#logan howlett x original female character

[th3mrskory]

Chapter 8: Unfinished Business

Pairing: Original fem!Reader x Origins!Logan Warning: none.

A/N: Alright, here we are—Chapter 8. The one I’ve been lowkey (okay, highkey) dreading. If you’ve made it this far, first of all, I love you. Second, please remember that I write with love, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

This chapter is a lot. It shifts things, breaks things, and maybe hurts a little more than it should. Just know that every word was intentional, and no, I don’t take joy in your suffering (okay, maybe a little, but only in a writerly way).

So, deep breaths. Read when you’re ready. And if you need to yell at me afterward, my inbox is open.

Word count: 8.5k

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The cottage was filled with the quiet sounds of preparation—the faint click of a cassette case, the rustle of fabric as Evelyn folded clothes into her suitcase. Outside, the wind carried a bite that seeped into the wooden frame of the house, but inside, the warmth of the fire kept the chill at bay.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, silently watching her. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned over a plain henley, the leather jacket hanging from the back of a chair. His gaze was steady but soft, like he was taking in every detail to tuck it away for later.

“You really think all that’s gonna fit in one bag?” he asked, his voice low and carrying the faintest trace of amusement.

Evelyn glanced over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You’d be amazed at what I can cram into a suitcase.”

Logan raised a brow, pushing off the frame to walk closer. “Not sure I’d call it a skill worth braggin’ about.”

She rolled her eyes, returning to folding her clothes. “Well, excuse me, Mr. Minimalist. Not all of us can live out of a duffle bag.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands slipping into his jeans’ pockets as he glanced at the mixtapes stacked neatly beside her bag. “You takin’ all those with you, or you just makin’ it harder to close that thing?”

“They’re essentials,” she said, mock-serious as she tucked a couple into the suitcase. “I’m not about to risk getting stuck with my mom’s radio choices for a whole week.”

Logan smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Can’t blame you for that.”

The playful rhythm of their banter quieted as Evelyn zipped up the suitcase, the moment settling into something softer. Logan reached over to grab something from the arm of the couch—a thick, worn sweater—and held it out to her.

“Here,” he said, his voice lower now. “This’ll keep you warmer than whatever you got packed.”

Evelyn blinked, caught off guard by the simple gesture. She took the sweater, her fingers brushing his as their eyes met. “Logan, I can’t take this. It’s yours.”

“Yeah, and I’m tellin’ you to take it,” he replied, his tone gruff but not unkind. “Don’t argue. Just don’t forget to bring it back.”

Her chest tightened at the unspoken care in his voice. “Alright,” she said softly, folding the sweater and placing it on top of her suitcase.

When everything was packed, they walked out to her truck together, the cold air biting at their faces. Logan stayed close, his hand brushing against her lower back as they crossed the gravel.

As she opened the truck door, Logan lingered, leaning a shoulder against the frame. “You sure you’re good drivin’ this long on your own?”

Evelyn laughed softly, turning to face him. “Logan, it’s a few hours.”

“Doesn’t mean I gotta like it,” he muttered, his tone quiet but firm. His eyes locked on hers, and for a moment, the words he didn’t say filled the space between them.

She smiled, stepping closer. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll call when I get there, okay?”

Logan’s hand came up, brushing against her arm before moving to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly along her skin. “You better,” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

Before she could respond, he leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was slow and steady, as though he was trying to say everything he couldn’t put into words. Her hand came up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

When they finally broke apart, she exhaled softly, her forehead resting against his. “You’re making it really hard to leave, you know that?”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, his smirk returning. “Good. Might make you think twice about goin’ next time.”

She rolled her eyes, stepping back with a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” he replied, his tone teasing but his eyes warm.

Climbing into the truck, Evelyn started the engine, the rumble breaking the stillness of the moment. As she pulled away, Logan tapped the roof lightly, his hand lingering there for a second longer than necessary. He watched her until the taillights disappeared down the winding road, the cold air biting at his skin as he stood there, alone but somehow content.

