#logan Howlett x reader

[logansbaby]

GUILTY AS SIN | Logan Howlett

❥ summary: the entire time you’ve known logan howlett, you’ve tried to keep your distance, your longings locked. then, one night, all that effort goes to waste when you’re confronted by your feelings.

word count: 8.5k

pairings: logan howlett x fem!mutant reader

content warnings: 18+ CONTENT MDNI, masturbation, dirty thoughts, light choking, multiple orgasms, oral (f + m receiving), spitting, sixty-nine sex position, scent kink, like one spank, underwear stays on! tiny hint of arousal from crying? p in v sex, creampie

❥ a/n: this is a repost from my previous account! please enjoy anyway<3 also, going through this again made me realize once again, im a slut!!!!! this is absolutely filthy!!!! readers mutation is vague but her hair color changes to red with emotions and red light/energy she manifests in her hands! title and fic inspired by guilty as sin by taylor swift

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THE SHEETS are chilled, crisp to the touch enough that shivers tickle their way across exposed skin as a figure tosses and turns in the unmade bed. The window had been left open, and as a result, cold air had poured into the room.

Despite the fact that goosebumps adorn your body, it feels as though you’re on fire. Huffs escape parted lips, a charged hum zipping through your veins that only intensify each time you shift. You’d been trying to sleep for the past couple hours, trying to ignore the need thrumming through you, but have only managed to fail.

You turn on your side for possibly the twentieth time, but the position only serves to worsen your state as the flesh of your thighs squeeze unintentionally, a wave of brief relief sent to your throbbing cunt. Tears brim your lashes and heat coils in your tummy and fuck, your body is humming with lust and everything was so, so sensitive.

This is all Logan’s fault.

The man has been gone less than a week and yet, your body is practically vibrating with need, trembling with desire.

The feelings you harbor make you feel shameful and guilty for a handful of reasons.

Logan is not your boyfriend, he’s not even a friend. While he’s cordial with the others in the mansion, he’s remained cold and indifferent towards you.

You pretend it never bothered you, when he pointedly ignored your greetings in passing or refused to partner up with you during a mission. You didn’t understand what you’d done to upset him, to warrant his treatment of you as though you were the most annoying person on the planet.

So, logically, your heart should not race at the mere thought of him. Nor should your cunt throb and soak your panties whenever images of his sweaty form cloud your mind.

Though, you’re only human and Logan fucking Howlett is a man worth embarrassing yourself over, especially when he looks like he does.

A memory comes forward, one that has your cheeks hot with desire, your chest rising a little faster than before.

A couple weeks ago, it was late and with the way sleep evaded you, you’d been wandering the halls, in hopes of tiring yourself out. Except, when you’d walked down one of the hallways, you froze at the sight of Logan shirtless in his room, the door left ajar.

A towel covered his head as he scrubbed away the wetness in his hair, and you desperately hoped he hadn’t noticed your presence. Water dribbled down his muscular body, and your eyes greedily watched each droplet descend down. What really had you drooling, however, was the thick, prominent vein on his stomach that crept down into the waistband of his gray sweatpants.

When you had barely caught yourself from releasing a moan, you dashed back to your room right away. You were wide awake still, but for a completely different reason. All you could think about was tracing your tongue along the vein. If you’d fucked yourself that night to the thought of him, no one had to know.

So, if you gave in to desire tonight, it wouldn’t be the first time, but it certainly wouldn’t make you feel any less guilty.

Waves of warmth dust your cheeks, lips bitten until they’re swollen and spit slicked. Your breasts ache from inside the confines of the pink, lacy shirt— each labored breath you inhale have perky nipples brushing the material, sending zips of pleasure down your spine. Your hole aches so badly to be filled, and it clenches around nothing as need slicks the gusset of your panties. Your clit, puffy and neglected, throbs with pure, sizzling lust.

Another wave of butterflies floundering in your belly from the memory of Logan’s hairy chest has you giving in— a shaky hand slipping from its place on your stomach down, down, down until cold fingers meet the mess between your thighs. A gasp sounds, fluttering around the room as you brush over your clit. Even through the material of your underwear, the slight pressure of your fingers has you mewling.

Flashes of Logan dance behind closed lids, your imagination running wild while you messily swirled over your clit. You want him so, so bad, in every way possible.

You’re plagued with thoughts of him; his pretty hazel eyes, the slope of his nose, the tufts of his brown hair— the muscles that are constantly on display, his thick thighs that you want to ride until you come all over him, and the huge bulge that is ever present in those flattering jeans of his (and if it was a reoccurring fantasy of yours to ride that delicious bulge over his jeans until you both come from just dry humping, again— no one had to know).

Him hovering over you, dog tags swinging in your face as he fucks you hard. Him picking you up and taking you against a wall, lips trapped in a messy, wet top lip kiss. Him prying your thighs open as he licks up your pussy, tongue dipping into your hole to lap up all the desire pooling, his lips wrapping around the swollen bud and sucking violently. Him holding your face lovingly as his hips thrust his cock deeper down your throat, groans spilling at the gag you’d let out.

You’re split between wanting to sink down onto his cock and rut your swollen nub against the curls nestled the base of him and stuffing his dick down your throat, swallowing around him until he comes and coats your throat with his spend.

You don’t even bother to remove the damp underwear, instead circling your clit over the material— and oh, fuck. The roughness of the lace mixed with the soft rubbing of your fingers has moans tumbling from parted, wet lips.

Your unoccupied hand slips under the tiny shirt covering your chest and only settles until a nipple is pinched between determined fingers, rolling the pert bud in tandem with the swirl of your other hand on your sex.

Ecstasy nearly envelopes you and if you were more coherent, you’d be embarrassed by how fast you’re about to reach your peak. But, as it is, your brain is completely preoccupied and the only thing on your mind is lessening the pressing desire that ebbs deep within you.

And fuck, you’re so fucking needy for Logan that you try to pretend it’s his fingers abusing your clit, his fingers tugging at the sensitive buds of your chest. You want his tongue between your thighs, licking up your desire and sucking your puffy clit into his pretty mouth. You crave the burn that would tickle your most sensitive area.

You’re suddenly overwhelmed, the fantasies swirling behind your closed eyes far too much—the mix of your filthy thoughts and your fingers rubbing your nub has your legs shaking as more wetness dampens your slit.

“Logan, Logan, Logan—“ the chant of his name falls from you, the feeling of your orgasm washing over you, threatening to pull you under the tall waves of pleasure.

With your eyes scrunched shut, ears ringing white noise, and hips humping your hand pathetically, you’re a writhing mess against the sheets.

Your hair scattered around your pillow shifts from its natural state to a dark, glimmering red. Even with your eyes shut, you can feel the vermillion light whirling at your fingertips, begging to be released. Even with years of practice, your mutation is not one of subtlety.

Searing bliss coils in your lower tummy, your button tingling with the after effects of the orgasm that had just slammed into you. You sigh, because even though you just came, you feel far from satisfied. Your body buzzes with sweltering hunger, all the way down to the tips of your toes. Even if you fuck yourself dizzy with another orgasm, you know it won’t satiate your body.

Before you can slip your fingers inside your wet hole, a loud knock echos through your room.

You still, hoping that if you ignore the noise, whoever it is knocking will simply go away. But when another rhythmic thump comes a few seconds later, you huff.

It’s well past midnight at this point, so who in their right mind would be going about and slamming their fists on your door?

Apparently, you haven’t moved fast enough when the person has the nerve to knock for a third time. A growl, tinged with annoyance, slips out as you fling yourself up and off the bed.

You stomp to the door, ready to tell the person on the other side to fuck off. But when you open the mahogany door, all the anger simmering beneath your heated skin disappears, along with your breath, as your eyes take in the sight before you.

Logan Howlett stands before you, seemingly angry as a frown etches deep on his face. He glares at you, hazel eyes swarming with something unknown.

No matter how many times the man has graced you with his glare, it makes you shiver each time as if it were the first.

And little do you know, all of your craziest, fatal fantasies are about to come true.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡.

The moment Logan steps into the Mansion, finally back from the shit show of a mission Charles had sent him on, he tenses immediately.

His fingers clench into fists, tight enough that the skin threatens to turn white. The adamantium claws nearly poke through his knuckles as he inhales.

That sweet, sweet scent swarms his heightened senses, the intoxicating smell swirling strong enough that his heart speeds up, his stomach flutters, and his cock twitches within the confines of his jeans.

Logan can fucking smell you, a heady aroma that’s so completely you, teases him and threatens to break the barrier he’s put up since he met you.

He shakes himself loose from the metaphorical hold you have on him, and begins the journey to his room, trying to block out how delicious you smell.

Except, as he gets closer to the hallway he shares with you, he feels his control slipping, especially as your smell grows stronger, though now it’s tinged with something else— something sensual, sugary, and addictive.

Logan curses— you’re aroused, your scent giving you away completely. The idea of you panting as your pussy drips slick between your thighs has him clenching his jaw hard, fingers flexing and unflexing in an attempt to harness control back.

Though, that goes completely out the door as his body leads him right outside your door, unconsciously drawn to the very essence of you.

There was a reason Logan has kept the carefully crafted distance between you. The minute he was introduced to you, a new member of the x-men and teacher for the school, he knew he was fucked.

From the first look shared between you, he knew.

A pretty smile had graced your lips, eyes filled with joy as you greeted him, a hand outstretched as your hair swayed with your movements. In your pretty, little outfit (a pink, lacy dress that kissed the tops of your thighs matched with baby pink pumps) he thought you looked like a princess.

He’d stayed frozen, however, because he was assaulted with the fucking smell of you. It was nothing like he’d encountered before, and he’d been around for over a century. Your scent was so fucking sweet, vanilla and honey permeating his nostrils and right then, he’d wondered if you tasted as sweet as you smelt.

He knew that he had to keep his distance, otherwise he’d become addicted to you in every sense. If he let himself, he’d worship the very ground you walked on. He couldn’t risk having the walls he’d spent so long building to crumble.

And suddenly, he was angry that his body had reacted this way to someone he’d never even met. He was angry he wanted to press sweet kisses on your face while also wanting to fuck you against the nearest surface until you screamed.

So, with that, he’d made up his mind.

He’d simply glared at you, refused to acknowledge your existence and stormed out of Charles’ office. Since that day, he’s tried his hardest to pretend you don’t exist— if only to ease the way you constantly haunt his thoughts.

He pretends it didn’t kill him to see how your face crumbles at his rude behavior, but he can’t help it. Because if he treated you how he wants, like the princess you are, he’d never let you go.

A sudden noise shakes him from the depths of his mind, the scent of you growing stronger by the second.

“Logan, Logan, Logan,” your honeyed voice whines, and right then, the telltale snikt! sounds immediately.

What the fuck? He thinks, his mind running a mile a minute at the revelation that not only are you seemingly fucking yourself, but you’re also moaning his name.

Logan growls lowly as his claws reveal themselves, cutting through the skin of his knuckles. His body feels unnaturally hot and his cock is now uncomfortably hard in his jeans, pre-cum bubbling at his tip and staining his boxers.

With the wafts of your pretty scent and sounds of your lithe whimpers, he knows he can’t resist you any longer.

His hand rises, claws retracting as his heavy fist slams on your door. He grows impatient and knocks again when there’s no movement, and just as he’s about to speak, the door swings open.

And the sight of you, face coated with a sheen of sweat and chest heaving, has him throbbing.

Tonight is the night his control finally snaps, despite months of work put into it.

Logan is going to fucking ruin you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡.

You gulp, a hand resting on the door frame as you stand frozen because honestly, what the fuck?

You deduce that the universe hates you because why would the man you’d been thinking of while fucking yourself be right in front of you?

It only dawns on you when Logan’s gaze swipes over your figure that you’re clad only in your pink, lacy top and the matching underwear, the latter wet with both your arousal and release.

You shrink beneath his eyes, heat simmering hot on the apples of your cheeks, and your mouth opens and closes but no words followed.

“Uh— Logan, hey!” Your voice is shaky, and whether it’s from the power of your release or the nerves that bumble within your veins at the man before you, you can’t tell. All you know is that you want the ground to swallow you up whole.

Logan doesn’t respond, just continues to stare at you in a way that you don’t understand. You assume he’s just gotten home from the very long mission, and you were confused as to why he’s at your door, especially considering how badly he despises you.

“I heard you.” His gruff tone is coated in something darker than you’ve ever heard before. For a moment, you’re lost, brows furrowing before your eyes go comically wide.

And— oh, oh.

“Can smell you, too.”

Heat licks at your whole body, embarrassment threatening to envelope you. Tears of horror tickle your lash line, because this is probably the most painful moment of your life. Not only does the man hate you, but now he’s heard you moan his name as you came all over your fingers? How pathetic are you?

You open your mouth, an apology heavy on your tongue. Though, before you can even speak a single word, Logan slams his mouth onto yours.

He holds your head softly, a deep contrast to the rough way his lips melt over yours. A moan slips from your open mouth, the feel of his lips sucking at your bottom lip intense and so, so good.

Your arms wrap around his neck, fingertips tangling themselves in the hair at his nape like you’ve wanted to do since the day you met him.

“Logan—“ you whimper against his mouth, trying and failing to understand what the fuck was happening as he slips his tongue inside your wet, warm mouth. “Logan.”

He ignores you, grunting against your spit, slicked lips as his hands travel down your curves, until they find purchase of your ass, gripping hard. A choked gasp falls from you as he suddenly pulls at you and picks you up effortlessly in his strong arms.

The idea of him picking you up with no hesitation has your hips moving forward without your control. Vaguely, you feel him move past the threshold of your door, slamming it shut before pressing your body up against the wood.

Logan switches between licking your tongue and sucking meanly at your lips, until they feel full and swollen with his attention. You’re pliant— almost willing to let him do anything he’d like to you.

Almost.

As good as his tongue feels dancing with yours, confusion still settles over your mind. Maybe this is a dream and if so, you never wanted to wake up.

“Wait—wait.” You pull back, the questions swirling inside too pressing to be ignored any longer.

“Huh, baby?” Logan groans, teeth pulling at your bottom lip before sucking the swelled skin into his mouth.

Babybabybabybabybaby— the pet name clouds your senses for a second, a rush of arousal pooling at your hole. You want to cry at how that simple word makes you feel.

“Stop that.” You mumble, pulling your head back and lips out of his reach.

Logan stares at you, unresponsive but waiting until you speak whatever is on your mind. Honestly, he wants his tongue to be buried deep in your cunt right about now, but details.

“What the fuck? What’s happening?” Breathless, the question settles between you, causing Logan’s brow to raise.

“Well, my tongue was just in your mouth—“ you slap his chest, face turning warm at his bluntness.

“Not that. I’m— why are you here? Why are you kissing me? Especially like that when you can’t stand me?” Your voice is quiet, insecurity tinged between the words. Nimble fingers grasp the dog tags that rest on his chest, and you’re grateful for the distraction.

At that, Logan’s face scrunches up, confusion floating about his irises.

“What are you talking about?” If it wasn’t for the genuine way he asked, you would’ve smacked his chest again at how clueless he was.

“What do you mean? You’ve made it very clear how you feel about me; you’ve despised my entire existence the moment we met!”

Frustration settles over you heavily, enough to snap you out of the lustful spell Logan has inflicted upon you. You slide down his body, ignoring the quiver of your cunt when you make contact with his jean clad bulge. You push at his chest, needing distance to ensure you actually get your words out and don’t end up back with his tongue down your throat.

“I don’t hate you.” Logan grunts, staring at you as you pace the wooden floors of the room. Vaguely, he’s listening, but he can’t be blamed for the way his eyes focus on the way your ass shifts with each step, the plush skin so inviting as the lace cups each cheek. “What’re you on about?”

You huff. Logan’s beginning to piss you off. The vague answers are getting on your nerves enough that you feel yourself snap.

Your hair suddenly turns bright red, a scarlet blossoming over the strands until they coat them completely. Your emotions could never be concealed, not with the way your hair turns different variations of red when you’re angry, furious, determined, aroused.

“You’ve been a dick to me, treating me like shit for no reason and now you think you can waltz in here and kiss me like that? You think you can pretend to want me when we both know that’s not true?”

Balls of fiery, red energy bloom upon your fingertips, and though you stand in your pretty pink assortment, you look the part of threatening.

Too bad the abrupt display of your mutation, mixed with fiery words, has Logan’s cock rock hard with want. He wants to have you ass up over his lap so he can watch the jiggle of each cheek as he spanks you.

“Sometimes, I question whether or not you’re actually a genius.”

And, oh. You feel the words like a punch to the gut. You’re so mad, so blinded by the intense emotions you feel for Logan, that those pesky flames of energy begin to tickle up your wrist and forearm, a telltale sign of your anger.

“Fuck you, Logan.” You hiss, your fingers warm with the heat coursing through them.

What pisses you off more, your hair and eyes darkening to a maroon, is the fact that Logan sports a faint smirk, watching you with humor as if you weren’t showcasing how riled up you were.

“Are you done yet?” Logan takes a step closer, uncaring of the way your mutation is flaring up furiously at his presence.

“Logan, leave me alone. I don’t need you to sit here and pretend to want me. I don’t need you to make fun of me, either.” Huffing, you glare up at the man before you, who stares back just as pointedly.

You turn around, back facing him as you go to enter the attached bathroom when suddenly you’re spun back around by a hand on your nape, your neck in a delicious tight grip as Logan pulls you into his body, smashing his mouth on yours for the second time tonight.

Your body betrays you as a desperate whimper tumbles from you when you register the passion Logan pours into your embrace.

His teeth bite down on your top lip, before suckling sweetly to combat the pain flourishing there. You moan, mouth falling open as he messily kisses you. The intoxicating taste of him settles over your tastebuds, his tongue swirling with yours in a way that left you dizzy with need.

A string of spit connects between your mouths as Logan pulls away, chuckling meanly when you promptly follow the warm, wetness of his lips. A rough hand grips your throat again, tight enough to leave you feeling breathless but delicious enough to make your cunt squeeze around nothing.

“So that’s what you think, princess? That I don’t want you?” Logan’s fingers flex around your throat, gripping at your jaw to capture all of your attention. As if you were anything less than enamored with him. “You think that’s what I’ve been doing, huh?”

You can only stare up at him as your heartbeat rings loudly through your eardrums. A hand goes to tug at his shirt, an attempt to steady yourself, but Logan is faster as he grips your wrist.

“Answer me.” He whispers, sensual as the hand holding yours captive begins to intertwine your fingers together.

The touch of him, the hold on your throat and roughness of his fingers in your own, renders you frozen. You’re so overcome with your emotions that you only manage to nod. Without your permission, you go limp in his hold, silently begging him to do something to satiate the hunger burning every inch of your skin.

“Words, baby. Got nothing to say now, huh?” He taunts, his grip leaving your neck in favor of thumbing at your lips.

“Yes— I…it’s what it’s seemed like, what you’ve made me feel. Thought you hated me.”

Logan’s nose twitches, no doubt smelling your arousal as more begins to drip between your thighs when his thumb plays with your bottom lip pathetically.

“Couldn’t be more wrong,” He grunts, pushing his thumb past the soft of your lips. His knees nearly buckle at the feel of your mouth closing and sucking his thumb, tongue rolling up against the skin as though it was his cock instead. “Shit, baby.”

You only whine around his finger, eyes fluttering up at him in a way that has his dick twitching with want.

“Fuck, been dreaming about you since the day we met. Been dreaming of you in every way possible.” He admits, a smile tugging at his lips at the way you freeze, lips leaving his thumb with a ‘pop’.

“What?” It’s a whisper, barely audible but he hears it all the same. The butterflies in your stomach are having a full on party now, bolts of anxiousness kissing your skin.

“Of course.” Logan leans down, pressing a kiss to your wet lips. “Knew the second I saw you you’d ruin me, so I just… stayed away. I never meant to make you think the worst. M’sorry, honey.”

This was not the way you’d expected tonight to go.

It’s as though all the confusion, anger, and sadness drain from you and its replaced with the tremulous feeling Logan causes in your body.

And despite the fact that you’ve fucked yourself thinking about him, and he’d heard, you felt incredibly shy. You drop your head to his hard chest, your hands squeezing his own where he holds them.

“I don’t know what to say.” You utter, brain all muddled and no other thoughts exist as Logan plagues every inch of your mind. You’d felt like an idiot, even though Logan has acted like a dick for the better part you’d known him.

Logan simply lifts your head, invading your senses as his nose bumps yours.

“Can I kiss you now?”

And when you nod, his lips are back on yours instantly, their rightful place.

The kiss was messy—hot, wet, and dirty. Logan moans when you jump up, strong arms catching your thighs in a tight grip. Wrapping your arms around his neck again, you lose yourself in the thrilling taste of his mouth. You unconsciously begin dragging your drenched panties across his hard dick.

You suck on his tongue before capturing his lip between your teeth, nails dragging down his shoulder blades as you do so. A loud, feral growl escapes Logan, and without another thought, he throws your pliant body on the bed.

And, at the sight of you, Logan thinks he might come right then and there. In your little outfit, so much plush, soft skin is on display. The hair tumbling from your shoulders has shifted to a dark cherry color during your kiss, and your hands are tickling with red energy, twirling up your arms, not unlike the way vines do to an old home.

This time, though, he knows you aren’t upset, but instead, aroused.

He can fucking smell the way your slick drips from your sobbing hole, how it coats your thighs.

And fuck, he wants to sink his face right in front of your pussy and inhale until he’s woozy with the smell of you.

So, that’s exactly what he does.

Your eyes widen as Logan drops onto the floor in front of the bed, yanking your body to the edge. Your lower half is completely in his grip, and he stares at you for a moment before pulling your pussy up to his nose. The feel of him so close to your puffy lips has you aching, even more so when he lowers his head and fucking sniffs you.

“Fuck, baby. Been dreaming of this since the minute I saw you. Smells so fuckin’ sweet.” Logan inhales deeply again, smattering messy, open mouthed kisses to the skin of your upper thigh. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to throw you over my shoulder, get you alone and eat your pussy.”

“Logan!” You whimper out. The sound was completely feeble, bordering on desperate, but you couldn’t care less, not with the way he’s sucking bruises into your skin. “Please, please.”

Spurred on by your whines, he sinks his teeth into the skin, where your thigh meets your core.

Pain simmers into pleasure as the sting is soothed by his tongue. Dark splotches decorate your upper thighs, the preview of the bruises that will decorate the skin tomorrow. Logan does this until he’s satisfied with the color blooming across the skin before him. It’s his way of solidifying that you’re his, like he’s staking his claim with his bruises smattering your thighs.

At some point your hand finds purchase in his hair, pawing at the tufts and tugging his face closer to where you need him most. He hums, the pain at his scalp sending jolts of desire throughout his body.

He sneaks a look at you, and shit, it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Your head is thrown back, sending those rebellious, red strands fluttering around you. Your hips keep canting up, and the smell of you, mixed with the previous orgasm you’d worked out before he interrupted, sends his senses in overdrive.

He decides he’s tortured you both enough and without hesitation, Logan licks a long, wet stripe up your clothed pussy, suctioning around your enlarged clit.

The taste of you, heady, sweet, and so distinctly you, floods over his tongue. He knew you’d taste good, but this? Oh, he wants to drink you up all hours of the day.

With a growl, Logan tugs the lace aside and then sucks, licks, and mouths at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue dips into your hole before licking up and down your slit.

Moans of his name echo through the walls of your room, along with the filthy sound of the sucking of your swollen clit.

You’ve never felt like this before, the way he’s eating you out has your entire body on fire, and if you could see yourself, you’d see how ruby colored lines swirl brighter around your hands, how your hair practically glows vermillion.

He’s been attracted to you the minute he saw you— but the way you look when your mutation is at work? The way your hair shifts shades of intoxicating reds? The way the fiery energy glows from the tips of your fingers and up your elbows? Oh, how it fucking wrecks him. He just wants to keep you captive in this bedroom for all of eternity, if only to see you like this all the time.

“Feels so fucking good, fuck.” You’re a blubbering mess, hands tugging Logan’s hair hard, resulting in a moan that vibrates your pussy.

“Mine.” He grunts, and you gasp at the sensation of saliva as he spits directly onto your clit. “My fuckin’ pussy.”

Then, he latches his soft lips around your puffy bud and sucks hard. His dirty words and lucious mouth have your thighs shivering and hips bucking with want.

Like you’d done when you were alone and thinking about him, whimpers of ‘Logan’ sound as you hump his face.

“That’s it, baby, say my name. Taste so fuckin’ good.” He hums against your puffy, wet pussy.

A stream of ‘fuckfuckfuck’ spills from open lips, forming an ‘o’ as the rush of delicious, hot pleasure pours over you completely.

Your vision blurs— body nearly succumbing to the intense bliss prickling across your being. You barely even register how you’ve locked your legs around Logan’s head, captive in a tight grip as you rub your clit along his nose. With the way he’s grunting along your slit, you don’t think he minds.

As you come down, the pleasure fizzles out and overwhelming tingles steal its place as Logan continues to lap at your wetness, groaning at your taste.

“S’too much, Logan.” Shaky hands grip the brown locks and you try and fail to bring the man away from your throbbing hole. His tongue swirls along your clit and hole, dipping in as deep as he can to savor every last drop. “Oh, fuck.”

“Taste too fuckin’ sweet, baby. Can’t help it.”

Logan grips tightly at your thighs, pinching meanly at the flesh as he licks and sucks at your pretty, puffy clit. He can’t get enough, and seemingly, neither can you, with the way you buck into his warm, slick mouth despite your weak protests. The material of your underwear snaps back against you as Logan’s grip loosens, but he still eats you out as though there’s no barrier, only soaking the lace more.

His soft lips and dangerous tongue make it difficult to do anything but take the mind-numbing pleasure.

He’s content to stay here; between your gorgeous thighs and devour your cunt all night, pull orgasms from you until you forget everything except the syllables that make up his name.

Except, the words that come from you have him freezing against you, his cock aching and responding immediately to the addictive tilt of your voice.

“Logan— Logan, wanna suck your cock. Please.”

It’s as though you’re made for him— every inch of you riles him up like no one else has before and he has to take a deep, deep breath to refrain from coming in his jeans like a damn virgin.

With one last lick up your lace covered sex, his face is suddenly above yours and the sight is lethal. The entirety of his lower face is coated in wetness, glistening and gleaming that he wears with pride. His eyes look animalistic, the hazel taken over by the black of dilated pupils.

Logan looks at you like he wants to fucking destroy you. You know without a doubt you’d let him.

A sweet, gentle kiss is placed upon your mouth, a warm caress of his tongue on yours, the musky taste of your cunt dancing along your tastebuds. You whine once more, because you crave the heady taste of his cock that you desperately want. Your mouth salivates at the thought of his tip heavy on your tongue.

“Easy, honey. Can smell how bad you want it.”

If you weren’t in such a hazed state, you’d be mortified at the knowledge Logan can smell your arousal.

“Logan.” Pathetic whimpers and moans against his mouth have him pulling back, gritting his teeth to have a sense of control. It doesn’t work, not with the way you’re splayed out below him, face pretty with lust.”Please.”

How was he meant to last when you sounded like that? All fucked out and dizzy from just his tongue alone?

He lays down beside you, heart thumping at the way your watery eyes watch him move.

“C’mere’.” Logan mutters, yanking your body over him and all the way up his chest, maneuvering you until your pussy is hovering above his mouth, your lips hovering over his cock.

Dizzy on Logan, saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of his bulge, massive even in the confines of jeans.

You’re confused as to why Logan put you on his chest, but it makes sense when he yanks your thighs down, mouth finding your wet, sopping sex immediately.

You cry out, hips jolting at the way his tongue pushes the pink fabric away from your puffiness, lips wrapping around your clit. When he notices how you’re shaking on his face, unmoving beside the subtle thrusts of hips, he stops.

“Lo—“

“Go on then, baby. Suck my cock, just like you wanted.”

And oh, you both feel the wetness that follows after those rasped words tinge the air.

Only once you undo that damn belt buckle and pull both his jeans and boxers down, just enough to see the way his cock bounces out, bubbling precome at the red, swollen tip, does Logan resume eating your pussy.

Fueled by the return of those talented lips, you lean forward without another thought.

Licking from base to tip, a moan vibrates against his cock as you hum, a taste that’s so Logan flooding your senses. You lick up and down him messy, spitting on the tip of him as you slick his dick up, before finally wrapping your lips around him.

“Fuck, baby.” His growl is borderning on feral; his teeth finding purchase on your asscheek and biting, in an attempt to ground himself. It only serves to have his hips jump at the feel of you whining on him, sucking him down so fucking good. “Fuck, knew you’d be good with that pretty fuckin’ mouth.”

He’s so focused on the way you’ve started bobbing up and down the length of him, dazed with the warmth and wetness as you suck and swirl your tongue, that he’s stopped his attention to you, something he’s only reminded of as you wiggle over him.

“Sorry, princess, you’re driving me fuckin’ crazy.” He grits out, fingers gripping the flesh of your thighs at the little ‘hmph!’ released as you pull off his cock.

Though he can’t see you, he knows there’s a string of spit that spans your swollen lips to his pulsating cock. He shutters, overwhelmed by you entirely, before burying his face into your weepy cunt.

”Oh! Logan, feels so good!” With a pathetic little whimper, his cock fills your mouth again as you sink down, satisfied with the way his tongue is licking at you once more.

A blend of both your moans float about the walls, as he wraps his lips around your puffed clit, as you ease his cock down your throat.

Logan’s eating you out messily, crazed by the tang of you soaking his mouth, chin, and nose. Despite the warmth bubbling in his stomach, he’s determined to make you come on his tongue again first.

When thick fingers nudge into your hole unexpectedly, you mewl at the blissful feeling.

Logan’s fingers work steadily inside you, in tandem with the way his mouth suckles meanly at your button. You’re an absolute mess— grinding down on his face, riding his fingers earnestly, gagging as Logan’s hips match the pace of his fingers, grunts vibrating against you as he fucks your throat.

Logan curls his fingers in a way that has you seeing every fucking color of the rainbow. You come, moaning around the base of his cock and rocking back and forth on his fingers and mouth, muffled sobs spilling from your stuffed mouth.

When he feels you shivering on his tongue, overstimulated and sensitive, he pulls away from your center, the soaked fabric of your panties falling back into place once more.

Your mouth is still full of him, lips lazily sucking him down as your body tries to get ahold of the white, sizzling pleasure still coursing through you.

“C’mere, baby.”

It’s a soft whisper against your thigh, but it settles over you, his soothing voice swirling around your shaky body like a warm blanket. Letting his cock fall from your lips, you scramble as fast as your body will allow before you find yourself straddling Logan, staring down at the man with cloudy, wet eyes.

And maybe Logan is sick— because the sight of tears spilling over your cheeks has his cock unbelievably hard, a growl threatening to tumble out at the way your pretty, crimson hair spills over your shoulders.

Still, he needs to make sure you’re okay.

“What’s wrong, princess?” Logan watches at the way a small smile graces your features, even as tears continue to glisten your lash line. “You okay?”

“Nothing's wrong, just feel so good.” Your voice is a little hoarse, no doubt from the way his dick was fucking your whiny mouth. Still, your voice is still the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, those few words going straight to his dick.

Logan feels his own lips tug upwards as you speak. Even though he’s fucked you silly and stolen two orgasms, he tenses with desire as he notes the want dancing in your eyes.

“Good.”

“Mhmm.”

There’s a beat of silence, a moment where hungry eyes lock in on one another, sensual energy and tension threatening to break.

Then, in a flash, lips are locked and tongues whirl together familiarly. It’s a hot, sensual kiss filled to the brim with desire— the passion almost too much with how it lights up every inch of your bodies, a fire threatening to spread.

Neither of you are sure who moved first— but it doesn’t matter because the way Logan’s hand wraps around your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail in a tight grip, steals your attention.

If someone were to see the two of you, they would see how desperate and needy you both were.

You’re sucking on Logan’s top lip, biting before soothing the sting with a sweet, soft suck. Your thighs are spread over his own entirely and your position has your cunt settled over his cock nicely. Logan’s free hand grips the skin of your ass tight, guiding as you grind against him, the soaked panties catching on the tip of him with each thrust. The fingers tangled in your hair are unforgiving, tugging harshly as Logan grunts into your open mouth.

You’re both a mess of passion and lust— and you’re body thrums with the idea of his cock inside you.

“Such a good girl, that’s it. Fuck—“ Logan nearly whines, the feel of you humping him has him trapping your lips in another allconsumimg kiss.

Your hands, lit up with energy, find purchase in his pretty hair, tugging as he kisses you messy because everything is somehow too much and not enough.

“Logan— need you. Need you so bad, baby.”

Logan wants to eat you up entirely— somehow you’re still not satiated, rubbing your slick all over his lap and begging him for more. If he was a better man, he would’ve fucked you already. As it is, he likes it a little too much hearing you beg for him.

“Shhh, you got me, honey. I’m right here.”

“Fuck me, please. Need you inside, Logan.”

There’s tears in your eyes again, ready to spill over if the ache between your thighs isn’t soothed in the next five minutes. You’re clinging to him, hips stuttering because it’s just not enough and you both know it.

“My poor baby.” He hums, the words somehow a mix of condescending and genuine and it makes you cry out. “So needy, huh?”

“Just for you.” The way you say it, it’s a message you both understand— you need him in every way possible, not just sexually.

He wonders if you know just how badly he needs you, especially now that he’s got a taste of you.

“I’m yours—“ you start, but it’s cut off by the squeak you emit when you’re suddenly flipped over, Logan’s muscular form hovering over you, his dog tags swinging between you.

“You’re mine.” It’s not a question, but a statement and it sends a thrill through you.

“Yours.” You’re nodding, eyes wide and so fucking pretty that it makes Logan squeeze his hands, the metal of his claws threatening to break through the skin.

He pulls his shirt off then, pride filling his chest at the way your eyes glaze over, a lip taken between your teeth as you stare at the vein that leads to his cock, which is painfully hard and cherry red at the tip.

He doesn’t comment on your lustful eyes, instead tracing his fingers down your body, until he reaches the hem of your baby pink, lacy top. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination but Logan might break something if he doesn’t see your tits in all their glory.

You get the message, leaning up and slowly pulling the fabric from your chest, your breasts and midsection on full display. If he hadn’t already eaten you out twice, you would’ve moved to cover your taut nipples. Instead, you grip the chain of his necklace and pull him back down with you, sighing when you’re chest to chest.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” He says, pecking your lips once, licking a stripe down your throat. Wetness coats both nipples as his tongue swirls over them. “Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to have you under me?”

