?” He says, gesturing towards the half eaten dinners and the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. “You go relax. Take a shower, lay down for a while—”

“Really, Logan. I'm okay, I prom—”

“Will you do that for me?”

To his surprise, you don't object any further. You give him a small nod, and a comforting squeeze to his hand as you walk past him.

He doesn't release the sigh of both relief and frustration that he’d been holding in until he hears the shower turn on a few moments later.

••••••

As soon as Logan finishes tidying up from dinner, he cuts two small slices of an apple pie you had baked and puts them on a plate for the two of you to share.

Your door is slightly cracked, the soft orange light from your table lamp spilling into the hallway. He knocks quietly and waits for you to tell him to come in.

You’re in your pajamas, tucked under a blanket with a book partially obscuring your face. You do little to acknowledge his presence, so he takes a seat on the edge of your bed and places the plate of pie beside him.

The room looks significantly different than it did just a few weeks ago. In addition to the new bed, you'd also acquired a vintage dresser and an area rug that you’d found for cheap at a thrift store. You have books in piles throughout the room, one of the things that you were most adamant about bringing with you from Colorado.

“Charles is alright,” he tells you gently. “He must have just been really tired. He didn’t nap much today. Caliban said he fell asleep really quickly after taking his medicine.”

“Except that wasn’t why he had a seizure,” you sigh, closing your book. Logan now has a better view of your face, and the first thing he notices is that your eyes look red-rimmed and watery. You sit up straight, and he inches closer to you on the bed.

“Hey, what’s going—”

“It was definitely my fault that he had a seizure,” you sniffle, looking at him with defeat.

“What? No,” Logan shakes his head. You have a blanket draped across your lap, but Logan places his hand on your knee over top of it. “What makes you say that?”

“I always work with Charles for an hour in the mornings and an hour in the afternoons,” you start, frustration evident in your voice. “But this afternoon, I cut our session short because he wasn’t really in the best mood and I wanted to get started on prep for dinner.”

You wipe underneath your eye with the sleeve of your shirt and look away from Logan’s gaze.

“Sweetheart, you can’t blame yourself for this,” he assures you as he rubs slow circles on your knee with his thumb. “He was having seizures almost every single day before you got here. You’re not the reason he had a seizure today. But you are the reason he’s been able to go weeks without having one.”

“Okay?” He prompts when you don’t respond. You finally look him in the eye again, and offer a small nod of agreement.

He hands you the plate of apple pie, earning a small smile from you.

“Wait here. I’ve got something for you,” he tells you as he stands up and begins walking towards your door.

“Something for me?” you question, but he’s already halfway down the hallway.

He grabs the espresso machine from beside his bed and heads back to your room. He still feels nervous to give it to you, but right now he’s just hoping that it will help cheer you up.

When he re-enters your room, you’re forking a bite of pie into your mouth and freeze when you see what he’s carrying. He sits back down on the edge of the bed, still holding the box. You sit the plate of pie on your bedside table and scoot closer to him.

“Logan, you didn’t have to,” you murmur. He hands you the box and you hug it to your chest, but only look at him. He thinks your eyes are starting to look watery again. “I feel so bad. I didn’t get you anything—”

He waves his hand in dismissal, not surprised at all by your reaction.

“I know I didn’t have to. Just wanted to. Is that okay?”

You inspect the espresso machine with a bashful grin. “Thank you. I love it,” you assure him with a gentle squeeze to his hand. “I just wish I had gotten you something, too.”

“That’s not necessary,” he says, staring down at where your hand holds his. “You give me everything I need just by being here.”

You go still at his words with a look he can’t quite read on your face. You pull your hand away from his before placing the espresso box on the floor next to your bed. The hand that previously held his comes to cradle his face, your thumb grazing along his cheekbone. He turns his head ever so slightly to the side so that his lips graze against your palm. He kisses the skin once, then twice, and your eyes flutter closed.

His heightened senses don’t miss the way your heart rate picks up, or the way that you hold your breath as his lips linger on your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” He murmurs into the side of your hand. You open your eyes, your pupils dilated.

“Same thing I’ve been thinking about for years now,” you whisper as you lean forward, pulling his face to you.

You capture his lips in yours, opening up for him without hesitation. He slips his tongue into your mouth, the sensation simultaneously feeling brand new and like you’ve done this dance a hundred times before.

He scoots further back onto the mattress, away from the edge. He pulls you with him, guiding you onto his lap. You straddle him, his hands resting on your lower back. You fist your hands around the fabric of his flannel, pulling him flush against you.

It's years of pent up desire and longing that you pour into each other. You drag your teeth along the swell of his bottom lip and he groans into your mouth, resisting the urge to buck his hips up against your center.

He knew you looked sweet, smelled sweet – but never would he have guessed that you’d taste even sweeter. Even if it weren’t for the faint hint of cinnamon and apples from the pie you’d nibbled on, he’d think you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

You grind down against the uncomfortable bulge contained by his jeans and whimper – the prettiest sound he’s ever fucking heard and he hasn’t even touched you yet. You pull back, your chest heaving from lack of air.

“Why didn’t we do that years ago?” you ask breathlessly. He reaches up to your face, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” he answers quickly. His eyes lock on your kiss swollen lips and he thinks you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now – staring down at him with puffy lips wet with his kiss. “But now that I’ve kissed you, I’m not gonna stop. Gonna kiss you for as long as you’ll let me.”

And to prove his point, he starts trailing wet, open mouth kisses along your jaw and down your throat. You throw your head back, giving him unhindered access to the skin of your neck. He alternates between kissing and nipping the tender flesh, leaving a damp trail across your skin.

You grab at the hem of your shirt and Logan pulls away to allow you to tug it over your head. You’re left naked from the waist up and Logan is left feeling like his cock is going to break through the zipper of his jeans.

With your tits directly in front of his face, he latches his mouth to one nipple and palms the other in his hand. You rock yourself against his erection, chasing the relief that the friction provides you.

“Logan,” you pant from above him. “Please—”

He pulls his mouth away from you with a wet pop, leaving your nipple glistening and taut.

“Tell me what you want, honey.”

You let out a low whimper at the pet name and drag your fingers through his hair. He toys with the waistband of your pajamas pants, popping the elastic band lightly against your skin.

“Your mouth,” you say, the words somewhere between a whine and a plea. “I wanna feel your mouth on me.”

He groans at the bluntness of your words. Hearing you say that you want his mouth on you has his cock throbbing in his pants.

“Yeah?” He taunts as he maneuvers you off of his lap. He quickly tugs his own shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere behind him. Your eyes trail down the expanse of his chest, your mouth slightly agape.

He tilts your head so that you’re looking at his face again and tugs at your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

In that moment, he hopes you never stop looking at him like that.

“You gonna sit on my face?”

You nod, eagerly. You push your pajama pants down past your ass and thighs, and Logan helps pull them the rest of the way over your calves and ankles. You lean forward, reaching for the waistline of his jeans and fumbling with the button until it pops open.

He sees you completely naked before him and his brain goes momentarily blank. He can’t believe he actually gets to see you like this – bare for him and more perfect than he ever could have envisioned.

And believe him, he had tried. Nothing could have prepared him for how it actually feels to see you, touch you, taste you after years of yearning for you.

“Lay down for me?” You ask with a small laugh, snapping him out of his trance. He does as you ask, placing his head on one of your pillows.

You straddle his chest, your back to his face. He helps you inch backwards until your pussy hovers directly over his mouth. He pauses for a moment, spreading your thighs apart with his hands to give him a clear view of your already dripping cunt before yanking you the rest of the way down to his mouth.

You moan as soon as his tongue slides through your wet folds, bracing your hands on the defined planes of his chest. The sweet and salty tang of you fills his mouth and he has to resist moaning goddamn, I love you into your cunt.

He could get drunk off of the flavor of you.

You grind yourself against his face, your juices coating his beard and your inner thighs. He’s so focused on working you with his lips and tongue that he doesn’t even notice you pushing his jeans and boxers down until he feels his cock spring back and slap his lower belly.

“Fuck,” you moan at the sight of him. You pump him in your hand, smearing the pre-cum from his slit down his shaft. “You're so big. I don’t know how you’ll fit inside me.”

He hears you spit, then feels it drip across his tip. You smear the warm wetness down his length and press a kiss to the side of his cock before taking him in your mouth. The head nudges against the back of his throat before you pull back, then ease back in, slow and deep.

He’s always loved your lips, but right now he’s doesn’t think he could ever love them more. He wants to watch as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head along his length, but that’s going to have to wait for another time.

Right now, he’s right where he wants to be. He has your swollen clit locked between his lips, sucking on it to the point that your legs quiver around his head. You lean forward, pressing your chest against his stomach as you run your tongue down the entirety of his cock and stroke him in your hand.

“I’ve waited so long to taste you,” he grunts from beneath you. The vibrations of his voice making your pussy clench around the finger that he teases your hole. “This cunt’s so fuckin’ sweet.”

He eases his index finger past your entrance, your walls constricting around the digit. “And so fuckin’ tight,” he adds, pumping in and out of you as you begin to move forwards, then backwards, up, and then down – grinding against his finger.

“Logan, I'm gonna cum,” you cry and it makes his balls tighten. He feels it – the way you gush around his finger and the way your legs clench around his head.

You ride out your orgasm above him, and then collapses against his chest. Your skin is sticky with sweat against his, despite the fact that the current cold front has the smelting plant colder than normal tonight.

You roll off of him, falling onto the mattress next to him. Your slick glistens on your thighs in the soft glow of your lamplight. It's one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, he thinks. You fucked out and delirious from your climax.

But he thinks he might fucking die if he has to spend one more second of his abnormally long life not knowing how it feels to be buried inside you.