The road stretched out before Evelyn, the winter sun casting long shadows across the frost-dusted trees. The faint hum of the cassette player filled the cab, a mixtape she’d thrown together for the drive keeping her company. But even with her favorite songs spinning through the speakers, her mind drifted back to Logan—the warmth in his gaze, the rough gentleness in his touch, and the way his smirk softened into something almost shy when she kissed him goodbye.

She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. He had a way of sticking with her, even when he wasn’t around.

The familiar sight of her parents’ house came into view, a two-story colonial tucked away in a quiet neighborhood. The front lawn was adorned with Christmas lights and a plastic Santa that had seen better days, its red suit faded by years of winter storms. Pulling into the driveway, Evelyn let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Home.

Stepping inside, Evelyn was immediately wrapped in the warm embrace of home. The living room smelled of pine and cinnamon, the Christmas tree shimmering with mismatched ornaments that had been collected over decades. Her dad sat cross-legged in front of the TV, muttering under his breath as he fiddled with the VCR. Meanwhile, her mom moved between the kitchen and the dining room, her apron streaked with flour and her hair pinned up in the way she always wore it when things got hectic.

“There she is!” her dad called out, looking up with a wide grin as Evelyn stepped into the room. “Thought you might’ve gotten lost on the way back.”

“Or decided not to come at all,” her mom added, bustling into the living room with a tray of cookies. Her eyes softened as she set the tray down on the coffee table. “How was the drive, sweetheart?”

“Long,” Evelyn admitted, shrugging off her coat. “But it’s good to be home.”

Her dad stood, dusting his hands off and pulling her into a brief but tight hug. “Glad you made it safe. Car still holding up?”

“Barely,” she joked, earning a laugh from him.

Her mom was next, wrapping Evelyn in a flour-scented embrace before stepping back to study her. “You look good,” she said, her tone both approving and surprised. “The fresh air out there must be doing wonders.”

“It helps,” Evelyn replied with a small smile. “How’s everything been here?”

“Oh, you know,” her dad said, gesturing to the VCR. “Just trying to keep up with the latest technology. This thing refuses to cooperate.”

Her mom rolled her eyes. “He’s been saying that about every gadget we’ve had since the coffee maker broke in ‘68.”

The light-hearted conversation drifted into updates on family friends, neighborhood gossip, and holiday plans. Her mom filled her in on the latest drama from the church choir, while her dad complained about the new neighbors who always parked too close to his driveway.

The comforting aroma of roasted turkey, buttery mashed potatoes, and freshly baked rolls filled the kitchen as Evelyn tied an apron around her waist. Her mom stood at the counter, chopping carrots with precise movements, while her dad rummaged through a cabinet, muttering under his breath about the missing gravy boat.

“You sure you’re up for peeling these?” her mom asked, nodding toward the bowl of potatoes on the table.

“I think I can handle it,” Evelyn replied with a teasing smile as she picked up the peeler. “It’s not rocket science, mom.”

Her dad turned from the cabinet, holding up the gravy boat triumphantly. “Found it! Knew it wasn’t lost.”

Her mom shook her head with a fond smile. “You always say that, dear.”

“Because I’m always right,” he shot back, winking at Evelyn as he set the boat on the counter. “How’s that cottage of yours holding up? Pipes not freezing, I hope.”

“Not yet,” Evelyn replied, focusing on the potato in her hand. “Logan’s been helping me keep it in shape. Fixed the roof, patched up some leaks...”

“So,” she began casually, though her tone betrayed her eagerness. “How’s life been out there? Are you settling in okay?”

Evelyn nodded, her fingers playing with the edge of her sweater. “Yeah, it’s been good. Quiet, but... good.”

“And the town?” her dad asked, leaning against the armrest. “People treating you alright?”

“They are,” Evelyn said with a faint smile. “It’s a nice place. Small, but the kind of small where everyone knows everyone.”

Her mom’s eyes narrowed slightly, a glint of teasing in her expression. “And Logan? How’s he treating you?”

“Mom,” Evelyn said, her cheeks warming.

“What?” her mom replied innocently, her hands spreading wide. “We’ve heard all about this Logan—well, from Martha mostly—but we haven’t met him yet. We’re allowed to be curious.”

Before Evelyn could reply, a familiar voice chimed in from the couch. “Good point, Mrs. Bennette,” Martha teased, leaning back with a knowing smirk. “I’m starting to think you made him up just to keep us guessing.”