You moan, nails digging into his shoulder blades at the fluttery feeling his lips bring, deep enough to elicit blood from his skin. Logan groans, head tipping back as his hips thrust down suddenly, the tip of his cock ramming into your clit.

“Fuck, Logan.” Your hands span the expanse of his back, scratching each time he bumps your button just right. His jeans are still on, resting just below his thighs and the way he couldn’t even get up to properly take them off makes you shudder.

He’s rutting against you now, dick rubbing sensually over your panties and it dawns on you then that he hasn’t even come yet, too preoccupied with taking care of you.

Determined, you slide one hand onto his asscheek, pushing him further into you, while your other grips his chin, pulling his mouth to yours in a slick, open-mouth kiss.

“C’mon Logan, fuck me, please.”

Logan turns into something animalistic then— flipping you over onto your stomach without warning, caging you between his arms. Your gasp is audible as he yanks your soaked panties to the side, before thrusting forward, and fucks his cock into you with one thrust.

“Oh my god, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—“ the feel of Logan finally inside you has you absolutely fucking drunk on the feel of him.

“Tryin’ to, baby.” He grits, arms flexing beside your head, fingers intertwined with yours as he sinks into you, inch by inch, until you were filled to the brim.

Logan’s body covers yours, lips pressing all over your shoulder blades to soothe the little whines you let out at how fucking full you feel. It’s everything you wanted and more— you want to memorize the feel of him, every ridge and vein as he stuffs you.

“Baby,” he grunts, fingers flexing with yours as he stays still, for your sake. “So fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ wet.”

And it’s true— despite the fact that he’s huge, he slipped in easily because of the mess you created, a slick mix of your come and desire costing your slit.

“Logan, fuck me, please.” You speak, so sweetly, as if you’re not impaled by his cock right now.

With that, he slips out of you slowly, before fucking into you hard, deep. Then, he fucking ravishes you— creating a steady, fast paced rhythm and fucking you dumb with his cock.

Your hair grows darker, hands glittering between his grip each time he slams into you, each time your cunt squeezes and pulses around him.

Completely cock drunk, your back arches, ass up and hips slamming back against his with your cheek pressed into the mattress as you sob.

You’re so fucking needy that his own thighs become sticky and wet with your desire and Logan growls at the sight, fucking you even faster.

“You’re mine.” Logan grunts, releasing your fingers in favor of gripping your hair and pulling you up until your back is pressing into his chest. “My fuckin’ girl.”

“Yours!” You whimper, tears rolling down your face. Your entire body is filled with pleasure, and you feel like you can’t breathe with how overwhelmed you are, with how much euphoria you feel. “M’so close!”

“I know, honey, I know. Can feel you fuckin’ squeezin’ around me.“ Logan moans out, pushing you back down into the mattress and finding purchase on your hips, pulling you back hard and quick. “Gonna come all over me?”

You don’t answer, instead crying out as you feel a sharp flash of pain on your asscheek, Logan’s hand swift and quick. The pain mixes into pleasure when he rubs at the red skin, pressing sweet kisses on your back.

He wishes you could see yourself right now; maybe then you would understand why he’s so intoxicated by you.

Your pretty body bent over, ass up and face in the sheets as whimpers tumble out. The lace that drove him crazy is yanked to the side, grazing his cock each time he drives deeper inside you. You’re so fucking beautiful like this, he wants to keep you forever.

Sweet, whiny ‘uh,uh’s’ fill Logan’s ears as he speeds up, pulling you back up once more against his chest. He wants to be as close as fucking possible, the feel of your skin on his almost searing.

You turn your head back, lips seeking out his own. He kisses you, sucking at your lips as he continues to fuck you vigorously.

The fluttery feeling of your cunt squeezing around him suddenly sends him over the edge— low groans falling in your open mouth as hot, searing spurts of his come coat your walls.

Knowing that Logan finally gave into the temptation like you’d done all night, has you whining as your own orgasm surrounds your entire being.

“Baby—“ Logan thrusted shallowly, riding your orgasms out as long as he can. If he could, he’d never leave this feeling behind. Seemingly, you agree as your nails dug into his forearms that hold you up, eyes squeezing shut at the overpowering bliss tingling everywhere. “I got you, it’s okay.”

“Logan, fuck!” It came out as a whine, your lips sucking lightly on his neck, body completely limp in his hold.

You’ve never been so incredibly sex-dazed in your life; from this point on, Logan has ruined you for anyone else.

Though, you hope there won’t be anyone else.

Logan kisses your head before untangling from you; a smirk dancing across his usually gruff features at the little whine you let out as he pulls out. He gently rolle you onto your back, laying your head gently on the pillows. It’s such a stark difference to the rough way he fucked you minutes prior, but butterflies flutter around all the same.

You watch his eyes trail lower, landing on the mess between your thighs.

Logan is mesmerized by the sight; your pussy is all puffy and so fuckin’ wet with his come seeping out of your hole. Mindlessly, he lowers himself until he’s eye level with your sex. Without any warning, his fingers are back inside.

He ignores your hiss in favor of trying to push his come back inside, to keep you full of him. His eyes meet yours, watching as your chest rises as you observe him. There’s a glint in your eye that has his heart stuttering.

“I want to kiss you.” You whisper, soft and a little bashful, as if he didn’t have his fingers inside you. You look too perfect, hair returning to its original color, eyes cloudy with unspoken words, a smile spread over your face.

How could he deny you when you look like that?

Logan kisses your clit once, twice, three times, enjoying the way you jolt, before removing his fingers.

With those same digits, he sticks them in his mouth, sucking the flavor of you both and humming. He can hear the way your heart picks up at his actions. He releases them with a loud ‘pop’, before finally coming back to you.

He hovers over you, and like you’d done earlier, soft hands pull at the chain until his lips meet yours in a soft kiss. Logan pulls back, resting his head on yours as he matches your stare.

“Hi.” You hum then, nose bumping his in the proximity.

“Hi, baby.” Logan kisses your lips once more, before rolling beside you. You would’ve whined at him if it weren’t for the way he immediately pulls you onto his chest.

With your limbs tangled, a kiss pressed to your forehead, you think this could be heaven and if so, you never want to leave.

It’s quiet for a moment— the two of you content to listen to one another’s heartbeat, the breaths that fall from lips. Then, you break the silence, because of course you do.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“Just so you know, I’m expecting you to take me out before you get me like this again.” Its muttered against his slick chest, where your head rests as you wrap yourself around the man like a koala.

A deep laugh fills the room, chest rumbling because what the fuck?

He’s fucked you, with his mouth and cock, and you’re laying on him as his come seeps out of you and you’re demanding him to take you out?

He was going to in the first place, but he thinks it’s cute you decide for him.

Logan may be a man that’s been alive for almost two centuries, practically immortal, but it’s completely possible you’ll be the death of him.

[sweetverine]

somno with old!man logan.

warnings : 18+ content (MDNI) , smut, porn without plot, no use of y/n, afab reader, established relationship, pet names (logan calls reader princess and dolly), oral sex (f!receiving), consensual somnophilia, age gap (reader's age is not mentioned but she is an adult!).

a/n : this is my first post on tumblr, yay!! i was thinking too much about old man!logan and this came out, english is not my first language if there is something weird or any mistake please feel free to correct me, this is very short because i wanted to finish it already, still, i hope you enjoy it(⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

logan arrives home late as always, exhausted from a long day. Removing his jacket and beginning to unbutton his shirt, he let out a low-voiced complaint as he went to the bathroom. His bones were heavy and his muscles began to ache, almost rotting from the inside. causing every activity to cause him some kind of pain, he was beginning to be a mortal after all.

He walks into the room, finding you sleeping peacefully. your hair was scattered on the pillow, your breathing slow and relaxed. You were wearing one of his shirts, the one you usually wore to sleep, it was much bigger on you but it did its job. The soft fabric was lifted up a little, exposing your cute panties. god, you were going to be the death of him.

it was something you and logan had talked about a couple of times, and you assured him that you would like to try it. today would be the day. he slowly climbed onto the bed, trying to make as little movement as possible. he lay down on his stomach, admiring how pretty you looked tonight.

slowly with his calloused hands he gently caressed your ankles, giving a devoted kiss to your knee before opening the plump flesh of your thighs. He sighed as he saw your panties again, slowly reaching for the elastic on them and moving them out of his way.

your pussy always looked so beautiful in his eyes, So juicy and cute. logan planted a few open-mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs before going on to your pussy, causing you to shift a little. he parted your outer lips with his thumbs, exposing your folds to the cold air of the room. his warm mouth lowered towards your clit, gently sucking the bud. you reacted by letting out a small moan in your sleep.

you were the most delicious dessert for him, logan could feel how you were slowly getting wet, soaking his lips in the sweetest syrup. he let out a low growl at the taste, while his hands went up to your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh and keeping them open. He lowers his head a little more, his tongue slips into your hole as his nose rubs repeatedly your clit, causing you to let out low moans. at the sudden intrusion your body reacted, wanting to close your legs, logan looked up, watching as you squirmed and began to wake up.

“shh, princess..” He rasped, giving little short pecks to your cunt, his salt and pepper beard always tickled your soft skin every time he ate you out.

“lo?” you ask sleepily, starting to open your eyes.

“it's me, dolly.. go to sleep, i'll take care of you.”

[logaenhowlett]

MAKE YOU MINE - L.H.

Summary: The question isn't if you'll give in - it's when. And Logan knows that all too well.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Flirting, Friends to something more?

A/N: First time writing for DoFP!Logan and man is he a flirt. Got tons for requests for my A Weekend with Logan Howlett event, so I'm busy writing away! The prompt was TRAINING. Title creds to Madison Beer.

MASTERLIST

“I had a dream about you.” Strands of his dark hair, slick with sweat, dangle just above your temple. Logan holds you captive on the floor, his weight a deliberate pressure against your chest, constricting your breath to short, shallow gasps. Thick thighs bracket your hips almost possessively as victory - a sugary rush on his tongue - manifests in the smug curve of his lips. “Kinda looked somethin’ like this.”

With each session, the sparring eases into a dance. A tango of tension and release poised on barely restrained impulses. His honeyed words caress your skin, each syllable a carefully aimed arrow designed to pierce your defences. And it's the same every time.

“Will you ever stop?” you ask with a weary chuckle.

“Now where’s the fun in that, darlin’?” But the lighthearted tone falters, the teasing lilt - like a snapped string - abruptly silenced as you shift beneath him. Fire kindles low in his core, and the game now hums with a different energy, the stakes suddenly higher. “C’mon, one date,” he groans.

“No.”

“One night.”

“No.”

A subtle sheen settles across Logan's lips as he unconsciously licks them, the movement - a quick slide of his tongue - anchoring your attention to his mouth. He stops just shy of touching your face, lingering for a breathless moment. “One kiss?” he murmurs.

In the briefest of seconds, the playful defiance in your expression vanishes. Dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, startled awareness - a raw current of your feelings spills forth, naked and exposed. “Cut it out, Logan,” you manage, the words a strained imitation of your usual steadiness.

But it's too late.

He knows now.

Satisfaction, rich and syrupy, darkens his eyes. Logan pushes himself up instantly, towering over you with a smirk. "Same time tomorrow?"

[robo-writing]

DOFP! Logan is such a flirt to me. He’s all low-lidded eyes, barely hidden smirks that betray his true intentions, a kiss to your temple followed by his hands against your ass. He couldn’t give less of a damn if you’re in public, even if you’re red in the face and begging him save this for later—there is no concept of later with him.

Plus, watching you squirm in his arms is half the fun.

“Logan, please,” you whine, trying and failing to turn your face away from the onslaught of affection he gives you.

He laughs in response, as if your words don’t even register in his head. “Mm, what’s wrong princess?”

“We’re in public—!” You say, only to be silenced by his lips against yours.

“So?”

“People are watching…” you whisper, and it’s now you realize you might have chosen your words incorrectly when you see Logan’s smile stretch across his face.

He pulls you even closer this time, swaying you lightly before whispering in your ear. “Don’t care. Let em watch.”

[aizawasotherwife]

When there isn’t 20 new fics for me to read after refreshing the tag (I just finished reading everything and have absolutely no patience)

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every life ࿐‧₊ logan (2017) - push and pull

chapter summary: After living in Mexico for one year to take care of Charles, a young girl enters your lives and brings about a new set of problems.

word count: 19.6k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: so this is a two parter, not a oneshot. this first part covers the logan movie, and the second part covers 'deadpool and wolverine'

anyways, i've always wanted to write a black widow!reader x logan fic and when thinking of how i was going to write the logan movie in this alternate universe, i realized i was finally given the chance!! so while she is a black widow, she still has her time manipulation mutation.

warnings/tags: canon to 'logan (2017)', logan and reader are married, black widow!reader, violence, blood, angst, character death

series masterlist - part 2

The women gathered their things and made their way out of the studio, their yoga mats under their arms and big bottle of water in their other hand.

One of the women, Theresa, stopped by you and spoke, “I- I think you have something on you. Blood? Or red paint?”

“Shit,” you muttered. “Where?”

Theresa pointed at your wrist, where a few small splatters of red lay. You murmured a thanks before adding, “our dog got into the paint last night. Took me hours to clean it off the floor. Thought I washed it all away in the shower.”

Theresa gave you a skeptical look but didn’t push further, instead giving you a polite smile. “Dogs can be such troublemakers, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s a handful,” you lied smoothly, returning the smile as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “I’ll see you next week?”

Theresa nodded. “Of course. Have a good weekend, Y/N.”

“You too.” You watched her leave before exhaling, running a hand over your face. The blood on your wrist wasn’t from paint or any overly energetic dog. It was from the hit last night, the one Logan didn’t know about yet—and you weren’t exactly looking forward to that conversation.

As you walked out of the studio into the dry, hot air of El Paso, you couldn’t shake the knot in your stomach. You had wiped the blood off your hands and face last night, scrubbed until your skin felt raw, but somehow you’d missed the small spatters on your wrist.

He’s going to notice. He always notices.

You got into your car and drove past the border to make it to the place you called ‘home’. At least for now.

Logan’s beat up ’24 Chrysler was in front, and you noticed a few bullet marks on one side of the car door.

By the time you exited your car, lugging out your yoga mat and small bag, Logan stepped out of the smelting plant. His usual scowl was set in place, his sharp eyes scanning the area like he was expecting trouble.

When he saw you, his gaze softened just enough to be noticeable. “You’re late, darlin’. Class run long, or were you out savin’ the world again?”

You forced a laugh, locking your car. “Class ran over. Some of us have to work to keep this circus running.”

He narrowed his eyes, catching the hint of deflection. Logan could always tell when you were holding something back, but for now, he didn’t press. Instead, he jerked his head toward the plant. “Charles had a bad day. Might wanna check on him before he starts up again.”

“I will.” You adjusted the strap of your bag and walked toward him, stopping just short of the door. “You get any sleep last night?”

Logan snorted. “What do you think?”

“Figured not,” you said with a wry smile. “You should let me drive for a few shifts. Give you a break.”

“You know how I feel about that.” He crossed his arms, his tone making it clear the subject was closed.

You bit back a retort and nodded instead. “Alright, tough guy. I’ll go check on Charles.”

As you started to pass him, Logan reached out and gently caught your wrist. His thumb brushed over the faint red stain you’d missed. His grip tightened slightly, his voice dropping to a growl. “What the hell is this?”

“Paint,” you said quickly. “From class.”

“Bullshit.” His eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unyielding. “That’s not paint. That’s blood. Start talkin’, sweetheart.”

You sighed, pulling your wrist free. “It’s nothing, Logan. Just a small job—"

“A job?” He stepped closer, his voice rising. “You mean one of those jobs? Goddammit, Y/N, we talked about this.”

“No, you talked about it,” you snapped, meeting his glare with one of your own. “I don’t need your permission to take work. We need the money, and you know it.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, his frustration boiling over. “There’s other ways to get money. Safer ways. Ways that don’t get you killed.”

“Like what?” you shot back. “Driving drunk assholes around all night? Scraping by, waiting for the next disaster? You think this life is safe? None of this is safe, Logan.”

“That doesn’t mean you throw yourself into danger for a damn paycheck,” he barked.

You flinched at his words, but you refused to back down. “It paid $3000, Logan. We both know that we need the money. Me working at the yoga studio and you drivin’ around isn’t enough.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, the lines on his face deeper than usual. He looked away for a moment, shaking his head. “Darlin’, $3000 ain’t worth your life. You know that.”

“My life wasn’t on the line,” you argued, your tone sharper than you intended. “It was simple. In and out. No complications.”

“No complications, huh?” He turned back to you, eyes dark with frustration. “Then what the hell’s that blood doin’ on your wrist?”

You let out a huff, crossing your arms. “It wasn’t mine.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Logan snapped. He stepped closer, his voice dropping into that gruff, almost pleading tone that always made your resolve waver. “You promised me you’d leave that shit behind. We’ve been through too much for you to keep riskin’ everything like this.”

“I didn’t promise you anything,” you shot back, holding his gaze. “I said I’d try. But look around, Logan. We’re barely holding it together. Charles needs his meds, Caliban’s sick, and your goddamn limo’s one flat tire away from falling apart. We can’t afford to play it safe anymore.”

Logan scrubbed a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “Damn it, Y/N. I’m tryin’ to keep you alive.”

“And I’m trying to keep us alive!” Your voice cracked, the weight of everything pressing down on you. “Do you think I want to do this? To go back to the shit I worked so hard to leave behind? But what choice do we have? You can’t carry this alone, Logan, and I won’t let you.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension hanging heavy in the air. Logan’s shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of him. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at you with a mix of anger and worry. “You don’t get it, do you?” he muttered. “Every time you walk out that door, I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you stood firm. “And you think I don’t feel the same every time you leave? I know what you’re doing out there, Logan. You think driving a limo’s any safer when half the people you pick up are armed or drunk off their asses?”

“That’s different,” he growled.

“How?” you challenged, stepping closer. “Because it’s you? Because you’re the one taking the risks instead of me? You’re not the only one who gets to decide what’s worth it.”

Logan clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw working as he struggled to find the words. Finally, he let out a bitter laugh. “You’re a damn pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But you love me anyway.”

He sighed, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the anger simmering between you moments ago. “I do,” he admitted, his voice rough. “But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with this.”

You leaned into his touch, letting the moment stretch between you. “I know,” you murmured. “But I’m not okay with watching you tear yourself apart trying to keep everything together. We’re in this together, Logan. Like it or not.”

He huffed, his lips twitching in a reluctant smirk. “You’re stubborn as hell.”

“Takes one to know one,” you quipped, earning a low chuckle from him.

Logan dropped his hand, his gaze softening just enough to remind you of the man underneath all the rough edges. “You’re cleanin’ up, right?”

“Already did,” you said. “Missed a spot, obviously, but I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Next time,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me, darlin’.”

“Not if you’re the death of me first,” you teased, though the words carried a bittersweet weight. You reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. “Imma go check on Charles. Then we can argue about this some more later.”

Logan squeezed your hand back before letting it go. “I have a job. I should only be gone for a few days. Then we should have enough for the Sunseeker.”

“Great,” you replied with a small smile, though your stomach twisted at his words. Jobs always meant danger—especially for him. “Just don’t take too long. You know how Charles gets.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, already turning toward the car. “You keep an eye on him while I’m gone, alright?”

“I always do,” you said softly, watching as he walked toward the beat-up Chrysler. His shoulders were hunched, weighed down by the years and everything they’d taken from him.

Before he got in, Logan paused, glancing back at you. “Darlin’... stay outta trouble while I’m gone.”

You rolled your eyes, giving him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m serious,” he grumbled, pointing a finger at you. “No more jobs. No more blood.”

“Fine, fine,” you said, holding your hands up in surrender. “No more jobs. Promise.”

Logan didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it go. He climbed into the Chrysler, the engine sputtering to life before roaring as he pulled away. You stood there for a moment, watching the dust settle before heading into the smelting plant.

---

You knew things were bad when in the morning Logan was already back. And even worse when after your morning shower, he rushed you and Charles into the Chrysler.

Charles kept going on about ‘the girl’ and ‘Laura’ while Logan tried to get out of the property, only to end up cornered from all ends with tens of military Jeeps, and men, surrounding you.

“Logan.” Charles said.

“Yeah, I’m thinking,” he responded.

“The child. Logan, we mustn’t forget Laura.”

“Please be quiet.”

“Logan.”

Logan’s eyes followed a man with a bionic hand, until he leaned against the open passenger window where you sat.

“Huh. Charles Xavier.”

“Where’s Caliban?” Logan questioned.

The man looked in the back, “America’s most wanted octogenarian.”

“I’m a nonagenarian, actually.” Charles replied.

You and Logan shared a quick look until he opened the car door, slamming one man, before closing the door. “Where’s Caliban?” Logan asked again.

The man walked around the car to in front of Logan, “why don’t you tell me where the girl is first? Or I could ask Cue Ball. He seems quite friendly.”

“I told you, she’s not here. Where’s Caliban, motherfucker?” Logan hissed.

“Well, I left him in the same ditch he was gonna leave me in.”

Logan grasped Caliban’s collar and raised a fist with his other hand, his claws sliding out with a growl as a few men pulled him back and slammed him against the car.

You finally opened the car door, slamming it into the nearest man, who stumbled back before hitting the ground. Without missing a beat, you kicked out the legs of another, his grunt of surprise cut short as he hit the dirt. You darted forward, sliding across the hood of the Chrysler in a fluid motion, your boot connecting with the head of a man Logan had just tossed aside.

“Damn it, Y/N!” Logan barked, his claws dripping red as he glanced over his shoulder at you. “I told you to stay in the car!”

“Yeah, well,” you shot back, landing lightly on your feet, “I don’t take orders well, kotik. Thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

Before Logan could reply, another soldier lunged at him. He ducked, the man’s momentum sending him straight into your waiting fist. You followed with a knee to his gut, sending him sprawling. Logan spared you a glance, his frustration mixed with a reluctant flicker of admiration.

The fight raged on, chaotic and brutal, until you caught sight of a man aiming a rifle in Logan’s direction. Reacting instinctively, you shoved Logan out of the way just as the soldier swung his weapon toward you. Before you could react, a sharp, heavy blow struck the side of your head, and you crumpled to the ground with a grunt.

“Y/N!” Logan snarled, turning toward you, only to be met with the butt of a rifle to his face. The impact sent him staggering, his claws retracting as he fell to his knees. Another blow came, this time to his temple, dropping him fully to the ground beside you, before being turned onto his back.

The world spun, the sound of boots crunching against gravel and harsh voices blending into a dull roar. Through the haze, you heard a voice above you—mocking, taunting.

“Jesus, Wolverine,” Donald Pierce drawled as he stood over Logan, his bionic hand flexing with a metallic whine. “Seeing you like this just breaks my damn heart.”

Logan groaned, “as soon as I rip it out of your chest, fuck-stick.”

Pierce smirked, unfazed. “Cute.” Then, with a swift kick, he sent Logan’s face back into the dirt. He turned to the men surrounding the Chrysler, jerking his head toward the smelting plant. “Go get her.”

Her? You blinked through the pain, trying to focus. Laura. Charles had been talking about her—the girl. You struggled to move, but the sharp ache in your head made it feel impossible. Beside you, Logan let out a low growl, his hand twitching toward the claws that refused to come out fast enough.

“Stay down, sweetheart,” Logan muttered, his voice rough but laced with concern. “Don’t do somethin’ stupid.”

You shot him a glare, your lip curling despite the pounding in your skull. “Too late for that.”

---

Before one of the men could put the cuffs on Laura, Logan came behind and stabbed his claws through the man’s chest, before taking down the other two on Laura’s sides with two quick swipes.

Laura sat up and pulled the grappling arrow out of her chest, cutting the connecting string off before getting grabbed by two other men pulling her away.

Logan threw the man over his shoulder, the soldier hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Blood dripped from the bullet wound in his arm, but Logan didn’t slow down. His eyes darted toward Laura as she let out a feral scream, her small form writhing as two soldiers attempted to haul her away.

One man dropped her immediately, clutching his stomach where Logan’s claws had torn through. Laura took the opening, stabbing her foot claw into the other soldier’s shin. His scream echoed as she yanked the claw free, following up with a vicious kick to his jaw that sent him sprawling.

“Darlin’, get in the car!” Logan barked at you as he tore another soldier off his feet. The crunch of bones beneath his claws was drowned out by gunfire and shouts.

“Not a chance!” you shouted back, ducking behind a nearby Jeep to avoid a spray of bullets. Your head still pounded from earlier, but adrenaline pushed the pain aside. You grabbed a tire iron from the Jeep, spun out from cover, and swung it into the ribs of the nearest soldier. He crumpled with a groan, and you turned just in time to dodge another attacker’s baton.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed, sweetheart!” Logan growled, swiping at a soldier who had tried to sneak up on him.

You rolled your eyes, blocking the next blow with the tire iron. “Like you’re doing any better, kotik!”

Laura scrambled toward you, her face streaked with blood and dirt. “Get her in the car!” Logan yelled as he blocked another punch, his claws slicing upward in a clean, brutal motion.

“C’mere, kid,” you muttered, grabbing Laura’s arm and pulling her behind you. “We’ve got to—”

A metallic hand grabbed your shoulder, yanking you back with inhuman strength. You twisted, but Donald was already leering down at you. “Aren’t you a fiery one?” he sneered, tightening his grip. “Let’s see how well you fight without—”

“Wrong move, asshole,” you spat, slamming the tire iron into the side of his head. He staggered, but his grip didn’t loosen.

Logan took a glance at the Chrysler, where more soldiers surrounded the car and back at you, who used your widow bites and knocked two men down.

Yeah, you could handle yourself. For now.

He took off running to the car to protect Charles as you grabbed a gun from one of the men’s halter and shot him in the head with it.

Logan sprinted toward the Chrysler, dodging a flurry of bullets that ricocheted off the gravel and bounced harmlessly off the car's frame. A soldier rounded the hood, his rifle aimed squarely at Logan’s chest. Logan didn’t even slow down—his claws shot out with a slick metallic hiss, and in one fluid motion, he slashed upward, sending the man sprawling with a guttural scream.

Logan climbed into the driver’s seat as Charles spoke, “as I told you, Logan, she’s a mutant like you.”

He turned the key in the ignition, “hold on!”

“Very much like you.” Charles repeated quietly.

Logan slammed the Chrysler into gear, the wheels kicking up sand and gravel as he veered toward you and Laura. His jaw tightened when he saw Laura drive her claw through a man’s throat, her small frame twisting with lethal precision as she turned to tackle another soldier behind her.

You, bloodied but standing, slammed the butt of a stolen rifle into the face of a soldier charging at Laura, dropping him before he could grab her. You turned, wiping the back of your hand across your cheek, and saw the Chrysler barreling toward you.

“Finally,” you muttered, before ducking to avoid a wild swing from a soldier. Twisting, you landed a roundhouse kick to his chest, sending him sprawling.

“Y/N! Get the kid!” Logan barked through the open driver’s window.

“I’m working on it, Logan!” you shot back, grabbing Laura’s arm and pulling her closer. “Stay with me, kid,” you told her firmly, though you knew she didn’t need the reminder.

Logan slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt just a few feet from you and Laura. “Get in!”

Before you could respond, another soldier lunged toward you, his taser crackling. Laura reacted first, leaping onto the man with a feral snarl. Her claws tore through his chest, and he crumpled.

“Nice work, but we’re out of time,” you told Laura, dragging her toward the car.

Another burst of gunfire rang out, and you ducked, pulling Laura down with you. Logan growled, “get in the damn car, now!”

You didn’t hesitate this time, shoving Laura into the backseat and diving in after her. Logan punched the gas, and the Chrysler roared forward, kicking up another wave of dust that momentarily blinded the soldiers behind you.

“You need to go to the front, Lo.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching sight of the Jeeps closing in from behind. Gravel sprayed beneath the tires as he swerved to avoid a shallow ditch. “They’re blockin’ the front!” he snapped. “We’ll have to take the back road—”

His voice trailed off as you reached into the glove compartment, yanking it open. A shiny, compact pistol clattered into your hand, and you checked the chamber with practiced ease.

Logan shot you a sharp look, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “What the hell is that doin’ in there?”

“I have one everywhere,” you said casually, rolling down the passenger window.

“You what?” Logan barked, his tone somewhere between disbelief and frustration.

You gave him a quick glance, your lips twitching. “Relax, kotik. Old habits.”

“Old habits my ass,” he grumbled, but his hands tightened on the wheel as he made a sharp turn, heading back toward the front of the property.

At least six jeeps and four motorcycles closed in ahead of you, their headlights cutting through the swirling dust. Behind you, Charles muttered incoherently while Laura sat silently, her wide, intense eyes fixed on the chaos outside.

Logan growled, “Darlin’, you better be damn sure you know what you’re doin’ with that.”

“Don’t worry,” you replied, leaning halfway out the window to aim at one of the motorcycles. “I’m an excellent shot.”

The first bullet hit the lead bike’s front tire, sending the rider sprawling into the dirt. You barely had time to fire again before another bike swerved to avoid the crash, losing control and smashing into the side of a Jeep.

“Two down,” you muttered, reloading swiftly.

“Would you stay in the damn car?!” Logan growled, yanking the wheel hard to the left as another Jeep cut in front of you.

“I am in the car!” you shouted back, firing at a Jeep’s windshield. The bullet cracked the glass but didn’t stop the vehicle. “Mostly!”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

“Not if I kill them first!”

“Damn it, Y/N!”

Ahead, the tracks stretched out into the distance, but the flashing lights of an oncoming train appeared on the horizon.

“Logan!” you shouted, firing off another shot at a motorcycle creeping up on your side. The rider veered off course, crashing into a ditch.

“I see it!” Logan barked, slamming his foot on the gas. The Chrysler roared as it hurtled toward the crossing, the Jeeps closing in behind you.

The train’s horn blared, a deafening warning that seemed to echo in your chest.

“We’re not gonna make it!” you yelled.

“Hold on!” Logan growled, his teeth bared as he pushed the Chrysler to its limits.

The train bore down on the tracks, the massive steel engine a blur of motion.

Logan swerved to the left, narrowly avoiding another Jeep, and then back to the right. Gravel and dirt kicked up in a storm as the Chrysler rocketed over the tracks just seconds before the train thundered past.

The pursuing vehicles skidded to a halt, trapped on the other side.

Logan didn’t slow down, his focus locked on the road ahead.

You slumped back into your seat, your breath coming fast. “Nice driving, kotik.”

“Don’t start,” Logan muttered, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

In the backseat, Charles chuckled softly. “See, Logan? She’s a natural.”

Logan shot you a quick glare. “You’re both gonna be the death of me.”

You smirked, tucking the pistol into the waistband of your jeans. “Not today, honey. Not today.”

---

“My name is Gabriela Lopez. I am a nurse. And for 10 years, I worked for Transigen Research in Mexico City. Transigen is owned by an American company. What I am about to show you is illegal… in the U.S. and Canada. They told us we were part of a pharmaceutical study. But, of course, that was a lie. These children were born in Transigen. They were born here… and have never left. They have never seen the sun or the ocean… rain or snow… or any of God’s creatures. They have no birth certificates… no names… besides the ones we have given them. They were raised in the bellies of Mexican girls. Girls no one can find anymore. Their fathers are semillas geneticas… special seeds in bottles.”

“Birthday? No birth.”

“Maria. We do not dress them up for Halloween. We do not call them ‘baby’ or kiss boo-boos. Don’t think of them as children. Think of them as things… with patents and copyrights. Comprende?”

“Si, senor.”

“They thought we were too poor and stupid to understand. We’re poor, yes… but we are not stupid. This is business. They are making soldiers. Killers. These are babies of mutantes…”

The video abruptly cut off as the phone died. Logan tore off his glasses and looked out of the car at Laura, who was still riding the mechanical horse at the front of the gas station.

“North Dakota,” Charles stated. Logan hummed in response as Charles continued, “you took that woman’s money. You said you would take the child there.”

You glanced out the window, following Logan’s gaze as Laura grew angry as the machine stopped.

“What is she?” Logan asked.

“She’s your daughter, Logan. Alkali has your genetic code.” Charles answered.

“Not just mine,” Logan said, as he went to the car door and opened it.

“Logan…”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t wanna hear about it anymore.”

“Logan…”

“Just stop.”

“I have to pee.”

Logan huffed before grabbing the wheelchair out of the trunk and helping Charles into it. You got out with your wallet, unlocking the fuel cap. “I’ll get gas, you handle him and Laura,” you spoke, as Logan responded with a nod and some grumbling.

---

Logan drove to Oklahoma City, where the bright, colorful lights of the city shone brightly. Laura woke up and moved to the window, peering at them.

“Is this where we’re hiding out?” Charles asked.

“We’re not hiding out.” Logan responded, “we’re gonna get a couple of hours’ sleep… clean up, get some new clothes, get a new ride and get outta here.”

He pulled the Chrysler in front of Harrah’s Hotel and Casino. Logan walked around the limo to the valet, “hey. Hey, keep it out front, all right?”

Logan quickly got Charles settled into his wheelchair as you followed behind Laura. The four of you walked in, you and Logan quickly booking a room with the money you earned from your latest job, before heading for the elevator.

On the way to the elevator, Laura stopped in front of a display window, looking the mannequin’s, but more particularly the clothes on the smaller one.

Logan pushed Charles to the elevator while you stopped behind Laura. You pushed Laura in the direction of the two men, calling out to Logan, “I’ll get some clothes. You guys head up.”

Laura looked up at you, her stolen sunglasses still over her eyes. “I’ll buy you the unicorn shirt. Go with them.” You said in Spanish.

For a moment, Laura didn’t budge, her expression unreadable behind the shades. Then, with a small huff that might have been reluctant agreement—or just annoyance—she turned and trailed after Logan. You waited until they entered the elevator before heading back to the display.

Inside the shop, you picked up the unicorn shirt Laura had been staring at, along with a few other items. You knew she wouldn’t say it, but something about her quiet intensity made you want to do these small things for her. Maybe it was because you saw pieces of Logan in her—the stubbornness, the silence, the weight of something unspoken.

Once the purchases were made, you headed back to the room.

---

When you walked in, Logan was already pulling off his shirt, tossing it onto the armchair with a tired grunt. Charles was settled on the bed, flipping through channels on the TV while Laura sat cross-legged on the bed, the sunglasses still on her face.

“Got you something,” you said, holding up the bag.

Laura tilted her head but didn’t move. You placed the bag on the bed and took out the unicorn shirt, unfolding it to show her. “See? Told you.”

She reached out slowly, taking it from your hands, her fingers brushing the fabric like she wasn’t sure what to do with it. After a moment, she clutched it to her chest, still silent.