He helps pull you into a sitting position, and then lays you down in his place. Your tits heave as you try to regain control of your breathing. He's on his knees, fisting himself in his hand as he nudges your knees open. Your eyes are locked on his cock, a look of half excitement and half terror.

“You can take it, honey. I know you can,” he coos.

He slaps the tip against your clit, then glides it up and down your wet length. Not entering you quite yet, but coating himself in your slick. He looks down at himself next to your pretty, wet cunt and imagines how it’ll be to see it sliding in and out of you.

“Just been a while, that’s all,” you say, pulling him down to the by the back of the neck. He lines himself up at your entrance, nudging just the tip in. Even that’s a stretch for you, he can tell by the way your mouth forms an O shape.

He goes still for a moment – for your sake, but for his own, as well. He has to adjust to the warm tightness of your pussy before he trusts himself to go any deeper.

“I know, baby. Been a while for me too. Been waiting for you for a long time.”

He slates his lips over yours, kissing you messy and deep as he slowly sheaths himself inside you. He stills again once he’s buried to the hilt, and breaks the kiss to look down at you.

“You okay?” He murmurs. He props himself up on one forearm by your head, and brings his free hand to roll one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

You give him another eager nod, and wrap your legs securely around his hips, hooking your ankles together just below his ass.

“Mm-hmm,” you sigh. “Need you to move now, Logan.”

With his cock throbbing inside you, he doesn’t make you tell him twice. His length drags along the soft, spongy interior of your walls as he pulls out and eases back in. He gives you a few languid, slow strokes to accommodate the newfound stretch before it's hard for him to hold back.

He gets lost in it all – in the wet, tight heat of your cunt, in the sounds that your bodies make as he repeatedly snaps into you, in every expression on your face and every noise that slips past your lips.

You snake your arms around his abdomen, your hands coming to rest on his lower back.

“H-how’s your back?” You stammer out as he continues to piston his hips forward.

“I've never been better,” Logan grunts, resting his sweat slicked forehead against yours.

It's the truth. He’s never felt better than he does right now, between your legs – even if he is feeling this in his back. He'll deal with any and all repercussions later, once he's felt you cum around his cock while you cry his name.

You smile up at him as if to say wanna bet?

You flatten your hands across his skin at the base of his spine, and he doesn’t have to be able to see it to know what you're doing. He's experienced the effects of your powers enough by now to recognize them instantly – the low vibration they emit and the immediate warmth that spreads throughout his body.

“Gonna make me cum, honey,” he warns you. “Feels too good.” He feels your walls constrict around him when he calls you honey.

“Kiss me and I’ll cum with you,” you tell him in a breathy voice that he could listen to talk in all fucking night.

He kisses you again, this time more hurried than anytime before as he chases both of your releases. He spills into you with a deep groan as your cunt spasms around him. You moan his name into his mouth until he stills inside you, the last ropes of his cum filling you up.

He isn’t sure how long the two of you stay like that – with him still tucked inside you, laying pressed against you with his face nuzzling the crook of your neck. You trail your fingers up and down his spine, the sensation the only thing grounding him to reality in his post orgasm haze.

Finally, he pulls back enough to look down at you.

“Stay here,” he says earnestly. “Stay with me. Don't go back to Colorado. One day, we’ll go anywhere you want to. Just the two of us. But right now, please stay—”

“Logan,” you shush him gently. “I wasn’t planning on going back to Colorado. Or anywhere without you.”

He exhales, and kisses you on the forehead before finally pulling out of you and plopping down beside you. He tucks you between his chest and his arm, your head resting just above his heart.

“You know, this new bed of yours is a whole lot comfier than mine,” he comments casually.

“Hmm,” you hum and tilt your head to look up at him. “You should probably sleep here tonight. For your back, of course.”

He laughs, sleep threatening to overtake him at any second. He presses a lazy kiss to your forehead.

“I'm not going anywhere without you, honey.”

••••••

some of my other logan works

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

by the end of the night - worst variant logan has nightmares and mutant reader with emotional regulation abilities helps him sleep better

claw kink drabble

thank you so much for reading 🫶🏻

[thealbatrovss]

wind song // logan(2017) x fem mutant reader

(mini series)

synopsis : you dream of a life without your powers. logan needs them to help locate some dead guys cash. a roadtrip to the Nevada desert with your ex was always bound to be a mistake. but, maybe it wasn’t.

Chapter 2 - heavy metal

chapter summary: you and logan start your journey. a man you meet starts a chain reaction for the events to come.

warnings: 18+ ONLY // MDNI - suggestive content, mature themes/subject matters, death, swearing, eventual violence and smut.

word count: 2k+

tag list: @freythecrazyfae @ayamenimthiriel

wind song masterlist // my main masterlist //previous chapter

“Just one suitcase?” Logan said, closing the side door.

You noded, wiping your eyes of the dust in the air and lack of sleep. You didn’t think you were going to end up on some roadtrip with your ex. So of course you didn’t bring much. It was just supposed to be a funeral and then a one time conversation. But now you were sitting in his passenger seat, watching a fly dart in and out of the car.

Logan never acknowledged the dress you were wearing from the day before, and you never acknowledged his suit he wore from the day before. There was that familiar understanding between the two of you. Still there, despite the way things had ended over a year ago. Those cold eyes stayed with Logan.

You could see them in the rear view mirror while he finished a repair on one of the truck's tires. Maybe he saw the same eyes looking back at him. It was hard to remember what they looked like before a heatless fire stole yours both away.

The motel sat to the right. The pale colors that painted brick walls seemed to crack underneath a silent weight. You thought you would still hear the static from your neighbors TV.

The truck rocked as he sat in the driver's seat. All that metal in his body was heavy. It was slowly killing him. Logan never talked about it. You only found out one night when Caliban told you over the phone, pleading for you to come back.

What must it feel like, for the thing that once made you invincible, be the thing that would one day kill you?

You had to force yourself to not dwell on being the one to find his dead body once the inevitable happened. Even with your work connections, you found there was no known cure for him. Didn’t stop you from looking still.

“Didn’t think I’d enjoy the limousine?” You said.

He huffed, turning the engine on. “That's for work purposes only.”

“And this isn’t work?”

“Nope. This is personal.” He pressed the gas pedal, taking you and the truck out of the rocky parking lot.

The air was hot. Salt rippled through the sky. You could taste it on your tongue. Competing motels marked both sides of the road. Signs pointed you in either direction. An employee stood by one of them, holding one advertising free car washes when you checked in. That made you chuckle imagining a freshly washed car driving back onto the street, dirt clinging to the water faster than it was cleaned.

The weather demanded filth in this small area. No one can make good money off something clean here.

It was quiet riding with him. It was always quiet with him. Logan kept his gaze forward, one hand on the steering wheel and the other in his lap. You caught the flask hiding between his thighs. This one looked older though, unlike the one from the diner yesterday. Scotts initials peeked out from the back of the metal. The same flask you remember stepping over when you found his body on the floor.

The dress was suffocating you all of a sudden. Instead of the static of the TV, you heard an old friend trying to get to Charles before he got to him.

You needed a distraction, like Logan needed the bottle. The notebook you fiddled with your hand flipped open as a breeze flew by. “Christopher Smith. 49. Assistant of Ceo David Fisherman who founded the nationwide bank Silver Well. 5’5. Fair skin. Brown Hair. Blue Eyes. Current residence, New York, New York…” You shut the notebook. “What the hell were you doing driving a millionaire banker from New York around anyways?”

He looked at you and back at the road again. The sun was sending rays of light through the windshield, occasionally obstructing his view. “You’re the private detective here. What do you think?”

“Well, we still haven’t completely ruled out you two sleeping together.”

Logan rolled his eyes, holding back a smirk. “Then rule it out now.”

You grinned. “I think you were driving around a man already dead who knew that and had nothing left to lose.”

His eyebrows lifted, fingers tapping on the wheel. “Impressive.”

“Now, can you give me a clearer picture without the guessing games?”

Logan stopped at an empty stoplight. It was still green as he turned to face you. “Look. I didn’t want to work for the fucker, but he wouldn’t stop calling me and demanding the agency to hire me. Didn’t know why, until a black van started following us around.”

The light flashed yellow and then red. “Chris was a gambler. I'd take him every weekend to some new den or high profile client. Most of the time he’d come back with nothing. But one night, he came running into the car screaming at me to floor it. He had a suitcase of cash he said he won. Bullshit. Clearly stole it.” He gripped his flask.

“A black van chased us down all night. They blew one of my headlights and tires out with their guns. When we lost them and got back to his place, he promised that next time he’d give me a tip. Haven’t heard from him since.” The light was green once again, but no one was around.

“He couldn’t give you any of the money he took from that night?”

Logan shook his head. “He told me he needed it. I don’t know what for.”

“Maybe he was in debt with someone far scarier than whoever was in that black van that night?”

“That’s what I was thinking.” A honk from behind forced him to continue driving. “Did you pick anything else up from his pen other than a direction?”

You rolled down the window even further, preparing yourself. “Not yet. I could sense his body somewhere in Nevada. I could taste blood. Whoever he was scared of, got to him. Maybe his money too.”

“My money.” Logan said. “And I sure as hell will be getting it back, like he promised.”

The words felt hollow coming from him. Like an empty pool during the summer. Since when did money become his sole motivation? You thought about Charles' medicine and the place that they lived.

“Our money.” You corrected, turning your face to the open window. “You might want to close your ears. I’m going to see if I can get a clearer picture of where he is and where we are going.”

You licked your lips, forming them in an oval shape. The air rushed out of them, a sharp whistle piercing the wind. It took you many years to master your mutant abilities. The glass surrounding the vehicle didn’t crack around you. You knew you had your powers under control.