“Martha!” Evelyn exclaimed, her face lighting up as she turned to see her best friend leaning against the doorframe with a mischievous grin.

“I mean, is he a man or a myth? Because I’m starting to think she made him up.” said Martha playfully.

Rolling her eyes, Evelyn set the peeler down. “He’s real. He’s just busy this time of year.”

“Busy chopping wood?!?” Martha teased, earning a laugh from her dad.

Her dad laughed. “Now that’s a proper job.”

“Actually, yes,” Evelyn replied, pulling off her apron. “Now, if you’re done making jokes...”

“Not a chance,” Martha said, leaning against the counter, a smile tugging at her lips. “Speaking of Logan, I thought he’d have come with you. But hey, do you have a picture of him? We’ve heard so much about him, but we need the proof before I can say he’s real.”

Evelyn hesitated for a moment before reaching into her bag. She pulled out the polaroid she had taken of Logan and handed it over. 

Martha let out a low whistle. “Well, well, well. You weren’t exaggerating. He looks like he stepped out of a western.”

Her dad leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the photo. “Looks like he knows his way around an ax.”

“Oh, he does,” Evelyn said, her smile softening.

Her mom took the photo, studying it closely before handing it back. “Alright. He passes the first test. But we still want to meet him.”

“You will,” Evelyn promised, tucking the photo back into her bag.

“Good,” her mom replied. “Because we just want to make sure he’s the real deal. Especially after... you know.”

Martha nudged her. “When’s the wedding?”

“Oh, stop,” Evelyn said, laughing.

The laughter and teasing flowed effortlessly as dinner approached. The dining room was warm and inviting, illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight reflecting off garlands draped along the edges of the table. Plates of roasted turkey, buttery mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, and cranberry sauce were passed around as conversations overlapped in the way only family meals could.

“Alright, so what’s new with the neighbors?” Evelyn asked, spearing a bite of turkey.

Her dad rolled his eyes dramatically. “New folks moved in last month, parked their moving truck right across our driveway for two hours. Two. Hours.”

Her mom sighed, shaking her head. “Oh, leave them alone, Frank. They’re nice kids.”

“Kids who don’t know how to park,” her dad muttered, earning a chuckle from Evelyn.

Across the table, Martha chimed in. “Still better than the guy who let his dog dig up your flowerbeds last year.”

“Don’t remind me,” her mom said, groaning. “That man owes me an apology—and a hydrangea.”

The lighthearted banter carried on, giving Evelyn a moment to soak it all in. It wasn’t just the conversation or the food—it was the feeling of being surrounded by people who knew her so deeply, even the parts she tried to keep hidden.

The fire in the living room crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls. It was late, the kind of quiet that only settled after a long day. Evelyn and Martha were cocooned under a heavy knit blanket, their mugs of cocoa sending curls of steam into the cool air. Bing Crosby crooned softly from the record player, a fitting backdrop for the cozy scene.

Martha took a sip of her cocoa, her mischievous grin already in place. “Alright, enough stalling. You and Logan. Speak.”

Evelyn groaned, tilting her head back against the couch. “Why did I know this was coming?”

“Because I’m me, and you knew I wouldn’t let you off the hook.” Martha set her mug down on the coffee table, turning to face her with an expectant look. “So, what’s the deal? I need details. Is he as rugged and mysterious as the picture made him look?”

A smile tugged at Evelyn’s lips as she swirled the cocoa in her mug. “He’s... everything I didn’t know I needed. He’s steady, patient, and...”

“And?” Martha arched a brow, leaning closer. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

Evelyn exhaled, her voice softening. “And he makes me feel safe.”

The teasing faded from Martha’s expression, replaced by something warmer, more sincere. “That’s good, babe. That’s really good.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of those words settling between them. Martha reached for her mug again, taking a slow sip before breaking the stillness. “So... have things gotten serious yet? You know, serious?”

Evelyn nearly choked on her cocoa, setting the mug down hastily. “Martha!”

“What? It’s a fair question!” Martha held up her hands, feigning innocence. “I mean, you’ve been seeing this guy for months now, and from what I can tell, he’s the real deal. So, have you...?”