“Not even a thank you, huh?” Logan muttered from across the room, pulling on a clean shirt.

“Logan,” you said warningly, shooting him a look.

“What?” he grumbled, but he didn’t push it further.

Laura hopped off the bed, clutching the shirt as she headed for the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her.

“She likes it,” Charles said with a faint smile, still watching the TV.

“She’d like it more if it had claws,” Logan muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots.

You crossed the room, standing in front of him. “Not everything has to be sharp and deadly, kotik,” you teased, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

Logan glanced up at you, his features softening just slightly. “You spoil her already.”

“She deserves it,” you said simply. “And don’t start. You’re the softie between us.”

Logan snorted. “Yeah, sure. Real soft.”

You leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “You are, whether you admit it or not.”

“Mm,” Logan grunted, but his hand found your waist, tugging you closer. “You done playin’ dress-up, sweetheart?”

“For now,” you replied, stepping back before he could pull you into his lap. “You should sleep. You’re running on fumes.”

“I’m fine.”

“Logan.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. “Yeah, yeah.”

Charles turned off the TV, speaking up from his spot on the bed. “You two should rest. I’ll keep an eye on Laura.”

“You sure, Chuck?” Logan asked, his voice softer.

“I’m sure.”

You placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder, nodding toward the bed in the other room. “Come on.”

Logan grumbled but followed your lead, climbing onto the mattress beside you. You stretched out next to him, his arm slipping around your waist out of habit. He exhaled heavily, the weight of the past few days evident in every line of his body.

“Get some sleep, honey,” you murmured, your fingers tracing absent patterns along his arm.

His grip tightened slightly, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, quietly, he said, “You too, darlin’.”

---

You walked around the room, looking for bag of clothes you had bought the night before while Charles and Laura watched some old Western in the other room.

You found the bag and pulled out a plain black tank top before tilting your head when you heard Logan’s coughing from the bathroom.

Muttering to yourself in Russian you quickly pulled it over your head. Before you were able to pull it down all the way Logan finally came out of the bathroom, dressed in the new outfit you bought him last night.

Logan’s eyes flicked to the bruises scattered across your back as you pulled your tank top into place. The sharpness in his gaze softened into something like worry, though his tone stayed gruff.

“You didn’t tell me you were hurt.”

You glanced over your shoulder, puzzled at first, then followed his line of sight. The darkening marks along your ribs and lower back told the story. “Didn’t feel it,” you replied, tugging the tank top all the way down before grabbing your leather jacket off the bed. “Didn’t notice until now.”

“Bullshit,” Logan said, stepping closer. “You should’ve said something. What if it’s worse than bruises?”

You shrugged, slipping the jacket on. “If it was worse, I’d know by now. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing,” he echoed with a scoff, his voice rising. “You took hits out there, Y/N. You can’t just shake that off like you used to. You’re not healing—”

“Maybe I’d heal better if you weren’t drinking yourself half-dead every damn day.” You zipped up the jacket and turned to face him, your tone sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.

Logan’s jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “This ain’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?” You folded your arms, meeting his glare head-on. “Your healing factor’s slowing down, Logan. You think I don’t notice how long it takes for those cuts to close? Or how you cough blood into the sink every morning?”

“That’s different,” he argued, his voice dropping to a growl.

“It’s not. You’re killing yourself, one bottle at a time, and you won’t even talk to me about it.”

His eyes narrowed, his temper simmering just below the surface. “I don’t need you to fix me, sweetheart.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you shot back. “I’m trying to keep you alive, but you’re too damn stubborn to let me.”

The room felt smaller, the air heavier. His hands clenched at his sides as though he was fighting the urge to slam them into something—or pull you close and end the fight with a kiss. Instead, he opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“Slaboumnyy,” you said sharply, your voice low but firm as you used the Russian nickname reserved for moments like this.

The word hung in the air, loaded with meaning. Logan’s expression shifted; the fight drained out of him, replaced by something like guilt.

You grabbed your hotel key and small purse off the nightstand, your movements brisk but controlled. “I’m going to get breakfast for Charles and Laura. You can fend for yourself.”

Before he could respond, you turned on your heel and walked out the door, letting it close behind you with a heavy thud.

---

The wait for breakfast was long, a bunch of drunk middle-aged men and women in front of you ordering copious amounts of greasy, unhealthy food.

When you finally got the food an hour later, you made your way back to the elevator, noticing a few men in black walking around the casino machines.

“Shit,” you muttered, as the elevator doors opened. You pressed the touch screen button for the 12th floor and hit the door close button, closing the doors in front of a group of tourists.

You got to the room and grabbed Laura from the bed, setting her down on the floor and putting Charles in his wheelchair. “Grab everything. We need to leave—”

A gunshot cut you off, just missing Charles’ head and hitting the window in front of him. One of the men aimed at Laura, and before he shot the trigger you threw yourself on top of her, the both of you falling to the ground.

As soon as the thud of your bodies reverberated through the room, a high pitch noise sounded out in your head, freezing the men in the room. Laura tried to move against the invisible barrier, crawling towards the syringes on the floor.

You were only able to pause time in the room. Every sound, every ripple in the air froze in place as the chaos stilled to an unnatural silence. The strain was immediate—like claws digging into your skull. You bit down on a scream, the raw pressure pressing against your mind making it hard to breathe.

Laura, mid-crawl toward the syringes, was frozen along with the attackers, her small form locked in place. Even Charles was still, though the effects of his seizure were evident in the strained lines of his face. Time had stopped, but you weren’t immune to its echoes. The vibrations of the seizure pulsed against your powers, like trying to hold back an ocean with a net.

Your body trembled as you pushed yourself to your feet. The men were frozen, guns raised, expressions twisted in mid-action. You moved through them, grabbing a discarded weapon from one man’s frozen grip. A quick check confirmed it was loaded. Good.

One by one, you moved swiftly and efficiently, just like your old training taught you. Your breathing was shallow, but your movements were precise—two shots to the head, then the next target. You didn’t have the time or energy to be anything but ruthless.

When the last man fell, you dropped the weapon with a shaky exhale. Your gaze landed on the syringes scattered across the floor near Charles. Each step toward them was a battle as your legs threatened to give out beneath you. The strain of holding the room in stasis was eating away at you, but you couldn’t let go—not yet.

Kneeling, you grabbed the nearest syringe and, with trembling hands, plunged it into Charles’ arm. The effect was immediate. The tension in the air shattered as Charles stilled, the seizure abating. Time snapped back into place like a rubber band, sending a ripple through your entire body.

Laura gasped audibly as she came back to awareness, blinking rapidly as she scrambled to her feet. Charles groaned, slumping in his wheelchair, his breathing labored but improving.

Your vision swam, and you swayed dangerously, your knees buckling. Before you could hit the floor, strong hands caught you, pulling you back against a solid chest.

“Darlin’,” Logan’s gruff voice was close, his tone sharp with concern. He turned you around, his hands framing your face as his gaze searched yours. “What the hell did you just do?”

“Stopped them,” you managed, your voice barely a whisper. “Stopped it.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he looked around the room, taking in the bodies of the attackers. He pulled you closer, his arms steady and grounding as he spoke low. “You’re shaking. You okay?”

You leaned into him, the warmth of his presence cutting through the fog of exhaustion. “I’m fine. Just… takes a lot out of me.”

Logan didn’t look convinced. His brow furrowed as he adjusted his grip, keeping you upright. “You shouldn’t push yourself like that.”

“They were going to kill us, kotik.” Your voice was firm, though your body betrayed your weakness as you sagged slightly against him. “I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

Logan muttered a curse under his breath, his hand pressing lightly against your back, mindful of the bruises he’d noticed earlier. “You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” you shot back weakly, earning a faint smirk from him despite the tension.

“Yeah, yeah.” His smirk faded as his gaze flicked toward Laura and Charles, who were watching silently. “You two okay?”

Laura nodded, clutching her unicorn shirt like a shield. Charles gave a faint smile, though his face was pale.

You shook your head. “We’re not out of the woods yet. More will come.”

Logan’s expression darkened. “Let ‘em. I’ll handle it.”

“We need to leave,” you insisted, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. “Now.”

Logan nodded, his grip on you tightening briefly before he helped you to stand on your own. “Let’s get out of here.”

Laura moved to your side, her small hand brushing against yours. For once, her silence felt loud, but you gave her a reassuring nod. “I’m okay,” you told her softly, though the exhaustion in your voice betrayed the truth.

Logan grabbed Charles’ wheelchair, his protective instincts on high alert. “Let’s move.”

The four of you made your way to the hallway, Logan leading the way, his senses sharp as he checked for threats. As you walked, his hand found yours briefly, giving it a firm squeeze. You squeezed back, a silent acknowledgment that, for now, you were both still standing—and still fighting.

---

“Emergency personnel are still on scene at Harrah’s Casino Hotel in Oklahoma City… where at least 400 guests were stricken with temporary paralysis yesterday. Many are noting a similarity to the Westchester incident over a year ago… that left over 600 injured and took the lives of seven mutants, including several of the X-Men.”

Charles was drifting in and out of sleep as Laura stared out the window with her sunglasses on, locking and unlocking the door.

“Knock it off,” Logan said. Laura didn’t stop. “I said, knock it off!”

“She’s a child, Logan. And, point of fact, she’s your—”

Logan cut off Charles, “how long has it been since you took your meds?” Charles exhaled, turning his head. “Tell me, how long has it been?”

“I don’t know! Two days.”

“You saw what happened yesterday. If that shit had gone on any longer, everyone in that casino���”

This time Charles cut off Logan. “I did what I had to do to save Laura. And Y/N.”

“What?” You said quietly, rubbing your temples.

“You didn’t do anything. You just freaked out and had a fucking seizure!” Logan exclaimed.

“I guess you prefer me pharmaceutically castrated, rambling on like a lunatic. So much easier for you.”

“Easier? Jesus!” Logan scoffed, “there is nothing easy about you, Charles, nothing!”

“Yes, yes, please be like the rest of the world… blaming someone else for your boring shit.”

“I know, Pop, I’m such a giant disappointment.”

“Logan—” you tried to comment, before Charles continued.

“You honestly derive no sense of purpose from what we’re doing?”

Logan briefly looked in the back of the truck at Charles, “okay, what are we doing? Hmm?”

“There is a young mutant sitting in our car.”

“Yeah, I see that.”

“And where we’re taking her, there are others. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Uh, yeah, means nothing to me. Especially since Nurse Gabriella made all that Eden shit up with fucking comic books.”

“What are you talking about?” Charles asked.

Logan gently moved your arm off the console, opening it and grabbing a bottle of pills.

“Give those to him.” He said, handing you the bottle.

Not feeling up to a fight you complied, shaking out two pills and handing them to Charles behind you with a sympathetic smile. Charles popped them in his mouth and washed it down with some of his bottled water.

“I wanna see it.” Logan commanded, looking back at Charles as he exaggeratedly stuck his tongue out. You put the pill bottle back into the console.

The truck fell into silence, until a semi-truck moved too close to your own truck.

“Motherfucking auto-trucks.” Logan said angrily.

“Language, Logan.” Charles chided. “And you’re screaming at a machine.”

Laura looked out her window to see a pick-up truck towing a horse trailer. “Oh, what? She can gut a man with her feet, she can’t hear a few naughty words, huh?” Logan replied.

“She can learn to be better.”

“You mean, better than me?” Logan questioned.

“Actually, yes.” Charles responded. “And, by the way, Laura’s foot claws are the obvious result of her gender, you know.”

“Is that a fact?”

“In a pride of lions, the female is both hunter and caregiver.” Charles continued.

“Good to know.” Logan said.

“She uses her front claws for hunting and the back claws defensively.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan said, speaking sarcastically again.

“Thus, ensuring their survival.” Charles finished.

Almost right after Charles finished speaking, an auto-truck honked and began to move over to the lane that your truck was in without looking. Logan swerved quickly, driving into oncoming traffic. Laura held onto Charles to keep him steady while you grabbed the handle on the roof. Logan turned the truck when he was clear, coming to a stop.

As the four of you got your breaths back, the truck pulling a horse trailer stopped across the road. Horses ran out of the trailer and a young boy and his parents got out, rushing to try and get the horses off the road.

“We should help them,” Charles suggested.

“No, we have to keep going. Someone will come along.” Logan said.

“Someone has come along.”

Logan looked over to you as you waved your hand and sighed, giving him an affirmative. Logan drove the truck across the road and parked the truck next to the other one. Charles rolled down the window and closed his eyes, while you and Logan got out of the car. The horses all walked back to the trailer and stopped. Logan looked back at Charles who opened his eyes.

Laura had quietly exited the truck, coming to stand by you as Logan spoke, “hey, uh, you need a hand?”

---

The group got the truck and connected trailer out of the ditch as the husband patted the front of the truck. “Ah. Good, got it. Come on, let’s get home.”

“Laura!” Logan called out. You stood by Laura as she pet one of the horses in the trailer.

“Thank you so much for your help. I’m Kathryn.” She put out her hand.

“James.” Logan said as he shook her hand.

“This is my son, Nate.”

“Hi.” Nate raised a hand.

“Hey.” Logan responded.

Kathryn looked back at Laura, “that your wife and daughter?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s our daughter Laura, and my wife Y/N. And my dad, Chuck.” Logan pointed at Charles in the truck who waved back. “Come on, Laura, let’s go.”

“Well, can we show our appreciation and treat the three of you to a decent meal? We don’t live far from here.” Kathryn asked kindly.

“Uh, no, thanks.”

“That would be lovely!” Charles answered.

---

“You wanna say grace? Say grace, baby?” Kathryn told Nate.

“Uh, thank you, God, for this food… and for our new friends the Howletts.” Nate began.

“Mmm. They came to our aid.” Kathryn cut in.

“Amen.” The family said.

Will, Kathryn’s husband and Nate’s father, handed a bowl to Charles. “Here we go. Here you go, Charles.”

“Thank you, sir.” He responded.

Laura started to eat, using her fingers to eat the mashed potatoes. Logan reached over and tapped her shoulder before showing her the fork next to her plate as she took it from his hands.

Charles then handed a bowl of corn to Laura, who used the large spoon to put two big spoonful’s on her plate as Logan took the bowl from her, waiting for her to put the spoon back in.

Kathryn, who was watching the interaction, looked at Logan, “oh, there’s plenty more if she wants.”

“She’s fine. Thank you.” Logan replied.

“This is delicious.” Charles said, as Laura shoveled corn into her mouth, Nate watching her with hesitant and curious eyes.

“Oh, thank you.” Kathryn responded.

“It’s so good.” Charles added.

“Where are you all headed?” Will asked.

“Uh… Oregon.” Logan answered as Charles answered with “South Dakota” at the same time.

“Well, Oregon and then South Dakota.” Charles explained.

“Vacation?” Kathryn questioned.

“Uh… yes. Uh, long overdue. We’re city folk. Always wanted to take a road trip, see the country.” Charles paused, gesturing to the family, “and meet the people in it.”

Logan raised a brow as Kathryn replied, “that sounds lovely. Been trying to get Will here to take a vacation for years now.”

“Oh. If we go traipsing all over the country, who’s gonna take care of this place?” Will responded.

“Exactly. I say, let it go.”

“And live off what?”

“The Lord will provide.”

“I’m still waiting for the Lord to provide me with a new thresher.” Will said, as Nate laughed.

“All the same, I’d love to travel someday.” Kathryn finished.

Charles pointed at her, “and I bet you will.”

Nate leaned back in his chair, “I could drop out of school.”

Kathryn looked at her son, “okay, let’s not go that far.”

“I mean, I’ll do it.”

“No. No.”

“Why not?”

“You wanna travel, I wanna travel.”

“Son. Son.”

“That sounds good to you, right?” Will cut in softly.

“This is the perfect plan.” Nate replied.

“Why would you want to do that, Nate?” Charles asked.

Logan looked over at Charles and gestured with his fork, “careful, you’re speaking to a man who ran a school for a lot of years. Right, Charles?”

Charles hummed and nodded, “yes, it was a… it was a special needs school. Um…”

A small smile was on Logan’s face, “uh-huh. That’s a good description.”

Charles pointed at Logan briefly, “these two were there, too.”

Laura looked over at Logan, a small smile on her own face. “Oh, yeah, no. Um… I got kicked out a few times.”

Nate laughed as Charles continued, “I wish I could say you were a good pupil, but the words choke me.” They all laughed, Laura a silent laugh as she looked over at Logan. “Not that you were much better,” Charles added, looking at you.

You let out a small chuckle, “yeah, I was probably worse than Logan. Wasn’t the greatest student.”

The chatter continued until everyone was done. Logan stood up, “ma’am, I can’t thank you enough for this. Uh, it was great. But, we have a long drive ahead of us, so—”

“But you need to rest, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we’ll find a motel somewhere.”

“The nearest one is two hours from here and it’s not even that nice.” Will said.

“We have a perfectly fine room upstairs for your father and your daughter and you and your wife can sleep in the living room on the convertible.”

“Kathryn, it’s very, very nice of you, but we really should go.”

“We can leave early in the morning.” Charles cut in. “Break of dawn, as it were.”

Logan looked over at you as you sighed and shrugged. At least the four of you wouldn’t have to sleep in the truck.

“Okay, why don’t we wash up, Pop?” Logan pushed Charles away to the bathroom.

“Um, do you two want some dessert?” Kathryn asked.

Laura looked up at you, almost as if asking for permission. “Go ahead,” you said in Spanish. Kathryn gave the two of you a plate as the water from the sink sputtered.

“Oh, shit!”

Logan came out from the bathroom where he and Charles just were “What’s going on?”

“Nate!” Will called out. “Go fill up the tub before we lose pressure. Honey, check the sink.”

“They shut it off again.” Kathryn said, as Logan watched Nate go into the bathroom.

“They are just not going to let this thing go.” Will commented.

“Well, you might as well handle it now.”

“It can wait till the morning. We just had rain last night.”

“We got four houseguests and a sink full of dishes.”

“All right, all right.” Will whispered to his wife, before looking over at Logan. “The pump stations that supplies us is a mile and a half from here. Sometimes it gets itself shut off.”

“By assholes.” Nate said, in the doorway of the bathroom.

“Hey!” Will reprimanded.

Laura lifted the pie dish lid as Logan came over to her, “no.”

“My son is happy to go with you.” Charles added.

Logan looked over at Charles as Will spoke, “no, no, no, that’s fine. The men that do this, sometimes they can be…”

“I can go.” Nate chimed in.

“No, you got homework.” Kathryn said.

“All right, I’ll go. Just, uh, let me get my dad settled.” Logan walked over to Charles in his wheelchair and picked him up, before making his way up the stairs to the spare bedroom.

You lead Laura by the shoulders up the stairs, following Logan and Charles. Laura turned her head to Nate’s room, his door cracked open. “Be good, muñeca.” You said in Spanish, as Laura looked up at you for a few moments, holding your gaze before entering his room.

When you walked into the room, Logan had already tucked Charles into bed. “Want TV? There’s TV here.” Logan questioned.

“I’m fine.” Charles answered.

“Okay. Get some rest.” Logan went to exit when Charles spoke. You watched, and listened, from the door.

“You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. A home, people who love each other. Safe place. You should take a moment and feel it.”

“Yeah. It’s great.” Logan walked closer to the door.

“Logan. Logan!” Logan turned around to face Charles, “you still have time.”

Logan sighed, “Charles, the world is not the same as it was. We’re taking a risk hanging around here, you know that. And where we’re going, Eden… it doesn’t exist. Her nurse got it from a comic book. You understand? It’s not real.”

“It is for Laura. It is for Laura.” Charles said.

“Get some rest.” Logan responded, walking over to you as he closed the door.

You crossed your arms, standing firm in the hallway. “I know you don’t believe in Eden, but—”

Logan cut you off, his voice low but edged with frustration. “Do you believe in it, darlin’? Really?”

You paused, meeting his tired eyes. He wanted you to say no, to back him up, to give him some sort of permission to stop running. But you couldn’t do that. Not when Laura’s life was at stake. “I don’t,” you admitted softly. “But if there’s even a chance that it exists, don’t we owe it to Laura to try?”

Logan exhaled sharply, looking away as he rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ve been chasin’ ghosts, sweetheart. That nurse believed in fairy tales, and now we’re followin’ a damn map from a comic book. It’s—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “It’s not real. You know it’s not.”

You stepped closer, your voice quieter but no less firm. “That video we saw... on her nurse’s phone. It reminded me of the Red Room.” You hesitated, your hands curling into fists as old memories clawed their way to the surface. “If Eden exists, it’s not just about being free from what they did to her. It’s about a place where she can finally feel safe. Like she belongs. It’s exactly the kind of place I would've dreamed of as a kid.”

Logan turned to you, his expression softening despite the frustration. “Darlin’—”

You reached out, placing a hand on his chest. “I know you don’t think it’s out there, kotik. But we’ve come this far. She’s a kid, Logan. She’s just a kid.” Your voice broke slightly. “Don’t we owe it to her to believe? Just for a little while?”

He let out another heavy sigh, his hand coming up to cover yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, the roughness of his skin grounding you. “I get it,” he muttered after a moment. “I do. But it doesn’t mean I’m not scared of what happens when we don’t find it. What do I tell her then?”

“You won’t have to,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “Because we’ll find it. And if we don’t, we’ll figure something out. Together.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes lingering on you. He looked torn between wanting to argue and wanting to believe you. After a moment, he just nodded. “You’re too damn stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “That’s why we work so well together.”

He huffed a soft laugh, pulling you into his arms. The embrace was brief, but it was enough to feel the weight he was carrying. When he pulled back, his hands lingered on your waist. “All right,” he said quietly. “But we leave at first light. No more detours.”

You nodded, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “First light. Promise.”

Logan watched you for a moment longer before stepping away, muttering, “You better get some rest. It’s gonna be a long drive tomorrow.”

You smiled softly as he walked back down the hallway, his footsteps heavy but purposeful. Laura peeked out from Nate’s room, watching him go before turning to you. Her wide eyes held a mixture of curiosity and something softer—trust.

“Come on, muñeca,” you said, holding out your hand. “Let’s get you settled.”

She took your hand without hesitation, and as the two of you made your way back to the room, you couldn’t help but feel the faintest flicker of hope.

---

Kathryn set up the pull-out bed in the living room, letting you lay down while Logan was out helping Will with the water.

You knew you wouldn’t sleep, it was far too engrained in you to not sleep in a strange place, where anything, anyone, could be lurking around.

After some time, it couldn’t have been more than an hour, you heard familiar footsteps. But the closer they got to you, you started to realize that they were just a tad bit too heavy to be Logan’s.

You turned onto your back quickly, the blanket falling to your waist as you caught his wrist, the sharpened tip of his claws nearly grazing your chest. Your heart pounded as your mind registered what you were seeing—Logan. But not Logan. His features were wrong. Sharper. Colder. The dead look in his eyes made your stomach churn.

You moved to kick him, trying to dislodge his weight, but his other hand slammed into your stomach. Pain shot through you as his claws tore into your flesh. A strangled gasp escaped your lips as he twisted his wrist, retracting the blades before you could even react, and you hit the floor hard.

Blood spilled from your wound, warm and sticky against your trembling hands. Your vision blurred as you tried to sit up, but a cold wave of nausea overtook you.

Laura’s scream cut through the haze, sharp and furious, echoing from upstairs. The sound jolted you back to focus.

No. Not her. Not Charles.

Your fingers twitched, and you willed yourself to focus past the pain. The air around you shimmered faintly as you reached deep within yourself, finding the thread of time. Your powers resisted—your body already weakening—but you pushed through, rewinding the moment.

Agony gave way to an excruciating pressure, like a rubber band snapping back into place, as the wound began to heal itself. The blood receded, the pain dulled, and your breathing steadied. You gasped for air, drenched in sweat, your body trembling from the effort.

Your eyes darted to the stairs, a sense of urgency overpowering the exhaustion. Using the couch for leverage, you pulled yourself to your feet. You staggered slightly, clutching the armrest to steady yourself.

"Laura!" you called, your voice hoarse.

Another scream tore through the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of claws clashing. You pushed yourself forward, each step heavy and unsteady, as you made your way toward the chaos.

You heard a gunshot and a scream from upstairs. You limped to the door, where the lookalike—clone—carried Laura, who let out another scream.

Grabbing the pistol from behind your back, you shot at the clone. The bullet struck his shoulder, forcing him to drop Laura. She landed hard on the ground, her hands and legs bound with mutant inhibitors. A low growl escaped the clone's throat as his attention snapped to you.

"That's right," you muttered, steadying your aim despite the pain radiating through your body. "Come and get me, asshole."

He charged toward you with feral intensity, his claws slicing through the air. You fired another shot, this time grazing his side. It slowed him down, but only for a second. Before you could fire again, he was on you, knocking the pistol from your hand.

You stumbled back, barely dodging the first swipe of his claws. The second swing caught your arm, and you cried out as the sharp pain ripped through your shoulder. Blood seeped through your shirt, but you gritted your teeth and pressed forward, using the momentum to land a hard kick to his stomach. He staggered back, giving you a split second to grab a piece of broken wood from the ground.

The clone recovered quickly, his predatory gaze locking onto you once more. He lunged, but this time you sidestepped, driving the makeshift weapon into his side. It wasn’t enough to stop him, but it slowed him down.

The clone backhanded you, sending you sprawling onto the dirt. Stars danced in your vision as you struggled to get up, your body screaming in protest. He advanced on Laura, who was thrashing against her restraints, her small frame writhing like a trapped animal.

“No!” you shouted, forcing yourself to your feet. You reached deep within, pulling at the thread of time, willing it to bend. The world around you shimmered faintly, the air growing heavy with the effort. You managed to slow the clone's movements, just enough to stagger forward and position yourself between him and Laura.

Before the clone could strike again, a familiar growl pierced the air.

“Get the hell away from them!” Logan’s voice roared.

The clone barely had time to turn before Logan tackled him, the force of their collision sending both of them to the ground. The two Logans clashed in a brutal, chaotic fight, claws slashing and tearing through flesh.

“Darlin’, get her to the truck!” Logan shouted, not breaking his focus on his opponent.

You didn’t hesitate. Grabbing Laura, you picked her up, your body protesting every movement. She screamed as she watched Logan fight the clone, but leaned into you for support, her wide eyes filled with something unspoken—trust.

“It’s okay, muñeca,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “We’re almost there.”

Gunfire erupted from nearby as a group of men yelled at the clone of Logan. The distraction gave you just enough time to pull Laura toward the truck, where Charles’ lifeless body lay in the backseat.

“Stay with him,” you told Laura, grabbing your vibranium blade from your ankle holster and slashing the inhibitors off her wrists and ankles as fast as your trembling hands allowed. “You hear me? Stay with him.”

Laura nodded silently, her small hands clutching at Charles’ blanket as she climbed into the truck. Her gaze lingered on you, worried and uncertain, but she stayed put.

You grabbed a device from underneath your pant leg, throwing it at the group of men. A grenade, that only released a toxin putting them to sleep.

Only a few seconds after, the armored truck blew up, the fiery blast sending shockwaves through the night. You shielded Laura with your body, the heat of the explosion brushing against your back as debris scattered around you. The clone and Logan were still locked in a brutal struggle, their grunts and growls barely audible over the roaring fire.

You turned back just in time to see Logan thrown to the ground, the clone towering over him, claws raised for the killing blow. Logan barely rolled out of the way, the claws digging into the dirt where he had just been.

A loud roar of an engine cut through the chaos, drawing everyone’s attention. Will’s van came hurtling toward the clone, its headlights blinding against the darkened field. You held your breath as the van slammed into the clone with a sickening crunch, sending him flying back into the thresher. The metal prongs of the machine impaled him, halting his movement with a grotesque finality.

Logan staggered to his feet, breathing heavily, blood and dirt smeared across his face. You started toward him, but Will jumped out of the van first, holding his shotgun with shaking hands.

Will’s eyes darted between the impaled clone and Logan. He approached cautiously, his boots crunching against the debris-strewn ground. Raising the shotgun, Will aimed it directly at the clone’s head, his expression grim and resolute. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger, the deafening blast echoing across the field.

The clone’s body went limp, his head snapping back against the metal with the force of the shot. You exhaled sharply, relief mingling with the tension still coiled tight in your chest.

Will turned toward Logan, his face a mask of fury and grief. Without a word, he raised the shotgun again, this time aiming it at Logan.

Your heart stopped.

Logan stood still, his bloodied chest heaving as he met Will’s gaze. He didn’t flinch, didn’t say a word. You could see the exhaustion in his stance, the resignation.

The trigger clicked.

Empty.

For a moment, everything was still. Then Will staggered, his knees buckling as the shotgun slipped from his hands. He crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his body folding into itself like a marionette with cut strings.

“Darlin’,” Logan rasped, his voice pulling your attention. He was limping toward you, his face etched with exhaustion and pain. “We need to go. Now.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you turned back to Laura, who was staring at Charles’ lifeless body in the bed of the truck.

---

They had buried Charles in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and some water nearby. Logan put the shovel in the ground. Laura took out her earbuds as Logan spoke quietly, “well… it’s got water, and…” Laura moved over to Logan and put her hand around his wrist, both their knuckles bloody.

Logan looked down briefly before turned his gaze towards the small pond, “it’s got water.” His voice broke as he took a deep sigh. He plunged the shovel into the ground in anger, muttering, “fuck this,” a few times while walking back to the truck, shovel still in hand.

You stood by the makeshift grave, each breath hurting worse than the last. The exhaustion wasn’t making it much easier either.

Laura walked further down the grassy field to stand by a tree as she watched Logan try to turn on the truck, only for the engine to sputter.

Logan cursed multiple times before opening the hood. Laura noticed a man and his dog leaving his parked car some distance away. She turned back to Logan, how was now hitting the truck repeatedly with the shovel.

Moments later, Logan’s body wavered as he stumbled to the ground, passing out.

You walked over to Laura, your legs heavy, your body screaming for rest, but you pushed on. "You grab him," you said quietly, your voice strained as you nodded toward Logan's crumpled form. "I’ll get that guy’s station wagon."

Laura’s expression was unreadable, but her small frame seemed to stiffen with determination. She didn’t respond—she never did—but the faint glint in her eyes told you she understood. She moved quickly toward Logan, crouching beside him and wrapping her small arms around his wrist.

You turned away, your gaze locking onto the man and his dog in the distance. Your steps were uneven, every ounce of your body protesting, but you forced yourself forward. By the time you reached the station wagon, the man was just a few feet away from his car. His dog barked as he turned to face you, startled by your sudden appearance.

"Hey!" he called out, confusion written on his face. "What are you—?"

"I’m sorry about this," you interrupted, pulling your pistol from the back of your waistband and aiming it at the ground between you. "I need your car. Now."

The man froze, his hands instinctively raised. "Look, lady, I don’t want any trouble—"

"Neither do I," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the throbbing pain in your shoulder. "Keys. Please."

His hands fumbled into his pocket as he stared at you, fear and hesitation battling on his face. "Alright, alright," he muttered, tossing the keys toward you. "Take it."

You caught them and gave him a nod. "Thank you. You can keep the dog."

The man didn’t argue. He backed away slowly, taking the dog with him, his eyes never leaving you. You slid into the driver’s seat, the car’s worn interior creaking beneath you as you started the engine. Relief washed over you when it roared to life without hesitation.

You backed the station wagon up toward where Laura was struggling to drag Logan’s unconscious body towards you. You slammed the car into park and ran over, your legs moving on pure adrenaline at this point.

"Let me," you said, crouching down to grab Logan under his arms. Laura gave a reluctant glance but let go, stepping back to give you space.

"God, kotik, you don’t make this easy," you grunted, managing to hoist him up enough to half-drag, half-carry him toward the car. Laura moved ahead, opening the backseat door for you.

With a final heave, you got Logan inside, his weight slumping awkwardly against the seat. You turned to Laura, who was already climbing in beside him, her small hands moving to check his pulse instinctively.

You nodded at her. "You keep an eye on him. I’ll… drive.” Your voice trailed off, your exhaustion hitting its peak after lifting Logan into the car. Laura grabbed the keys from your hand without a fight from you as you passed out on the floor of the car.

---

Logan groaned as he woke up, looking directly at the ceiling to see wire fish and an IV bag above him. He coughed and the doctor immediately responded.

“Welcome back. I was starting to think I was gonna have to tell that nice little girl out in the waiting room her daddy’s gone.” Logan turned his head to face the doctor as he sighed, “I’d always hoped… that I’d get the chance to meet someone like you. There’s so few of you left.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Doc.” Logan groaned as he sat up, letting out a slight moan of pain. “But I really got to get on my way.”

“No, no, don’t do that. What you and your wife need is rest and treatment. You need to check—”

“My wife, where is she?”

“The next room—”

Before the doctor could finish talking, a high-pitched scream came from the room next door. Logan’s body tensed immediately. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the pain that radiated through him as he forced himself up. His head swam for a second, but he powered through it, instincts driving him forward.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, pushing past the doctor as he made for the door, pulling his shirt on but not buttoning it, eyes sharp and focused.

He barged into the adjacent room, only to find you standing there, fists clenched, a wild look in your eyes. A nurse was backed into the far corner of the room, pale as a ghost and trembling, her hands raised defensively. The sharp scent of antiseptic and medical supplies filled the small room, along with the tension that was thick enough to cut through.

“Darlin’,” Logan rasped, his voice a mix of relief and concern. His eyes softened slightly as he saw you, but he didn’t dare move closer yet. "It’s alright. You're okay."

You were breathing heavily, your hands shaking, but your eyes snapped to his the moment you heard his voice. The fight-or-flight instinct coursing through your veins made it hard to focus. You’d woken up surrounded by sterile equipment, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. It was too familiar—a stark reminder of things you’d tried to bury deep down. The Black Widow training. The surgeries. The loss of control.

"Where are we?" you asked through gritted teeth, not taking your eyes off the nurse. "What the hell is this place?"

Logan glanced at the nurse, then back at you. “Laura brought us here. A clinic. Some walk-in place,” he explained, his tone steady but gentle. He could see you were on edge, ready to snap at anything that moved.

Your eyes darted around the room before they landed back on Logan. The confusion and panic swirling inside you slowly began to ebb, replaced by the familiar presence of him. You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to ground yourself.

"I don’t—" you swallowed hard, your voice shaky. "I don’t remember how we got here."

"Neither do I," Logan admitted, taking a step closer to you. His movements were slow, non-threatening.