Little clouds began to form in the wind. Like someone had reached up into the sky and pulled them down to visit those who lived below. Only you could see them, unless you decided to show another. If the ear piercing noise wasn’t enough to have Logan scrunched up in pain looking away, then maybe he was staring at the clouds starting to form a person.

The outline of Chris was limping away, carrying something in his hands. It looked like the briefcase Logan mentioned.

The fake Chris kept getting farther and farther away before the cloud disappeared, and your whistling had ended.

“Anything?” Logan said.

You turned to see blood dripping from his ears. It was like a punch in the gut. You knew he’d heal quickly, but it still hurt to see. “Looks like whoever shot at him, didn’t kill him right away.”

Logan contemplated that, seemingly ignore the fresh crimson running down the side of his head.

Without thinking, like it was second nature, you put your hand against his rough cheek. Thumb wiping the blood away as it slid into his gray speckled beard.

He didn’t move, eyes still on the road, hands gripping the steering reel harder than before, white popping from his knuckles. It looked like he stopped breathing. It felt like you did too.

The moment ended as quickly as it came. He grabbed your wrist, holding onto it for a second too long before pushing it back.

He didn’t say anything as you two drove onward, finally entering the main highway. He sped up. You turned to look up at the clouds surfing an endless, blue sky.

~~~~~~~~

It was around 11pm when you stopped for gas.

The drive the rest of the day was spent in silence, except for the occasional directions you gave. He mumbled quick thank yous and you wondered if he even missed you all that much. Given how things had ended. But, this was just business to him. At least that's what he told you. But a more hopeful spirit bubbled within you. You quieted it with a swig of water.

Logan pulled out his worn out wallet. He cursed under his breath. “My goddamn card isn’t here. I swore I had it with me before I left this morning.” He ran his hand down his face leaving a fading red streak. “Charles sometimes likes to steal it if he gets the chance.”

You recalled the Professor getting sicker. Before he killed your teammates, your friends, it was noticeable. In the way he talked or acted. How he treated everyone, how he felt, then came back to himself. It only seemed to be getting worse.

You pulled out your own money. “Don’t worry, I got it. We shouldn’t be gone more than a week anyways.”

He took the offer, noting he still had some cash on him.

The gas station welcomed you with a punchet smell of old meats and sticky sugar.

The employee at the front counter swept behind the counter. No one else was there except for a large black car you noticed pulling into one of the parking spots at the very side of the building.

Logan was in the restroom while you checked out your items. A case of water, some alcohol you knew Logan was going to fill Scotts flask with, some snacks, an over cooked rotisserie chicken that was clearly the last on the heated shelf, and the gas pump.

As you put in your digits, the bell to the front door rang from behind you. You took a quick look back, not thinking anything of it. He tipped his cowboy hat toward you, winking. You noticed one eye was green and the other red. The man strolled to the alcohol section, shifting through cases of beer.

“A mutant?” You thought, grabbing your bag, waiting for Logan to come take the case of water to the truck. “He looks like hes in his late 20s.” It was a sad reality. Mutants dying. 25 years since the last one was born.

But for some reason, your gut told you this man was not to be trusted. His eyes lingered on you the entire time he shopped. Something was off about the man in the cowboy hat and boots.

Logan finally appeared, the dried blood on his ears gone down the sink. You still felt terrible about the whole thing. Even though you knew he would heal, it still hurt to harm him. Even with years of harnessing your abilities, The Whistle was something you could never fully control. As soon as it left you, it was in the wind's hands.

“Your bathrooms smell like shit.” He told the cashier, taking the bottles of water in his rough hands.

The employee nodded, not wanting to meet Logan's stare. He had that way about him. As much as you wanted to get close to him, you wanted to be as far away from him as possible. He was both an unmovable object and a force you couldn't stop. It reminded you of all the things you loved about him. And all the things you didn’t.

You pulled Logan by his arm, eyes on the man making his way to the front counter after you. “Lets go.”

“You okay?” He said once you got back to the truck. He still needed to fill it with gas.

“That man back there,” You pointed behind you. “Another one like us. But theres something off about him.”

Logan placed the water in the back seat next to your things. “Wait here.”

He stood with his hand on his hip, filling the gas with the other as he kept an eye on the man in the cowboy hat and boots. As the man carried his beers out to his car, he sent a wave and smirked at the two of you.

Logan's eyebrows knitted together. His body stilled for just a second. He didn’t even let the gas fill up half way before putting the pump back quickly, and hoping back into the car.

“Get the fuck down!” He shouted, turning the keys in the ignition.

“What-” Before you could ask the question, a bullet came soring through the back window, grazing the tip of your ear before it shot through the front windshield.

“Fuck!” Logan pushed your head down and hit the gas. Your hand shot to your ear. The warm, crimson liquid dripped down your fingers and onto your dress. All you could think of in that moment of adrenaline was Jean gifting the dress to you for your birthday.

Logan took off into the night. Headlights shining almost blinding and weaving between cars that were going a normal speed limit. He kept looking in back of him. Back to the main road. Back to you. Curses left his mouth. You could barely hear anything past the ringing in your ears.

The crack in the windshield was small. The bullet ran clean through. But, sooner or later it would spread through the entire piece of glass. Like a spider building its web from one center point.

You could finally make out what he was saying as the fog in your head slowly faded. But that meant the adrenaline was wearing off, and you started to feel the sharp pain running along the left side of your head.

“Did it hit you anywhere else!?” Logan demanded. He was having a hard time focusing. He wished all his attention could be on you. But there was a car gaining speed from behind, and it didn’t take mercy on people who cared. “Please answer me!”

“It grazed my ear.” You struggled to get the words out. Guards stood at the front of your tongue. Every time you opened your mouth, they stabbed their spears into whatever flesh they could reach. You sucked in a breath that felt like razors. “It fucking hurts. But I’ll be okay.”

Logan was able to breath for a moment. He pulled himself together, maneuvering through the cars ahead of him. “Just hold on. I’ll lose the bastards.”

You didn’t dare look up. You kept your head low, hoping the pain would subside soon. The throbbing in your skull grew. It beat with a hellish beat. Something was wrong with this bullet. Whatever had hit you, it was doing something to your body.

Flashes of memories, of the dead you found, the families you consoled, the friends you once had, raced through your mind. It was like an endless book of millions of words and pages turning before you. Faster and faster they went. The world spun. The blood was pumping through your ears, trying to break out of your skull.

He was calling your name by the time you snapped out of the feverish dream.

You looked up to find those warm and inviting eyes that you first saw when he showed you around the mansion for the first time.

Logan motioned to your ear. Your hand shook as you took it off the wound, noticing Logan was off to the side of the road now. No cars were around, not even the one that had chased you down. Logan must have felt that it was safe enough to stop. The clock read 1:19am.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, holding back tears. You didn’t know why that was the thing you said. You didn’t know what you were thinking or saying at all.

He stared at you, lips trying to form words. But he decided not to say anything.

Logan took out a cloth from the first aid kit in his hands, and gently brought it to your ear. You could feel the sting of the antibiotics. But the pain had died down thankfully. The worst of it was over. You could see in the mirror where the bullet had taken a small piece of your ear off.

Panic shot through you. Your eyes widened. “Wheres the pen?!”

“It’s alright.” He pointed to the pen sitting in one of the cup holders. There was blood on it. “Just focus on this. Focus on me.”

You looked down and frowned at the red stains on the black fabric. “Jean bought me this dress.”

Logan's fingers found your chin, bringing your head back up to face him. You noticed your blood was on him too. Dotting his white shirt and gray and now red beard. He wiped at the dried blood on your cheek with this thumb, making small circles in the cold skin. Every move he made was gentle, caring, the epitome of warmth.

The tips of his fingers danced across your skin, and the painful throbbing slowly died down. You didn’t know how long it took him to bandage and clean the wound, you never bothered to check the time.

The sun was rising when you woke up to Logan getting back onto the main highway. The Welcome to New Mexico sign greeted the two of you not even 30 minutes later.

[captain039]

The predator grounds (old man Logan)

Old man!Alpha! Logan x reader

Warnings: prey/predator, forced heats and ruts, sexual, smut, angst, age gap, claiming, swearing, nicknames, logan lets his feral side out, chubby reader, Logan’s a strong man babes he can throw you around 🫶🏻

I need help xD

It’s too hot when you wake up. The old smelting plant shed is usually cold and unable to hold heat during the cooler days. You also notice your bed is rather uncomfortable and there are sticks or stones digging in your back. You shoot up, eyes wide as you look around the forest. You’re not in your bed, you’re not at the smelting plant with Logan, Caliban or Charles. Where the fuck are you?!

You try not to panic, but it fails. Your heart rate picks up sweat rolls down your temples. It’s so hot out here. You gulp softly standing up on shaky legs and that’s when you feel it, the embarrassing wetness sliding between your thighs. You go bright red pressing your thighs together more to stop the slick going down your thigh. You figure this is some sick joke or maybe Charles finally lost it and his powers are going haywire. This feels all too real and why the hell would the old telepath make you in heat? You jolt looking to the left then right, you’re not alone. There’s heavy breathing nearby and your flight or fright senses are in freeze mode before you hear an angered cry and the slice of blades. You know that noise to well and relief floods you as you head over to the noise. Logan’s kneeling over the man’s corpse panting heavily claws still in the man’s chest. You approach carefully but freeze when you smell it, he’s in rut. He was an old alpha so you figured you wouldn’t have to deal with that anymore but fucking hell he smells so good. It’s old, woodsy, cigar smoke, leather and that whiskey he drinks all the time. It’s not something you usually like but on him, it smells like fucking sex and heaven. You’re afraid to make yourself known, he’s your sworn protector swore to your father that’d he’d never let anything happen to you and nothing has happened till now. You knew him since you were a younger teen, growing up around during those awkward years wasn’t exactly fun till you hit twenty’s and calmed down a bit till your father died and you lived with him. His alpha scent was always uniquely him, despite being dull from age you still caught it every time you went past him.