Evelyn shook her head, her cheeks warming. “We’re taking it slow.”

“Slow as in...?”

“Slow as in I want to be sure.” Evelyn picked at the edge of the blanket, her voice quiet but firm. “After everything with... you know who, I can’t just rush into something like this. I need to know it’s real.”

Martha nodded, her teasing replaced by understanding. “And he’s okay with that?”

“He is.” A small smile crept across Evelyn’s face. “He’s patient. He doesn’t push. He just... gets it.”

“Sounds like a keeper to me.” Martha leaned back, propping her feet up on the coffee table. “But don’t let your nerves mess this up. The guy sounds like he’s crazy about you.”

Evelyn let out a soft laugh, her fingers tracing the edge of her mug. “I think I’m falling for him.”

“You think?” Martha shot her a look. “Babe, you’re head over heels, and everyone but you can see it.”

“That’s what scares me,” Evelyn admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What if I get it wrong again?”

Martha reached over, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not getting it wrong. Not this time. This Logan guy? He sounds like he’s in it for the long haul. And from what you’ve told me, he’s exactly what you deserve.”

Evelyn blinked back the sting of tears, nodding slowly. “Thanks, Martha.”

“Always.” Martha leaned back with a content sigh. “Now, do me a favor and bring him around next time, okay? I need to see if he lives up to the hype in person.”

Evelyn chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.” Martha shot her a wink, pulling the blanket tighter around them.

As the fire burned low and the record spun to its final song, Evelyn felt the tentative stirrings of hope. Maybe this Christmas wasn’t just about coming home. Maybe it was about finding a new one, too.

The bedroom was dim, the moonlight spilling through the curtains casting faint silver streaks across the walls. Evelyn shifted restlessly under the covers, her thoughts chasing themselves in endless circles. She missed Logan—his steady presence, his warm touch, the way his voice had a way of grounding her when her mind wandered too far.

Her gaze drifted to the rotary phone on the nightstand. The pull to hear his voice was stronger than her hesitation, and before she could second-guess herself, she reached for the receiver and dialed the number.

The line rang a few times before a familiar gruff voice answered, tinged with sleep but still unmistakably him.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me,” she whispered, feeling her cheeks warm even though he couldn’t see her. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

A soft huff of amusement came through the line. “No. What’s on your mind?”

She hesitated for a moment, twisting the cord around her fingers. “I just... couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe talking to you might help.”

There was a pause on the other end, and she could almost picture him sitting up in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always did. “Missin’ me already?” he teased lightly, though the warmth in his voice sent a soothing ache through her chest.

“Maybe,” she admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. “How about you?”

“Wouldn’t be answering the phone at this hour if I wasn’t,” Logan replied, the hint of a smirk audible in his tone.

She laughed softly, the tension in her chest loosening slightly. “My parents and Martha have been asking about you, you know. You’re kind of a big deal around here now.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice carried a lazy curiosity. “What’re they sayin’?”

“Well, my mom wants to know when you’re coming to meet them,” she said, her smile widening. “And Martha... she was pretty convinced I made you up until I showed them the Polaroid.”

“The Polaroid?” Logan’s voice shifted, a touch of playful exasperation creeping in. 

“Yes, that one,” she replied, grinning. 

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Didn’t know I was on display.”

“You weren’t,” she teased. “It’s just... they’re curious. My mom said you pass the first test, by the way. But they still want to meet you.”

“Figured as much,” he said, his voice softer now. “How’d you handle all the questions?”

“I survived,” she said, letting out a small laugh. “But I think they’re just worried. After everything that happened... they just want to make sure I’m okay. And that I’m not making a mistake.”

Logan was quiet for a moment before speaking, his tone steady but filled with quiet conviction. “You’re not makin’ a mistake, darlin’. Not with me.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, all the noise in her mind faded, leaving only the sound of his voice. “I know,” she said softly. “But hearing you say it helps.”

“Good,” he replied. “’Cause I mean it.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the hum of the line connecting them across the miles. Finally, Logan spoke again, his voice tinged with amusement. “Anything else you wanna tell me? Or you just callin’ to butter me up?”