The nurse, still cowering in the corner, finally spoke up, her voice trembling. “I-I was just checking her vitals… she woke up—”

“She’s fine," Logan interrupted, his gaze flickering toward the nurse. "You should go.” There was no malice in his voice, but the unspoken command was clear.

The nurse nodded frantically, not needing to be told twice. She slipped out of the room, leaving the two of you standing there, the heavy silence settling in her absence.

Logan turned his full attention back to you, his brow furrowing in concern. “Darlin’, you good?”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair as you tried to steady yourself. “Yeah... Yeah, I’m fine.” But your voice betrayed you—it was shaky, uncertain.

He stepped closer, cautiously this time, his rough hands reaching for yours. "Come here."

You didn’t resist, letting him pull you into his chest. His warmth, the steady beat of his heart, was a grounding force amidst the whirlwind of emotions still swirling inside you. You buried your face into his uninjured shoulder, gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

Logan rested his chin on top of your head, holding you close. He could feel the tension slowly leaving your body as you leaned into him. "We’re safe," he murmured, his voice rough but soothing. "Just a clinic. We’ll be outta here soon."

You took a shaky breath, nodding against him. "I just… I hate waking up in places like this. Medical rooms. Makes me feel like I’m back in…" Your voice trailed off, but Logan didn’t need you to finish. He knew what you meant. He knew your past, the nightmares that clung to both of you like shadows.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said quietly, his arms tightening around you just a fraction. “But you’re not there. Not anymore.”

For a moment, you stayed like that—wrapped in the safety of his embrace, the world outside falling away. The pain in your body, the chaos of the last few days, all of it faded in the warmth of his presence. Logan was your anchor, just like you had been his for so many years.

After a few moments, you pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. "Where’s Laura?" you asked, your voice still quiet but steadier now.

Logan exhaled softly, nodding toward the door. "Out in the waiting room, apparently. She’s fine. Tough kid.”

You managed a small smile at that, despite everything. “She’s tougher than most adults I know.”

Logan huffed a small, tired laugh, but his expression softened as he looked at you. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away the sweat that had gathered there. “You’re tough too, ya know?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug, but the tension in your body had melted away for the most part. “I’ve had my moments.”

"Plenty of ‘em," Logan said, his voice gruff but affectionate. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “We’ll be outta here soon. Just gotta get you patched up.”

There were deep claw marks that dragged across the right side of his stomach, you were shocked they didn’t have stitches or gauze over it. Your hand went to hover over the wounds, only barely starting to concentrate on reversing the wounds before Logan’s hand firmly closed over your wrist.

“Stop it,” Logan’s voice was firm but laced with a quiet concern, his hand tightening slightly around your wrist as if to emphasize the point. His eyes, sharp yet weary, bore into yours.

“Logan, you’re hurt—” you protested softly, your voice barely above a whisper, but Logan was already shaking his head.

“I said stop,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Ain’t worth it. You know what it does to you.”

You frowned, glancing down at his wounds again, the jagged lines cutting across his stomach. “And leaving you like this is worth it? You’re bleeding, Logan. You need stitches, or—”

“Darlin’, I heal,” he interrupted, his hand moving to cup your face, his calloused thumb brushing gently along your cheek. “You don’t. Not like this. Every time you pull that trick, it damn near takes you out. Ain’t lettin’ that happen.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped you. It wasn’t just concern—it was fear, buried deep but unmistakable. He’d seen you push yourself too far before, and the memory of it still lingered, raw and unyielding.

You sighed, your shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of you. “Fine,” you muttered, reluctantly pulling your hand back. “But only because I’m too tired to argue.”

Logan huffed a small, almost amused breath, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “Smart choice.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth lifted slightly in response. “Don’t push your luck, old man.”

“Old man, huh?” Logan smirked, though the teasing was short-lived as he winced, his hand instinctively moving to his side.

“Exactly my point,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Now sit your stubborn ass down before you keel over.”

He gave you a pointed look but obeyed, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed with a low grunt. You grabbed a clean towel from the counter and a bottle of disinfectant, perching on the chair next to him. As you worked, dabbing carefully at the wounds, the tension in the room began to ease, replaced by the familiar rhythm of your banter.

“You remember the last time we ended up in a place like this?” you asked, glancing up at him.

Logan snorted. “Which time? There’s been a few.”

“The one in Brazil,” you said with a small grin. “You tried to fight the entire waiting room because they were taking too long.”

“They were taking too long,” Logan grumbled, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “And that guy was lookin’ at you funny.”

“He was ninety, Logan.”

“And?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you pressed the towel against his side. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you keep me around anyway,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, the playful edge giving way to something softer.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the chaos of the past few days—the exhaustion, the pain, the fear—faded into the background. All that mattered was the man sitting in front of you, his rough edges softened in the quiet of the moment.

“I keep you around because I’m not sure what I’d do without you,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the weight of the words.

Logan’s expression shifted, the usual gruffness giving way to something raw and unguarded. He reached out, his hand settling on the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You’ll never have to find out.”

The warmth of his words settled over you like a blanket, grounding you in a way nothing else could. You stayed like that for a moment, your breaths mingling in the small space between you, the world outside forgotten.

A soft knock at the door broke the silence, and you both turned to see Laura standing there, her dark eyes watching you with an intensity that was equal parts curiosity and concern. She didn’t say anything—she never did—but the question in her gaze was clear.

“Hey, kid,” Logan said, his voice softer than usual as he straightened up slightly. “We’re good.”

Laura tilted her head, her eyes flicking between the two of you before landing on Logan’s side. She frowned, stepping into the room and holding up a roll of gauze she’d clearly swiped from somewhere.

“Resourceful,” you said with a small smile, taking the gauze from her. “Thanks, Laura.”

She didn’t respond, just crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, her gaze never leaving Logan as you wrapped the bandage around his torso.

“She’s got your stubbornness,” you muttered under your breath, earning a huff from Logan.

The girl’s expression didn’t change, but something in her posture relaxed ever so slightly. You caught the subtle shift and smiled to yourself, finishing up the bandage before sitting back with a satisfied sigh.

“There. That should hold for now,” you said, meeting Logan’s gaze. “But you’re still taking it easy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, though there was no real heat behind it. “Let’s just get outta here.”

You nodded, glancing at Laura. “Think you can lead the way, kid?”

She gave a small nod, already turning to head back toward the waiting room. Logan pushed himself to his feet with a wince, and you quickly stepped in to steady him, earning a muttered “I’m fine” that you ignored.

The three of you made your way out of the clinic, Laura leading the way to the station wagon. She opened the driver door, throwing something to the back of the car as she climbed into the passenger seat. You got into the backseat, laying down.

“You can’t just take shit, you know.” Logan said to Laura.

“Actually, I took it. Had to threaten a guy.” You spoke from the backseat.

Logan closed the driver door, muttering an “of course” before looking at Laura. “I don’t know how you got us here… but, uh, thank you.”

“De nada.” Laura said, as Logan put the keys in the ignition.

“Yeah.” Logan looked back at Laura, “you can talk?” Laura nodded, “you can talk? What the fuck? Why in the fuck… What’s all this bullshit been for the last 2,000 fucking miles?”

Laura began to yell in Spanish, “tu espera que hable con tu cuando no mirarme? Tu espera que hable con tu cuando me insultas y tratar de dejarme atrás!?”

Your eyes widened at her words, but of course, Logan didn’t understand them. He cut Laura off, yelling at her, “shut the fuck up!”

“Logan!” You scolded, sitting up, “she’s a little kid—”

Laura kept eye contact with Logan, reciting names. “Jonah, Gideon, Rebecca, Delilah, Rictor.”

“What? Who’s that?” Laura continued as Logan yelled again, “who is that?”

She opened her backpack, saying the names again, “Jonah, Gideon, Rebecca, Delilah, and Rictor.” She grabbed the envelope of money with the coordinates written on them. “North Dakota.”

“What?”

Laura pulled the envelope away, “North Dakota, por favor.”

“Shit, okay. Look—” Logan tried to grab the envelope.

“No. Por favor.”

Logan finally reached over and grabbed it from her hands. “This place. Okay? Your nurse, she read too many stories, you understand? Too many stories!” He coughed as Laura grabbed a comic book from her backpack, which Logan snatched. “I’ve seen it! I’ve seen it, okay? This all here… None of this… No existo, okay? You understand me? This Eden does not exist. No!”

“Si! Eden!”

“No! It’s a fantasy, kid. See that? Those are the names of the people who just made this… They made this whole thing up. Okay? This whole… It happened once, and they just turned it into a big, fucking lie!” Laura yelled in Spanish again, “no!”

You opened the car door, slowly getting out, leveling Logan with a look that brooked no argument. “Logan. Out. Now.”

Logan froze, his hand still clutching the comic book, his jaw tightening. “What are you doin’, sweetheart?” His voice was low, cautious.

“Get out of the car, kotik,” you repeated, your tone firm. “Now.”

Laura was glaring daggers at him from the passenger seat, her small frame somehow radiating enough fury to match his. Logan glanced at her, then back at you, clearly torn between his simmering frustration and the realization that you weren’t going to back down.

Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, opening the driver’s side door and stepping out, slamming it shut behind him. “This really necessary?” he grumbled.

You didn’t answer right away, walking a few paces away from the car until you were out of earshot from Laura. Logan followed, his boots crunching against the gravel. When you finally turned to face him, the irritation in your eyes was palpable.

“What the hell was that?” you asked, your voice quiet but edged with steel. “You yelling at her like that?”

“She started it,” Logan said, gesturing vaguely toward the car, his expression defensive. “You heard her, darlin’. She’s been sittin’ on this the whole damn time, not sayin’ a word. Now she wants to throw some fantasy story at me like it’s gospel?”

“She’s a kid, Logan,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “She’s scared. She’s trying to make sense of everything, just like the rest of us.”

Logan shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I get it, okay? But this ‘Eden’ bullshit—she’s pinning her hopes on somethin’ that ain’t real. It’s a waste of time.”

“And what if it’s not?” you countered, stepping closer to him. “What if it’s real, and we’re just too jaded to believe it? You’ve been so focused on surviving, you don’t even see it anymore.”

“See what?” Logan asked, his tone tinged with exasperation.

“Hope,” you said simply, your gaze softening. “Laura’s a kid, Logan. She needs that hope, even if it feels impossible. Hell, maybe we do, too.”

Logan sighed, the tension in his shoulders sagging slightly as he looked away. “You really think it’s worth chasin’ a pipe dream?”

“I think it’s worth giving her a chance to believe in something,” you said, your voice gentler now. “If it turns out to be real, great. If not… at least we tried.”

He was quiet for a moment, his jaw working as he mulled over your words. Finally, he looked back at you, his eyes tired but not entirely unyielding. “You really think I handled that wrong, huh?”

“Like a bull in a china shop,” you said, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite the tension. “She’s not just some stray you picked up, Logan. She’s… she’s family now, whether you like it or not.”

“Family,” Logan echoed, the word heavy on his tongue. He let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s a dangerous word comin’ from us.”

“Maybe,” you said, stepping closer and resting a hand on his chest, just over his heart. “But it’s true. And you’re going to apologize to her.”

Logan’s eyes widened slightly. “Apologize? To her?”

“Yes, to her,” you said firmly, your hand not moving. “Because if you don’t, I’m sleeping in the backseat and you’re not getting a single damn word out of me for the rest of the trip.”

He stared at you for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, with a resigned sigh, he muttered, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” you said, stepping back and motioning toward the car. “Now, go make it right.”

Logan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “pushy,” but he turned and headed back to the car. You followed a few steps behind, watching as he opened the driver’s side door and leaned in.

“Hey, kid,” Logan said, his voice gruff but softer than before. Laura turned her head to glare at him, clearly still bristling from the earlier argument. Logan sighed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I… I shouldn’t have yelled. Alright? That was… not cool.”

Laura’s glare didn’t waver, but she didn’t interrupt him.

“I just…” Logan paused, clearly struggling with the words. “I’m not good at this stuff. But I’m tryin’. And if you believe in this Eden thing, then… I’ll give it a shot.”

Laura blinked, her expression shifting just slightly, the anger in her eyes softening into something more guarded. She didn’t say anything, but the way she settled back in her seat, arms uncrossing, spoke volumes.

You smiled faintly, leaning on the car door. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Logan shot you a look, but there was no real heat in it. He climbed back into the driver’s seat, and you slid into the back, leaning against the window as he started the engine.

As the car rumbled to life, Laura glanced at you in the rearview mirror. For the first time, there was a hint of something like gratitude in her eyes. You gave her a small nod, a silent reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

The station wagon pulled out onto the road, the three of you settling into an uneasy but determined silence. For better or worse, you were in this together.

---

You ended up falling asleep in the back of the car, the exhaustion still weighing heavily on you. Logan’s head tilted to the side, dozing off for a second before Laura reached over and straightened the car.

“Hey.” Logan said, pushing Laura’s hand away from the steering wheel. She said something in Spanish and Logan let out a “huh?”

“Let me drive,” she spoke.

He scoffed, “absolutely not.” Logan continued driving, fighting the urge to pass out as he felt Laura’s gaze still on him. “Quit looking at me.” Laura spoke in Spanish again and he responded with, “no comprende.”

“You are dying. Charles told me.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“To not let you,” Laura responded.

Logan’s eyes fluttered closed slowly, and once his head tilted down to his chest, Laura grabbed the wheel again, turning the car to the side of the road.

“Hey, hey, hey!” The car came to a stop.

“Rest.” Laura said simply.

---

When Logan woke up his head was in your lap, fingers gently combing through his hair that for a split second he thought things were normal. That the two of you were back in the mansion late at night, keeping quiet to not wake up anyone else.

“Hey, there.” You whispered.

“Darlin’?” He coughed, looking around to see a handful of kids surrounding the two of you. “Where are we?”

“Safe.” You replied.

Logan looked at one of the kids holding a bottle of a small green serum, “hey, what is it? Where’d you get that?”

“Where we came from,” Rictor spoke. “They gave it to us when we would fight. It makes you stronger.”

“It makes you crazy is what it does. It’ll kill you.”

You spoke up, “they only gave you a little bit. Enough to help your wounds heal.”

Logan let out a grunt, “where’s Laura?”

“Asleep.” You started to comb your fingers through his hair again, “you need to get some more rest too.”

Logan shifted slightly in your lap, his head heavy against your thighs. “I’ve been restin’,” he grumbled, his voice rough and tired.

“Not enough,” you said, your thumb brushing along the line of his jaw. “You can barely stay on your feet, kotik.”

Logan closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a low grunt of acknowledgment, but still not fully conceding. “Can’t just lay around while all this shit’s goin’ down.”

“They need you alive,” you replied softly but firmly. “We’re safe for now, and you need to heal. It’s not gonna kill you to stop for a little while.”

Logan’s lips twitched in a half-smile, his eyes still closed. “You sure about that?” he muttered, though his body seemed to sink deeper against you, the tension slowly leaving his frame.

You gave a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “I’m pretty sure. Trust me for once, okay?”

Logan opened his eyes, meeting your gaze. There was something softer there now, a vulnerability he didn’t show often. “I always trust you, darlin’. Even when I shouldn’t.”

“Good thing I’m always right, then,” you teased gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his temple. “Now get some more rest.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his eyes still locked with yours. Then, with a sigh, he relented, his head settling more comfortably in your lap. “Yeah, alright. But just for a little while,” he mumbled, his voice already starting to fade as exhaustion pulled at him.

“Just for a little while,” you echoed softly, your fingers still moving through his hair in slow, soothing strokes.

---

Logan woke up from a nightmare, this time you were behind him, arm around his waist and chest pressed to his back.

“Pesadillas.” She said in Spanish, before continuing in English, “you had a nightmare.”

Logan paused for a second, looking at the way she held onto the wooden pole of the bed in front of him. “Do you have nightmares?” he asked softly.

She nodded, “si.” Laura briefly looked down at the floor before looking back at him. “People hurt me.”

“Mine are different.” Logan replied, his voice still quiet.

“Por que?”

“I hurt people.”

Laura got off the bed and walked over to the side of his, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a shiny silver bullet. “What is this?” She asked him in Spanish.

Logan shifted over to his side and sat up on his elbow, grunting in pain. Your arm fell down behind him. “You know what it is.” He took it out of her hand, rolling it between his fingers. He held it still, “it’s made out of Adamantium. It’s what they put inside of us. That’s why it can kill us.” He paused for a moment.

“Probably what is killing me now. Anyway… I got this a long time ago… and I kept it as a reminder of what I am. Now I keep it to, uh…” He stopped, briefly closing his eyes as he shook his head, “actually, uh… I was thinking of shooting myself with it. But I can’t do that to her… not after everythin’.”

There was a moment of silence before Laura spoke, “I’ve hurt people, too.”

“You’re gonna have to learn how to live with that.” Logan moved back down onto the bed, rolling slowly onto his back with a groan.

“They were bad people.”

“All the same.” He replied, dozing back off to sleep. Laura looked at the bullet still in his hand before taking it and putting it back in her jacket.

---

Logan drifted in and out for two days. You had slept only for one day, finally regaining your strength after overexerting yourself.

But when Logan did wake up, the kids were around him giggling. Logan pushed himself up and stumbled over to the tiny mirror on the wall.

“Not funny. That is not funny!” He scolded.

You let out a small, barely audible chuckle. “It’s a little humorous.” It wasn’t exactly like how he used to shave, but it was pretty damn close.

“How long have I been out?”

"Two days," you said, sitting on the edge of the small cot Logan had been resting on. "They’re leaving tomorrow before dawn. They’re gonna cross the border to Canada."

Logan snorted as he rubbed his face, still groggy. "Canada," he muttered, shaking his head.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Logan."

"What?" He leaned heavily against the mirror, scowling at his reflection. "We both know it’s just a pipe dream."

"Maybe," you said, your tone calm but firm. "But those kids believe in it. It’s not about what’s real to you, kotik. It’s about what it means to them."

Logan turned to look at you, his scowl softening just slightly when he met your eyes. "You’re startin’ to sound like Chuck," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"Good," you replied. "He had a way of cutting through your bullshit."

Logan let out a low chuckle, though it ended in a cough. He pressed a hand to his side and winced. You were on your feet in an instant, steadying him. "You’re still pushing yourself too hard."

"I’m fine," he grumbled, though he didn’t pull away from your touch. "These kids… they’re not ready for what’s out there. We both know that."

"Then help them," you said softly. "Show them how to survive."

Logan shook his head, his expression torn. "I don’t even know if I’ve got it in me anymore, darlin’. Every time I think about fightin’, it feels like… like it’s just pullin’ me closer to the end."

"You’ve been saying that for decades," you countered, your hand slipping down to take his. "And yet, here you are. Still standing. Still fighting. These kids need you, Logan. And so does Laura."

He sighed, looking down at your joined hands. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "You’re too damn good at this, y’know," he said, his voice gruff. "Talkin’ me into doin’ the right thing."

You smiled faintly. "Someone’s gotta keep you in line."

Logan gave a low chuckle, but his eyes drifted toward the window, where the faint sounds of the kids preparing for their journey echoed through the quiet night. "What happens if it’s all bullshit?" he asked quietly.

"Then we’ll figure it out," you said. "Like we always do."

Logan nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he seemed to make a decision. "Alright," he said finally. "I’ll help ‘em get to the border. But after that… it’s up to them."

"That’s all anyone can ask," you said, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

Logan let out a breath, leaning his forehead against yours for a moment. "You’re a real pain in my ass, sweetheart."

"You love me for it," you teased, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Logan pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression softening. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I do."

---

Daytime melted into nighttime again, the kids enjoying one last night around the campfire chatting, laughing. You sat with them, showing off your own mutation to some of the younger kids, briefly pausing the fire before letting it roar again.

Logan watched from inside the cabin, reminding him of when things were simpler. How you and Ororo would talk in Russian so no one else could understand what you were saying. How one time you and Rogue pied Scott in the face after he dropped the hot dogs into the fire.

Laura entered the cabin as he turned to look at her, “your friends, they seem nice,” he admitted. “Kind of reminds me…”

Laura put something into her backpack, then she walked past him to go out by the fire. He grabbed her arm, stopping her and pulling her closer. “Hey, hey, what’s going on? Huh?” She ignored him, yanking her arm free from his grasp. “You’re with your pals. You made it.”

“Where will you go?” she asked.

Logan considers the question for a moment, “nearest bar, for starters.” Laura absorbs his answer before turning back around, making her way to the exit. “Hey, I got you here. That’s all I signed up for. I even gave back the money.

She turned to face him, “such a nice man.” Laura said sarcastically.

“Hey, I never asked for this!” Logan started, his voice raising, “all right? Charles never asked for this. Caliban never asked for this. And they are six feet under the ground! Now, I don’t know what Charles put in your head, but I am not whatever it is you think I am, okay? I only met you, like, a week ago. You got your Rebecca, your Delilah, your blah, blah, blah, whatever. Everything you asked for, you’ve got it!”

Laura continued to look at him, a slight look of hurt across her face. He continued, “and it is better this way. Because I suck at this. Bad shit happens to people I care about. You understand me?”

She met his eyes, “then I’ll be fine.” Laura walked outside as Logan watched her exit.

---

Logan woke up to the sun streaming in through the small cabin. You were asleep behind him, hand lightly wrapped around his bicep. It was quiet, the kids and Laura were all gone.

On the table next to the bed was the green serum, and next to it a note, “not all at once. Rictor.” He walked outside to look out at rocky hills, the car still parked in the same spot it was when they got here.

Drones buzzed above him, making him look up. Logan climbed the stairs of the watch tower before limping to the binoculars. He saw military grade trucks driving through the forest, presumably following the kids.

Logan’s heart thudded as the trucks rolled through the forest, their engines a low growl against the quiet morning air.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, the sight twisting his gut into knots.

He turned and stomped back down the stairs, his limp more pronounced than usual. The pain in his legs flared, sharp and insistent, but he pushed it down. There wasn’t time for that.

Inside the cabin, you stirred as he walked in, your voice groggy but warm. “What’s all the stomping about, kotik?”

Logan grabbed the serum off the table and shoved it into his pocket. “Trouble,” he grunted, heading straight for the bag he’d left by the door.

You sat up, your brows furrowing. “Logan.”

He didn’t stop moving.

“Logan,” you said more firmly, your voice snapping him to a halt. “What kind of trouble?”

He turned to face you, his jaw tight. “The kind that’s gonna put a lot of those kids six feet under if I don’t get my ass moving.”

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, pulling on your boots as you spoke. “Then let’s go.”

“No,” he barked, his tone sharper than he meant it to be. “You’re staying here.”

You froze mid-motion, your eyes locking onto his. “Like hell I am.”

“Darlin’—”

“Don’t start,” you cut him off, standing and stepping into his path. “You think I’m just gonna sit here while you throw yourself into God knows what?”

His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, his frustration simmering. “I don’t have time to argue with you.”

“Good,” you shot back, grabbing your jacket and sliding it on. “Because I’m not arguing. I’m coming.”

Logan shook his head, his voice low and tight. “This isn’t your fight.”

You stepped closer, your voice softening but no less firm. “Logan, when have I ever let you fight alone?”

He stared at you, his chest heaving with the weight of his unspoken fears.

“I’m not leaving you to handle this on your own,” you continued, your eyes searching his. “We do this together. That’s the deal.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he muttered, “Fine. But you stay behind me. No heroics.”

You smirked faintly, your fingers brushing over his arm. “Wouldn’t dream of it, kotik.”

Logan let out a low grunt of frustration, grabbing his gear. “You ready?”

“Always,” you replied, grabbing your knives from the table and tucking them into your belt.

The two of you stepped outside, the morning air crisp and heavy with tension.

---

Logan’s breathing was ragged as he leaned heavily against the tree. You kept a hand on his shoulder, your expression torn between worry and focus. You knew he was struggling—his healing wasn’t what it used to be—but they didn’t have time to dwell on that now.

“I’m gonna find Rice,” You said quietly, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I’ll stay on his trail. You focus on the kids.”

Logan nodded, his face grim. “You sure you can handle Rice on your own?”

“I’ve got this,” you said firmly, taking a deep breath before stepping away.

Logan straightened, clearly in pain but too stubborn to acknowledge it. “Be careful, Y/N.”

“I will,” you replied, already starting to move deeper into the forest.

You moved swiftly through the dense forest, the distant sounds of engines and shouts growing louder with each step. Your grip on your knife tightened, and your breath came steady despite the rush of adrenaline. Years of training kicked in, each movement calculated and silent.

Ahead, you spotted a group of men. They were clustered together, clearly guarding something—or someone. Rice had to be close. You pressed yourself against a tree, observing their movements, counting their weapons.

Slipping between the trees, you crept closer. The element of surprise was always your greatest advantage. In a swift motion, you stepped behind the nearest man, your blade slicing cleanly through the strap of his rifle before you took him down with a sharp elbow to the temple. He crumpled without a sound.

Before you could move on to the next, another guard turned, catching sight of you. “Over here!” he shouted, raising his weapon.

“Damn it,” you muttered, darting into the shadows as gunfire erupted. You took cover behind a fallen log, calculating your next move.

One by one, you picked them off, your movements fluid and precise. But as you turned to face the last of them, a sharp sting hit your neck. You reached up, pulling out a dart, the world already starting to tilt.

A sedative. Not enough to knock you out, but enough to slow you down. Your grip on the knife loosened as your knees buckled.

“Got her!” one of the men shouted, rushing toward you. You swung at him, catching him across the cheek, but your strength was fading fast.

“You’re a feisty one,” another voice drawled. Rice stepped out from the shadows, a smug grin on his face. “But even you can’t fight forever.”

Your vision blurred as they grabbed you, binding your wrists. You fought to stay upright, your head lolling to the side. “You... have no idea... who you’re dealing with,” you slurred, your voice defiant despite your state.

“Oh, I think I do,” Rice replied, stepping closer. “You’re the one he’s been running with, aren’t you? Always knew Wolverine had a soft spot. Let’s see how far that gets him.”

You snarled, trying to jerk away, but the sedative made your limbs uncooperative. They dragged you toward their truck, your heart pounding not from fear but from frustration. You weren’t scared. You knew Logan would come. He always did.

---

Donald held Rictor at gunpoint, slowly walking into the grass. “Nine o’clock.” A soldier by the children shouted, pointing their guns at Logan.

“That green juice is wearin’ off, huh? You know, for an old mute, it’s kind of a short high.” Donald said, as Rictor kneeled in the grass, Donald’s grip tight on the back of his neck. “Be hard to keep them claws out, soon.”

“Waste this dick, Logan!” Donald knocked Rictor unconscious with the butt of his gun, keeping the muzzle pointed at his head.

Rice walks forward from behind Donald, one of the military men dragging you beside him. “Please stop, Mr. Howlett. I’m gonna have to tell these men to fire on these children and your wife. You don’t want that. You can see the effects of the serum are wearing off. You will not survive further wounds. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Zander Rice. I believe you knew my father on the Weapon X Program.”

Logan’s look grew darker as he held up his bloody claws, “yeah. He’s the asshole who put this poison in me.”

Rice nodded, “yes, he was one of them.”

“I think I might have killed him.”

“I think you’re right.”

Donald spoke up, “why don’t you show some respect, mutie? You’re lookin’ at the man who wiped out your kind.”

“My friend Donald overstates.” Rice said. “He makes it sound more brutal than intended. The goal was not to end mutant kind… but to control it. I realized we needn’t stop perfecting what we eat and drink. That we could use those products to perfect ourselves. To distribute gene therapy discreetly through everything from sweet drinks to breakfast cereals. And it worked. Random mutancy went the way of polio. We embarked on our next endeavor.”

“Growing mutants of your own.” Logan growled out, his breathing still choppy.

“Precisely.” Rice responded.

“Dangerous times, James. You can’t- ”

Logan shot his gun at Donald, hitting his bionic arm. You acted quickly, kicking down the man’s legs while grabbing a dagger from your thigh holster, stabbing him in the gut before doing a kip-up to stab Rice directly in the throat. As you pulled your dagger out, Rice fell to the ground, dead.

You glanced over at Logan, who was still fighting against the effects of the serum, his movements becoming increasingly labored.

The soldiers around them were momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in power. Laura, who was waiting for Logan’s signal, started to attack the soldiers who stood by her friends.

Donald quickly got up and walked to one of the vans, opening the back door. “Showtime, boy!”

The clone of Logan jumped out of the back, tackling him to the ground. You ran over to the group of kids, hurriedly taking off the large metal handcuffs. Once you were finished, you watched as Logan was thrown into one of the van’s heavily armored doors, knocking it off.

The clone tried to jump on him but Logan used the door as a shield, pushing the clone to the ground. The clone tried to get up but Logan hit him with the door again, before pushing the door down against the clone’s neck.

“Get up, boy. Get up, boy!” Donald called out. The clone looked behind him at the dead body of Rice, “they did that. Get up!”

The clone slashed the bottom of the door with his claws before kicking Logan away, who landed next to Laura. The young girl screamed before running to the clone, jumping onto his back.

“Laura! No!” Rictor yelled.

Rictor’s shout barely reached your ears as everything moved in a blur of violence and chaos. Laura was already on the clone, her small body attacking with the same viciousness as Logan, her claws slashing at his back, her teeth bared in fury.

“Laura!” You called out, but it was too late. The girl was locked into the fight now, claws sinking into flesh. The clone grunted, his expression a twisted mix of pain and rage. He threw Laura off with a brutal force that sent her flying into a nearby tree.

You looked at the young kids and at Donald, still by the van. “You want revenge? Go get it.” You said, as the kids nodded and walked over to the man—their former captor.

The kids didn’t need to be told twice. Their eyes were filled with a combination of fear, anger, and a desire for revenge. One by one, they stepped toward Donald, who was still on his feet, though his bionic arm was sparking from Logan’s earlier shot. He raised his remaining good hand, trying to shield himself as the children advanced.

“Wait—wait, listen—” Donald stammered, but the children weren’t interested in his pleas.

With a primal scream, the first child reached out, his hands glowing with energy, and sent a shockwave directly at Donald, slamming him back against the van. The others followed, each unleashing their own abilities—one sent vines up from the ground to entangle him, while another froze the air around him, leaving frost on his skin.

Logan and Laura were both on the ground, the clone limping away as Rictor lifted the control van into the air before dropping it onto the clone.

“Go.” Logan heaved out before coughing. “Let’s go. Go.” He continued to tell Laura. Laura started to walk to the other children, Logan behind her gently guiding her. “Go, go, go! Go! Get out of here! Go!”

A metallic creak came from the control van, the clone underneath pushing it off of him. “Go. Go, go, go!” Logan continued ordering the kids, turning around momentarily to look in the direction of the van, seeing his clone run over. “Go, go!”

Before the clone could claw Logan again, you shoved him out of the way, throwing him to the ground as the clone’s claws tore through your shoulder. You gasped, the searing pain ripping through your body, but you bit it back, locking eyes with Logan.

“Logan, move!” you shouted, pushing him away as the clone yanked his claws free, sending blood spraying onto the grass. The clone let out a guttural growl, his feral eyes narrowing on you. His claws glistened, dripping crimson as he lunged again.

Logan scrambled to his feet, his breathing ragged, the strain evident in every movement. “Darlin’, don’t—”

The clone spun, his massive frame colliding with Logan. He roared as he grabbed him, his claws plunging into Logan’s torso before he lifted him off the ground.

“Logan!” you screamed, your voice cracking as you struggled to get up. Blood poured from your wound, but you forced yourself forward, adrenaline propelling you.

The clone hauled Logan onto the jagged stump of a fallen tree. The wood speared through Logan’s body with a sickening crunch, and he let out a choked cry of pain. Blood bubbled at his lips as the clone twisted his claws deeper, stabbing him again.

“Logan!” you cried out, your heart twisting at the sight of him impaled, struggling.

The clone raised his arm for another strike, his claws gleaming, but before he could bring it down, a gunshot rang out. The clone’s head snapped back violently, and a fine mist of blood sprayed into the air as the bullet struck him square between the eyes. His body went limp, collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud.

Your head whipped toward the source of the shot. Laura stood there, clutching the fallen gun, her small chest heaving with adrenaline. The smoking barrel glinted in the sunlight. She dropped the gun immediately, her expression shattering as she rushed toward Logan.

“No, no, no,” she mumbled, her voice shaking as she reached him. Her hands trembled as she began hacking at the jagged stump with her claws, splintering the wood with every furious strike.

You stumbled over, the pain in your shoulder nearly blinding, but nothing mattered except getting to Logan. Dropping to your knees beside him, you cupped his bloodied face in your hands. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, and his breaths came in ragged gasps.

“Kotik, stay with me,” you pleaded, your voice breaking as you pressed your forehead to his. “Please. Don’t you dare leave me now.”

Logan’s lips twitched, a faint, pained attempt at a smirk. “Darlin’,” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. “Guess… I’m finally... gonna get some rest.”

“Shut up,” you choked out, tears blurring your vision. “You’re not going anywhere. You hear me? You’re not.”

Laura let out a frustrated scream as she finally splintered enough of the stump to free Logan. He slid off the wood with a groan, collapsing into your arms. His weight was heavy, his strength all but gone, but you held him tightly, your fingers curling into his bloodied shirt.

“You’re okay,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “You’re okay.”

Laura crouched beside you, her face streaked with tears. “He’s not okay,” she sobbed, her small hands clutching his arm. “He’s not.”

Logan’s eyes fluttered open, barely. He looked at Laura, then at you, his gaze softening despite the pain. “You two…” he breathed, his voice weak but steady. “You’re my girls.”

“Don’t talk like that,” you said firmly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “We’re getting you out of here. We’re gonna fix this.”

“Take them, and run.” He said hoarsely.

Laura shook her head, “no.”

“Run. They’ll keep coming and coming. Listen, you don’t have to fight anymore.” Laura found Logan’s hand, gripping it tightly. “Go, go.” Laura’s tears fell down in a steady stream. “Don’t be what they made you.” Logan whispered. He continued, “Laura… Laura…”

"Daddy," Laura whispered, her voice barely audible as tears streamed down her face. Her small hand gripped Logan's tightly, as if trying to keep him anchored to life.

Logan’s eyes flickered to her, the faintest smile pulling at his cracked lips.

“Don’t,” you cut in sharply, your voice cracking as you leaned closer to him. “Don’t talk like this, kotik. You’re gonna be fine. We’ll get you somewhere safe, patch you up. You’ve been through worse.”

His gaze shifted to you, soft despite the agony written all over his face. “Darlin’… you know better.”

“No!” Your voice rose as tears burned hot trails down your cheeks. You cupped his face again, leaning down so your forehead pressed against his. “No, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to leave us.”