“Logan” you call softly and he growls turning back teeth bared like an animal as he stares at you for a moment before recognition kicks in. His claws retract his hands blooded as he stands off the corpse and goes to approach. He stops though his nose flaring eyes pinned on you, boots rooted to the forest floor under him.

“Somethings- something happened I don’t know I woke up a few moments ago” you explain but you’re finding it increasingly hard to focus. He smells too good it makes you want to submit, neck bared and presenting to him so he can fuck you, give you what you need. You glance down regretting it when you see the hard outline in his jeans and gulp. He doesn’t speak and you start to worry, you’ve known Logan to be more animalistic during his attack mode. You jolt though hearing a noise and smelling another alpha in rut nearby. Logan growls fucking growls loudly at whoever’s approaching and suddenly he’s at your back strong arm around your waist. He’s panting heavily and he’s so warm against you. He makes sure not to press his lower half into you and it makes you want to whine and press your ass back just to feel it. You see another man, another alpha in heat with a crazed look in his eyes before he sees Logan and backs away. You figured Logan would be seen as a powerful alpha, not one to trifle with but watching it happen makes you even more wet. Logan pulls away abruptly though like you’ve burnt him or something and you frown turning back to him.

“What is this?” You ask as he looks around with a clenched jaw.

“One happened years ago, when I was at the school, all the alphas and omegas of legal age were forced into rut and heat. Woke up in the forest, like some sort of fucking mating grounds for humans” he growls and you freeze he’s been here before?

“You’ve been here before?” You ask and he looks grimly.

“No, but I killed the son of a bitch who started it. Saved the few mutants and humans” he shrugs tensely.

“Ok, so-“ you trail body shuddering as you feel a wave of want go over you.

“Fuck” you mutter moving to the closest tree and putting your hand on it to steady yourself. You haven’t had a heat in a few years, due to living with Logan.

“What’s wrong?” He says gravely but doesn’t make a move to go over.

“The fuck you think is wrong!” You growl at him before apologising and turning so your backs facing him. You need to get a grip, your legs are shaking and you desperately, desperately feel the urge to jump the older alphas bones.

“We need to get out of the open” He states and you nod idly.

“Ok” you say simply and he grunts before he starts walking apparently having better self control than you ever will.

You follow him for a while your vision dances on clear and blurry, your whole body shakes with need and you’re thinking about just lying on the forest floor curling in a ball and hoping the earth will swallow you. You feel so desperate to touch yourself, bring yourself an orgasm so you feel some form of release. Then your mind wanders, Logan’s hand over you, his beard scratching you deliciously his cock-

“Here” you frown focusing as you see him head inside a cave. How the hell did he even find that? He heads inside, grunts, waves you in and you go inside collapsing against the cool rock and groaning. Your legs hurt, your whole body hurts, you feel overly needy.

“Fuckers” he growls and you frown seeing him going through a crate. He pulls out water and rations and you glare at them, fuckers indeed.

“Here” he walks over holds the bottle to you and you breathe him in as you take the bottle your fingers brushing his. It sends a jolt through your body and his eyes stare at you a haze going over them before he shakes his head and stalks away.

“I think, I officially wanna die” you say jokingly, sort of, after some silence sipping on the water occasionally. Logan growls lowly in a warning tone that you’ve never heard and look to him.

“Don’t say that” he snaps and you frown at him. He’s tense, tenser than normal, his eyes are staring at the entrance and he’s got a layer of sweat covering him. You wanna go over there let your omega scent flood his senses so he calms down and clings to you, his nose buried in your neck. You whine at the thought not realising you whined out loud till Logan’s head snaps to look at you and you feel yourself turn ten shades redder and hold your breath.

“Cramp” you lie and he nods stiffly and looks away. You let out your breath with a small huff and press yourself against the cold rock some more.

“What do we do?” You ask not bothering to look at him. He doesn’t answer though and you look at him seeing his grim face as he studies the ground, he doesn’t know, he hasn’t got a clue and neither do you.

next part ->

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Quiet Moments

Hhokay.

This recent ask, right? Well, even though I still stand by the boundaries I explained…I do feel like I might have come off a bit more passive-aggressive than I would’ve liked. If that’s the case, then I apologize. 

Even if all the irl holiday stress is over, I’m still dealing with seasonal depression. I’ve just kinda been in a haze all month. That’s the reason I’m struggling with my current WIP (which was supposed to be a Christmas gift for certain friends, but now will hopefully be posted on New Year’s Eve because I just really want to contribute something to celebrate).

In short, my head is a mess at the moment. However, since I’ve had a few minutes to think…perhaps fulfilling that little request will help get the juices flowing again. Help me regain focus, y’know? 

So, to the anon who sent that ask last night: here ya go! STILL NO SMUT, BECAUSE I JUST DON'T WRITE LIKE THAT. Admittedly not much in the way of spice either. More like…lightly-seasoned Hurt/Comfort, I guess? Either way, don’t say I never did anything for you.

(Disclaimer: both of the characters in this snippet belong to me. For more information on R.D., go here. For more information on Caliban, go here.)

(Trigger Warnings: stress/anxiety, slightly suggestive themes, blood/gore, broken bones, dislocated joints, implied violence, descriptions of illegal business, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of cravings/hunger-pangs, mentions of eating/drinking, mentions of illegal experimentation. Please let me know if I missed anything.) 

___

Scrrtch-scrrtch

The sound was so light, so timid. 

R.D. had only just left the office upstairs, only just walked into the bedroom. Her head was still buzzing with all the notes she’d had to memorize and record for her latest experiment. 

(Though, she had to admit that the typical stress was followed by satisfaction. The test subject her team had abducted nearly a week ago was still alive. Certainly not well, but at least somewhat stable. His blood had already shown such interesting reactions to those chemical samples…no doubt there would be plenty more reactions on the way…)

At first, she had to pause and wonder if she’d actually heard anything at all. 

And as if to drive the point home… 

Scrrtch-scrrtch, sccrrtch-scrrttch

There it was again: the faint sound of little nails dragging along wood. 

And it was obviously seeping into the air from the walk-in closet.

Brow furrowing, R.D. approached that corner of the room, flicking on the closet’s light as she entered.

Scrrtch-scrrtch

The door to Caliban’s den was well-camouflaged among the wallpaper in here, but more than enough time had passed for her to have no trouble finding it. 

R.D. reached over and eased the hidden threshold open, revealing a steep concrete staircase.

She found Snare on the first step, one of his feet lightly thumping against the floor as he fidgeted with his forepaws. 

The pale hare was usually full of energy, and in a way, she supposed he was right now. 

But this was a different type of energy. 

His long ears were nearly touching his back, flattened almost like those of an upset cat. When he craned his neck to look up at her, his weird, beady little dark amber eyes shone with what could only be a clear, almost human-esque sense of worry. 

Snare leaned close, pinching the cuff of her pant-leg between his buck-teeth and tugging a few times. He then dropped to all fours and scurried down the stairs.

R.D. didn’t hesitate to follow. Snare’s quirks made it difficult for most people (except Caliban, of course) to fully understand him, but he was a clever little thing. He’d been trained in a way similar to a dog, and you just got the sense that he knew what he was doing. (...Most of the time, anyway.)

R.D. shifted her weight, keeping her footsteps soft, holding one hand against the cold cement wall to keep her balance. She paused on the final stair, peering into the den.

What she saw…well, it wasn’t unfamiliar, really. 

Caliban stood by the block-island, his back turned to her, in the center of all the kitchen and butchering equipment he’d set up down here so long ago. 

There didn’t seem to be anything off with the functional chaos around him…

R.D. silently walked closer, coming to stand just a little ways from his side. 

There was a severed human arm lying on the block-island, probably having been fished out of the chest-freezer a little while ago. Again, not all that surprising; though she’d obviously had a few questions about Caliban’s lifestyle when they first began seeing each other, that didn’t mean she’d ever had a problem with it, mind you.

There was a bit of blood here and there, but it wasn’t much compared to the messes Caliban usually made for his work. 

In fact, that gore here only seemed to be the result of leaking, not cutting. There were no knives (butcher tools or medical blades) strewn about. Even Caliban’s favorite meat-cleaver was nowhere to be seen…

As R.D. watched, she realized that Caliban’s knuckles were white as he gripped the arm’s wrist to keep it steady. His free hand, meanwhile, was busily tugging at the victim’s fingers: he bent the index back with a sharp, sickening little snap!

The thumb and pinkie both looked just a bit too long for comfort, both laying at awkward angles. It only took a second or two for R.D. to conclude that they’d been forcefully dislocated, likely having been gripped at the knuckles when the joints inside were pulled out of their sockets. 

R.D. blinked, and Caliban had already moved on to the middle finger now. He pulled it harshly, bending it back just like he had before…only now, he kept snapping the phalange, slowly-but-surely folding the digit into a fleshy, uneven rectangle.

She tilted her head at the display.

Caliban was a guy who knew how to keep a system. He took pride in organizing all the stuff he harvested from The Pentas Family’s targets, whether they were his or the ones his peers brought to him for disposal. Even smaller pieces like this arm had enough stuff to be divided evenly between what he kept for eating, and what could be cleaned and sold on the Black Market. 

Sometime after they’d first moved in together, he’d been honest with R.D. about not having much in his youth; he usually balked at the idea of wasting resources—human flesh or not. 

She looked around him, slightly craning her neck to see his face. 