“Actually,” she said, smiling, “I just missed you. And the sound of your voice.”

“Yeah, well,” Logan said, his voice low and warm, “you keep talkin’ like that, you’ll have me drivin’ out there tonight.”

She laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. “I’d better let you get some sleep, then.”

“You sure?” he asked, his tone softening.

“I’m sure,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, Evelyn,” he murmured. “Call if you need me. Anytime.”

As the call ended, she set the receiver back on the cradle, her heart feeling lighter. Pulling the blankets up to her chin, she closed her eyes, the memory of his voice lingering in the stillness.

The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the furnace and the occasional clatter of dishes as Evelyn moved through the kitchen. She’d been trying to keep herself busy, but her thoughts kept drifting—to Logan, to the cottage, and to how strange it felt to be back in her childhood home for so long.  

Her mother’s soft cough echoed from the living room, pulling her from her thoughts. Peeking around the corner, Evelyn saw her mom bundled under a quilt, her head resting against the arm of the couch. Her dad was in his armchair, snoring lightly, the TV playing a muted rerun of a Christmas movie.  

Evelyn smiled faintly before stepping back into the kitchen. She was just about to start chopping the rest of the carrots when the phone rang, startling her. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and picked up the receiver, the old rotary clicking slightly as she adjusted her grip.  

“Hello?”  

“Hey,” Logan’s voice rumbled on the other end, warm and steady. “Caught you at a bad time?”  

The tension in her shoulders eased immediately, a smile tugging at her lips. “Not at all. How are you?”  

“Still in one piece,” he replied, his tone light but tinged with something softer. Figured I’d check in, see how Christmas went.”

Evelyn glanced toward the living room, where her dad sat fiddling with the knobs on the TV, and her mom rested on the couch with a blanket draped over her lap. “It was nice. Quiet. A little different, though, being back here for so long.”

“Different good or different bad?” Logan asked.

“Good,” she said quickly, then hesitated. “Mostly good. Just... takes some getting used to.”

Logan hummed in understanding. “Glad you made it through, anyway.”

“What about you?” she asked, her voice softening. “How was yours?”

“Spent it with Pete and his family,” he said, the faintest hesitation in his voice. “His wife insisted I stay for dinner. Kids roped me into playin’ some board game. Don’t ask me what it was—I’m pretty sure they made up half the rules as they went.”

She laughed softly, picturing Logan sitting awkwardly at a cluttered table, kids climbing over him while he tried to make sense of the chaos. “Sounds like you were the life of the party.”

“Hardly,” he muttered, but there was a faint chuckle beneath his words. “Pete’s wife sent me home with leftovers, though. Guess I didn’t screw up her kitchen too bad when I was helpin’ her cook.”

“You cooked?” Evelyn asked, her eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Mostly peelin’ potatoes,” Logan admitted. “But she didn’t throw me out, so I’ll call it a win.”

Evelyn shook her head, grinning. “Sounds like you had a better time than you’re letting on.”

“Maybe,” he said, and for a moment, there was a quiet warmth in his voice that made her chest tighten.  

Evelyn’s smile softened, her heart giving a small, unsteady thud. “And the cottage? Holding up without me?”  

“It’s lonely,” Logan teased, though there was a hint of truth in his words. “Roof’s still got that damn leak, but I’ll take care of it.”  

“Maybe it’s waiting for me to come back,” she quipped, though her voice faltered slightly at the end.  

“Could be,” Logan said, and for a moment, his tone shifted—deeper, more certain.  

She hesitated, her fingers twisting the phone cord as she tried to put her feelings into words. “I miss it,” she admitted softly. “Miss you.”  

There was a beat of silence, heavy but not uncomfortable. When Logan spoke again, his voice was quieter, rougher. “Same here.”  

Evelyn exhaled slowly, glancing toward the doorway to make sure no one was listening. “How’s everything else? Are the guys at the site keeping you in line?”  

Logan huffed a quiet laugh. “As much as they can. They’ve been askin’ about you, though. Wonderin’ when you’re comin’ back.”  

“Tell them I’ll be back in a couple of days,” she teased, her smile widening.  

“They’ll like that,” Logan said, a faint smirk in his tone.  