Laura’s sobs grew louder as she clung to his arm, her claws retracting as if she couldn’t bear to see them anymore. “We need you,” she choked out. “I need you.”

Logan chuckled softly, a faint, pained sound that broke what was left of your composure. “Nah… you don’t, kid. You’re strong. Stronger than me, stronger than… anyone.”

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Don’t let this be it, Logan.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his hand brushing your cheek. “You’ve always been stubborn,” he murmured. “That’s why I love you.”

“Then fight,” you pleaded. “Fight for us. For her. For me.”

His eyes opened again, and for a moment, it was like he saw everything—every lifetime, every moment you’d ever shared, every tragedy and every fleeting happiness. “I have, darlin’… I fought long enough.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, your voice breaking into a sob. “No, Logan, please—”

“I’ll… always find you,” he whispered, his words halting and labored. His gaze moved to Laura one last time. “Don’t… let them make you… what they made me.”

Laura let out a broken cry, clutching his hand tighter as his body slackened against you. “Daddy,” she whispered again, shaking her head in denial. “No, no, no!”

“Logan!” you screamed, gripping his face, trying to shake him awake. But his body was still, his head tilting slightly to the side. The faint, pained smirk on his lips remained as the last breath left his body.

“No!” Laura screamed, pounding her small fists into the dirt beside him. “No, no, no!”

Your hands shook as you held his face, your forehead resting against his as sobs racked your body. He was gone. The realization was like a knife twisting in your chest, carving out a piece of your soul.

Laura crawled closer, pressing herself into Logan’s side as her sobs filled the air. You wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close even as your own tears refused to stop. The two of you clung to him, unwilling to let go, unwilling to believe he was truly gone.

In the distance, the wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the echoes of your grief.

i'm so sorry😭i totally didn't cry while writing the ending...

anyways, there is a part 2 to this which is 'deadpool and wolverine' so thank you ryan reynolds for giving us a canon why to fix things and give our characters a happy ending😊

i'm not sure when the part 2 is going to be done, so it might be a while

[violetflowerswrites]

There aren’t words of high enough praise to describe this absolute masterpiece!

The slow burn of their relationship!

The level of sensory detail for every setting, every touch!

The emotional imagery of trauma without getting too stuck in the cause but rather the aftereffects!

THE PAYOFF OF THE SMUT IN THE END

I have no words.

Time After Time

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 15.2k never let me near him again

Tags/warnings: age-gap due to logan’s mutation (reader’s age not specified), mutant!reader, unprotected sex, teasing, friends to lovers, explicit language, dry humping, storm cameos, fluff, domesticity, the claws come out when he’s close (👁️👁️), detailed descriptions & scenes of nightmares/trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, one (1) ass smack, alcohol consumption, vomiting, biting/marking, angst, soft!logan, creampie, groping/touching, use of “baby” once, aftercare, yearning (kindly let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: 4 times you end up in Logan’s bed, and the 1 time he does something about it.

Notes: this falls somewhere in between “which could mean nothing” and “we can fix each other” 🫡 (written with a mix of X1 & X2 logan!)

Your heart, despite always being alive and beating, sometimes wakes up before you.

You can feel it before your eyes even have a chance to open. It jolts your sleep-ridden body and collapses your lungs without giving your brain a chance to fight against it. Muscles and limbs feel lifeless and detached from your body, shaking from the sleep that your heart knows wasn’t completely dreamless.

You kick the blankets off of yourself and sit up in a panic, trying to regain some control of your sudden erratic breaths while bringing a lethargic hand to your heaving chest in hopes to ground yourself. It never works.

Maybe your ribs are shrinking and squeezing your lungs, making you delirious from the lack of oxygen, but you know that’s not the case. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed and broken into a million tiny pieces.

No part of your body feels real, yet you keep your hand on your chest as firmly as you can, trying to focus on controlling the pounding of your heart that’s working so hard with each beat that it hurts. 

“Fuck. Fuck,” you choke out, feeling the tears finally breach and roll down your cheeks as your nervous system catches up to what’s happening.

 Panic. It’s all panic.

You can’t do anything but sit there and let the tears hit the freshly-washed fitted sheet on your bed. So you let it happen. Nothing can stop it.

Trauma is such a fickle thing. One moment you’re fine, and then the next, your heart is screaming at you and forcing your body to process something at 4 a.m. on a random Friday when all you wanted was some goddamn sleep.

There is no choice. Your mind doesn’t give you one.

The tremors subside slowly after a few minutes, giving you the feeling back to your arms and legs, albeit minimal.

You slide to sit at the edge of your bed, resting an elbow on your thigh and setting your chin into your palm with a defeated, yet shaky, huff. 

You look to your window and see that the sun hasn’t even started to rise yet. You’ll be up for the rest of the foreseeable morning, but there’s not much to do so early besides wander aimlessly and think…then think some more. 

You’re confident the professor isn’t even awake at this hour, which says enough about your state. You would typically go visit Storm for some comfort, but she’s been gone fuck-knows-where with Hank and Scott until Sunday at the latest. Thanks, Charles.

A questionable, and probably manic, decision comes to mind. One that’s only two doors down, one over from Storm.

Your impulsive feet make up your mind for you. The cold hardwood floor shocking you further into consciousness as if your heart didn’t do a good enough job.

You tiptoe a couple steps down the hall, forcing yourself to turn and face the large wooden door when you reach it. You just stand there staring at it, unknocking, analyzing the wood grains, suddenly very interested in what type of wood it is and what stain was used to—

“Uh. Are you okay?”

You refocus your eyes onto the man now standing in front of you in the doorway, adorning a barely-zipped school hoodie and black sweats.

“Huh?” You blink a few times, disoriented.

Logan quirks a brow, looking you up and down cautiously. “Are you okay?” He asks again, offering a look of concern—or maybe confusion—that you haven’t seen often. A look that’s never needed to be directed towards you.

You come back to yourself. “But—I…didn’t knock,” you respond, looking equally as confused as him as you point to the door. 

He leans against the edge of the door, face softening. “I could smell you before you passed Storm’s room,” he clarifies, a hint of reluctance in his tone. Oh. 

You feel like a child who has just gained awareness, all too conscious of your situation.

“You’re…awake?” Is all you manage despite probably needing to say much more than that to explain just why exactly you’re standing outside Logan’s room at 4 a.m.

“So are you,” he counters with a curious look. “So let me ask again. Are you okay?” He locks his eyes on yours, probably in hopes to understand why the fuck you’re outside his room at 4 a.m.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” you say, and it’s the truth. 

You should probably be embarrassed. You show up at Logan’s door unannounced, dressed in a flimsy shirt and matching sweats—thanks, Charles—that can’t fully hide the remaining quivers throughout your body.

Logan pulls his lips together at your admission. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head trying to figure you out.

“Can’t sleep?” He questions, but he knows he’s right.

“Yeah.” You don’t know why you’re making it Logan’s problem, though. Sure, he happens to be awake, but maybe this is all too personal to push on the guy who’s seemingly all pride and no solicitude most of the time.

It’s not that he’s not a good, nice guy, but you don’t know how you would define your relationship, or lack of.

You know each other well enough from existing in the same space over the past couple months, being part of the same “team”, but it’s nothing to call a close friendship like you and Storm. He’s a bit of a rare species in the mansion, not really lingering around.

He cocks his head in a half shrug, the soft points in his hair broken by sleep shake gently with the movement.

“I don’t think I can help you,” he says wearily. “I’m no better. Clearly.” He gestures between you, drawing attention to the fact that you’re both awake. The helpless cannot help the helpless.

“Oh—no, I’m not looking for help. I think I’m beyond that at this point,” you laugh but stop yourself short when Logan doesn’t follow. Tough crowd.

“I, uh, don’t actually know what I’m looking for,” you offer.

You knit your brows together in thought, still wondering why the fuck you’re here. Comfort? Entertainment? Some other unknown third thing?

“I’m not really used to Storm being gone for so long,” you admit. “I just feel…all over the place, I guess.”

Logan considers your vulnerability for a beat, eyes flicking to yours. “I can hear you sometimes,” he says, a knowing—almost sympathetic—look on his face. “We have the same problem.”

You go cold, any expression you had on your face sliding away. You wish the floor could swallow you right now. You know things have been getting worse recently, but you didn’t think anyone could hear that fact. Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise from someone who could smell you from down the hallway.

He steps back, pulling his door open further. An invitation.

You don’t move right away. Could this be a false awakening? You’re not sure what you expected when you came to his door, but you also didn’t expect him to open it without you knocking, so you have to suspend disbelief for now. You figured he’d offer a few words of advice and dismiss you, or maybe even tell you to fuck off, but he opened his door wider for you. But you didn’t exactly think any of it through in the first place anyway.

You force your feet to carry you into Logan’s room. It’s not much different from yours; scarce belongings, minimal decor, a small work desk, brown curtains that are drawn back, and a bed. 

“Were you, uh…sleeping before I came?” You sit on the unmade bed, nothing noticeably different from it compared to yours.

He shuts the door quietly, moving to the small desk across the room and filing some scattered papers together neatly.

“Trying to,” he says, keeping his gaze on the desk.

Fucking duh. “Sorry if I disturbed you,” you wince to yourself. 

You see him briefly shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I had to get up anyway.” His voice is still gravelly from sleep.

It feels like you’re invading his space. But he invited you in. How many others have had the opportunity to be in here? Probably too many. There’s nothing to make this special.

“I’m fucking exhausted,” you sigh, flopping back on his bed defeated. Simply overwhelmed with the uncontrollable repercussions of your mutation.

“Try to sleep. If you want,” he offers, moving to the edge of the bed. “It’s easier said than done, but I have to meet with Charles in an hour.” It’s gruff, but he’s sincere.  

Maybe the professor is awake after all.

You roll your head to the side to look at him. Was he really offering for you to stay in his bed?

“Oh, wow…uh, sure.” It comes off as more of a question, but he quirks his brows in acknowledgment, turning back to the desk and collecting a handful of other miscellaneous papers.

“I have to head downstairs and take care of some things. Stay as long as you need,” he says, zipping his sweater the rest of the way up. Thank God in heaven.

A shy “thanks” is all you manage as you situate yourself on the bed.

Is this fucking weird? You could name a handful of others in the mansion right this second that would kill without hesitation to be where you are. They’d probably kill you specifically to get it. It’s not much of a secret that Logan is the subject of almost all students’ desires. He knows it, too. 

“See you later,” he adds, his lips forming the slightest hint of a caring smile as he sees himself out. You throw one back before the door clicks shut.

Should you be offended that he didn’t stay? That he left so quickly? No, no, he can’t. He couldn’t. Charles is expecting him. The timing is just horrid. But now you’re just…alone…in Logan’s room, expected to sleep because of a random act of kindness in his heart.

Lying in his bed instead of yours is an odd sensation. The sheets and mattress are exactly the same, the pillows are just as fluffy, yet it feels unalike. 

You flop your head on his pillow, tugging the blankets up to your chin. Your fingers graze something by your hip as you settle in, making you push the blanket back down. Leaning over, you see three puncture marks in the mattress, fraying the bedsheet material into feather-soft strands around the deep holes.

Your eyes widen, remembering his words before he invited you in: “We have the same problem.”

Part of your heart fractures for the second time today. Your eyes cross over to the other side of you, seeing a matching set of holes just below the pillow. It’s suddenly easy to understand why no one besides him has been seen coming and going from this room in a while. One day, things just seemed to change. 

Maybe his act of kindness was an act of mercy. Trauma will always find you, and it will make sure you feel it until you either destroy it or it destroys you.

Even the Wolverine isn’t an exception. 

━━━━ ● ━━━━

The gold liquid is gone from the glass as quickly as it was poured.

Your throat clenches and protests the swallow as you try to suppress the urge to gag. You gently set the shot glass back on the counter, watching Storm chase with a piece of lime that does nothing to help the puckered face she makes from the tequila. 

“No more, no more. I can’t.” Your arms anchor you to the counter to stop yourself from swaying too much.

Storm nods, still fighting off the sourness with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose. You giggle at her when she quickly screws the cap back on the bottle, sliding it out of reach.

“You’re a bad influence,” she scolds as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“No—I’m under the influence,” you counter, a playful smile on your lips. “There’s a difference. You still have your own free will.”

Storm rolls her eyes so hard you only see the whites of them. “We have training tomorrow,” she slurs. “Charles will not be happy if we show up half-conscious.” She rounds the counter to you, grabbing your shoulders for stability, and you do the same.

“He’ll be lucky if we show up at all,” you mumble. 

The dim kitchen lighting embraces the two of you, the rest of the mansion blanketed in darkness with everyone fast asleep—like you both should be.

You close your eyes with a roll of your neck, more giggles falling through your lips as you clumsily grab onto Storm and rock and sway together for a moment, the alcohol quickly catching up to your motor skills. It feels like you’re spinning through time and space, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel fucking euphoric. At this rate, neither of you will be able to make it back to your rooms.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You lose a bit of your balance as you try to find the resonant voice, eyes shooting open. Storm unintentionally startles and stumbles away from you, white hair also jumping from the excitement.

You grab onto the counter again, sucking in a deep breath. “Fuck, don’t do that,” you growl through your teeth, a hand on your chest as you try to calm yourself.

“Don’t do what? Come to the shared kitchen to grab a drink?” Logan huffs a laugh, an amused smile creeps to his lips as he takes in your drunk and shaken state from the entryway.

“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this place?” He mumbles to himself.

“And with that, I’m done for the night,” Storm chuckles, fixing her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her eyes lock intensely on yours, index finger firmly poking the middle of your chest to make her point for you to show up to training very clear.

“See you, Logan,” she dismisses, stumbling as she passes him.

Logan shakes his head, still smiling. He steps to the fridge, opening the double doors and plucking a bottle of soda from the bottom shelf. No alcohol is readily available in the communal fridge because, after all, you’re all in a school full of kids, so Storm had to get creative; Scott will be missing a rather large bottle from the now not-so-secret stash in his room.

As the alcohol continues to settle in you, you feel more and more lightheaded as it brings you to a new level of euphoria again. You only know this because watching Logan pop the cap of his drink with mindless ease feels a little more exciting than it would be if you were sober. But you’re not sober, and that’s the problem.

“Not gonna follow Storm?” He asks, taking a generous sip from the bottle as he casually places his free hand on the counter to lean on across from you.

A tight smile forms, mostly to yourself. “I don’t think I can make it down the hall,” you laugh in embarrassment. Maybe that last shot was one too many, and it’s not even fully done working its magic yet.

Logan raises a brow. “Want some help?” There’s no judgement in his tone like you expect. Then again, you don’t know what the fuck to expect from him.

Your already half-closed eyes, blurry and unfocused, meet his hazel ones in interest. Another favour?

It’s been two weeks since he let you sleep off the nightmares in his bed. Two weeks since you learned he’s burdened with them, too. You traced the holes in the mattress over and over before you eventually fell asleep, wondering what—or who—could have hurt him so badly. He plays it off cool; you wouldn’t suspect anything from talking to him. The same could probably be said about you.

“I didn’t know wolverine’s were chivalrous,” you tease.

The yellow hue of the lights dance over the quaffed points in his hair, making them appear sharper than usual. You would never admit it, especially to him, but you adore them. They give him an absurd amount of character that you’d expect a guy like him to not care about. 

You’re not exactly complaining about the fitting grey tank-top he has on either.

“Not overly,” he plays along, taking another mouthful of the fizzy drink. “I like to think I’m special,” he says quieter.

“Maybe you are,” you say as you try and straighten yourself to see if you can stand unassisted.

The world tilts as you stand to your full height, eyes rolling into your head from the wave of dizziness. “Wow, okay,” you say to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the spinning. How many shots did you have again?

A warm hand presses between your shoulders. “Woah, nice and easy. Nice and easy.” Logan appears by your side to steady you, other hand grabbing your elbow to pull you straight. You wobble in his grip, letting him guide your useless, alcohol-ridden body.

His hand on your back rubs a few small, comforting circles as you work to regain your bearings. He watches your expressions intently, looking for the right moment to get you moving back to your room safe and sound.

Your arm crosses over your body out of instinct to grab the hand he has on your elbow for extra support.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He seems to ask you that a lot.

You lean into him, your shoulder to his chest, and you can feel the blackout creeping up on you like humidity from a thunderstorm—it’s usually too late to do anything once you notice it. 

“I drank a lot,” you laugh deeply, rolling your head onto his shoulder to look up at him.

He looks so much more delicate under the ambient lights—his usual defined features have shifted and melted him into someone that doesn’t look like they should be a feared animal out in the world.

Logan all but cradles you, that same look of concern crossing his features from the night you went to his door. The only difference is that you’ve had a generous amount of tequila—and are currently being kept alert by the hot touch of his hands. That’s new.

“Can you walk?” He holds your squinty eye contact, probably searching for any signs of a coherent thought behind the blissful expression on your face. “Or will I have to carry you?” He muses, a hint of a smile crosses his lips as his hand moves up to gently rub over your shoulders. 

Drunk you likes the sound of anything relating to Logan keeping his hands on you right now. You wonder what sober you would think.

“I’m not gonna tell you no, but it feels like I’m floating in a bubble that won’t stop spinning,” you hum as you let the sensation consume your senses. “I might fly away.” You dip your head back off of his shoulder in amusement as you laugh again. 

“Yeah, you’re fucked up,” he mumbles lovingly. Just like anyone else who’s concerned for your well-being would. 

“Hey, kitty cat—I’m perfectly buzzed,” you emphasize the teasing nickname, narrowing your eyes at him sternly as you bring your gaze back to his in defence.

“‘Kitty cat’? Really?” He snorts. “I think you’re past your bedtime by three drinks,” he remarks back with equal levity.

“Then take me to bed if you’re so concerned,” you sigh dramatically, going limp in his arms to make your point. 

Truthfully, you’re probably past your bedtime by five shots. But he doesn’t need to know that. You just know that you can’t control your limbs like you were able to ten minutes ago.

“Maybe I will.” You don’t see it, but he does his quick little eye roll that you’ve seen pointed towards Scott too many times. 

He slides the hand on your elbow down to the backs of your knees, pulling you up off the floor and into his chest as you fall into the arm that was rubbing your back. 

Oh, so it’s gonna be like that. 

An excited—or maybe shocked—noise escapes your mouth as he adjusts you in his arms. You extend your right arm up and over his shoulder to hug his neck and keep yourself stable.

The trip to your room isn’t one that should take long, but each sway from Logan’s steps goes straight to your stomach in waves of queasiness. It feels like forever before you feel him bend awkwardly to turn your doorknob.

You’re fighting to keep yourself conscious the entire time, not wanting to regret missing the feeling of being in his arms.

The room is only lit by the silver moonlight creeping through the window. It’s hard to distinguish anything through your bleary eyes besides Logan’s look of determination to get you in your bed.

He leans down, shuffling you out of his arms and onto the mattress as swiftly as possible. The care of it all pokes at your heart. 

He silently goes around each corner of the bed adjusting the blankets. It may be dark, but the moonlight highlights the peaks of his shoulders as he moves. Your eyes might be involuntarily half-shut, but that doesn’t stop you from staring.

You’re now probably no better than every other mutant in this school.

“Logan,” you start before you can fully process the foolish thing you’re about to say next.

He rounds the bed back to the side you’re huddled on, looking down on you. “Yeah?” The subtle jingle of his dog tag pierces the quiet that’s lingering in the room.

You part your lips to speak but the words die in your throat. They’re replaced by a flood of saliva that has you sitting up at a speed that shouldn’t be possible for someone as intoxicated as you. You cover your mouth with your hand, feeling your stomach churning and finally rejecting the tequila. 

You suddenly feel very awake.

“Hey, hey.” Logan squats down in front of you with his already permanently-furrowed brows pinched closer together than you’ve ever seen before, a hand coming to your shoulder in concern. “What—”

“Bathroom,” you mumble through your palm, eyes rolling shut at the nausea. 

He doesn’t say another word. He pulls you to your feet by your arms, walking behind you fiercely with his hands gripping your shoulders to guide you to the small bathroom across the room.  

You push the door open, falling to your knees in the darkness over the toilet as the mistakes from the night expel themselves from your body through rounds of coughing and gagging. He lingers in the doorway, keeping an eye on you but still giving you privacy.

“Fuck,” you cough, resting your warm forehead on your hand as you slump against the toilet. That definitely sobered you up fast.

Exhaustion hits you like a truck. “Logan…” you croak from your crumpled position on the tile floor. 

He steps in, bending down again to reach your height. You can barely make out the shadow of him in the fading moonlight.

“Just…help me back to bed,” you groan, reaching for his arm as you use the toilet seat to push yourself the rest of the way up. You stumble against him as you try to make it back through the doorway.

He guides you to the bed the same way he did to the bathroom—steering you from behind.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” he says as you settle back into bed, head hitting the pillow with a quiet thud. “Even though you did this to yourself.”

“Fuck off,” you groan.

You close your eyes, hearing his footsteps fade back toward the bathroom. You hear the tap run for a couple seconds before he’s next to you again, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Drink. All of it,” he says firmly, holding the cup out to you.

You sit back up slowly, no doubt lethargic, an unimpressed look on your face that earns you a raised brow that tells you there’s no room to object.

You finish the cup in four mouthfuls, handing it back to him. “Thanks.”

You fall back onto the pillow, no longer feeling like you’re travelling through space and time.

The clothes you’re in are close enough to pyjamas. There’s no sense in undressing in front of Logan, especially with what you were about to say to him before you were rudely interrupted by the consequences of your own actions.

He returns the cup to the bathroom and you pull the blanket over your waist as you hopefully settle in for the rest of the night. You owe him big time for this. The thought of just how exactly you’ll manage that fills you with anxiety.

You turn on your side, fingers sliding over the mattress with the movement. They graze familiar strands of feather-soft fabric by the pillow.

This is Logan’s room. Are you just that drunk that you couldn’t tell the difference when he brought you in? Or are your rooms just that similar to each other?

You dip a finger in one of the three holes, hearing the bathroom door click shut as Logan makes his way back. 

“Why am I in your bed?” You see him rustling through some drawers of clothing by the small desk, but he stops when you finish your question.

“You can’t take care of yourself tonight,” he says. “You’re too drunk.” He pulls the grey tank-top off, stuffing it in one of the drawers and shutting it.

You sit up at that, head still foggy and tipsy, watching him move to the foot of the bed across from you. You try to focus your eyes on anything but his bare chest and the dark hair that adorns it and trails down past the waistband of his sweats. His hair is somehow even more wild from mindlessly pulling the tank-top over his head.

“Ah. I was gonna ask you to stay anyway,” you reveal, almost whispering the bold confession.

You were planning to ask before the tequila decided to make another appearance, but maybe doing it this way isn’t so bad either. He did all the heavy-lifting.

A modest, tight-lipped smile graces his lips. “I think you still have some tequila to sleep off.”

Whether or not you still have some shots in your system, what you feel and want right now is real. It’s not influenced by anything besides some mild andronitis created by the fact that you share a common struggle.

“Is it…safe? To share a bed?” The most coherent thought you’ve had all night makes him stiffen from your sudden nervous tone. Your body could easily replace the mattress and become a new home for the deep punctures. 

Your eyelids have been fighting against being pulled shut by alcohol-induced drowsiness, yet your eyes are wider than they’ve been all night in this moment.

You’re sat right in the middle of the bed and Logan comes around to the right, sitting on the edge of the mattress to come down to your level.

“You’re just gonna have to trust me.” His eyes are imploring and apologetic all at once. He understands the prospect of even having you here in the first place.

You nod, sliding over to the left to give him more room. 

Logan wouldn’t put you in harms way, you reason with yourself. He wouldn’t risk potentially killing someone, especially a fellow mutant, if he wasn’t absolutely sure of his mental state. But you also don’t really know his demons.

You roll onto your right side, tugging the blanket up to your chin in comfort. “Why haven’t you been given a new mattress?” You ask as he turns to face you in the same position, his half of the blanket resting at his hip.

The bed dips significantly on his side, almost encouraging you to roll over against him.

“Forgot to ask,” he says quietly, running his right hand through his hair to push the shorter strands off his forehead.

From his tone you can decipher that he actually means “can’t be bothered.” It’s a devastating thing to imagine just how many he goes through, anyway. He probably doesn’t see the point in replacing something that will inevitably have the same fate as the others.

There has to be less than an arms length between you two. It’s a surreal situation to be in considering what you thought you knew about him. A recluse. Standoffish. Maybe it’s all a fluke and the alcohol is severely fucking with your perception of what’s actually happening.

“Thanks for everything,” you whisper as if someone else will overhear.

“Get some sleep,” he insists, rolling onto his back. You do the same.

You stare at the blank ceiling for a while, noticing the exact moment Logan falls asleep; his breathing grows slow and his body runs even hotter than before. 

You think about how he could wake at any moment, claws accidentally sliding right through your stomach from a nightmare or two. You imagine all the others that have been in your position—if they felt scared, if they even knew. 

He asked you to trust him, and that should be enough. 

There is a body full of secrets and hurt sleeping undisturbed next to you with the ability to withstand and regenerate from any physical injury, yet there’s something that hasn’t allowed the same to be done for his mind. 

━━━━

The bright amber sun hits your closed eyes through the window, making you roll your head away onto the other side of the cool pillow.

You want more sleep. Your head feels like a bag of bricks and your body feels like it got beat with them.

You stretch a leg out, gently grazing something solid with your foot. Your eyes shoot open, the night coming back to you as you drift into consciousness. Logan. 

You shoot up, bouncing a little from the momentum.

Logan startles next to you, clearly interrupted from a deep sleep. “What the fuck…” he groans, rubbing a hand over his face, not seeming interested in making a move to sit up with you.

“What time is it?” Your eyes bounce around the room looking for a clock.

He grunts, reaching for a watch on the nightstand. “Seven-forty.”

You needed to be in the Danger Room for 7 o’clock.

“Fuck!” You rip the blanket off, almost tripping as you run to the bathroom.

Logan also wants to roll back over and go back to sleep, but he knows he won’t be able to. He doesn’t work like that. So he just lays there, listening to you swear and make a mess of his bathroom as the clattering of fuck-knows-what fills the room. 

The surprise of how well he slept makes him feel uneasy. Although it definitely wasn’t eight hours, it was uninterrupted. He doesn’t want to credit that to you, though. He wants to believe that he’s getting better overall, and maybe he is, so he can’t offer you any flattery in his mind.

Another distant “fuck” escapes the bathroom, pulling him out of his thoughts. You exit a few minutes later, as refreshed and presentable as you could get yourself, and the sight of Logan still in bed makes something in you ache for another moment of feeling him care and tend to you. Maybe that’s your hangover talking.

“Thanks again. I’ll see you around,” you say hurriedly, offering an apologetic smile as you turn the doorknob to leave.

“Good luck with Charles.” It’s a genuine advisory. Fuck. You’ll be so incredibly lucky if he doesn’t give you more than a stern lecture in front of everyone.

You take a deep breath in and slip out of Logan’s room. There’s not a single cut, mark, or scratch on you, just like he promised.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“I was told it’ll take a day to fix,” Storm explains with a shrug. “You’ll have to find somewhere or someone to room with until tomorrow. Jean already offered to have me stay with her.” A contrite look passes over her face.

You stand outside your rooms, staring in at the remnants of the mess caused by two terrakinetic kids fucking around in the courtyard when they weren’t supposed to be. They somehow managed to throw, or launch, sizeable tree branches right through each of your windows. Of course it wasn’t on purpose, but the Danger Room exists for a reason—to avoid mishaps like this. 

Shards of glass and fragments of wood splatter your floors. The branches are hanging half-way out both of your windows, caught on the window sills and bobbing in the evening summer wind. The kids are extremely fortunate that neither of you were in your rooms when it happened.

“It’s fine. It’s just one night,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes in frustration. You don’t love how quickly your mind picks out who to go to. It’s already nearing 11 p.m., so you have to work fast. 

Storm squeezes your shoulder in comfort. “The living room is always free,” she suggests with a remorseful smile.

But you don’t want the living room. Stiff couches mixed with students clamouring and passing by at the crack of dawn isn’t exactly a recipe for a good nights rest. As if you usually get one, anyway.

“Not a fucking chance,” you laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you say again, dismissing her worries. You wish her goodnight when she steps by you to head towards Jean’s room at the very end of the hall.

You glare at the mess in your room, not daring to step in. The amount of shattered glass everywhere makes the floor look like a body of water from the reflections of the pale moonlight bouncing and refracting off of the jagged shards.

“Fuck,” you spit through your teeth, solely to yourself.

Not even a full week after Logan saw you at your worst, you’re going to go back and ask for the left side of his bed. Shameless.

You don’t have much of a choice; you’re not comfortable having it be anyone else. It’s only because Logan saw you at your worst that you feel he’s the most logical choice. Already having shared a bed with him this week may also have some weight in your decision.  

You take the few self-assured steps to his room, once again standing in front of his door. This time you feel more confident in approaching the Wolverine in his den.

You knock three times, the piercing sound echoing through the hall.

“You start to miss me or what?” A bare chest enters your view. You note the dog tag hanging from his neck again before you find his unyielding gaze full of ambiguity, wondering why you’re here. Again.

You blink at him slowly in hilarity. “Ha, funny. Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask flatly, not thrilled with the situation, but not completely displeased with being here now. “My window—”

“I know what happened,” he interrupts. “Figured you’d go for the couch in the living room.” He looks at you more pointedly with teasing suspicion. 

“I think you know no one would ever willingly choose to sleep out there,” you reason, running a hand over your face in both shame and defeat.

He makes a face that tells you “touché” and you smirk in satisfaction. “If you don’t mind giving up half of your bed again, I would really appreciate it. I promise I’m not trying to make this a habit,” you sigh. Spending the night in Logan’s bed three times in the past month has to be a record for anyone recently. 

“I don’t think it would be a bad habit,” he argues. Oh. “C’mon.” He gives a jerk of his head to allow you in, his tufts of his hair bristling with the quick movement.

“Thanks,” you squeak. He wants you here? 

He shuts the door behind you, following you to the bed that’s clearly already had him in it. The blanket rests in waves on the mattress that remind you of just how human Logan is despite his reputation and image.

“Do you have an early morning?” You ask, slipping under the blanket.

“No. Charles was feeling nice for once,” he raises his tone sarcastically to rag on Charles’ judgement, which has clearly been a much needed one before now.

“Not an early bird?” You roll onto your right side like last time, facing him as he settles on his back with a deep breath. The bed sinks in again where he lays, your body wanting to give in to the laws of gravity and fall into him.

“Fuck no,” he laughs lightly, eyes crinkling around the corners. It’s self-deprecating, but it’s still a genuine laugh. The condescension from it lingers in the air, all directed at himself in a way that tells you he’s thinking about how inconceivably fucked up he is.

The last time he had a decent sleep was when you were drunk in his bed a few days ago.

“People like us don’t usually get the pleasure of a full eight hours,” he notes, sliding his gaze to yours for a fraction of a second.

He props an arm behind his head, the other resting on his chest and idly twisting the dog tag between his fingers. You watch the thin piece of steel slide and flip easily, the chain tinkling with every movement.

People like us.

“You mean mutants,” you state. You see his jaw tense in what little light there is from the half-moon tonight.

You see his brows pull together. “Yeah.” He has a point.

You think about the mutants you know, how they all have some horrific story about their gifts or family, or both. How they either were shamed by society or experimented on like rats. 

The scenarios are endless. If you can think of it, some mutant has probably lived it.

Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. You and Logan are not isolated or special cases, but you’ve already shared a moment of vulnerability with him when you came to his door all those weeks ago seeking solace for the same thing he fights with: the inescapable ability of remembering.

You pull the blanket tighter against you. “I don’t think you’ll hurt me.” 

He turns his head to you, confusion written on his face. “What?” He stops toying with the dog tag.

“Your claws. I trust you.” You didn’t feel like you were in immediate danger that first night, but you want to reassure him anyway. Or maybe you’re reassuring yourself. 

He hasn’t had to say a single word for you to know his nightmares trigger something instinctive and combative that’s been hardwired into his DNA. In this case, it’s his claws needing to find a home in his mattresses, where another body could potentially lay one night. Like yours is right now.

You noticed the lack of holes in this mattress when you first got to the bed. Maybe you mentioning them last time was enough for him to finally request a new one.

Logan knows he shouldn’t make promises he doesn’t know he’ll be able to keep, but he wants to keep you here tonight, so he improvises. He abandons the dog tag between his fingers completely, turning onto his side and reaching to find your hand under the blanket. You meet him halfway, sliding your fingers between his as your palms lay flat on the bed.

A smile tugs at your lips for a moment. He watches your interlinked fingers, observing the size difference, wondering if he really just did that—and why. 

You assume it’s his way of saying “thank you” for your trust when you probably shouldn’t be putting that much into him.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, pulling your fingers out from his just enough to caress the divets between his knuckles that conceal the claws.

He knows what you’re asking. “Every time.” He softly pushes his fingers back into yours, squeezing a little. 

There’s a deadly stillness in the room despite his window being cracked. You both know you’re one in the same in a way, and that’s a connection that Logan hasn’t let himself experience. Not everyone likes looking in a mirror.

To be truly seen by someone, wholly, without judgement or fear, is what he deserves. 

“What are you?” He asks, rubbing his index finger back and forth along the top of your hand. “Telekinetic? Psychic?” His curious voice grows quiet, hazel eyes fascinated with you and your lack of a physical mutation, at least nothing that he can see.

It never occurred to you that he didn’t know your mutation, or that you’ve never told him. It was never needed, but it seems unfair that you know about his when he wasn’t the one who told you.

“Ha, close.” Your eyes twinkle as you notice how intently he’s listening. “Psychometric,” you correct, watching his forehead crease.

“Sounds like math,” he quips, readjusting his head on the pillow. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he’s putting off.

You laugh quietly. “No, it’s extrasensory perception. It lets me see the history of any object or person I touch, but only if I accept the energy,” you explain.

You watch his eyes narrow and you know what he’s thinking, so you quickly interject as he begins to pull his hand out from yours. “I need to touch a pulse point to be able to see anything,” you reassure, feeling his fingers slide back against yours. “The heart remembers everything,” you clarify.

The catch? The person’s memories and past stay with you after you see them. It’s become hard to distinguish what memories are yours or someone else’s. They all become intertwined. Good or bad, violent or gentle. You see it all, and then it’s part of you. Forever.

“I haven’t looked. I promise.” 

“Good. You don’t need to see that shit,” he huffs, eyes wandering over your face. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but he’s a little startled for the first time in a while.