Caliban’s eyes were narrowed, all puffy and red. His jaw was clenched, lips pulled back to reveal rows of gritted teeth; his silver canine-cap wasn’t glinting like usual. His skin shone against the flickering light from above; translucent streaks ran down the length of his features. A tiny speck suddenly slid down his cheek, soon hanging off his chin and then plummeting down onto the block-island’s surface.

Something cold and clammy slithered along R.D.’s ribcage. It suddenly felt like there was a jagged hook digging into the bottom of her heart. 

Thinking quickly, she turned away, trekking up the stairs as quietly as she’d come. After that, she exited the closet and made for the space next to it.

The master bathroom was calm, clean, tidy; everything just seemed to have a little gleam to it. 

She pushed the show curtain aside, then stopped the drain. 

As the water flowed, she’d check it with her wrist every now and again. Not too hot—only warm enough for thin veils of steam to curl through the air. She fished out some bubble bath from under the sink. Not too fragrant; just sweet in a delicate way, kind of like jasmine tea. 

It was an uncommon, expensive brand that she normally wouldn’t share with anyone, but…

Sooner or later, the tub was full enough. After twisting the faucet off, R.D. hurried back into the closet and down the stairs. 

Since the arm’s fingers were all in a very bad way by now, Caliban had turned his attention to the wrist. His hands were shaking as he held it in a vice-like grip, turning it every which way, eliciting all sorts of pops and cracks that would’ve been stomach-churning to anyone else. 

“Caliban..?” R.D. called out, marking sure to keep her voice low and even. 

Her husband still flinched, freezing in place before slowly glancing over his shoulder. The tears were still sliding down, one after another. 

R.D. walked closer. 

He wasn’t avoiding her eyes—that was a good sign. A very small one, but better than nothing...

“It’s…it’s getting pretty late.” R.D. stopped right beside him, reaching over to put her hand over his. Unless you counted a slow nod, he didn’t budge to stop her. 

Caliban tilted his head; even with all the concrete between his den and their house’s first level, there was no way he hadn’t heard the water running 

Slowly, carefully, she lifted his left hand away from the gruesome project. “Why don’t you take a break, huh?” 

Caliban chewed his lip, finally glancing away. A concoction of anger and pain was still very much present in his eyes, but now they were looking more and more tired by the second.

Exhausted, really…

“Okay,” he murmured. His voice was nearly inaudible, so much smaller and choked-up than R.D. was used to. As though his lungs had been buried in layers of something viscous and rotten and wrong. 

...Aaaaaannd that was a bad sign. She’d technically handed a pun right to him, and he didn’t even seem to register it.

He moved to go through the block-island’s drawers, but R.D. kept her hold on his hand, shaking her head. 

“No, don’t worry about that—I’ll take care of it. You go ahead,” she mentioned, nodding to the stairs.

Caliban sucked his teeth, then took a deep breath and trudged up the steps, head hanging. 

R.D. watched him go, then fished a few sheet of butcher paper from the drawer. Once the arm was wrapped up good and tight, she carried it over to the refrigerator. 

The bones inside obviously weren’t in a condition to be sold anymore. Plus…however much time had passed since Caliban had returned, he clearly hadn’t eaten anything. Even if he wasn’t in the mood at the moment, she knew he’d be hungry later.  

After making sure the den’s door was locked, R.D. flicked off the light and headed back upstairs. 

The bathroom door hung open ajar; Snare was pacing back-and-forth just in front of the threshold, almost like a sentry, his little face still screwed up with worry. R.D. reached down to scratch at the hare’s chin. Once he moved to the side, she lightly rapped her knuckles against the door. 

The response she got was a questioning hum, so she moved to look inside. 

Caliban lay against the far side of the bathtub, one elbow propped up on the side so he could rest his head on his hand. Though pretty much everything was covered in a thick blanket of soap-suds, it was still easy to see the scars littered about his shoulders and chest. Some were older than others. 

That was just life in the underground businesses: tough. Even if you had the right (or wrong, depending on the perspective) unhinged mentality for it…

“Are you feeling sick?” R.D. inquired, since it would’ve been pointless to ask if he was just okay. 

“...Not exactly,” Caliban replied after a long few seconds. “My head kinda hurts, but that’s about it.” 

R.D. nodded. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

Caliban shook his head. The vague hurt was still clear as crystal on his face, but a good chunk of stress had clearly vanished. His shoulders were less tense than earlier; his brow wasn’t furrowed, he wasn’t grinding his teeth. 

That was the simple magic of warm water, R.D. supposed.

“Alright, then.” She took a step back, then added, “I’ll be right outside if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.” His voice was still a little weak, but not as tight as it was a few moments ago. 

R.D. stepped away, pulling the bathroom door shut with a soft click. 

After that, she let out a small sigh and head down the hall, making sure all the house’s blinds were closed and all the locks were engaged. 

What could’ve happened earlier..? 

Caliban hadn’t said anything about a hit-job lately. He’d just been focused on a few clients, harvesting and cleaning specific parts for them to eventually collect. 

He usually approached his stress a few different ways—butchering and eating was one of them, which made sense. Giving your stomach something to concentrate on could break up whatever storm was going on in your skull. 

But for something to just…make a cannibal lose his appetite like this? 

Whatever it was, it had to be serious, had to be awful. 

Once the house was secure, R.D. returned to the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She rummaged through the drawers of the mahogany dresser that stood across from the bed, quickly fishing out a set of fluffy pajamas. The fabric of the bottom-half was tinted pale shades of pink, covered in purple splotches that you’d have to squint at to recognize as a pattern of microscopic basal cells. 

R.D. settled down on the bed, untying the side-braid she pretty much always put her hair in each morning, pushing the pillows on either side against the headboard. Reaching over to the nightstand, she produced the novel she’d recently brought home from Barnes & Noble. 

The Edge of Sleep; she was a little over halfway through it. It’d seemed like slowburn at the first couple chapters, but then it just…took so many turns. Really morbid, investing stuff. It truly seemed like the perfect combination of a psychologist’s worst nightmare and dream-come-true.

R.D. wasn’t sure how much time passed since she cracked the book open; immersed as she was, her ears didn’t pick up on the gurgling sound of a bathtub draining. 

Soon enough, however, she felt the mattress dip under foreign weight beside her. And then there was an arm wrapping around her waist, and then another, both gently pulling her close. 

She looked up from the story, glancing to the side.

Caliban had already changed into his own sleepwear: a soft tank-top adorned by a little picture of a grinning venus fly trap, printed to look like it was blooming out of a breast pocket. 

His face was freshly-washed. 

He still looked less than happy, but more calm than before; the tiredness had grown a little. Hopefully he’d get plenty of  rest tonight. 

“So…what happened?” R.D. ventured, sidling closer to him. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Caliban answered. In that split-second, his voice sounded so bitter, almost acidic.

R.D. didn’t flinch. She knew she didn’t need to…as well as how he needed to see that.

“No,” he repeated, much softer this time, shaking his head and holding her a bit tighter.

“Well, that’s just fine.” R.D. nodded and shrugged at the same time. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He’d tell her in due time, when he was ready…or, maybe he just wouldn’t tell her at all. She knew he wouldn’t lie to her, wouldn’t try to hide anything perse. Some things just had to be buried. 

They would just have to see. 

Caliban shuffled against the pillows before resting his chin on her shoulder.

Snare hopped up over the foot of the bed, walking in a small circle before curling up by his owner’s ankles.

R.D.’s focus went back to the novel…for a moment, at least. Even if she couldn’t see his face, she could sense the hesitation he was feeling now. It would’ve been pretty hard not to, if she was honest. 

She quietly raised a hand to brush her hair away from her shoulder. She then tilted her head ever-so-slightly, opening access to her neck. 

Almost immediately she felt teeth grazing her skin.

Nowhere near enough pressure to draw blood, or even leave any markings. 

Not biting. Just…light nibbling. 

Just something to let her know that Caliban was being careful. That he’d stop if she signaled for him to, that he wasn’t going anywhere no matter what was happening. That he was just here. Thinking and processing…

Lips quirking a little, R.D. reached around until her fingers settled in his hair. 

After all, she had to show him that she was here, too.

Time seemed to slow down after that. 

Sooner or later, the nibbling stopped, and she felt him press a kiss to the same spot. Like that was to make it better, despite no damage having been done at all. 

“Love you…” Caliban murmured, leaning even closer to her. 

“Love you, too,” R.D. replied, pushing the book away and guiding him to lie down with her.

@sammys-magical-au @the-matpat-ever @b-is-in-the-closet @im-a-weird0

[inlovewithgarcia]

characters i’ll write for!

hi, my name is estella! i've been on a prolonged hiatus from posting fanfiction, though, i'm beginning to write again! this is an updated version of the characters/tv shows that i'm writing for! please note that i'm not comfortable writing smut requests. i'm only willing to write comfort, fluff, hurt, etc.

criminal minds

emily prentiss

jennifer jareau

penelope garcia

spencer reid

alex blake

kate callahan

tara lewis

elle greenaway

emily x jennifer (ship or platonic)

emily x penelope (ship or platonic)

alex x spencer (only platonic)

jennifer x penelope (only platonic)

penelope x spencer (only platonic)

emily x tara (ship or platonic)

yellowjackets

misty quigley

natalie scatorccio

laura lee

taissa turner

shauna sadecki

jackie taylor

misty x nat (ship or platonic)

lottie x nat (ship or platonic)

crystal x misty (only platonic)

a series of unfortunate events

olivia caliban

jacquelyn scieszka

esme squalor

kit snicket

larry your-waiter

georgina orwell

henchperson of indeterminate gender

montgomery montgomery

gustav sebald

olivia x jacquelyn (spreading the scieszkaban agenda)

[veliseraptor]

twenty questions for fic writers

tagged by @feralkwe - thank you! I feel like I've done this before but if I have it's been a minute so

1. How many works do you have on AO3? across pseuds I have 1,010 works. with my "current" one I'm at 607. that is more or less my entire oeuvre, though there's a fair number of short fics on tumblr I haven't gotten around to crossposting though I'd ostensibly like to at some point. eventually. maybe.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 4,873,723. aYIKES. but hey closing in on 5 million! wonder when I'll hit that. I bet I would if I posted my unfinished wips for the mcu tbh