The conversation drifted for a while—Logan asking about her parents, Evelyn filling him in on her mom’s slow recovery and the small, familiar chaos of being back home. But as the minutes ticked by, the weight of her absence grew heavier.  

“If it gets too much,” Logan said suddenly, his voice low and steady, “you call me. Don’t care what time it is.”  

Her breath caught at the quiet conviction in his words. “Logan...”  

“Just sayin’,” he added, his tone softening. “You don’t gotta do all this on your own.”  

The lump in her throat grew tighter, but she swallowed it down, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.”  

“Don’t gotta thank me,” Logan replied. “Just come back when you’re ready.”  

“I will,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I promise.”  

“Good,” he said simply. “Take care of yourself, alright?”  

“You too,” she whispered.  

When the call ended, she stood there for a moment, the receiver still warm in her hand. Setting it down gently, she pressed her palm against her chest, trying to steady the ache blooming there.  

Logan’s voice lingered in her mind long after the dial tone faded, his quiet reassurance wrapping around her like a blanket.  

The morning was brisk, the kind of winter chill that clung to your skin and settled in your bones. Logan, Pete, and Rick were on the roof of Evelyn’s cottage, bundled in thick flannels and jackets. The sound of hammers and scraping metal filled the air as they worked in a steady rhythm, shingles and nails in hand.

Logan paused for a moment, scanning the roofline for any weak spots. His expression was focused, but there was a tension in his movements that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his coworkers.

“This place is coming together,” Pete said, wiping his brow and glancing at Logan. “She’s gonna love it when she gets back.”

Logan grunted in response, driving another nail into the shingle in front of him.

Rick climbed up the ladder, carrying another bundle of shingles. “You’ve been awfully quiet today, Howlett. Something on your mind?”

“Nope,” Logan replied, though the sharpness in his tone suggested otherwise.

Pete smirked, leaning on his hammer. “Come on, man. We’ve known you long enough to know when something’s eating at you. Let me guess—it’s her.”

Logan shot him a look, but Pete just grinned. “Thought so,” he said. “What’s the problem? Trouble in paradise?”

“No,” Logan said sharply, then softened. “She’s just... not here. Staying with her parents for a while.”

Rick leaned against the truck, crossing his arms. “And you’re what? Pining?”

Pete laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Shut it,” Logan muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

Rick raised an eyebrow, studying Logan for a moment before smirking. “You miss her.”

Logan didn’t respond, but the slight tension in his shoulders was answer enough.

Pete clapped him on the back. “So, go see her.”

“It’s not that simple,” Logan said, his voice low.

“Why not?” Rick asked, genuinely curious. “You’re over here fixing up her cottage like it’s your full-time job. Might as well check in on her while you’re at it.”

Logan hesitated, his jaw tightening. “She’s with her family. It’s not my place to just show up unannounced.”

Rick snorted. “You’re kidding, right? You’re the guy she calls when there’s a busted pipe or a leaky roof. If anyone’s got a place, it’s you.”

“Besides,” Pete added, grinning, “you’re not exactly the flowers-and-candy type. Showing up’s probably the most romantic thing you could do.”

Rick sat down on the edge of the roof, pulling off his gloves. “Seems to me like you’re overthinking it. If she’s been talking about you to her folks—and let’s be honest, she has—they’d probably be happy to meet you.”

Logan’s grip on the hammer tightened, but he kept working.

Pete chuckled, crossing his arms. “You don’t even know where she is, do you?”

Logan shot him a warning look, but Pete just laughed harder.

“All this time, you’re patching up her place, missing her like crazy, and you don’t even know how to find her.”.Pete said.

Logan didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the roofline.

“Bet there’s something in the house with her parents’ address on it,” Rick said casually, glancing toward the open window below. “Mail, a note—anything.”

Logan finally set down his hammer, wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’re here to fix the roof, not go digging through her stuff.”

“Relax, no one’s saying snoop,” Pete said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But if it were me, I’d want to know where to find her. Just in case.”

Logan exhaled sharply, standing and stretching his shoulders. “Roof’s almost done. Let’s finish it up.”

But as he climbed down the ladder to grab more supplies, his eyes drifted toward the kitchen window. The thought of finding her address lingered in his mind, a quiet pull he couldn’t quite shake.