“I’m sure I’ve seen it all,” you state. It’s probably not far off from the truth. Your gift came when you were all too young, and plenty of time has passed since then for you to rack up this amount of damage from near-strangers and their lives.

“No, you haven’t.” A sure expression passes over him, shaking his head as best as he can against the pillow. 

“Then I’ll count myself lucky,” you say softly. You have no idea what Logan has experienced, but his demeanor makes you want to stay curious. Not everything needs to be known, and you’re definitely not entitled to it.

A faint smile appears on his lips, then it’s gone just as quick. “Get some sleep,” he rasps. He turns onto his back and his hand abandons yours. 

It’s a complete repeat of last time.

Something twinges in your heart, and you don’t like it. What exactly had you expected from Logan? He’s just doing you a courtesy by letting you stay here for the night. Nothing more. And that’s what you should expect: nothing.

The hum of crickets outside eventually lulls you into a dead sleep. It’s heavy and deep, not a single muscle twitching in your body. Logan breathes steadily next to you, a hand on his chest as the occasional snore fills the air.

From above you two might look like you’re transient, only here in this moment for a short time. And, realistically, you are. 

━━━━

Logan was no where to be seen by the time you woke up, and you made quick work to get out of his room. It always feel wrong to be in someone’s space when they aren’t there.

Just like Storm said, the windows in your rooms were fixed the next day. It looks as though nothing even happened.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble to yourself as you step back into your room.

If you ever have to spend another night in Logan’s bed, you might as well wear a shirt that says “yes, we’re fucking!”, even if it isn’t true. You could deny it all you want, but it won’t stop what students would say. Nothing gets past them, even if it’s behind a closed door.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“Are you fucking Logan?”

You almost swallow your tongue. “Sorry?” Your brows shoot up in surprise, eyes round in disbelief.

“Are you guys sleeping together?” Storm casually asks as she flicks through the T.V. channels, glancing over to you from her spot on the couch.

You’re sat comfortably in an arm chair, suddenly no longer caring what channel she decides on. “Why would you think that?” Technically you were sleeping together, but not like that. It may never happen again, no matter how badly you want it to.

“Things travel fast around here,” she deflects with a cheeky smile. “And, you know, Logan is…Logan.” She shrugs.

You don’t even know what to say to that. Is there a right or wrong answer?

“It wasn’t like that,” you grumble. “He was doing me a favour. As a friend.” It hasn’t even been a full day since he let you stay with him while pieces of your window laid on your floor, and people are already convinced you’re fucking. 

You haven’t even managed a chaste kiss, despite how much as you want to, never mind his dick being balls deep in you.

“Right.” She emphasizes the word, not convinced. Or just pushing your buttons because she can. 

You roll your eyes. “If anything was happening, you’d be the first to know,” you point out. 

She looks back over to you. “I know,” she says with another, more sincere, smile. “You two would be cute, though.” 

You give her some side-eye, not quite sure if you disagree entirely with that statement. Whatever happens, happens. Logan is not something you can control or influence. He does what—and who—he wants, when he wants. 

━━━━

A bolt of lightening strikes you. You gasp, then release a choked cry, eyes flying open as you claw at your chest in terror.

Your throat tightens and you break out in a cold sweat as you sit up. The soft blanket around you feels constricting. Sporadic and short breaths make you heave as your body registers the horrors in your subconscious. 

There was never any lighting. That’s just what the pain feels like.

The muscles in your shoulders and neck tense from your panicked state as your heart struggles to keep a normal rhythm. You yank the blanket off, feeling weak from fear and the onset of tremors. Your whole body gives up on itself as you sob through broken exhales. Your legs have gone cold, lungs shrinking inch by inch with every passing minute. 

You crawl to the edge of your bed, wanting to just get out and leave—the blanket. The bed. The room. Most of all, you want to escape your own mind.

You sink onto the floor when a foot touches the ground, and you realize walking isn’t in the cards right now. You’re shaking too badly to be able to physically move. All your strength is gone, robbed by your memories.

Balmy tears paint your face in determination, making sure no part of you is left untouched by this spell.

You screw your eyes shut, tears still slipping out with ease anyway. Leaning your back against the bed-frame, you curl into yourself and wrap your arms around your knees on the chilled hardwood.

You try to focus on your breathing to at least slow your heart down to a pace that doesn’t hurt.

Wounded cries rip their way out of you, interrupting the breaths you try to steady. A hand touches your arm and you yelp like an injured dog, flailing at the contact as your arms swing out from around your knees in shock.

“Hey, hey, it’s me. It’s me.” Strong hands quickly wrap around each of your wrists to stop your arms from thrashing.

You try to focus your eyes, blurred and stinging from tears, on the person kneeling closely in front of you.

“L-Logan…” you whisper, balling your fists to try and expel the shakes.

He looks like someone who shouldn’t be able to be concerned about another person, yet the look on his face scares you. Brows pinched together in worry, eyes frantic, lips parted from heavy breaths. All because of you.

“It’s just me,” he hushes your cries. His thumbs stroke the undersides of your wrists tenderly, no doubt feeling your racing pulse. 

You feel disoriented. “Wh…how…” 

“I heard you,” he explains, watching you process everything. He drops your wrists when some recognition passes over your face.

“What do you need?” He follows your gaze as it wanders around the room, trying to keep you from spiralling further.

You look at him for a moment. He’s got his white tank-top on, the black sweats, and an intense need to help you written all over him. Fresh tears burn your cheeks as you come back into reality.

“I want it to fucking stop,” you weep, head falling into your hands in shame.

You don’t want him to see you like this, even though it’s a commonality between you two. It’s too intimate. You’d take him seeing you blackout drunk everyday of the year over this.

Then you do remember that it has stopped. Each time in Logan’s bed. There was silence. Peace. For the whole night. For both of you.

“Tell me what you need,” he says firmly, angling his head down to keep your eyes on him, desperately wanting an answer.

“You.” You suck in an agonizing breath to try and collect yourself.

He doesn’t flinch like you expect him to. If anything, his eyes become more pensive, clearly considering something. Then he shakes his head in wariness.

“C’mon. Let’s get you out of here,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. The only sound echoing in the room is your wobbly breathes, your body jerking with each one as you enter the aftermath and begin to go slack.

An arm slides behind your back, his hand grabbing ahold of your side while he pulls your legs over his other arm, picking you up off the floor.

He cradles you against him just like he did when you were drunk, carrying you out of your room.

He left your door open when he came in, and you hope no students heard or saw anything. He tilts to grab the doorknob, shutting it without a sound.

You wipe and rub at your eyes as Logan takes a few steps down the hall, quickly getting to where he needs to go when you feel him lean for his doorknob.

You’re sure a few rogue, leftover tears fall onto his shirt before he manages to sit on his bed lightly, you still curled tightly in his arms. 

His hand pushes on your back for you to sit upright on his lap. “Face me,” he encourages, holding onto your sides as you twist around, bending your legs to slide over his thighs and straddle him loosely. 

You look down at him, he looks up at you, feeling the quivers in your body dissipate as you melt further into his lap. A fondness crosses over both of your tired faces. He rests his arms over your thighs, warm hands linking behind your back as you do the same around his neck. 

It’s nothing provocative or seductive. All you can feel is the care and concern rolling off of him in suffocating waves. He wants you to feel safe, and if that means overrunning your senses with his presence, then that’s what he’ll do.

“Got anything to say?” He murmurs, the fallen strands of hair around the edges of his forehead bristle with each move of his head. The rest of his hair fails to fully resemble the cat-like ears he had earlier in the day. 

What does he want to hear? 

You let your head hang a little, your nose almost brushing his. “I have nothing to say,” you assert, fidgeting with the chain of his dog tag at the nape of his neck. 

You don’t necessarily feel embarrassed about him seeing you in such a helpless state, but you don’t want to simply unload your shit on him. So, in turn, you have nothing to say.

“Bullshit.” He almost rolls his eyes. There’s no real threat of him forcing you to say anything behind it. He won’t pry, but he doesn’t believe you.

An offended look overcomes your face, and you almost pull away. You don’t want to feel the humiliation of elaborating on just why exactly you said you needed him in this moment out of everything else. 

“I just…” You roll your lips together in thought, measuring the words you could say but won’t. “Want to sleep. Here,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna go back.” You deflate in his arms, voice wobbly. 

It’s already who-knows what time, and you need to pacify your wired nervous system; Logan simply holding you has already helped with that more than you want to admit.

His mouth quirks up briefly at that. “What happened to not wanting to make that a habit?” His eyes soften as his arms retract from around your sides, letting you slip easily onto his bed from his lap in a moment of calm, or relief.

Habit, if not resisted, soon becomes necessity.

“Special circumstances,” you reason, already pulling the blanket over you while he keeps his place at the edge of the bed, observing you with amusement.

“Seems like you get into those a lot,” he notes, pushing himself off the mattress.

He steps around to the other side—his designated spot—and slips the tank-top off, letting it drop to the floor. You’re not trying to be a freak, but you watch the whole thing.

The flex of his arms and shoulders are out of your mind as fast as they entered as you watch him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and pull them downright in front of you, not even turning around or to the side to try and conceal himself.

Your eyes widen, then you reel in your thoughts before they get lost at sea. No one who is sane fucking sleeps in sweatpants. Duh.

But didn’t he the last two times? It’s hard for you to remember, but you’d certainly recall if you were face-to-face with the outline of his di—

“It’s rude to stare, y’know.” Logan pulls his lips together, interrupting your thoughts. You try to not eyeball the bulge too hard, but it basically looked at you first. 

The snug briefs do little to hide anything. They hide nothing, actually.

You almost scoff, but the playfulness in his tone tells you he couldn’t give a shit. He probably likes it anyway. From what you know, he definitely does.

“Oh, yeah, like you’ve ever cared about modesty,” you throw back, averting your gaze to the ceiling anyway.

It’s not that he runs around the mansion naked, but he definitely isn’t shy about what he looks like or against showing some skin. You’ve seen and heard enough over the past few months.

You hear a stifled chuckle as he joins you under the blanket without a retort. He knows you’re right. He’s just glad you’re a little lively and alert.

“Will you be okay for the rest of the night?” He brings both hands behind his head on the pillow, propping himself up a little.

“I should be fine,” you say confidently. “The challenge will be getting back to sleep.” You laugh in exasperation. 

It’s always hard to calm down and get back to a place of tranquility after everything has settled with your mind. You’re pumped full of adrenaline and there’s not much that can curb something that persistent flowing through your body.

You haven’t found anything to help with it. Yet. 

“There’s not many people that’ll understand what you go through,” he starts, voice rough with fatigue. “But I do.”

You look to him, sliding an arm under your pillow as you turn on your side. “How do you…help it.” You’re not sure if you phrased that right. It feels crude to reduce something so complex to the likes of a common cold that has an array of over-the-counter solutions. 

“You don’t. It just has to run its course.” He looks to you, wanting to see your reaction. 

It wasn’t meant to be hurtful or insensitive, but he’s not going to lie to you and say that things can only get better and that the worst is over. Especially for mutants, that’s not always true.

Although you don’t know what Logan lives with every day and sleeps with every night, you do know that his capacity for empathy is still intact. Here you are in his bed after all, seeing and indulging in a side of him that many never will. 

You sigh lightly. “We’re quite the pair.” 

A comfortable half-smirk slips over his lips. “I think we’re just fucked up insomniacs,” he suggests with a breathy exhale that’s close enough to a laugh.

You wish you could slide a thumb over the pulse in his wrist and see what’s haunting him, just to understand what happened to the Wolverine, but you’ve learned that doing so usually isn’t worth the price you’ll pay after. If what’s in his head is horrific enough to cause him to go through a couple mattresses a month, then it won’t do you any good either.

“I sleep pretty good with you,” you offer, seeing how he raises a brow in doubt almost instantly.

He sleeps well with you, too. It kind of rattled him when he noticed a pattern of uninterrupted nights and you being by his side. Not a single mattress ruined on those nights.

“Try not to knee me in the stomach tonight,” he deflects with ease. He takes his hands out from behind his head, sliding his left arm under the pillow as he turns over onto his side and closes his eyes. Facing you.

You mentally smack yourself. Multiple times. You didn’t think you drifted that much when you slept. 

“No promises,” you mutter. You catch a small shake of his head before you let yourself join him in unconsciousness as you mirror each others lonely bodies.

━━━━

Your eyes ache—to open, to move, to touch. Enough crying will do that to you.Your eyelids are heavy, but there’s something else weighing down on you. 

A tired groan crawls from your throat as you try to place yourself for a moment. The morning sun is just beginning to shine too brightly for your liking, and you squish your face deeper into the pillow.

You’re still tipsy with sleep, lying flat on your stomach, but there’s something dense and hot resting over your back. 

You prop yourself up on your forearms, giving yourself a minute to wake up. You twist your hips around to sit yourself up, feeling the thing on your back slide down to your waist. 

The blanket pools around your hips, and you feel a hand reflexively squeeze over the meat of your hip in disapproval of your moving. Something in you clenches at the sensation of something invading the area with ease. A spot reserved for intimacy.

Your head quirks to your right, seeing Logan on his stomach with his right arm thrown over your midsection. 

You blink in surprise, staring at his sleeping body. His hair is sticking up every which way, his head half-off the pillow, his side of the blanket not even covering the curve of his ass anymore. It’s endearing to see the Wolverine in such a normal, human state.

But if someone were to walk in, it would look like you two spent the whole night fucking. A lot. That wakes you up a little more.

You peek over at the nightstand behind him and see the time blinking on his watch. It’s already 8 a.m. 

You rest a hand over his shoulder to gently guide his arm off of you, but you stop yourself. Instead, you lightly trace your fingers down his shoulders and upper back a couple times, occasionally scratching softly over the ridges of muscle.

A shiver quickly rolls through his upper body, but your touch doesn’t fully wake him. He knows it’s just you.

It’s the least you can do for him as a thanks for recovering your broken body from the floor of your room and bringing you here when he didn’t necessarily have to.

It almost feels like instinct to offer comforting gestures to him. There’s something inside you that just pulls to him. You want to be the one that can give him comfort and help him put himself back together. 

You want to be the only one.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

There’s a shadow that’s been following you around the mansion. 

As soon as you stepped out of Logan’s room that morning a few days ago, it started. 

This shadow likes to be nosy about what you’re doing. This shadow likes to be in your space. This shadow wants to be in your space. And he is.

No one has seen Logan out around the mansion this much, including you, and that’s how you noticed he’s basically been attached to your hip ever since he decided your back was a comfortable armrest. 

He’s always just there, like a stray cat begging for food or affection. There to entertain you, banter with you, indulge you, in any way he can, including now as you trail back inside the mansion well behind Storm from an evening walkabout in the garden.

“No smoking in the courtyard,” you sing as you pass him carelessly, not even offering a glance to him in interest. 

You like playing this game. Whatever it is. Constantly poking and prodding at each other to see what you can do to get the other to break in some way, no matter how slight. 

Your heart flutters and flips every time; maybe from the thrill of it all, maybe from the arousal you get from the tension. You hope he feels everything, too.

He turns his head to watch you cross into the entryway. “Blow me,” he throws back playfully through a thick puff of smoke, leaning against the brick wall with a cigar pinched between two fingers.

You suppress a chuckle, keeping your unwavering pace. “Yeah, you wish!” You yell over your shoulder. You know he hears you. He wouldn’t let himself miss it.

Logan smirks and shakes his head in amusement, always impressed with your quick rebuttals that occasionally tent his jeans. He takes one last drag out of spite before following your footsteps inside. 

You have become, by definition, friends…in a way. Even if you sorely cross the line into other territory more often than not. Sexual innuendos and friendly flirting can only go on for so long before the underlying intentions and meaning reflects real desires. 

It’s evolved into more than just borrowing his bed a couple times or helping each other out. It’s surpassed the fear of whatever habit you were afraid of forming from doing so. It’s become a dependency to get that adrenaline high from simply riling each other up.

You have an assumption that if you were to end up in Logan’s bed again, somehow, there will be a point of no return that you’ll be faced with. There aren’t many more excuses that can be used for explaining to yourselves why you’re together in bed before you have to recognize the truth.

That platonic line is being stretched too thin, and you’re not sure how much farther it can go.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“How’ve you been sleeping?”

“Fine. You?”

“Could be better.” Logan hides his smirk, but you can hear it in his voice.

You narrow your eyes skeptically as he fishes around in the fruit bowl sitting in the middle of the kitchen island.

“How so?” You ask. Your legs swing leisurely as you sit upon the chilled countertop on his left, idly waiting for Storm to show up and go with you to training.

A smug, tight-lipped grin flashes across his face, a green apple rolling around in his palms before he puts it back. “You could be there,” he provokes, his eyes bright.

It’s your turn to raise a brow at him, but you can’t stop your smile. “Oh?”

He turns to you, tenderly grabbing the tops of your thighs and parting them slightly to stand between your legs.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this, and he knows it rouses you in all the right ways. But, neither of you will do anything about it. Not even a brief kiss.

“Come on,” he goads, planting his hands down next to your hips, bringing himself in closer as he bears his weight on his arms. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” He sways his head side to side to emphasize his point.

Fuck. That’s good. 

That may be exactly what you did for him, but it’s now a figure of speech for something else entirely. It’s almost impossible to argue against either way, as if you want to. This is what you’ve been patiently waiting for. 

You put your hands over his as you lean back a little to put some distance between you. “How sweet,” you hum.

His eyes flick from yours to your lips one too many times before you continue. “You start to miss me?” You tease as you lean forward again, echoing what he said to you the night your window got smashed in.

“Smart-ass,” he mutters as you laugh quietly. The tips of your noses barely graze each other as he steps in closer again. You’re almost at the same height like this. 

“Save me the left side,” you advise, bringing your hands to his shoulders as you fondle his white t-shirt between your fingers. You’re so close, and he’s already so warm against you just like this.

“Always do.”

━━━━

You want to rip your heart out of your chest from how hard it’s pounding against your ribs. It’s almost throwing you forward with each heavy beat.

Three resounding knocks fill the hallway as you shuffle on your feet, waiting for Logan to open the door.

It feels like you’re doing something bad. Something parents would warn their kids against. Something greatly envied.

Everything inside you feels on fire. Your thoughts, desires, anxiety, all jumbling together into one distorted state of mind and body.

“Ah, welcome back.” His sarcastic tone makes your face go hot. A satisfied smirk crosses his lips as he runs a hand through his shaggy, unstyled hair. 

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Knock it off.” You gently shove at his bare chest. Misbehaviour already. But are you really surprised?

Logan grabs your wrist, delicately guiding you into his room. “You enjoy it,” he says lowly, quickly shutting the door as soon as you’re in. 

“Maybe,” you hum in response, pulling away from his grasp and seeking out your side of the bed. Logan follows closely behind, giving your ass a light smack in encouragement before he cuts away to his side while you jolt in shock, a stunned look on your face as you whip your head around to him across the bed.

“Oh, really?” You scoff. He’s biting back a smile, not moving until he knows what you’ll do next. He’s never gone that far before.

“I’m sorry, that was rude—how can I make it up to you?” He almost chokes on a laugh, pulling his dog tag back and forth along the chain while he considers you.

This Logan is very different from the one you were met with the first night he let you in his space. This one is attentive and exuberant, yet he hasn’t given you much up until this point right now. You’ve gotten way too comfortable with him without even doing anything to you. 

In this moment, he isn’t the brooding, animalistic Wolverine many see him as. He’s just Logan—for you. 

You watch him carefully, easing yourself onto the bed. “Get in the fucking bed,” you slap his side of the mattress with a thump of your palm. “And do what you promised earlier,” you stare pointedly at him.

He owes you that “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” favour he decided to pull out to get you here. 

“Mm, alright, alright,” he surrenders, a look of amusement still on his face as he kneels onto the bed. “I thought of a pretty good idea for it,” he says softly, crawling to sit next to you on top of the blanket as the bed-frame creaks with the added weight.

Your shoulders almost brush against each other. You shift, turning your body fully toward him. “Oh? Wh—woah!”

You squeal when his strong hands latch onto your sides, lifting you just enough to pull you over his legs to plant you on his lap. He leans back against the headboard, pulling on your thighs so you straddle him tightly. 

He looks devilish when you catch his gaze again, and you know what’s coming. What’s been coming. Your hands find their places on his shoulders, warm and taut, as his hands hold your hips. 

The bond between you will culminate tonight. It will be wrapped in a blanket and trapped between two alike souls that lie heart-to-heart in the dead of night. It will be perpetual.

The heat of him between your legs makes you restless. It’s just you, him, and the darkness in the quiet room you’ve become too familiar with.

“Logan…” you trail off bashfully when you feel something firm through his sweats poke against your cunt. It clearly doesn’t take much to excite him.

“Hm?” He takes you in for a split second, hands running from your hips up to your chest leisurely with a sharp inhale, not yet completely bothered by the fact that you have a shirt on. 

You suck in a shaky breath when your hips accidentally shift over his bulge from his hands pushing and pulling over you.

“What’s the idea?” Your voice wavers.

You know what it is. He knows that. You just want to hear him say it and fill the silence.

“Something I’ve wanted for a while,” he murmurs, eyes hyper-focused on you. 

Your fingers dance their way to the sides of his neck, brushing along the supple skin while you feel muscles and tendons flex with every slight movement. You subtly press the pad of your index finger against the pulse point right under his jaw, just to ground yourself and truly feel that Logan is there in front of you. 

His pulse is steady but hard, much like yours, and the prickle of energy festering against the finger almost makes it go numb from not accepting it into your body. 

“Show me, then.” You smile sweetly, leaning in closer while you tilt his head up with the hand under his jaw, your finger slipping from his pulse and caressing over the dense, coarse hair along his cheek.

Your noses bump while your lips part in anticipation. His eyes flutter as he falls into you and frantically claims your mouth in an unbreakable kiss.

The first kiss. Nothing could tear him from you in this moment.

Your hands cradle his cheeks, keeping him from pulling off too far. His hands scratch and paw at your back, trying to find a way to somehow get you closer against him.

It’s all a little messy, your lips mostly just mashing together without any rhyme or reason, but neither of you care. You only care about how electrifying it feels to finally have Logan and feel how perfectly connected you are together after all these nights. You go together like a key and its lock.

“Logan,” you pant when his mouth releases yours for a fraction of a breath. The seconds between kisses dwindle the more you take from each other.

Your thighs tense as he pulls half an inch away just to reconnect more crazed as his lips lock over your bottom one aimlessly. Something deep inside you trembles and aches.

He grunts, accidentally sucking the tip of your tongue briefly before slotting his lips back over yours in an apology. “Hold on,” he mumbles in a rush against your parted lips. He knows what you’re asking—or trying to ask. He snakes an arm up along your spine and wraps the other around your waist.

Then the world is tilting.

He drops you on your back on the bed from his lap, hovering over you as he distracts you with harsh but pleasing kisses and wet bites along your neck, settling his hips heavily between your thighs. You squirm and feel how bolts of arousal are making your cunt pulse involuntarily. 

Logan groans. “Fuck—I can smell it. I smell you.” He slowly grinds his hips into yours almost reflexively. He squeezes his eyes shut, and you tip your chin up to press a chaste kiss to his slick lips. 

“Taste…if you want to,” you propose, lightly scratching up and down his shoulders and arms, only enough to leave faint red lines for a couple seconds.

Logan’s eyes almost roll into the back of his head before he gives it a small shake, a conflicted look overtaking his face. “Of course I fucking want to, but—fuck—next time. I promise.” He swallows whatever you were going to say with a deep kiss that has you nearly shaking when he sucks on your bottom lip. 

“Let’s just take things easy,” he says roughly, bearing his weight on his left arm while he tries to get your sleep shorts and underwear off.

A promise of a next time makes your brain go fuzzy like static.

“I’ll hold you to it, then,” you resolve, lifting your hips as much as you can for him to lean back and pull away to wrestle your clothes the rest of the way down your legs, discarding them just as quickly.

“I hope you will,” he breathes through a small laugh as he shuffles on his knees. He doesn’t want to completely overwhelm you and scare you off, he just wants to enjoy you in a simple way that won’t entirely ruin you for tomorrow.

He doesn’t know what you can or cannot handle, but he’s going to find out.

The fresh air in the room brushes cooly against your wet cunt. It’s a nice contrast to how fiery your whole body feels, but Logan feels even warmer than you somehow. Maybe wolverine’s just run hot.

His sweats have ridden down his hips from his desperate grinding against you, and the dangerous cut of his v-line grows more and more narrow as the waistband teases the reveal of what’s underneath.

You watch him—palming his dick once as your knees sway side-to-side in waiting. His thumbs hook under the stretchy fabric, working what remains of his clothes down his sturdy thighs.

“It’s rude to stare.” He pops a brow, a smug, arrogant grin quirking his lips.

You push yourself to sit up, considerably shorter than him in this position as he stands on his knees, and walk two fingers up his toned stomach to his chest, avoiding the hard cock between you. 

He looks at you with curiosity until your hand grabs his dog tag in a fist, pulling it towards you. “Then stop showing me your dick,” you say as he leans in to your pulling a little to not have the chain break away.

You knew the night Logan dropped his pants in front of you and let you eye-up his bulge would come back to haunt you. But it’s alluring. Big. Curves a little to the left, barely noticeable. A respectable amount of hair decorates the space between his bellybutton and the base of his cock.

He gives in to the tension on the chain, falling back to the mattress with you and trapping you between his arms as his cock rests heavy on your clit.

“How about I find somewhere to put it?” His smile pushes a whole new wave of arousal from you.

“It would be a damn shame if you didn’t,” you say against his mouth, giving your hips a roll just to tease him before hugging his waist tightly with your knees.

“Good.” He gives you a strong kiss with a small grunt, running his hands over your sides under your shirt. The movement pushes it up, up, up, until you have no choice but to stretch your arms out above you and let him slide it off between more thoughtless kisses, leaving you entirely bare.

He lets you breathe for a moment, dipping his head to bite and suck marks along your collarbones messily. You squeeze around his hips harder, trying to get him to give you something other than his scratchy cheeks rubbing against your skin and the chilled steel of the dog tag dragging over your chest.

The tip of his cock falls and catches over your clit when he moves lower, licking and sucking over your chest like a starved animal finding food for the first time in a week. You gasp from the mixed sensations.

“C’mon, kitty cat, you can do all this while inside m-me,” you say breathily, fingers digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from trembling too much. 

Logan bites over a nipple before pulling himself back up to look at you. “Is that a promise?” He says lowly, that stupid smirk gracing his face again.

“Try it and find out,” you demand, enjoying the sting of the deeper bites blooming on your torso.

He purses his lips, shifting his weight back onto his knees to grab ahold of his cock to angle and guide it in.

“Hm, guess no lube is needed,” he muses when he gets a look at your cunt, sparing you a glance through his lashes.

You roll your eyes shut when your whole body lights up red-hot. “Jesus fucking Christ, Logan,” you slap a hand over your eyes as you grimace. You don’t want to be that aware of your naked self right now.

He suppresses whatever expression was about to cross his face when his cock notches itself between your soaked folds, teasing your hole with the blunt tip. His brows pinch together and you forget the embarrassment from his crude remark.

But he leaves his cock like that, on the precipice of sliding the rest of the way in with a snap of his hips. Instead, he carefully uncurls his upper body to crawl his way back up to you while holding his hips deathly still.

“Alright, stay with me,” he whispers against your neck when you moan, pressing a tender kiss to your rabid pulse in reassurance. 

“O-okay,” you sigh, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots while the other squeezes around his arm as best as it can. You’re not even really sure what he’s saying.  

He kisses up your cheek and over to your lips again. You try to keep up with his quick mouth, licking and sucking whatever part you can get ahold of, but you’ve become lost in the feeling of him all over you. 

He’s in your mouth, on your chest, against your stomach, nudging your cunt. Everywhere.

He slips his tongue over yours, securing your lips together at the same time he pushes his cock in halfway. Now you understand what he was saying. 

The lightheadedness from being filled, even just a bit, almost makes you lose yourself. The stretch makes your stomach drop, your legs shake, and your mouth fall open with a whine. 

“A-ah—fuck. Fuck, Logan,” you whimper, fisting his hair with both hands to stop yourself from falling apart.

He groans, either at the grip you have on his hair or how good your cunt feels already, and runs a hand up your left thigh in comfort as you squeeze around his hips tighter to draw him in. 

“Just a bit more,” he soothes, trying to resist the urge to slide into you in one fell swoop. It would be so easy to just let his hips fall into yours and fill your cunt.

Another heated kiss, another few inches. He works his cock into you the rest of the way with ease. You guess the lube thing wasn’t really a joke. His hungry, needy kisses may have also helped with that.

You choke on your gasps, not wanting to get too loud, and Logan does the same. He tries to muffle both of your moans with his mouth, attempting to form complete kisses, but it just turns into you panting against each other as he finally bottoms out, hitting his end. 

Your legs relax around his waist as he deftly rocks his hips in small thrusts to get you familiar with his size, his small grunts filling the air each time you swallow him whole.

You let out a deep breath, dropping your hands back to his tense shoulders. He lines your jaw with soft kisses, fisting the blanket in his hands beside your head.

“Fuck. Already feels too good,” he moans, pressing into you harder and unintentionally rubbing himself over your tender clit.

You smile, squirming while he works down your neck again. “Best of luck,” you huff, amused at the fact that he might not last as long as he wants to.

He brings his face back to yours, a completely blissful expression controlling his features, but there’s still some mischief in his hazel eyes. “Oh? Yeah?”

You hold each other’s gaze, both equally dazed and overwhelmed, and he draws his hips back and pushes into your wet cunt with a complete, strong thrust. The sound of his pelvis hitting against the backs of your thighs makes him laugh in pleasure and satisfaction when you instantly roll your eyes and head back.

Your cunt quivers, gripping him tight, and then it’s Logan’s turn to lose composure. He drops his head to your chest, managing a few deep breaths as he slowly pulls out halfway just to push right back into you, over and over. 

It’s a pace that isn’t quite pure, mindless fucking, but it’s also not somewhere near earnest love-making. It’s something that feels specifically curated for you. Something that feels measured and sincere. 

The strength of his thighs hitting against yours pushes you up the mattress a few inches, and you don’t know whether to gasp or moan. He reaches somewhere deep inside you, and you know he can feel that, too.

A helpless groan slips through Logan’s lips. “Where have you fucking been, huh?” He muses through shaky breaths, the determined plunge of his cock hitting something that makes your muscles tense throughout your body. 

Your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, keeping him close. “Two doors down,” you giggle, understanding that’s not quite what he was asking.

“Fucking smart-ass,” he grumbles, silencing any further rebuttals with a wet kiss. You don’t think you could manage much more of a conversation even if you wanted to.

The silence is quickly filled with obscene sounds that only seem to leave you wetter and Logan throbbing. You can hear your bodies connecting through your gasping for air and his choked moans, and you can feel the mess you’re making all over him. It’s smeared along the inside of your thighs from how deep he’s been hitting. The squelching only seems to make him fuck into you harder.

Something inside you starts to grow tight and wind up in your core, making you repeatedly clench around him while his cock strokes all the right spots inside you as he makes sure he’s fucking himself in to the base. He doesn’t deprive you of anything. 

He drops his head to your neck, wedging his face in to latch onto the spot right where your neck starts to slope into your shoulder. The dense muscle there gives him something to basically chew on, sinking his teeth in as deep as he can without drawing blood.

“H-hah, Logan,” you whine, tilting your head into the side of his and squirming from the pleasant sting.

You feel his arm move beside you, then you hear the sound of tearing fabric as he gives a particularly brutal snap of his hips, followed by a deep groan against your skin.

You can barely form any thoughts, but you can guess what just happened. If he pulled his hand back, three long, slim holes would probably be where his knuckles are right now.

“Fu-uck, Logan, you just got t-this mattress,” you laugh a little, your words choppy from how hard he’s driving into you now.

He draws back from your neck, seeing your half-lidded eyes trying to focus on him. “Can’t always control it,” he reasons, giving you two short, fleeting kisses as you hear his claws retract from the innocent mattress. 

You see the double-edged sword. You can guess that that’s the same explanation he would probably use for the nightmares. It can go either way, and now you’ve seen both sides.

“It’s okay,” you say in a hushed tone. You cradle his face, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Keep going…keep going,” you coax, face scrunching from your nearing orgasm.

You can feel it in your toes, your stomach, your shoulders—you’re tightening up everywhere, and he can undoubtedly feel it in your cunt as you pulse around him. It grips him just right for a couple seconds before relaxing completely and leaving him to chase for more.

“Keep squeezing me like that and you’ll get whatever you want,” he offers, fighting to maintain his steady pace for both your sakes.

You almost whine, knowing whatever your body does is beyond your control at this point.

“Just—inside.” You can’t even string together a full sentence anymore, but the urgency and stress on the last word makes Logan’s ears perk up.

He presses a soft kiss to your clammy forehead in acknowledgment, the muscles in his arms straining and flexing as he grabs ahold of his own orgasm after a particularly inviting flutter of your walls.

You’re both walking the line, teetering on the edge of utter euphoria, and you know nothing will be the same after. You don’t want it to be. You hope it isn’t.

He reaches an arm back, sliding his hand up your thigh again and slotting it behind the bend in your knee. He pushes forward—only slightly—bringing your leg closer to your stomach to stretch you open for him.

His cock brushes over something new. Something that makes you bite your tongue. The angle lets him fit perfectly against you, not hindered by the flesh of your thigh stopping his hips.

You want to cry from how good it all feels. You want to be suspended in this feeling forever. You want Logan to—

“Focus, baby. Focus on me,” he coos, bringing you back to reality. He holds the side of your head with his other hand affectionately. “Come on…come on, I know you’re almost there,” he encourages with a quick kiss that goes straight to your stomach.

The burn in your thigh from the stretch can’t overpower the sparks of your orgasm, and Logan just fanned the flames with a few little words.

You come with a broken sob, convulsing around his cock while he fucks you through it, submitting to his own orgasm only seconds after with deep, shaky breaths as he empties himself inside your cunt.

He doesn’t pull out or pull away. He relaxes on top of you, sweaty and sticky with cum, and he places the barest whisper of a kiss on your chin, your parted lips, your nose, and then your forehead. 

Your ears ring from your orgasm, eyes still slightly out of focus. Your body trembles from your muscles finally releasing the tension they’ve been caught up in. 

You desperately suck in air, trying to calm your pounding heart, and you just lie there and let Logan walk your body through a cool-down. Soft kisses. Soft touches. Soft looks. Between sweat, cum, and whatever else.

He rocks a little on his knees, weak from his release, and carefully pulls out of you with a huff as he caresses your stomach and thighs appreciatively to wind you down. You get a good look at him. Not a scratch. His hair tells a story, though—one where he’s completely possessed by bliss. 