3. What fandoms do you write for? ever or currently? the list of fandoms I have written at least one fic for (not counting ones where the one fic was a crossover) is [deep breath] the mcu, the untamed/mdzs, supernatural, the silmarillion, a song of ice and fire, black jewels trilogy, wheel of time, doctrine of labyrinths, death note, the caliban leandros series, avatar the last airbender, kinnporsche, doctor who, buffy the vampire slayer/angel, gentleman bastard sequence, marvel comics, harry potter, temeraire, good omens, code geass, realm of the elderlings, greek mythology, dragon age, sandman, dexter, lymond chronicles, the firekeeper saga, lucifer (the tv series), crimson peak, kushiel's legacy, the x men movies, chronicles of narnia, twilight, and a couple other small book fandoms.

i used to be a lot more multifandom than i am now in terms of what i wrote for, and have been writing fic for which is how this happened.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? Not my favorite fics, for the most part. They are:

Life in Reverse (MCU)

With Absolute Splendor (The Untamed)

some good mistakes (The Untamed)

half a league onward (MCU)

The Villain Wrangler (MCU)

5. Do you respond to comments? I do not. I feel bad about it, but (a) I don't know what to say, (b) I feel unbearably self-conscious/self-important trying and (c) I already have too much I'm trying to do in my limited time/too many obligations I have placed upon myself to add another one that will just stress me out. Again, I have all kinds of guilt about this, though, which probably kind of defeats the (c) purpose of not doing it.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Almost certainly Mercy, though it's possible I could dig up others; that's the literal murder-suicide one, though, and I'm pretty sure I've only written one of those. I've written a lot where one character dies but another survives and has to live with the grief, which is arguably worse? but I still think Mercy wins. once there was a way to get back home might give it a run for its money, though.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I've actually written a fair amount of fic with happy endings! just mostly they have to suffer to get there. but trying to think of fic with a straight happy ending...I feel like I wrote some fairly fluffy fic in Black Jewels Trilogy fandom that I don't want to link to because I don't think it's very good. Maybe Life in Reverse, honestly? That's a fic where I tied up most things and resolved them in a pretty happy way.

Oh, or actually With Absolute Splendor might qualify.

8. Do you get hate on fics? I have in the past! Not a lot, but it happens every so often. Usually I just delete it, tbh; it doesn't feel worth leaving it there and I'm certainly not going to respond to it.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Sure do, primarily for pairings that are dysfunctional in one way or another, and for the most part I want the sex to say something about the inner life/psychology of the characters I'm writing. truly plotless smut does happen but I find it weirdly difficult. I have to do so much pre-justification work for my smut, at least in my head if not on page.

a lot of what I write at least has a little bit of kink or D/s flavor to it even if it's not explicitly written as such (and a lot of it is at least a little explicitly written as such). I also like to write about power dynamics (in sex) and sex that's sublimating some other emotion or desire, if that latter makes sense.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I used to, but not anymore, and I probably won't; I don't know why, but I'm just generally not a crossover fan these days. But I did write a Lord of the Rings/Cthulhu Mythos Morgoth/Cthulhu fic back in the day. No, I'm not going to link it, you can find it if you really want.

The Scarlet Pimpernel/Black Jewels Trilogy might be objectively weirder but it was because of an RP and therefore feels more reasonable to me.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? I had forgotten about it until just now, but yes, actually. Including one that actually got reposted on AO3, which takes a particular kind of guts that's not the same as reposting on Wattpad or the like, imo. (I've also had fic scraped off AO3 and reposted on other sites.) The person took it down when I called them out on it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I have been fortunate enough to have a number of fics translated into a few languages! I was curious which ones so I went and looked, and it looks like I've had fic translated into Russian, Chinese, and Japanese.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I've started co-writing a fic but never finished one.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? Might have to give this one to xuexiao, though there's a lot of room in my heart for many ships! that's just one that hit an incredible number of my favorite things squarely on the head several times, leaving me concussed and helpless. It's so much, you guys.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? There's a number of my MCU wips that I look at and am like "yeah what I have of this is good actually, too bad I'll almost certainly never finish it", among which is Dead Superheroes Walking, the fic about everyone who died in Infinity War being trapped inside the Soul Stone and having to work together to fix the ensnappening from the inside. I have about 3/4 of it written if not more and the remaining quarter will probably remain unfinished. It was Wanda POV and a lot about Wanda and Loki bonding.

another one is the one where Hela decides instead of fighting Odin to strategically back down and plan to overthrow him later, and therefore is around while Loki and Thor are growing up. I really liked what I had of this one, and really enjoyed writing Hela's POV, but again. don't think I'm going to end up finishing it.

I have a whole folder called "MCU Salvage" that's basically my MCU wips that I parsed out because I was like "these are pretty good actually, maybe someday I'll have the motivation to return to them", which is probably delusional but, well. one never knows.

16. What are your writing strengths? I think I'm pretty good at dialogue - I love to write characters having conversations, probably to a fault - and, when it comes to fanfiction, characterization.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Worldbuilding for sure is one. I hate it, I don't think I'm very good at it. also description - I feel like I lean heavily on dialogue in fic and tend to go light on descriptive language. this is probably partly because I'm not a very imagery-focused reader, so I don't think a lot about creating a "visual" with my writing, but also because I just don't like doing it as much as I like writing about internal thought processes and interpersonal verbal exchanges.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I almost certainly would not do it, as someone who is monolingual and has zero confidence in my ability to do it right in a way that wouldn't read absolutely awfully. The one exception to this is in Lymond fic, and that's because the canon did it first, so it is fully justifiable for me to have this guy spout off in five languages in one fic. Otherwise...not since I tried writing a fake Phantom of the Opera fic mocking bad Phantom of the Opera fics.

19. First fandom you wrote for? I always say Wheel of Time because that's the first fandom of my heart but technically I wrote a crack Harry Potter fic before I wrote for Wheel of Time. But in my heart it was Wheel of Time. That was certainly my first fandom in any meaningful sense of the word.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written? This question is my nemesis. My favorite fic I've ever written changes at least once a month. I have a series for this on AO3 that I'm going to link to as a lazy answer to this question even though that's sort of 50 of my favorite fics, so sue me, I've written a lot of things over the years and I actually do like a fair number of them, even if you have to make me say so.

tagging uhhhh @highladyluck, @curiosity-killed, @ameliarating, @gloriousmonsters, i'm not sure how many people i'm supposed to tag for this but if you want to do it, go ahead?

[moonlight-prose]

To talk about something other than the election (to just not think about it for a moment), how about some Logan fluff (and maybe smut) ideas to ponder over

- Logan 100% will massage your feet after a long day. You dont even ask him. He just does it the second he notices youre tired or stressed, while watching tv or getting in bed, he brings your legs up to his lap, and begins absentmindedly rubbing your feet, taking away the aches and pain (supposedly foot rubs help migraines too!)

-Logan can and WILL be the most intense snuggler. Good luck trying to get out of his arms (why would want you to??). The man practically meltss into you and will refuse to let you go until you have to literally wake him.

- yknow how hugh himself can be goofy and fun? I feel like logan can be like that too, if he truly feels comfortable you, and you can get him out of his shell. Saying things out of pocket (usually dirty) to you, randomly manhandling you (throwing your over his shoulder for no reason), most definitely smacks your ass as much as he can when walking by(presuming its just the two of you). He likes playful banter, and he also likes teasing and getting in your space just to get you flustered (in a flirty and fun way). Those are just a few things. Seeing Worst!Logan with Dogpool and Laura and laughing just makess me want to see this man happy and light hearted and in love 🥺

- speaking of throwing you over his shoulder, if youve been working for awhile at your computer or desk or wherever, and he thinks youre overworking yourself but you just wont quit it- he definitely just pick you up just like that, carrying you to the bedrook where he'll definitely make you relax and let off some steam 😏

- when logans in love with you, everyone can tell. The man thinks hes so discreet with himself but he isnt. Doesnt matter which logan either. Theyre all smitten. Everyone sees it, either the X-men at the mansion, or Wade and Co., or Caliban, Charles, and Laura, they all see how this usually stone cold, grumpy badass just gets all puppy eyed everytime he looks at you, making sure to do things for you, whether simply holding the door open, making your favorite dinner, or grander gestures where he plans a weekend getaway for you both- its just completely obvious. The others learn to not tease him about it. Youll likely get cussed out. He takes things seriously in his life but hes NEVER taken anything as serious as he does his devotion to you.

i hope you know i am just yearning and pining for this fictional man. you really gift my inbox with these huh? my bad for taking forever to answer! but i can promise this made me smile finding it in my inbox. especially the man being hopelessly in love section. he is such a secret romantic.

[regardstosoulandromance]

flew like a moth to you, sunlight

After Caliban finds Lilith’s continued bad mood unmanageable, he takes matters into his own hands to help the Queen of Hell blow off some steam- a sex potion that causes Lilith to set her sights on none other than Sabrina Spellman.

sex pollen! soulmates! black sabith shipper caliban! forest smut! read here on ao3

[j2d3]

Chose between fluff and smut in the comments please.

[eufezco]

AFTER MIDNIGHT

you spend the night in the house of a family you helped on the road. it's your first night together after a long time and you weren't planning on wasting it.