The late morning sun cast long shadows across the cottage as Logan stepped inside for a moment to grab more supplies.He brushed his hands on his flannel, his boots clunking softly against the floor as he moved toward the kitchen.

The countertop was cluttered with the usual—mugs, an old notebook, a pair of gloves Evelyn had left behind. As Logan reached for the tool bucket by the sink, his eyes caught sight of an envelope tucked partially under the corner of a cookbook.

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly as he pulled it free. The envelope had her family’s last name neatly written on it, along with an address.

He turned it over in his hands, his thumb brushing against the edge. His gaze lingered on the handwriting for a moment before he exhaled, setting it back down on the counter.

But something about it stuck with him.

“You find the shingles?” Pete called from outside, his voice muffled through the walls.

Logan grabbed the bucket and headed back out, the cold air hitting him like a wall.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, setting the tools down near the ladder.

Pete and Rick were leaning against the side of the truck, sharing a thermos of coffee. Pete raised an eyebrow when Logan approached. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Logan shot him a pointed look but didn’t respond.

Rick, ever the observer, glanced between them. “Let me guess. You found something?”

“No,” Logan said sharply, but Pete wasn’t buying it.

“What was it? A love letter?” Pete teased, smirking.

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he muttered under his breath as he grabbed another bundle of shingles.

“Come on, man,” Pete said, chuckling. “If it’s something that’ll get you closer to her, maybe you oughta take the chance.”

Logan paused, one hand on the ladder. He didn’t look at either of them as he said, “It’s her parents’ address.”

Rick let out a low whistle. “Well, there’s your answer.”

Logan climbed back up to the roof without another word, his mind racing even as his hands worked mechanically. The idea of showing up unannounced wasn’t sitting right with him, but the thought of seeing her—making sure she was okay—was something he couldn’t shake.

The workday wrapped up with the sun dipping low, casting a golden glow over the yard. Logan stood by the truck, rolling up his sleeves as Pete and Rick packed up the last of the tools.

“So, you gonna do it?” Pete asked, leaning against the tailgate with a grin.

Logan glanced at him, his brow furrowed. “Do what?”

“Go see her,” Rick said, smirking. 

Logan exhaled, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right, showing up unannounced.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “It’s Christmas, Howlett. If now’s not the time for grand gestures, when is?”

Rick nodded in agreement. “Worst-case scenario, her dad hates you. Best case? You get to spend a few days with the woman you’re crazy about.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You two don’t quit, do you?”

“Not when we’re right,” Pete said, grinning.

Logan climbed into the truck, his thoughts swirling as he started the engine. As the truck rumbled to life, Pete leaned in through the open window. “You’ll thank us later.”

Logan didn’t reply, but as he pulled out of the driveway, a faint smirk tugged at his lips. The idea of seeing her—of finally meeting her family—wasn’t as impossible as it had seemed just hours ago.

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the bare trees, casting long shadows across the snow-covered lawn of her parents’ house. Evelyn had just finished stacking firewood along the side of the house when the low hum of a car engine broke the quiet. Wiping her hands on her coat, she turned to see a sleek, black sedan pulling into the driveway.

Her stomach dropped as the car door opened, and a figure she never thought she’d see again stepped out. William.

“Are you kidding me?” she muttered under her breath, yanking off her gloves and storming toward him.

He flashed her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nice to see you too, Evie.”

“Don’t call me that. What are you doing here?” she snapped, keeping her voice low but firm.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, his breath puffing in the cold air. “Heard your mom was under the weather. Thought I’d stop by and see how she’s doing.”

She glared at him, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “You ‘heard’? From who?”

“It’s a small town,” he replied smoothly, leaning casually against his car. “People talk.”

“You have no right to be here,” she said, her voice sharper now. “My family doesn’t want to see you. I don’t want to see you.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone softening as he took a small step closer. “Because the last time I checked, we had years together, Evelyn. I know I messed up, but does that really mean you want to erase all of it?”

She flinched, his words landing like a slap. “You didn’t just mess up. You humiliated me in front of everyone I cared about, and then disappeared like a coward. There’s no fixing that.”