You probably look like you survived an animal attack.

“Are we even?” Logan says through a kiss against your stomach.

A mindless laugh crawls from your throat, caught up in the feeling of his hands rubbing circles over your hips. “I think I still owe you,” you argue, resting your hands over his as they travel smoothly up your side.

You’ll find a way to make everything up to him. Including the sex. The scale is now tipping to his side too much. All the nights spent in his bed, what he’s done for you, what you’ve done for each other, may just be immeasurable, but that won’t stop you from finding a way to get him back for it all. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he mumbles, snaking back up your body and pressing himself against you. Face-to-face. Chest-to-chest. 

You mindfully run your hands over the sides of his head, trying to tame his hair and style it back to how it was earlier in the night. It doesn’t work. He enjoys it anyway.

“Do I have the pleasure of staying here tonight?” You ask rhetorically, enjoying the warmth of him on top of you against the brisk air creeping in from the cracked window.

Logan blinks. “You can stay every night.” 

A loving smile springs over your face. This may be the beginning of the end to your troubles and worries.  

You—maybe foolishly—trust him. You trust that he won’t accidentally bury his claws in your side during the night, but you’ve had impressive luck with that up until this point. The only thing you can do now is continue to push that luck.

Healing isn’t linear, and you can’t expect someone to fix you, but everyone finds their thing at some point. 

You slither your hand down to his neck, index finger grazing over his pulse again. You feel the energy biting against you.

Your lips graze over his, tempting him to give you a slow, deep kiss. “Can I have the left side?” Rhetorical, again.

Logan chuckles against your mouth. “Always.”

[shybluebirdninja]

Bite-Sized Betrayal

Summary: When Logan realizes your blowjob is too good to be a “first-timer” move, he launches a full-blown “detective mission,” trying to uncover the truth of your “so-called innocence.”

Pairing            : Logan Howlett x Gf!Human-reader

Note                : Fluff, suggestive themes

Logan’s jealousy is always kinda… cute. For a guy who’s survived literal wars, he’s got no clue how to handle feelings that aren’t anger or fighting. And now? Oh, you had him in a real mood.

It all started when you decided to surprise him with a little something extra. Y’know, testing out that thing you read about online. A blowjob. Logan being your first—and let’s be real, only—boyfriend, you thought you were doing okay. More than okay, apparently, because halfway through, he completely froze.

“Whoa, whoa, babe,” Logan said, pulling back with a hand on your shoulder, eyes narrowed. “That was a little too good.”

You sat there, blinking up at him, wondering what the hell he was talking about. “Uh… thanks?”

But he wasn’t letting it go. The Wolverine squinted at you like he was analyzing every moment of your past life. “No way you’re that good at this without practice.”

Now, let’s be real here—you know Logan. He’s got this whole rough-and-tough exterior, but the second something doesn’t fit into his perfectly controlled world, he turns into a paranoid mess. And today? That paranoia was locked and loaded.

“Logan…” You started to say, but the man was already up, pacing like he was solving some kinda murder mystery. He ran his hands through his wild hair, muttering something under his breath.

“Who was it?” he suddenly growled, turning to face you like you had just admitted to world domination.

“Who was what?” You blinked, trying so hard not to laugh.

“The guy,” he said, jabbing a finger in your direction. “Who taught ya? Some douchebag in college? Or maybe that asshole at the bar last month—you did talk to him for a bit.”

Now, it’s one thing to have your tough boyfriend jealous, but this? This was next-level ridiculous. You sat back, biting your lip to stop yourself from bursting into laughter. “Logan, babe, what are you talking about? You’re literally my first.”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. “Don’t gimme that, darlin’. No one’s that good the first time.” He crossed his arms like he was about to grill you with hard evidence. “I’ve been around the block, ya know.”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. The laughter came out before you could stop it, making Logan scowl even harder.

“This isn’t funny,” he snapped, pacing again. “I’m serious. I’m startin’ to think you’re hidin’ somethin’.”

“Logan, for the love of—” You wiped away the tears of laughter, finally getting up to stand in front of him. “I’m not hiding anything! You’re my first boyfriend. You know that.”

“Yeah, but that move—” He pointed vaguely toward the couch, still frowning. “That was some professional-level shit.”

You couldn’t stop giggling, and it only made him more irritated. He ran his hand down his face and groaned. “Alright, tell me the truth. You’ve been Googlin’ this stuff, haven’t ya?”

You almost doubled over. “You think I Googled how to give you a blowjob?!”

“Well, I don’t know!” Logan growled, frustration dripping from his voice. “Maybe you did. I’m just sayin’… that was too good to be natural.”

“Logan,” you said through fits of giggles, “I’m not some secret blowjob expert, okay? Maybe I’m just, I don’t know, naturally talented?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly still unconvinced. “Nah. Somethin’ doesn’t add up here.”

You threw your hands up, finally losing your patience. “Okay, so what are you gonna do, Sherlock? You gonna interrogate every guy I’ve ever spoken to? ‘Hey, did she happen to give you a blowjob once upon a time?’”

Logan actually looked like he was considering it for a second, and you lost it all over again. This man, this absolute idiot, was serious.

He huffed, crossing his arms again like he’d already decided on his next move. “Look, babe, I just don’t like not knowin’ things, alright?”

“Oh my God, you’re jealous because I’m good at blowjobs. That’s what this is about.”

Logan’s cheeks actually flushed. He muttered something about it “not being like that,” but you knew better. This was the same guy who once picked a fight with someone for glancing at you in a diner. Of course, he was jealous.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Logan sighed. “Alright, fine. Maybe I’m a little jealous. I just… don’t want anyone else takin’ credit for somethin’ we’re supposed to figure out together.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “You mean you don’t want anyone else getting the benefits of my natural talent?”

Logan shot you a look but didn’t say anything, clearly trying to figure out how to navigate this weird conversation. Finally, he huffed again. “Alright, fine. But for the record… there’s a right way to do it, and I could show ya.”

You raised an eyebrow, biting back more laughter. “Oh, you’re gonna give me a lesson now?”

He nodded, dead serious. “Damn straight. Been around long enough to know what works and what don’t. Consider it… proper education.”

[lostinlovingrevery]

Roadtrips and Relaxing (18+!!)

Old Man Logan X F!Reader

A/N: I just want him to use me

Plot: You and Logan are out on a roadtrip trying to find more medicine for Charles. Logan is stressed, and you know exactly how to help him.

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, a lil porn with plot, established relationship, Unprotected PiV, public bathroom sex, Oral (M recieving), ya'll fuck nasty, Logan is subby at first but immediately becomes a dom after bc he can't give up control for long, rough sex, a lil fluff at the end. Reader is female, and a former doctor. Ya'll are in love , logan uses pet names and one (1) derogatory term

Word Count: 3234

These trips were always exhausting. 

You and Logan were out, traveling miles upon miles through country and desert, in the search of medicine for Charles. You had left Caliban to take care of him, a job that usually belonged to you, while you went with Logan this time to retrieve the medicine. You hit a speed bump though, as your usual source- a sketchy clinic that didn’t require prescriptions had been burned down to the ground, with no signs of a possible reopening, contacting of the owners, or a relocation. 

You were a doctor yourself, but due to the fact that you were hiding out with Logan and Charles, and the fact that you weren’t working in a valid medical practice, meant you couldn’t write prescriptions- unless you wanted a pharmacy to call the police on you. It did mean that you knew exactly how to take care of Charles, what to give him to control his seizures, and you even have tested out different mixes of medicine that Logan acquired, stuff that has helped Charles greatly, but doesn’t stop his declining state which broke your heart. 

Now, with your usual source for drugs gone, you and Logan were on a search for something else. Clinics, dealers, they pop up, come and go, making it tricky for you to find an actual source. Logan was getting stressed. It's been a few days, and you both knew that what was left behind for Charles was running out which meant you needed to find something soon.

“We need gas.” Logan mutters under his breath. You looked at him, as he flipped on the turn signal- spotting a gas station that looked like it was part diner as well. You saw his hands tensing, gripping the steering wheel so tightly the veins popping out along his scarred hands. He pulled up along a gas pump and put the limo into park, leaning back in his seat with a hard groan as he tipped his head back against the headrest. 

You admired his aging face. His salt and pepper hair and beard, his nose- sculpted like a Greek god, his lips, which you rarely saw a smile appear on, but when you did felt like you were blessed by the heavens. He constantly demeans himself whenever you two are together, telling you that you shouldn’t be with an old man like him. You, on the other hand, truly believed he was your soulmate. It didn’t matter how old he was, how cranky he would get, you loved him to pieces and you hated seeing the stress on his face, the tension he carries in his shoulders. You did everything you could to help him, both as a lover and as a doctor. You could not, however, stop the adamantium from slowly poisoning his body. 

“Lo. It’s okay. We’ll find somewhere.” You say softly, reaching out to put a hand over his, that was resting on the console. “You need to relax a little, maybe I can drive for a bit-” 

He moved his hand away, a scowl on his face as he didn't look at you. Pushing the driver's side door open, stepping out of the limo with a clear ache in his body, before slamming it shut. You sighed as you sat in it alone. You never took it personally when he got like this- although you certainly made sure he heard about it later when his mood picked up, and you’d get rewarded with sweet kisses all over your body as he apologizes, thanking you for dealing with him. 

You knew he needed to relax. Even if it’s just for a few minutes but you also knew that you would not be able to talk to him when he gets like this. Stubborn, bull-headed. He gets in his own head, determined to do things his way, and take care of everyone. Be the hero. Normally, he’s fairly receptive to you- your opinions and suggestions. You both have been on the road for awhile, barely any sleep, chasing leads that end nowhere. You knew he had to be exhausted, and aching. 

There was only one way to get him to relax.

You looked at the gas station- part dinner. Didn’t look like a shabby place actually, with only a few people inside either eating or perusing the snack aisles. You pushed open your door, stepped out, and walked to the building; knowing Logan was watching you as you walked away, not even looking back at him- knowing it’ll irritate him but that’s exactly what you wanted.

You stepped inside, going towards the back of the building, and finding the bathrooms. You went to the one marked women, stepping inside, glad to see it was a single-person bathroom. You locked the door behind you, stepping to the mirror as you fixed your appearance up, washed your hands. Now, you just need to wait. 

You knew it would be a few minutes before Logan came to look for you. He’d pick up that you were gone longer than you usually were, wonder if you were pissed and come in to get you. 

It was about 5 minutes later when you heard him knock on the door.

“Baby?” He called, voice low and gruff. “Are you there?” 

You unlocked the door, pulling it open, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him inside- as you pushed the door shut, turning the lock, and immediately pressed your lips against yours as you pushed him against the door. 

He grunted as he bumped into the wooden door, kissing you back eagerly as his hands went to hold your hips, bringing you against his as he ran his tongue over your mouth, eager to be invited in. Making out though, was not your plan. 

Harsh pants echoed in the small bathroom as you pulled away from him, instead opting to kiss his neck, nipping at the flesh that made him groan. Your hands slide down his chest, down to his belt buckle, as you quickly undo it, the belt clinking. You unzipped his pants, and moved down onto your knees, as you tugged his slacks down pulling out his semi-hard staff. You always admired his length, it didn’t matter if he was soft or hard- the sight of him just made your mouth water.

“Princess- fuck.” He groaned, as you licked a long stripe from his base to his tip, stroking him as you felt him grow harder in your palm, his tip growing redder and leaking with each stroke, using his pre-cum as a lubricant that made slick noises through the bathroom.

You brought him up to your lips, kissing the slit of his tip, then moving downwards, pressing soft kisses all the way down his shaft, down to his balls, making him groan, twitching in your hand as he became more and more desperate for your warm mouth around him.  “Come on bub, quit the teasing.” He groans, his hand going to your head, intertwining in your hair. You smiled against his cock, pressing him against your cheek as you looked up at him with wide eyes. He groaned at the sight, biting down on his inner cheek as his hand came down to stroke your face. “Goddamn you’re so beautiful.” He mutters, making you smile bigger.

“Gotta relax, tough guy.” You say softly, before you lean back, and slowly take his tip between your lips. You hummed at the taste of him, closing your eyes and leaned further in, taking more of his throbbing length into your mouth. He let out a guttural moan, tipping his head back, as his hand moved back into your hair. You ran your tongue along the underside of his cock, and you pushed down more, swallowing him with each inch until you felt his coarse hair against your nose. Your eyes watered by the size of him in your mouth; over time you had learned ways to accommodate his large member inside you, making sure he feels every bit of pleasure you could possibly give him. 

“Come on baby, please” he whined softly under his breath. You moved back, pulling out from your mouth, a small gasp as you looked down at his length, now thoroughly soaked through with your spit, a long string of saliva connecting him to your lips. You gave him a few hard strokes with your hand before you took him back in your mouth again, bobbing your head up and down, stroking his base with what you don’t take in, every few strokes you take him fully down your throat again. You could hear him panting, small whines that graced your ears, as you opened your eyes to look up at him. His teeth gritted, and pupils blown out with lust, you attempted to smile with his cock in your mouth. The action made him roll his eyes back, mouth agape as he attempted to control his breathing. You felt drool leaking out of the corner of your lips, and you continued working him over, bringing him closer and closer to his finish. You could feel his thigh tensing under your palm, so you pulled back, stroking him with your hand again, as you sucked on his tip, pressing your tongue into his slit, and looking back up at him.

“Fuck!” He cursed, his hand gripping your hair, and pulling you back onto his cock as you felt his warm release coating the back of your throat, your hands braced against his thighs as he kept his dick sheathed inside your warm mouth as he spilled inside you, his head tipped back in pure pleasure. Your eyes watered as you began to struggle to breathe, and he finally pulled back out of you roughly with a harsh grunt. You swallowed everything he gave you, as you brought your arm up to wipe your mouth clean of the drool and cum that leaked out. “Fuck, cmon, up-” He orders, grabbing your arm and pushing you up to your feet. His hand grabbed your jaw tightly, pulling you in for a deep burning kiss, before he shoves his tongue down your throat, turning into something sloppy. Pulling away, he looked down at you with fierce eyes, a scowl on his face. “I’m not done with you.” He growls.

He spun you around, pushing you against the sink. He grabbed your hands, placing them both on the sink firmly. “Keep em there and don’t fucking move till I tell you.” He mutters. 

You knew what this was about. He lost himself in you, and now he needed to regain control; so you prepped yourself, preparing to get fucked within an inch of your life. 

One hand came up, beginning to fondle your breast, as the other began shoving your pants down to your knees, before he kneeled down to pull them off of you completely. You heard a snikt! And suddenly you felt your panties fall off your body, torn to tatters by his claws. They retracted and he stood back up. 

“You’re fucking soaked darling.” He muttered into your ear, his chin resting on your shoulder, his chest pressed to your back. “Get that turned on sucking an old man like me off hmm?” 

His warm hand made contact with your mound, simply cupping it, before holding it up in front of your face. “Look how fucking soaked my hand is already, I barely even touched you.” 

You nodded, arching your back against him. “Lo please-” You whimpered. 

He brought his hand back down, his finger sliding through your folds, before making contact with your clit. You jerked at the stimulation- you were so focused on getting him off, you hadn’t realized just how wet and sensitive you’ve become yourself. He pressed your swollen bud again with just his finger, teasing you with just barely enough stimulation. 

“Lo!”

“Oh, now you don’t like the teasing huh bub?” He says raspy. You shook your head and he grinned. “Liar. You love it.” He turned to nip your ear. He finally gave in, using two fingers to rub circles against your clit, the pressure he applies to it ranging from soft to rough, between fast and slow- bringing you to the brink of an orgasm, as you felt that white-hot burning heat in your lower belly, but he pulled away- making you cry out. “Don’t worry princess.” He groaned. He took his cock in his hard, half-hard again as he stroked himself to a full erection. “Fucking filthy, you know that? Luring me in here just to suck my cock.” He growled as his arm came around your hips, pushing them back as he teased his tip at your pulsing hole. 

“Just-” You gasped as he barely pushed his tip inside you. “Wanted to make you feel good-”

“Yeah? Always trying to take care of your old man, hm?” He muttered. His feet kicked yours farther apart, forcing your legs open wider, as his other arm came around your whole body, pinning your arms to the side, and giving him full control over you. You nodded desperately, enraptured by his whole body surrounding you. All you could feel was him. “You got your wish, you made me feel real fucking good. So good that I don’t think I want to stop just yet.” He groans in your ear. “I’m gonna use you up, and you’re going to take it all like a good girl- got it?” 

You nodded desperately, your body practically trembling in anticipation. You barely had a moment to register as he thrust his whole length inside you in one moment- making you cry out as your body jumped with his thrust. You went on your tippy toes, accommodating the way his one arm practically held you up. He pressed his cheek against yours, his beard scratching against your face as you heard him grunt. You felt him so deep inside you, as your body molded around him to accommodate his size. 

“Gotta stay quiet darling. You want people to hear?” He mutters. “Probably do, coming in here and acting like a slut.” 

You moaned, and his hand came up to cover your mouth. He was a hypocrite, because he was being just as loud as you were a few moments again. Your toes curled as you felt his hips began to move, as he pulled out, and thrust back into you. You yelled against his hand- not in pain, but full pleasure. You loved when he got rough. It meant he was feeling good, able to use some of his strength that he usually couldn’t carry much anymore every day. You knew this was exactly the kind of stress relief he needed, even if he didn’t realize it himself immediately. You made a mental note to tell him that you wouldn’t mind being his stress toy. 

His thrusts were hard and rough. He started slowly, your body bouncing against his, before he picked up- pounding into you, the sound filling the bathroom and no doubt if someone were to walk by they would hear it. The sound of skin slapping against skin. You couldn’t move, squirm, nothing. Logan had his arm firmly around your waist, pinning your arms to your side, his hand covering your mouth- attempting to silence your whines and moans. 

“Fuck you’re being extra loud sweetheart.” He grunted. He pushed two fingers into your mouth. “Suck on em” He orders. “Give those pretty lips something to do and stay quiet.” You obliged, wrapping your lips around his fingers, sucking as you ran your tongue over his warm fingers, taking in the taste of him.

He growled, as his body pushed down on you, bending you over against the sink, as he fucked into you hard. His hips slammed against your ass, surely you’ll be bruised later by the pace of his skin smacking into yours. His cock stretched you out, and he angled himself to fucking against the spot that had you seeing stars, your eyes rolling back as you couldn’t even think straight, no longer able to even suck on his fingers as you began to drool, he fucked you dumb and weak. He pressed his lips against your temple, feeling the way you clenched tightly around him, signaling your impending release. 

“Come on baby, cum all over my cock-” He grunted, his hips thrusting hard into you again. “Fuck I love you-” 

That was all you needed, as your whole body tensed, and your explosive finish came to. Waves and waves of ecstasy rolled through you, squeezing around Logan almost painfully as he grunted, committing a final thrust as he spilled inside you. You both stood there, bodies attached to each other, heaving for breath, sweat beading your skin, as Logan did a few lazy thrusts, drawing out the last bits of your mutual ecstasy. He dropped his hand from your mouth, wrapping his other arm around you in a hug from behind- still inside you, as both your releases dripped down your legs. He pressed soft kisses to your cheek, down to your neck. 

“You okay princess?” He asked softly. Your body was trembling, but you were on cloud 9, as you managed to nod. He carefully pulled out of you, turning you around. You could barely feel your legs as you used the sink to balance yourself, and you brought your hands to his chest. 

“You feel better?” You hummed, running your hand soothingly over his chest, and he smiled- that rare smile that always made your heart skip. 

“Yeah princess. Thank you.” He says softly, putting a hand on your cheek, his thumb rubbing against your cheekbone as he admired your face- you knew you had to look like a mess, drool over your lips and chin, with wet eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Yet he stared at you like you were the most gorgeous thing in the world. “Could’ve just said something if you wanted me so bad…” He smirks. 

“You were being an ass mister.” You tilted your head knowingly at him. He looked away a bit bashfull, 

“Yeah. I know.” He muttered, bringing a hand up to scratch his neck, an action you’ve seen him do whenever he gets embarrassed- especially after he acted like an asshole. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright. You made it up to me.” You smiled up at him. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and you once again admired the man before you. You wished he’d see himself the way you saw him. Not just handsome, but compassionate, strong, someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He never considered himself a hero, never looked at himself as a good man, but before you, you saw a man that was doing everything he could for the people he cared for. “We’ll get through this.” You say softly, in a small attempt to provide some comfort to his mind. His face softened, and he nodded. 

“We will.” He says softly. He looked over you, you half clad figure- your bottom half was a complete mess, and he grinned once more- something about more devilish, kneeling down onto the ground before you, and taken your leg to place over his shoulder as his hands came up to cup your still shaky thigh and ass. “First though. Gotta clean you up- and even the score.”

[unlikeable-female-character]

Oooooh. I’ve only found a few fics that explore these totally feral versions of Logan - and I kinda need more

the beast inside | wolverine x mutant!reader (18+ ONLY)

Summary: you wake up in a strange, cold military facility…and you aren’t alone.

Warnings: (attempted) breeding, not really ABO but feral man beast vibes, monster fucker adjacent, SEX, fem reader but not super heavily described as such

Your head was throbbing, your brain seemingly attempting to beat its way out of your skull from the inside. That was the first thing you noticed.

The second thing was the cold sterility of your surroundings, the air tasting stale and recycled, the surface beneath your hands smooth and cool like concrete. When you managed to crack your eyes open, you were forced to immediately squint as a harsh, industrial light suddenly made your splitting headache even worse, and when you looked around, you found that your worst fears had been realized.

You had been captured.

Keep reading

[holylulusworld]

Jealousy (2)

Summary: You got a room.

Pairing: Alpha!Wolverine x Omega!Reader

Warnings: jealousy, banter, a/b/o, cocky Logan, idiots in love, smut, unprotected sex, mating, claiming, knotting, doggy style

Catch up here: Jealousy

You got a room in the closest motel you could find.

Your clothing lay scattered all over the floor, partially ripped, as Wolverine used his claws and strength to destroy them.

Logan was impatient to get you bare. He was like a man possessed, or rather an animal.

His wolfish personality and the alpha he stopped controlling took over control. All that was left in his mind was to claim, and fuck, and make you his omega.

Your bare skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat as you moved together. “Fuck,” Logan cursed with every deep thrust. “This cunt.”

Cursing his name, you tried not to give in to your omega and the need to submit to the alpha. You didn’t want to give in so easily.

“Omega,” he growled as you still refused to submit to him. Even with his cock buried deep inside your cunt and his hands on your body, you refused to call him alpha. “Say it.”

“No,” you growled back at the alpha. “You’re not my alpha, only a good lay.”

He had you on your hands and knees, taking you from behind like the wolf he turned into the moment he got you alone. His strong hands gripped your hips as he pounded into you relentlessly, his powerful thrusts driving deep into your slicked sex.

Logan’s muscular frame looms over you, dominating your coupling with his sheer strength. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, pulling you back to meet each snap of his hips.

You threw your head back as you cried out in ecstasy. Your breasts swayed with the force of his powerful thrusts, nipples hard and aching to be touched.

Logan’s hips snapped forward, his cock disappearing into your quivering cunt over and over again. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the air, disrupted by your needy moans and Logan’s grunts.

“Who’s your alpha?” he grunted while rocking into you. “Answer me, Omega!”

“Fuck you!”

“I’m on it, ‘mega.” Logan laughed at your stubbornness and slapped your rear with both hands. “Now, tell me who’s your alpha, or I won’t let you cum.”

“I dare you,” you growled and looked over your shoulder at Logan. He smirked and laughed as your cunt quivered around his thick cock. “Oops, too late, asshole.”

“You’re a naughty omega.” Logan pushed against your shoulders, forcing you flat on the bed. He covered your body with his body and pinned you to the mattress while moving his hips at a pace taking your breath away. “Stubborn, and you like to stare at that asshole.”

You cried out, feeling his knot slowly expanding inside your cunt. Breathing heavily, you tried to lie still as his teeth grazed your neck. “You’re mine, and that asshole cannot have you. He can never have you.”

Logan came with a shout of your name and a grunt. His face buried in your neck, he smirked because you whimpered his name. “No objection?” He nipped at your neck. “I think your neck will look pretty with my mark.”

“In your dreams…”

Three days later, you came back, wearing Logan’s mark. While you tried not to give away that you and Logan mated for the last three days, he was less subtle.

“You let him claim you?” Jean gasped, seeing the mark on your neck.

“I took your advice to move past Scott to heart,” you bit back, knowing about Jean’s past with Logan. She never chose the grumpy alpha but tried to get his attention all the time while being engaged to Scott. “Maybe you should do the same with Logan.” You smirked. “Because he’s mine now…”

[angelltheninth]

You know how guys have the happy trail? What do you think the MCU men's is like?

Gonna tell you something Anon, I love it when guys have that. It's cute and attractive.

Pairing: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Thor, Loki, James “Logan" Howlett, Remy Lebeau, Kurt Wagner, Tony Stark, Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, suggestive, body worship, teasing, muscles, established relationship

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Probably one of the most attractive things on guys. At least to me. Other than strong hands.

Steve keeps himself very neat, not really because of you, not at first, it's just a habit that he still has from his army days. That being said he didn't miss the way you look at him when he does it. He knows you're looking so he takes his time.

Bucky is a bit more clumsy with it since losing his arm. His new one is good but it's cold on his skin when he needs to groom himself and be nice. But... maybe you can give him a hand when he needs it.

Clint doesn't bother with it much because he doesn't have much of a visible happy trail. It is there when you really look or run your hand down his abs. That being said he doesn't quite see why you like it so much, it's just body hair.

Thor never quite cared to keep himself overly well groomed or to cut down on any body hair. When he tried his hair grew back rougher, which you can feel as you touch his stomach. To him it was never something he had to think about, besides you like it.

Loki brags about how good he looks. Every part of him, even the happy trail which he always keeps well maintained. As he gets ready for bed he might take it slower, to give you time to look.

Logan has always been covered in a lot of rough, bushy hair and his happy trail is no different. For him it's like a path that you can follow as you kiss his body. In fact he has referred to it as that numerous time, making you blush at the implications.

Remy often gets asked if his hair is red everywhere, and yes it is. He chuckles when he tells you that you should check for yourself. Despite how he may seem he does keep himself well trimmed, from his belly all the way down.

Kurt does have a bit more hair there and it's quite soft and fluffy. It's one of the rare parts on his body that's not as cold as the rest of him. But it is quite dark, almost black in contrast with his blue skin.

Tony wants you to look at him as he gets changed. He wears his pants a bit lower when he knows he can work from home. Seeing you ready to kiss every inch of him won't make work easier.

Peter has a happy trail but it's a bit sparse. He doesn't have much body hair on his belly and is a bit ticklish when you touch him there. It's one of his weaknesses so he always blushes when you do it.

[logans-whore]

Hi~

I was reading your old man logan one-shot and mwah chief kiss

Can I ask for some more old man logan and young reader?maybe he's unsure of whether he should give into his desire or keep pushing her away but when he saw her laughing at her phone or talking to a boy friend of hers he loses it?

Or anything like that love yaa

I swear I'm working on my other requests, but holy hell, this caught hold of my brain like a dog with a chew toy and it didnt let go. This can be read as a prequel to this fic, but can be read as a standalone too! Also this turned out way fluffier than I thought it would, but oh well. I hope you like it!!!

https://www.tumblr.com/logans-whore/773031900713451520/may-i-please-ask-you-to-write-something-for-old?source=share

Logan is fully aware that he's too old for you. He's too aware, if you're the one being asked.

The two of you were the only ones to survive the Westchester incident, him because of his healing, you because you hadn't been at the mansion on the day of the incident.

So you, him, and Charles move in together, hiding away. Later, Caliban joins you.

Now, you've had a thing for him for years. But seeing him there, caring for you, for Charles, being protective, and providing? Yeah, that scratches the lizard part of your brain just right.

And he notices, sees the way you look at him like he's the only thing you'll ever want. And he turns you down, over and over again, keeping you away. He's way too old for you, and starting to look it too. You deserve someone young. Someone good, and kind, and caring and perfect, like you.

And you're not the kind of girl to push it. To force a relationship with someone who doesn't want you. (Or so you think. He wants you. Very much. He's just an idiot)

So you put yourself out there. You've been working as a waitress to help pay the bills. And a customer gives you his number, and he's sweet and funny and cute, and you say yes. Thinking this is your chance to get over Logan, to move on, find someone new to love. You start texting him, and he seems great. You really like him, and you think, with time, with patience, maybe you could grow to love him. Not the all encompassing, full body experience that loving Logan is, but maybe a simpler, less painful love.

Logan on the other hand, sees you texting. All the damn time. After several pointed remarks on phones, and how young people should get off them and have a conversation, he finally asks who you're texting.

When you tell him about Adam, the cute guy from the diner, his heart drops. He's grown to love you, to love your kindness, your compassion, the way you look at him, how absolutely fucking stunning you are. And thinking about you with anyone else? Hell no. You're his. Not that you belong to him, but you're his, and he's yours, the way only people in love are each others.

And he can't lose you, he realizes with startling clarity. He just can't.

So the next morning, as you make breakfast, about to start your shift, he slinks iinto the kitchen, looks you dead in the eyes and says. "I love you."

You nearly drop the spatula you're using, choking on your own spit. "W-what?" you sputter, surprised and confused.

"I love you" he says again. You look at him for any sign of him joking, of him playing some fucked up prank. You find none.

"I'm sorry I didn't say it before", he continues, like he hasn't just dropped the emotional equivalent of an atomic bomb on you. "I'm sorry. But I love you, honey. And I don't want to see you with anyone else but me. I know-" he hesitates, but continues. "I know I said I'm too old for you. Know I said you should find someone your own age. But I'm taking it back. And I'm asking you, not to fall in love with him. I want you in love with me."

You stare at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "You- you're serious?"

"I just gave you the cheesiest goddamn speech I've ever given in my life, of course I'm fuckin' serious" He grumbles, and you can't help but laugh, before crossing the distance to stand in front of him and kissing him stupid

"I love you too," You murmur against his mouth, and feel him beam against you, smiling into the kiss. "I'm not gonna fall for him. I'm already in too deep with you"

Hours later, when he's fucking you into the mattress, you cry his name over and over again, and he knows, warm and safe in your arms, in your heart, that you mean it. That you're his, and he's yours.

Logan is full aware that he's too old for you. He loves you anyways.

[wlwloverwrites]

kiss kiss thank you for reading. i rewatched dofp so this fic is fresh in my memory rn

Future Boyfriend

Pairing: 70s!Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: afab reader, reader is wearing a dress, sweat kink?, panty sniffing, squirting, brief handjob, cum play, nipple play, car sex (again) smut (18+) no minors

Summary: Logan, a man supposedly from the future, claims he is your boyfriend, so you ask him to prove it.

A/N: California’s heat wave in September is killing me. No one look at me. This fic just kept getting dirtier and dirtier.

Main Masterlist

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ON OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS

“So you’re from the future, huh?” You ask looking at the gruff man sitting in the driver’s seat.

“A little more complicated than that, Darlin, but you can say that,” the man reassures.

You hum sarcastically. Choosing to ignore the nickname he gives, which only makes him laugh under his breath. There’s a soft breeze that makes its way into the 1972 Buick Riviera and suddenly you’re hit with the smell of cigars. The smell, no doubt, coming from - “Wait, what’s your name again?”

It’s silent for a second, the only thing that fills your ears is the car’s roar when he hurrily pulls under a shady tree on the side of the road.

“My name’s Logan,” he huffs playfully as he puts the car in park.

“Logan,” you feel yourself mimicking with a smile on your face.

He looks up at you with a sly smile, his sunglasses are now sitting on the dashboard, which gives you more of him to study.

Your eyes take in his sharp nose, soft eyes, and grown out facial hair before they drop to the three undone buttons on his collared shirt. The hair on his chest makes your fingers itch to undo the last few buttons and tug off his brown leather jacket. You’d be doing him a favor too.

The summer heat is criminal.

As if he read your mind, Logan tugs off his leather jacket, throwing it over his shoulder to the back seat. You expect him to stop, but his thick fingers work to undo the rest of his buttons as he pulls off his shirt. His shirt falls on top of his leather jacket, leaving him in his low rise jeans held by a thick brown belt and white undershirt.

“So I’m just supposed to believe that you,” you point at Logan, then yourself. “And me end up together?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” He asks raising his eyebrows.

The man is sex on legs. If anything you should be applauding your future-self for fucking and tying the man down.

“Kind of, yeah,” you lie.

“Liar.”

Before you could reply Logan readjusts himself in the driver’s seat. The sight of him widening his legs and throwing his arm over your shoulder has your mind thinking maybe the man isn’t crazy. Words are stuck in your throat when his lips dips to meet the sticky skin on your collarbone.

“Had you wrapped around my finger,” his breath is hot against the junction of your neck as he whispers against your skin.

His flirtatious tone makes you squirm on the leather seats and you find it’s getting harder to ignore the building heat between your thighs. The leather from the bench styles seats sticks to your skin. Your brightly patterned dress does little to separate you from the leather, instead it clings to you body where sweat forms on your skin.

“Prove it.”

Maybe Logan isn’t talking out of his ass or trying to use some lame pick up line. He could be telling the truth.

It’s only fair you give him a chance.

Connecting your lips, the kiss is messy which has you opening your legs and welcoming the left hand that’s gripping your thigh. The arm over your shoulder pushes you closer to him and your hands find his face. Pulling away, you cup his cheeks in your hands as you angle his head to the left. This time when you lips meet, you’re stifling a moan. The hand between your thigh expertly finds your clit over your cotton panties. He pays no mind at the sweat between your thighs, instead he rubs small circles that has you rolling your hips against his hand, begging for more.

“Just like that,” you praise.

His hand doesn’t even flinch.

“I know, Darlin.”

He knows what you like.

“Cause you’re from the future?” You can barely spit out your words and whine when Logan pulls your panties to the side. Your brain only comprehends the way his fingers glide through your folds. He nods as he gathers your slick and uses it to rub your clit again.

“I know your body. Had years of practice.”

His words have you whimpering and hiding your face in his neck. The hands that were holding his face fall and greedily grab at his biceps. The muscles are firm in your hands and call for your teeth. Everything about the man makes your mouth water. The carnivorous ache in your teeth makes you feel silly, but you settle for moaning his name instead.