smut with a bit of reader and logan struggling with body image. english isn't my first language (!) gif credit to @/asgardswinter

mcu masterlist

you slowly unbuttoned logan's shirt.

you were both standing in the middle of the room as you helped the fabric slide down his arms until it fell to the floor. you looked at him in the eyes, he was embarrassed, his cheeks were burning and he was unable to make eye contact. you held his chin between your thumb and index finger and you pressed your lips against his.

logan didn't want to stay. he only said yes to the dinner invitation because it had been days since your last proper meal and he didn't want you, charles, or laura to starve to death.

what he truly wanted was to get back in the car and drive to north dakota. but you could see on his face how tired he was, his whole body was in pain and you didn't know how to help him. so when the family you had helped on the road offered you to spend the night at their place after dinner, you immediately said yes.

they let you and logan stay in one of the guests' rooms while charles slept in the other one and Laura rested on the big couch in the living room.

logan hissed when your fingertips touched his bruised shoulders and you quickly removed your hand, terrified at the thought of having caused him more pain. you broke away from his lips. —i don't want to hurt you, lo —. you excused yourself before he could speak.

logan shook his head. his big hands carefully cupped your cheeks and pulled you into a sweet kiss. —you could never hurt me.

it had been so long since the last time you were intimate that you didn't even know where to start touching him. both of you had been very busy. there were days when you didn't even see each other because when logan came home from work you were already asleep and the only interaction you had was when you could feel his arms wrap around your body from behind and pull you closer to him.

so you taking care of old charles xavier, logan spending most of the day out working, caliban sleeping in the room next door, and now you and logan having to look after laura... you had barely had time to be alone with each other. but that night it seemed as if the stars aligned for you to end up alone in that room.

your hands landed carefully on his chest, warm skin and hard muscles under your fingertips. his body tensed, afraid that you might also feel the thick scars on him and that they disgusted you as much as they did to him. but they didn't. you felt his scarred skin under your touch and traced each of his scars with your fingers.

while he still cupped one of your cheeks, logan placed his other hand on the base of your neck. your lips moved with increasing desperation, your tongues slipped past each other's lips and you softly moaned in the middle of the kiss when logan's fingers gently closed around your throat.

your fingers worked on his belt and the zipper of his pants as logan guided you to the bed. you walked backward, your lips still attached as his hands took care of the button of your jeans.

you sat on the edge of the bed while he leaned over. he crawled on top of you until you were completely flat on your back. logan held the weight of his body using his hands resting on both sides of your head. if you knew how everything hurt him every time he moved, you would've stopped him but he didn't want that to happen.

he sacrificed all the pain in his body for the feeling of your legs squeezing both sides of his body, for your hands pushing the back of his head to deepen the kiss, for the way you parted your lips from his to gasp for air and for the way he kept kissing you even though you weren't kissing him back.

one of his hands slid down your body, his thumb caressing your sensitive nipples over the fabric of your top. you moved uncomfortably on the bed once his hand reached your stomach. logan kissed you harder to keep you from overthinking. he had never been very good with words, but his actions made up for it.

his big hand sneaked inside your underwear, your mouth opened when his fingers found your clit. using his thumb, logan rubbed circles there, just the way he remembered you liked it. his index and middle fingers teased your entrance, spreading your arousal all over it. logan slowly pushed those two fingers inside you, thick and rough, coated in your juices.

you threw your head back and a moan ripped from your throat. logan's hand holding his body over yours went to your mouth. he shushed you. your eyes were closed shut. —can't do that. i'd love to hear you but we gotta be quiet, yes?

you nodded, it was hard taking into count how sweetly his fingers stretched your pussy.

—gonna be quiet so i can fuck you with my fingers? —he asked you, his hand still covering your mouth. you nodded again. he slowly nodded too. his voice, already deep as it was, turned deeper as he murmured in your ear. —yeah? good girl. can you feel how tight you are? gotta get you nice and ready for my cock —. his fingers sank knuckles deep into your core. you closed your eyes shut again, trying your best to hold back your whines.

logan's hand covering your mouth moved to your cheek and caressed it with his thumb. his two fingers inside you curled up. logan pulled them out and pushed them in again as he praised you for doing such a good job in keeping quiet.

—you okay?

you nodded to his question, teeth biting your lower lip.

—words, baby, i need to hear you say it.

—'m okay, lo, but, fuck —. you softly moaned. —i can take it, i promise i can, i need you now. —you whispered as you grabbed the back of his head and connected your lips with his. shit, and how could he let his girl beg for his cock when he wanted you as much?

while his lips devoured yours and his beard tickled your face, logan pulled down his underwear, just enough to free his cock.

he gave himself a few pumps, rubbing himself up and down, before sinking into you. he was going slow, but he didn't stop until he was all the way inside you. logan rested his forehead against yours, your mouths open, incapable of continuing kissing, a few centimeters apart as your breaths mixed.

logan placed one of his hands on your hip, holding your body to the bed and allowing him to set the pace. he kissed your top lip while you were still too lost in the feeling of being full to kiss him back. you grabbed his bicep, nails digging into his skin, leaving half-moon marks. fuck yeah, you heard him moan in a whisper.

it was so hard not to make any sound when you could feel how he was using his entire body to fuck into you, making the bed creak while dropping a bit of his weight on you and caging you on the bed. with a bit of luck, your hosts would already be fast asleep and would not hear it because he was trying his best too. every time his balls smacked against your ass, he had to hold back the grunts and turn them into heavy breaths.

your foreheads were pressed together. back in the day, you'd have been telling each other the filthiest things, but now the 'i love you's came out in soft whispers and died into each other's mouth. it was so intimate. you wrapped your legs around his body, ankles locked behind his back. logan held your hands, pinning them against the mattress on both sides of your head and interlacing your fingers.

logan came inside you with a groan that he tried to silence by hiding his face in the crook of your neck while you bit your lower lip as your legs shook and squeezed his body. you felt dizzy from all the panting, your knuckles were white from the tight grip you had on his hands. his claws came out unintentionally but thanks to your hands under his, the blades didn't stab into the mattress otherwise you would have had a lot of explaining to do the next morning.

—are you okay? that must have hurt.

after catching your breath, he removed himself from you and lay down on the bed. you turned to look at him and took one of his hands between yours. you kissed his knuckles before massaging them. you heard the hiss he let out as his claws hid in his hands again.

logan hummed, enjoying the soothing effect that your fingers had on his aching knuckles. he lifted one of his arms so you could snuggle into his chest and you gladly took refuge on one side of his body.

—never been better —. he kissed your temple, holding you closer to him.

you played with the patch of hair on his chest while you silently enjoyed each other's company. logan closed his eyes and hummed as his fingers caressed your hair. you lifted your head from his chest, and he opened one of his eyes, curious to know what happened.

—you know i stopped taking the birth control pill months ago, right?

logan closed his eye, relieved to know it was just that. —yeah, you told me, i remember.

you narrowed your eyes. —you know what that means?

he opened his eyes to look at you, were you being serious? —me cumming inside you? yeah baby, i'm almost 190, i know what that means.

you looked at each other in silence for a few seconds until you let your head fall on his chest again. he could see the worry in your eyes. he ran his fingers through your hair again, telling you that you would be okay even before you could ask him.

—what will we do if i get pregnant?

—we will be okay and we will find a way, we always have.

[flowersforbucky]

Idk if you take requests but I love the way you write older logan so I'd love it if you wrote older logan coming home after a long shift of driving the limousine to find reader wearing his flannel and how he reacts <3

old man!logan x reader - 740 ish words

thanks so much for this! i have such a soft spot for older logan 🤧💕 18+ only mdni

warnings/tags: logan refers to himself as your old man, reader can wear logan's flannel but no specific physical descriptions, not explicit but there's suggestiveness/implied smut

Tonight, you find yourself especially grateful that Caliban stays with Charles in the water tower during the night. You're always grateful for this, of course. You don't know what any of you would do without his help.

But tonight, you're even more thankful than usual.

Having picked up a few extra shifts at the diner you work at this week, you've barely had time to do anything except sleep when you've been off the clock. Therefore, dishes have piled up and you desperately need to catch up on some laundry on your day off tomorrow.

In the meantime, you wear nothing but one of Logan's old flannels that hangs low enough to cover the curve of your ass - barely.

As if that isn't reason enough to be glad for the privacy, you can't seem to stop yourself from smelling the collar of the shirt every so often, inhaling the familiar and comforting scent of Irish Spring soap and old tobacco.

You'd received a text from him stating he is on his way home almost half an hour ago, so you decided to stay awake until he gets home. In actuality, you'd seen him before you left for work this morning, but it feels like it has been days since you'd been able to do anything other than bid each other quick goodbyes as one of you comes or the other goes.

You stand in the makeshift kitchen of the abandoned smelting plant that you've come to call home, reheating the food that you brought home with you from work earlier. It's dark except for the old TV that stays on near constantly for the comfort of background noise.

You see the limousine headlights flash through the thin curtains that you'd hung up throughout the factory, and you breathe a sigh of relief that he's home as the microwave begins to ding.

He enters a few moments later, locking the door behind him before noticing you leaning against the edge of the kitchen table, next to the food that you have ready for him.

“What exactly did I do to deserve coming home to this?” His voice is tired but still teasing.

“I brought home some leftovers from the diner earlier,” you shrug, nodding towards the plate beside you. “I figured you didn't eat before you left for work.”

He shrugs out of his work jacket, unsnapping the top buttons of his white button down as he slowly walks over to you. His gaze trails from your bare legs and up to your face.

“You'd be right about that,” he admits with a short, low chuckle. “But I'm talking about you wearing this.”

He stands directly in front of you, his hands lightly tugging on the hem of his flannel that graces your thighs.

“This old thing?” You run the palms of your hands up his chest, feeling the hard bulk of his muscles from beneath the smooth material of his button down shirt. When your hands reach his throat, you clasp them around the back of his neck and pull his face closer to yours. “Need to catch up on laundry real bad, it's the only clean thing I could find.”

He hums in consideration, unable to conceal the smirk that forms on his lips in the glow of the TV light. His hands move to your lower back, pulling you flush against him before bunching the loose fabric in his fists.

“I don't think this is clean,” he murmurs against your mouth, the thick scruff of his beard tickling your jaw and sending goosebumps down your spine. You can smell the familiar hint of whiskey on his breath. “In fact, I slept in it just the other night. I'm thinking you just missed your old man.”

“Two things can be true at the same time,” you retort. You did miss him - you always miss him when work and other priorities have to take precedence over time spent together.

“Oh yeah?” He lifts you up the slightest bit by the backs of your thighs, plopping you down on the kitchen table. He nudges your knees open with his own, spreading your legs enough to wedge his body between your thighs. “How about you lay down on this table and let me show you how much I've been missing you, then?”

You glance down at the forgotten plate of food that you'd made for him - it can be reheated again later, you suppose.

••••••

thank you for reading 💕💕

[captain039]

PART 2 The 2029

Old man Logan x reader

Warnings: AOB dynamics, age gap, angst, swearing, mutants, intimacy, eventual smut, claiming, heats, ruts, needles, drug usage, dystopian world, plus size reader, sexual assault,

Notes: Sorry I’m struggling to find my mojo to write xD

Mutation: Telekinesis, energy manipulation, telepathy

Previous part <-

It’d been a week since the old alpha was here. You know he wouldn’t be back for a while not till his next rut. A routine call happened, lining you up with the other omegas as more near rut alphas entered. You hated how they all smelt, how they didn’t have the cigar and whiskey scent.

You head back to your room, knowing the obvious outcome but when the automated PA voice rings over that you’ve been chosen your body freezes. You’re forced to calm yourself down as an alpha walks into the room. He smells wrong, too overwhelming, he’s not a mutant either. You feel his body heat as his chest meets your back his nose going to your neck and breathing deeply. Your body responds without your willingness, you tilt your head to the side to allow the alpha access, his hands squeezing your hips bruisingly

“I like them bigger” he growls voice gravely and not in a sexy way in a way that says he’s smoked too much. You feel your mind going haywire, the spiral of thoughts and suddenly you need him, your alpha, you need Logan.

Logan jolts in his sleep your voice calling his name pleadingly. He sits up a frown on his face as your voice echos into his mind.

“Logan, Help me!” He’s up quickly, grabbing his jacket and keys his limp slowing him down. He’s growling and snarling ignoring the look Caliban gives him as he wakes up. The alphas in the car and flooring it to the omega centre he can feel your anxiety, feel the disgust.

You’re panicking, the alphas hands sliding along your body under your shirt and groping your breasts. You try to calm down you know they will send someone in with an Easer.

“Shaking already?” The alpha smirks his tongue running along your neck hand at your waist band. There’s an alarm suddenly making you jolt, the room locking itself.

“The hell” the alpha mutters finally letting you go as you go to your bed and cower on it. The alarms are loud you hear chaos outside but then your door is being slashed through, three claw marks. You know who it is instantly, even if you didn’t know his mutation you know it’s him. He’s pissed you can smell the rage feel it almost as he kicks the door down. You stare at him, the old alpha, three knife like claws out of his knuckles as he look to the other alpha in your room. A shot rings out but the bullet doesn’t slow down the old alpha. It feels like it spurs him on as he’s charging at the other alpha stabbing his claws into his chest growing loudly before throwing him against the wall. Blood splatters everywhere and you stare in shock and fear. Logan goes to your bed, picks you up easily and walks into the hall, they won’t shoot omegas. You’re scared but not of him as he walks through the hall a trail of bodies all the way to a front door you’ve never seen. You hold onto Logan tightly trying to make yourself smaller as he sits you down in the passenger seat of a fancy limo before he gets into the other side. The alarms still going, lights flashing, cars approaching. You put your seat belt on as Logan speeds out of the centres park heading onto the road. You don’t know where you are, you’ve seen maps many times of where you lived but nothing like this, you’ve never left the building besides going outside in their outside area.

You keep your head down trembling, finding the city turning to desert. You look out at the vastness of it, though some buildings are still littered around they’re abandoned, broken down. You look at the dash of the car instead gulping trying to calm your racing heart. You suddenly feel all of what that alpha did his hands his tongue- you wipe at your neck suddenly feeling disgusting, you open the glove box compartment finding no wipes or anything.

“Omega- hey- calm down” there’s a hand gripping your wrist and you whimper keeping your neck shown.

“Jesus” the old alpha mutters letting go of your hand. You rub the spot on your neck again till it’s red and irritated.

“What are you doing you’ll hurt yourself” the old alpha grumbles but doesn’t touch you this time. You want to cry, you want to scream, hell maybe open this door and roll out. You go for curling against the door instead the bumpy road not kind to your head but you don’t want to move. The car turns a few times, your eyes a closed until the car slows and you open them. What you see isn’t what you were expecting, a large run down shed with silos and large water tanks nearby. The old alpha gets out the limo and walks around to your side. You get off the door as he opens it, you get out on your own as he makes no move to help you. There’s another man coming out of the shed another mutant by his scent, a beta, strange.

“Logan, what the hell?” He says to the old alpha who grunts and leads you inside. You keep your head down trying not to wince at everything, it all looks home made or makeshift, cans of food on shelves, bottles of waters.

“Who is this?” The other mutant asks tone more pressing and you finally look to him. He’s pale, very pale almost white you swear, his eyes are a little funny too.

“I’m-“ you gulp a bit glancing to the alpha who is gone from the room. You frown anxiety spiking before he comes back out clothes in hand.

“Put these on” he orders and you look to the clothes, they’re not going to fit you.

“Alpha” you mutter softly his back turned to you his shoulders tensing.

“These won’t fit” you add quietly. He sighs snatching the clothes back making you flinch.

“Logan!” The beta snaps again but the alpha is ignoring everyone.

“Pack now” the old alpha orders the beta who stares in shock but doesn’t question disappearing into one of the rooms. You stand lost and confused glancing around, unsure of where you’re supposed to go.

Logan packs as does the beta, a few suitcases before the beta packs food and water and other items. Logan moves around you and you’re struggling to find your words feeling overwhelmed.

“Will you please talk to poor girl!” The beta snaps and Logan growls now standing in front of you. You take the alpha in he isn’t anything like the one you know in the facility, apparently the real world was worse.

“We’re leaving state” he says like that explains everything.

“They won’t let you cross with an unmated omega!” The beta growls in irritation.

“She’ll be my mine” Logan growls back and you freeze again.

“Not smelling like you she won’t or having a bite mark she won’t” the beta chides back and you can smell the increasing annoyance on the alpha in front of you.

“Can we ask what I want?” You suddenly yell both of the men looking to you.

“You called me” Logan growls softly eyes staring into yours.

“How?” You ask.

“I don’t know” he grumbles.

“My powers are weakened practically turned off-“ you explain rubbing the spot on your neck again where the unknown alpha licked.

“Another alpha touched you?” The beta asks and you nod.

“You went into a panic, called out to him subconsciously” the beta explains.

“Why?” I ask and the beta looks embarrassed.

“You’ve attached yourself to him on a mental level, your body, your biology sees him as your alpha, your protector” he explains and you keep your eyes on him trying to ignore the way the older man tenses.

“We’re leaving” the older alpha growls grabbing all the suitcases and leaving the shed.

“Look it’s best to just follow him till he calms down and figures something out ok?” The beta offers a smile and you just nod.

Next part ->

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Are you open to writing smut? I would love RD x Caliban smut so much. If not full on smut something a little spicy would be great. If not that's fine, keep up the good work I enjoy your fanfics a lot.

(Just to clarify: I'm not trying to shame any smut-writers out there. We all have different opinions/boundaries, and writing fictional stuff rarely ever harms anyone. I'm just explaining my own thoughts/preferences here.)

Well, I definitely DON'T write smut for several personal reasons. I did include a warning about that in my intro, but my intro is also pretty wordy in general. Apologies for that, I guess.

And as for spice...I can ocassionally make an exception or two, but that's also kinda iffy for me? Again, I have my reasons. The primary one being that these characters are fanegos. They're based off of real content-creators.

Even if said creators have no idea that I even exist, I still feel very uncomfortable at just the thought of writing raunchy stuff that would technically be in their image.

So...sorry, but no, I can't do that. (It's kind of a shame; I'm pretty sure this is only the fourth creative-focusing ask I've gotten for this whole damn year.)

Thank you for the kind words, though. Since my stories haven't been getting too much attention (*cough-cough* reblogs and comments *cough-cough*) lately, it's really nice to know that some people are still interested/reading.

However: though I'm busy with a current WIP, and have another one that revolves around something else after that, I'm still planning to write a story specifically for Caliban and R.D. somewhat soon.

So, you'll get to see some fluffy, couply stuff with them in the future. (As fluffy and couply as you can get with a cannibal mobster and a mostly unethical scientist, lol)

[calibancangetit]

I'm lowkey obsessed with your Caliban imagine, i'm already a fan of yours and wish you the best 💕 can't wait for more. !!!

🥺💕 thank you