His fingers rub your clit and occasionally tease at your entrance where you’re dripping; however, despite your whines, Logan doesn’t give in. Squirming against his hand, unsure if you’re running to or from him, Logan keeps you in place causing your panties to scratch at your skin. Focusing on his fingers, you try your best to ignore the uncomfortable friction scratching your right inner thigh. Your eyes fall shut and suddenly your nose is hyperaware of the man’s scent. The smell of cheap cigars tickles your nose, but it’s the smell of his sweat that makes your head spin.

His scent makes you widen your legs. The shift allows for more friction on your sensitive skin, but you still choose to ignore it. Distracting yourself with his scent, you bury your nose in his neck and inhale; the way you breathe him in is animalistic. The loud sniff makes Logan laugh, making his fingers pick up their pace. You shift once one, this time a painful whine escapes your lips.

“W-What’s wrong?”

It isn’t his scared question that brings you back to reality, but the halt to his fingers. Your mouth falls shut and you open your eyes to see a very concerned Logan staring down at you.

Worried eyes jump all over your face and body, looking for your pain making your heart skip a beat. His free hand caresses the side of your face and tilts it to face him. He’s so concerned that your blood starts to feel hot.

Did his stare have to be this instense?

Shaking your head you reassure, “It’s nothing.”

Your attempt to comfort him is cut off by his lips. Expecting his teeth to clash with yours, your heads spins once more. Instead his kiss is soft and has you melting into the leather seat beneath you. Wet tongues taste each other, his tongue is romantic while yours is curious.

To him, your taste is comforting. His kiss is making up for lost time. Soft lips are desperate to commit every inch of your mouth to memory.

To you, his taste is addicting. You crave his entire being, his smell, touch, words, and lips. He reels you in with claws.

“Tell me, Darlin,” he begs as his lips travel down to your neck.

Shyly, your hands slip beneath the skirt of your dress and hook your underwear on your fingers and pull them off. Awkwardly you lift your hips to pull off the scratchy, grey material, but Logan is quick to take over.

“I was chafing,” you whisper, clearly embarrassed.

His body visibly relaxes before he shakes his head at the material in a disapproving manner. Meanwhile, his hand between your thighs searches for the irritated skin. Your sharp inhale tells him he’s found it before he gently kneads at your skin, a silent apology.

Careful not to irritate your skin more, Logan goes back to tug off your panties hugging at your thighs. His voice is taunting as he coos, “Don’t worry, I’ll take them off your hands.”

You nod at his words and expect him to toss your panties in the back seat the same way he did his shirt and jacket, but your jaw drops when he brings the cotton up to his nose. The sound of him breathing in the grey cotton fills the car and suddenly your bottom lip stings from the force of your teeth. You watch as his eyes roll back and you swear you see pink reach out and taste the wet cotton.

Pride builds in the bottom of your stomach as your body moves before you can stop it. You climb on his lap, thighs trapping the both of his, similar to the way your arms trap his neck. The steering wheel digs into the small of your back, but the bulge on Logan’s jeans brushing against your pussy does a great job in distracting you. Playfully, Logan jerks his hips upward, bouncing you on his lap, but you watch as his carefully stuffs the grey cotton into his back pocket.

“My future boyfriend is such a pervert,” you giggle.

“You like it,” he smirks as his hand finds its way between your thighs.

A gasp escapes your lips when two fingers shove themselves inside you, no longer playing the teasing game. Your pussy clenches, struggling to accommodate the thickness of his fingers. Logan wastes no time and ignores your pleads for a an extra second. His fingers, wet with your arousal, curl and hit the spongy spot inside you that has you cursing his name against his neck.

Your hips ride his hand, eager for more despite your whines. His fingers curl expertly and have you hiding your face in his neck. Sweat builds at your hairline, your spine, and the back of your neck, but you don’t care. The growing pleasure between your thighs captures your full attention and you pathetically cry Logan’s name, but he shushes you with his lips.

He whispers soft praises against your lips, letting you know it’s okay. The steering wheel digs into your back and the leather seats stick to your shines, holding you in place. With no where to escape, a loud gasp of Logan’s name is his only warning before your pussy gushes on his fingers and onto his jeans. Your heart races as the pressure in your lower tummy releases. Squeezing Logan’s fingers so tight it has him cursing as he watches your eyes roll back. He groans as a familiar, sweet scent, one only he can smell, fills his nostrils.

“Smell like my favorite candy.”

Your ears barely register Logan’s praises on how sweet you smell or the way he tucks the skirt of your dress so he can see the wet mess between your thighs and his jeans. Slipping his fingers out of your pussy, it’s not long after wet fingers find their way to your parted lips and push past your teeth.

“Come on. Taste it.”

His fingers press on your lips, egging you to lick them clean. His dark eyes meet yours and watch as your tongue peeks out and drools over his glistening fingers. Your subtle sweet taste lingers on your tongue and the way he’s looking at you is making you want to swallow down his fingers. Rather than feeding you his fingers, he smears your remaining juices on your lips. Your slick coats your lips like a cheap lip gloss, tricking your mind to rub your lips together.

“My turn,” Logan groans before his lips kiss yours.

The kiss is filthy.

His tongue licks your lips clean, almost like a dog. It should gross you out, the way he’s licking you, as if he’s eating you from the source, but it doesn’t. He groans at your familiar taste as your blind, impatient hands reach to tug off the thick, brown belt trapping his cock.

“Taste so good,” Logan moans, his hands reaching down to help you when a frustrated whine falls past your lips.

The metal clinks and the sound of his zipper makes your ears perk up. Taking over, your fingers hook on his belt loops and tug off his jeans. Your eyes widen when they are immediately rewarded with the sight of dark, wiry hairs leading up to his thick and veiny cock instead of underwear.

“Fuck me,” the curse escapes you before you can even think. It’s quiet so Logan lets you think he didn’t catch it. His thighs flex, a silent beg for your touch and you’re quick to comply. Without wasting time, your hand wraps around his thick cock.

“You’re big,” you whisper. Not as a praise or compliment, but a fact.

Bigger than you expected.

“You can take it,” he nods like he’s talking from experience.

His cock is heavy in your hand and mind races with dirty thoughts. Before you can reply, his hand traps the hand wrapped around his cock. He squeezes your hand as he guides your hand up and down his cock. His thumb pushes yours to circle the tip of his cock. Despite him being the one that guided your hand, despite him expecting the pleasure, his hips shudder beneath you and your name falls past his lips. You watch, memorizing the way his eyes flutter shut.

This time you fist his cock without his help, slapping his hand away.

The head of his cock glisten with precome that makes your mouth water. Your face feels hot when your eyes watch Logan curse under his breath and leak onto your hand. Adjusting yourself on his lap, you decide to use both your hands. Your left hand grabs the base of his cock, while your right hand jerks the rest of his cock.

“You’re so leaky,” you giggle and then some more when his cock spits out onto your hand.

He scoffs at you, but moans your name when your thumb swipes over the tip of his cock. His come piles on your thumb and he groans when it presses against his lips. You smirk when you repeat his words, “Come on. Taste it.”

Shamelessly, Logan’s lips wrap around over your thumb. His tongue licks your thumb clean so when you pop your thumb out of his mouth, it glistens with his spit. His eyes lock with yours and the overwhelming feeling of needing to be full takes over.

Logan sees it in your eyes. There’s a cloudy and dazed look in your eyes when you grab the base of his cock and line him up to your entrance. His rough hands hold your hips as you sit on his cock, gasping at every inch. Logan’s stare where the both of you meet has you drooling on his cock. Despite your slick, he watches as you struggle to take his cock.

“Know you can do, Darlin, you used to do it all the time,” he praises.

Your hands reach out to his shoulders. You pout as you take another inch, “That’s future me though.”

Logan lets out a hearty laugh. His laugh makes your heart flutter. The flutter travels down to your pussy and suddenly the laugh is cut short when your walls squeeze around him. His nails dig into the meat of your hips as he tugs at your skin, encouraging you to ease the burn in your thighs and just sit on his lap.

Aching with need, you furrow your brows as you sink further on his cock. Crying out his name when he slides deeper into your cunt. The head of his cock brushing past the spongy spot inside you.

Drunken with pleasure, Logan’s fingers grip your hips and moans, “Knew I had to find you.”

The pressure in your lower stomach builds as your skin’s temperature begins to rise. Your walls squeeze around his cock, adjusting to the stretch. His cock wet with your slick makes it easier for you to take the last inch of his cock.

“I’m so full,” you whine, cloudy eyes stare up at Logan’s soft stare.

Taking a moment to adjust, your lips find his as your fingers bury themselves in his hair. Tugging at the dark roots and smiling against the beads of sweats that pile on the back of his neck.

The hands that were on your hips rise to the small of your back, pushing your body closer. Forcing you leaning onto his body, your clit rests on the wet, wiry hairs on his pelvis. The hairs tickling your clit every time he nudges your body closer.

His left hand cups the side of your face and groans into your mouth when you carefully lift your hips. Pulling away, a line of spit connect the both of you for a second before it falls onto your chin. With a shaky breath, you work your hips down and sit on his cock with a soft bounce.

“That’s it, Darlin,” he praises, his eyes falling to the plunging neckline of your dress.

His lips kiss down your neck, teeth tugging at the neckline of your dress. Your hands slip from his hair when he yanks your dress to expose your breasts. You gasp as his lips wrap around your nipple, while he rolls the other between his fingers.

“Fuck.”

Logan’s mouth is desperate as he mouths at your nipple, occasionally, groaning into your skin when you grind your hips against his. Holding his head to your chest you focus on bouncing yourself on his cock, setting an even pace while chasing your high.

Your slick drips down his length and he can feel it dripping down his balls. A creamy ring decorates the base of his cock that only gets creamier with each bounce.

“Missed you so much,” Logan groans out on your chest, his mouth pulling away, only to give the same treatment to your other nipple.

Your pussy spasms over his cock trying to commit every vein to memory. The ache in your hips and the pain building from the steering wheel digging into your back is ignored as you mumble Logan’s name like a mantra.

“I’m close.” You cry out, as a weak warning.

You smile when you feel him nod against your chest, his silent way of letting you know that he knows. The roll of your hips get messy and the way your leaking on his cock gives him more than enough to figure you’re close to coming on his cock. You just need that extra push and he’s more than willing to give you that.

“Come on, Darlin,” he hums, slipping a hand between the both of you. The toothy smile he gives you when his fingers find your puffy clit has you whining his name. His eyes drop to your chest again, watching as your tits bounce with every attempt of chasing your orgasm. His fingers are soaked with your sweet slick as he rubs even circles on your clit. Your jaw drops as your body tenses.

“That’s it, darlin. Let go.”

Your walls squeeze his cock as he fights the urge to come inside you. He smiles at your bunched up dress that does little to cover you. Your entire body glistens with sweat and the sweet smell of your pussy fills Logan’s nose. He’s memorized as he watches your head fall back, exposing your neck and feels your walls clench uncontrollably around his cock.

“Ah! Lo-”

Gasping for air, you try to warn him, you really do, but it’s too late. Trying to run away from his fingers and cock, your lift your hips, unintentionally causing his cock to hit that spongy spot inside you before it slaps against his stomach. The lingering feeling of his cock spreading you open has you squirting on his cock with a cry.

“Logan!”

Overstimulated, Logan’s fingers pet your clit softly, smiling when your tired body jerks on his lap. His abs underneath his tank top flex when he sees a wet mess between your thighs, no doubt adding to the puddle on the leather seats. Chasing his orgasm, Logan’s hand reaches down to fist his soaked cock.

“F-fuck,” he stutters as the lewd sounds of Logan fisting his cock fill your ears. His hips flex as moans slip out of his mouth.

Slowly, you become more aware of your surroundings and help Logan finish. Eager to both see and hear how Logan comes, your hand replaces his. Shaky fingers wrap around his cock as your work a tight grip up and down his cock.

“Gonna come for me?”

Your sweet tone makes him throw his head back. A smile creeping on his face when you give him a playful and loud kiss on his cheek.

“Come on, I’m your future girlfriend,” you tease as your flick your wrist and swipe your thumb over the tip of his leaky cock. “You know you want to.”

The giggly banter, the banter he missed so much, has him choking out your name and spilling onto your hand. Spurts of his come land on your dress, on his shirt, and onto your hand. You watch as Logan’s chest rises and falls with every deep breath. His flushed skin glistens with sweat, similar to yours.

The silence is comfortable for a couple minutes as the both of your fix on your clothes onto your sticky skin. Huffing out loud as the heat suddenly begins to hit you, you shift on Logan’s lap. Looking up at him only to find his eyes already looking at you. Suddenly shy, you lower your gaze and look out the car window.

“You’re the first person I looked for.”

His confession is quiet and has you pulling your attention from the swaying trees to the soft eyes staring at you.

“Why?” You ask just as soft. “Why didn’t you wait to meet me how you’re suppose to?”

A part of you wants to bring up the way his fingertips dug into your skin, holding you down as if he was scared you were going to disappear. Maybe bring up the way his kiss press onto your skin just a tad too harsh, desperate with love. You most definitely want to bring up the salty tears that slipped down his cheeks when his cried out your name as he came.

“Just wanted more time with you,” he admits, avoiding eye contact for the first time since he first convinced you to get in his car.

“What do you mean?” You ask with a nervous laugh.

In attempt to comfort you, or maybe it’s for his own comfort, Logan’s rough hands find yours, intertwining your fingers together. His throat feels like its closing, but he still manages to spit out his selfish words.

“I needed more time with you.”

No pressure tags: @eupheme @mrsimpurity @joelsgoldrush @djarins-riduur @superhoeva @d1stalker @moonlight-prose @ozarkthedog @sunsburns @inkedells i love yall !!! Each and every single one of you are so talented and have individually inspired me to write for Logan! So thank you :)

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Read my other Logan fic here

[stupidfuckingwindow]

Writing Logan pornography rn.. Feral pussy eating save me...

[themareverine]

Bond Girl, part 1 | patch!Logan x fem!reader | themareverine + bpmiranda

synopsis: the first adjective that leapt to mind the second she’d seen such a thing—obscene. like bait from the possession of man everyone here knew to more vile than any beautiful thing could be. because, if Logan is anything, it’s beautiful. and his taste in jewelry? immaculate.

warnings: patch!Logan, flirting, suggestive themes, part 1 of a co-written little thing with @bpmiranda (surprise!), casino atmosphere, booze, gambling, language, nameless!fem!reader but mentions of curls and blue eyes, ⚠︎.

a/n: save me, Patch!Logan, save me! I can't get away from this idea and my absolutely insatiable lust for this man, ROFL. this idea hit me the other day and after conversing with @bpmiranda, I knew we had to write this. big thanks for her for 1) being phenomenal, 2) listening to my ramblings, 3) jumping on my Patch train, and 4) deciding to collab! ahhhh! my part is done, but hers is coming and will, most likely, be NSFW and probably SO FAR AND AWAY BETTER. and yes i got carried away with context what else is new ROFL get on our taglists for updates!

She isn’t usually one to go for something so—obscene. 

Not that the idea of fine jewelry, really, should be considered obscene. It’s honestly an insult, something so beautiful tethered to a negative connotation. It was the farthest thing from obscene. Just simply the first adjective that leapt to mind the second she’d seen it, dangling elegantly like bait from the possession of man everyone in here  knew to be more vile than any beautiful thing could be. 

Because, if Logan is anything, it’s beautiful—and his taste in accessories? Immaculate. 

“It’s too expensive,” the absolute glint that passed through his eyes sparkled almost as clearly as the stone, catching light like starlight coupled, somehow, with sun, “you really shouldn’t have, Logan.” Cool against the flaming embarrassed scarlet chasing up her neck, he was deliberately slow. Rough hands skipping along her décolletage sent shivers down the length of her spine, numb beneath the wolfish gaze staring back at her in the mirror. Fingers reaching to brush along the face of the stone, it felt heavy. 

“I didn’t,” he sounded so pleased with him, chuckling in that low way that sent her brain pulsing, “poor bastard’s wife is probably pissed, huh?” His hands are more caring than she ever thought possible, clasping the necklace into place. Watching her swallow her own breath, her eyes only skip up to his when his hands find the back of her chair, leaning forward to brush his mouth along the shell of her ear. 

“Can’t imagine it lookin’ as good on anyone else as it does you, sugar.” 

At least two carats, it’s basically a small nucleus of sunlight, sparkling against her pale décolletage, its radiance only challenged by the offset of what she can only assume is a platinum bezel. Gently rubbing the stone between her fingers, she releases a slow breath that shakes more than she would’ve liked, but comes from her core. His hand brushing along the strap of an equally breathtaking gown only exaggerates her inability to breathe evenly, and she swears to God the color racing up her neck deepens. 

“You won this?” turning in her seat, she gently pushes him back with a hand to his chest. “In cards? You always play for cash,” without flinching, she probes for an answer—Logan never bets collateral. He always plays for money, or, on occasion, information. It was how she’d come to know Patch—the man of Madripoor. In all her months of watching him play, she’d only ever seen him accept collateral one other time, and she protected the Van Cleef bracelet on her arm nearly with her life. “It has to be worth a small fortune,” quietly she turned back to the mirror, slightly entranced by its brilliance.

He chuckled, “Not small enough,” his finger brushes a tendril of curl hanging from the simple pins at the base of her neck, “Wasn’t thinkin’ about how much it cost, sweetheart. Too busy imaginin’ you wearin’ it to bed,” His hands skim down the neckline of the dress, an elegant yellow satin slip cut dangerously up the thigh, thin and leaving mostly nothing to imagination, “but I guess this’ll do for now, hm?” 

Willpower of the gods had somehow propelled her out the chair, hand in his as he’d tugged her against his chest. Arms fortressing around her softness, holding her closer than sin. She finds herself lost under the heavy of his gaze, even as her fingers trail up the sleeves of his suit jacket. Crisp as snow, it cuts him perfectly, as if designed for him and him alone. He’s warm, chasing away the slightly chill that pebbles the skin of her arms, the A/C of the hotel suite more tangible than ever. 

“For now,” she’d echoed with a small smile, amusement passing through her tone. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll ask you about that active imagination of yours later.” Hand finding his cheek, she guided him into a slow, unhurried kiss. “You feel lucky tonight, Lo?” Words murmuring against his lips, his head angled to deepen the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers.

His chuckle was light, entertained as his fingers traced along the straps at the back of her dress, “Ain’t about feelin’ lucky, sugar,” tipping her chin up, he smiled at her darkly. “But if it makes you feel better, you bet.” 

Absolutely obscene. 

He’s still as perfect now as he had been hours before, draping a once-in-a-lifetime diamond around her neck, sitting in the low haze hovering in a smothering, thin veil about their casino’s air. Their casino—the gambling house they’d called home for the entirety of her sojournings at his side. Walls and floors that knew their secrets, hallways that saw parts of them no human, probably, ever would. 

Madripoor was beautiful, a stunning land with its own cultures rich with wonder and charms untouchable to nearly sunlight—it was not a difficult place to land, to count off the fingers of time. Especially for a man burying secrets in shallow graves of earth and unknowns. Abundant with vibrant color, pulsing atmosphere and the adrenaline of living, its wellspring of anonymity was wanting, attractive in a way any other nowheresville wasn’t. Logan had established himself as a man of countenance in these streets, specifically this house—a man of power, strength. Gall, courage. Unkillable, untouchable, wholly wondrous. 

Countenance. His reputation preceded him—whether as a badge of honor, a curse of death, or a last-nail coffin truly, honestly, depended on whom one would ask. Bodies jumped under tables beneath the steel of his gaze, the earth opened up to consume lesser beings. Flurry of opinion wasn’t uncommon, if you asked around the shadows and dripping neon of the city— bodies in this quarter of the city produced a cocktail of options for poison. Akin to asking which band champions in NOLA at the height of Mardis Gra, the hair of the dog hours—good thoughts weren’t anorexic around here, weren’t starving for air to give them life.  

All had an opinion. Scant few actually held water. 

Madripoor trembled with the respect wise men hold for phantom’s when he strode into a room. People knew, just from him cutting the doorway of the casino floor, that “Patch” was not an easy dance. Garnered a respect she’d never seen so freely offered to anyone else, dignitaries were not so often well noticed. Logan half expected the room to whip around to eyeball him he was so aware of his own presence, but not in the way one would think—not in the sense of ego or pedestal, high-horses. Never.

“Same feelin’ you get shiverin’ down your back when you think you're bein’ watched, sugar—just the way it goes when guys like me make an entrance.” 

Logan rarely made an entrance—Patch, even less so. Exits were more his thing, honestly. 

But far and away, Madripoor had signed and delivered its standing opinion on the man with an patch, the man from the north—the man nobody could touch, whose face shadows didn’t find. For four decades he’s been frequentlying this place, blowing in and out like the steam over bayous and still water, never aging a day. Always stalking, always collected. In blood it screamed, up and down the streets, this province’s opinion—You bet on Patch, and you have your man.  

And tonight is no different. While Logan may not be an easy man to dissect with discernments, he is an easy bet. Easier, yet, to watch. Even at the bar, across the floor—where light is golden and soft, the air is thick with smoke. Music that has been hastened for generations spins through the air like dreams, summoning atmosphere and charm into the room like a sweeping arch of divinity.

It had become some kind of twisted religion, almost worship. Watching him rake fools over hot coals at this same casino table, when starlight strikes and the sun drips from the sky like slow poison. It’s like a killing hour, almost—the scent of blood and money hang in the air like calling cards, tantalizing sirens. It is the same dance, similar songs each night they grace this room—Logan seats himself at the card table. He orders whiskey, a cosmopolitan for her. Lights a cigar, asks the floor manager for a tab. Taps the corner of his mouth with a thick finger for her kiss, kisses her harder than she would expect from him—takes cash he slips into the neckline of her dress, “You keep here, darlin’, and also like always, he’ll take her chin between calloused fingertips, “gotta keep my lucky little thing closeby—’ma jealous fuck, sugar. Don’t go runnin’ off.”  And the answer is always the same—

“Where else would I be?” 

Certainly nowhere else could hook, line, sink her soul like that little quicksilver of a smile he throws at her—the way his gaze rakes over her frame, dissecting every bend and curve like a creature worth studying. Like he hasn’t known every part of her, explored each plane and territory of her skin, her soul. Logan has known her up until the half of her soul, possesses parts of her she’ll never return to—he takes more than money, on nights when he looks at her like this. More than information or courage or a man’s dignity—he takes her. Everything she possesses, balances it between his fingers, bleeding and raw, like it is a plaything and circus.

And really, she thinks, there could be no better thing under the sun.  

 At some point in all of this, she’d wondered, early on, if it would be like this, always. Running with him. Stalking lines, scouting out survival and nexts—spidering in gigs only to feast on the blood of the innocent unsuspecting. Vampires of opportunity, of fortune. She’d learned in short shit that, while the game is always the same, the wonder was in the stakes—it’s never about the game. 

Balance of power is always found in what one is willing to lose in the chance to gain.

“Something new, mi encanto?” 

Her chair sings a little as she adjusts to swivel back around to the bar, smile soft as she considers the surprise glass of something slipping her direction across an elegant, seen-everything bar. Warm eyes consider her, Dominic’s expression soft and entertained as he stereotypically slaps his rag over his shoulder, driving home a subliminal point. 

Canting her head softly to the side, she dips her finger into the crystalline booze, allowing it to gently float around the cool zing of alcohol and promise of a buzz that will warm her spine. Her finger gently traces the rim of the fine glassware, gaze tracking to the clock above the bar. It’s been two hours—two hours parked at the bar in a dress the color of sunlight, watching. Drawing the attention of every dick and eye this place produces. A pretty sentinel over the reputation and suppositions of a man rumored more to be a god than mortal, she’s little more than a trophy in this room—Logan’s trophy. Patch’s pretty little thing. 

Hardly more than eye candy, little less than pornographic imagery—she’d quelled a few looks of new faces unaccustomed to the goings-on of this house, of its finer workings. Didn’t take much more than a sharp lift of her leg over the other, a nod of her chin towards the table—rare cases demanded she actually leave her perch at the bar and make an effort to fill in the program gaps. Coming up along his chair, lingering touches on his chest and shoulder—the occasional slow, sloppy kiss between hands of poker, blackjack. Little else drove the point home so deeply, coffins and nails.

 She’d only ever been broached by the brave who had never returned—most were warned. If not by circumstance, then by Magnolia y Pecado staff—she was off the table. A no-go. Off limits. Hands off, don’t touch the pretty thing who parts her legs for the man everyone in Madripoor knows as Patch. If they only knew of him what she does, they’d think so differently. 

‘All bets off when you’re mine, sugar.”

“Gracias, Dominic.” 

She doesn’t ask what it is, Dominic understands her taste. Quite the working relationship they’d developed over the months of her making this bar her second home. Always thrilled to see her but rarely surprised, Dominic worked twelve hour days. Five daughters, his adorable, busy-bee and as-sweet-as-honey wife expecting a hopeful son—the only friends she had in the city. Inés was responsible for half of her wardrobe decisions, much of her makeup. Often her rambunctious gaggle of ribbons-and-curls girls ran about this casino during business hours, passing time in the pool, in the gardens.

 Glass chilled between her fingers, she takes a light sip of the cocktail, brow lifting as the tropical kick spins around her tongue in a lovely zing that makes her smile. Lifting it, she takes a bolder sip, “That’s brilliant, Dominic,” her smile grows, and she wrinkles her nose, “what is it?” 

He chuckled, “Jungle bird,” beginning to vigorously rub at a stain in the grains of the wood, “clarificada—clear. Mi amor’s only drink,” winking at her, his smile is bright but quickly fades as his eye moves over her shoulder, tracking movement. 

All too suddenly, Dominic’s spine towers tall. Heart skipping for only a second, his movements become cut, slow. When he nods across the floor, chin lifting as his hands begin flying beneath the bar—effortlessly, she knows he prepares the familiar short glass. A distraction, certainly, but calculated.  She’d never understand his practiced anticipation of needs, but forever appreciate them, “Problema, mi Cariño,” his eyes cut over to her sharply, long pouring a multiple-seconds finger of Redbreast, “looks as if there’s trouble, Miss Patch.”

Miss Patch. Common amongst the staff, it carried a responsibility she wrestled with more than she’d be willing to admit—belonging to someone was a place she’d never imagined for herself, much less Logan, but the irony isn’t lost on her, either. Everything she’d never thought for herself, everything she’d ever fantasized in high fantasy and dreams—all one ball of wax, a bed of roses. 

Name not lost, her stomach flares with a pinprick of alarm, heat spreading through her blood despite the pebbles of chill racing across her skin. Glancing over her shoulder, she tucks her chin. Tracking, eyes skirting the game currently underway at the long, gorgeous felt table. Remnant’s of Dominic’s Jungle Bird sings on her tongue, punching low in her stomach a sort of sweet that almost stings, watching Logan at the head of the table begin slipping out of his expensive suit jacket. 

The slightest glance over his shoulder is all the greenlight she needs, dark hair glinting almost sapphire under the right lights, the trembling wire of tension in the air. Nearly misses his hand at the side of the chair, fingers snapping for her to come hither. 

Taking the Redbreast between her fingers, her own drink in hand, her little sigh is amused. Follows a light chuckle, there’s a breathlessness she can’t quite put a finger on. The idea of being summoned isn’t all that distasteful—it’s wicked, what it does to the depths of her womb. 

“And there’s my cue.” The smile she cuts to Dominic is wry, words dismissive, almost airy—something is off at the table. She can see it in the shifting eyes of the men across the felt, the way Logan rolls a shoulder. 

Steely tension snaps at the air like a rabid wolf, hungry and slavering as it devours any sense of control she feels, usually, with the man she knows as Wolverine so near to heart. Usually he keeps a good handle on things—and he maybe does, maybe this is deliberate. But the precipice feels shaky, being on the outside looking in— like balancing on a livewire above swirling oceans. 

Slipping from her stool, her hand smooths over the satin of the gown, bending slightly to straighten material teasing the floor around her feet in a tastefully cocktail,  elegant train. Foot over foot she minds the height of her heels, floorspace between the bar and table vanishing beneath her approach. 

Another small drink, eyes drifting over the table—her nail gently ting, ting, tings against his glass between loose fingers. Meeting the gaze of men whose attention lifts to her arriving at Logan’s side is easy, all she has to do is offer a teasing, flirtatious upturn of his lips. Of doe-eyed light and oh, hi. Easily she offers the cool Redbreast, gently nudging it against the back of his hand as her hip comes to rest against his chair—Logan’s attention doesn’t cut from the study of his cards, brow lifted, easily. 

Unmoving, chuckling across the table lifts her gaze over the rim of her glass as she teases her drink for a second time. “My my, Patch, my friend — pretty little thing you’ve got there, at your beck and call,” she sums him up quickly, falling back in his chair. Shifting his hips forward, like he’s got a twitch in his dick at the sight of her dipping backline, “You are one surprising sonuvabitch, I’ll give you that.” Wolf whistle off his words accompany the  shake of his head, eyes lingering over the curve of her hip longer than necessary. “Pretty things here, in Madripoor—where can I find one’a you, honey?” 

“Didn’t think there were any more like me,” she counters with a little giggle, winking at him. Her hand comes to rest on Logan’s shoulder, tracing the hard line of muscle beneath his milkwhite shirt. Teases along until her hand gently curves along his chest, between the unfastened buttons, “Thought I was limited edition.” Dropping low, her lipstick catches the bristle of Logan’s beard in a slow, heavy kiss to his jawline, sharp eyes holding the man fully entranced with her show across the felt of the table, “Gotta pay to play, huh, baby?”

 Bodies around the table shift uncomfortably, the man to Logan’s left practically on the verge of either an aneurysm or cardiac arrest, either is possible considering the size of his beer gut and the unhealthy sweat soaking into the band of his Stetson hat—Texas, mogul. Married, probably. Or at least feeling a level of guilt. The man to their right, complete in a look that’s so Miami it hurts—designer white pants, loafers. What appears to be a silk shirt tucked in, unbuttoned, in a flamingo pink that’s so ambitious it makes her smile. She couldn’t even determine his eye color, his eyes were still welded on the swell of her ass. 

They’re so easy, men. One look at a pretty thing, a little batting of the eyes — they were so painfully predictable, Logan had been right. He’d taught her everything about this game, this back-and-forth. How to make them drool, how to make them ache, to worship at her feet. The perfect equalizer, the best distraction—give them what they don’t know they want, “And all their walls come crumblin’ down, honey—that’s what you do.” If he weren’t a better man—if Logan weren’t hers, he’d be eating out her palm just as much as any of them. 

But she belonged to him, a tight leash she shortened seemingly by night. 

“All depends on the game,” he bites at his lower lip, “what’s my grand prize, mi amor?”  He butchers Spanish almost as badly as he butchers atmospheres, and it would make her chuckle, the way he masks his obvious desire behind a hand rubbing around his mouth. Instead it just makes her roll her eyes, tease her nails along Logan’s chest hair carefully beneath his shirt. Heat pummels off of him like a locomotive, even with his jacket shedded. “You like to play games, do ya, sweet thing?” 

Logan’s gaze snaps up from his cards, viciously. Beastially. 

“Easy, bub. Ain’t nice to fuck with another man’s property.”  

It rumbles low, wolfishly in his chest. Sharp chill launches down her spine like a needle, injecting poisons into her veins that begin to melt her self control. Logan rarely ever labeled her so basely in front of other men—it was not his routine. He had, in other times, when context demanded he whip out his dick for measure— she didn’t have details. Admittedly she’d been too distracted with Dominic and drink tasting throughout the night to pay attention to this game, to know if Logan had anything working over this gig. All she knew was from what little pillow talk he’d offered this morning, after burying his cock nearly to her ribs and rearranging her abdominal cavity.

Information. Information, baby—it’s all about connections. And oh—that’s right. It tracks around her brain in a sharp, white-hot loop. Information, Logan wants information. 

 A patch may well cover most of the animation of his eyes, but it is evident, the darkness—leers like a predator, hunting. Watching. The corner of his mouth ticks up, muscle in his jaw pulling as he eases back into his chair, loosens a shoulder. Logan may as well scent this man’s blood and call it a day, she thinks, but instead his quicksilver smile grows as the man puts down his cards in front of him, resting elbows on the table. 

“Ease up there, ace,” his hands open in a slow arc of easy, I’m-just-playing settle-down, “Only teasin’.” His accent is remarkably unbalanced, a little of something she doesn’t know, more of a part of the world she’d never heard. Logan takes his drink from her hand, tosses it back sharply, and the glass finds the table with a harder-than-necessary crack, “You payin’ to see my cards or what, old man?” 

“Keep your dick on, would ya?” Logan grabs her hand from between the buttons of his shirt, prompts her forward with a sharp tug, Jungle Bird in her hand upset like a child’s bathwater. And before she can think, Logan’s big hand grabs her chin tightly between thick fingers, “Kiss for luck, sugar?” His breath hot with whiskey sends her reeling, heat between her legs an inferno only ever matched at Vesuvius. 

God he was hot when he was pissed off and all possessive. 

A little nod of her head ticks up the corner of his mouth, his eye tracking down to the perfect curve of her mouth highlighted by lipstick the color of blood in her veins. A growling chuckle from the base of his ribs has him kissing her, deep and hard, tongue skipping along her bottom lip—in heartbeats he manages to make her breathless, every fiber burning as she shares his taste, allows him to rip a hungry little moan that knifes her right in the gut. 

“Tastes good,” he murmurs against her lips, “you’re doin’ so good.” 

Unsure whether to thank or bite him, she manages a small smile against his mouth while her hand skips low, to the low heat  between his legs. Nursing a semi nobody would ever suspect from otherworldly levels of cool-as-a-cucumber, her nails gently bite into the meat of his thigh. For a second his hiss skips her pulse, suddenly  at a loss against his mouth. 

Collecting quickly, “Trust me, baby,” and she adds the bite she knows he loves to her touch, “I know.” 

If anyone heard his barely-there, punched out groan, hell would sooner freeze. Satisfied with himself, he breaks first, giving her cheeks a rough squeeze before lightly shoving her away. A little proud, mostly for show. He’s mean in the best way possible, in the way she’s come to lust for. Treating her like a brat, worshipping the ground beneath her feet—it’s a delicate tango they do on the blades of alias and fun, of future and fortune. She’d come to crave it, a high she’d never escape. Laces adrenaline through her like a freight train, feels safe and dangerous all in one big ball of inexplicable, never-want-to-leave way. 

Swiping at the lipstick a kiss on his cheek has left behind, she throws an easy glance across the table to the three men who stare, nearly agog, at her. “Best of luck, gentlemen,” bending to kiss Logan’s cheek with a mock sugar sweetness almost too saccharine to be true, she tosses back the rest of her Jungle Bird.

“May the odds be never in your favor.” 

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