His expression wavered, and for a moment, she thought she saw something genuine in his eyes—regret, maybe, or guilt. But then he took another step closer, his voice dropping to a softer, more calculated tone.

“I’ve been trying to move on,” he said quietly. “But every time I think I’m getting there, I think of you. I miss us, Evelyn.”

Her throat tightened, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in her chest. She opened her mouth to respond, to push him further away, but the words got stuck.

He took the hesitation as an opening, reaching out to gently touch her arm. “I’m sorry for what I did. If I could take it back, I would.I’m here now.”

She shook her head, her voice trembling. “You can’t just show up here and expect me to forget everything you put me through. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I’m not asking you to forget,” he said, stepping even closer. “I’m asking for a second chance.”

Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them and leaned in. His lips brushed against hers softly, tentatively, and for a split second, she didn’t move.

Her mind raced, a chaotic storm of emotions swirling in her chest. The shock of the moment rooted her to the spot, but just as quickly as it started, she shoved him back, her voice trembling with anger.

The sound of footsteps crunching against the snow made her whirl around. Rounding the corner of the house, Logan came into view, his broad frame taut with tension as he took in the scene before him.

His gaze locked on hers for a brief moment before flicking to her ex-fiancé. His expression was unreadable—stone-faced, his jaw set tightly—but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that made her stomach drop.

“Logan,” she breathed, panic surging through her chest.

Her ex-fiancé’s voice broke through the haze, dripping with false charm. “Well, well,” he said, his smirk cutting like a knife. “Is this the infamous boyfriend? Saw you at the fair. Figured I’d see what all the fuss was about.”

“Logan,” Evelyn said softly, her voice shaking as she took a step toward him. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, torn between relief at his presence and terror at what he must think. “This isn’t—”

Logan’s gaze moved from her ex to her, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those eyes she had come to trust so deeply—were shadowed with something raw. Hurt. Disbelief.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, his voice calm but cold. He stayed where he was, his boots crunching on the snow-covered driveway. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Yes, you should have,” she said, her voice rising, almost desperate. “Logan, this isn’t what it looks like. He just showed up, and—”

“Seems like bad timing,” her ex interrupted with a smirk, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets. He glanced at Logan, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “But you’ve got to admit, it’s a little funny. You showing up right now.”

“Shut up!” she snapped, spinning on him. “You’ve done enough damage.”

Logan didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but the way his jaw tightened was like a hammer to her chest. He was standing so still, so composed, but she could feel the weight of his silence.

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said finally, his voice so quiet it felt like a blade slicing through the cold. “I shouldn’t have come unannounced.”

“Logan, no,” she pleaded, stepping closer to him. Tears burned her eyes, but she forced herself to keep looking at him. “Don’t go. Please, don’t go.”

But Logan just shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Take care of yourself, Evelyn,” he said, turning back toward his truck.

“Logan!” she cried, reaching for him, her voice breaking. “Please, I—”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back. The door slammed shut behind him, and the truck roared to life. She stood frozen, helpless, as he drove off.

As the taillights disappeared down the road, the silence left behind was suffocating.

Her ex let out a low chuckle, his voice grating against her frayed nerves. “Well, that went about as expected. I guess he wasn’t—”

“Shut up!” she screamed, the words ripping from her throat as she turned on him. Her hands shoved him hard, her fury exploding like a dam breaking.

He stumbled back, his cocky smirk faltering for the first time. “Whoa, hey—”

“Get out!” she yelled, her voice raw and trembling. Tears streamed down her face as she shoved him again, harder this time. “Get out of here! You’ve ruined enough!”

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender. But his eyes hardened as he straightened. “Jesus you’re overreacting.”

Her chest heaved as she glared at him, her voice shaking with fury. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to show up here and ruin my life again!”

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at her with something akin to surprise. Then, without another word, he climbed into his car and drove off, the headlights casting long, mocking shadows across the driveway as he disappeared into the night.

And then it hit her. The weight of it all crashed down on her shoulders, and she collapsed to her knees in the snow, her sobs tearing through the stillness.

“Logan,” she whispered brokenly, the word slipping from her lips like a prayer. But the night swallowed her voice, leaving her alone in the icy darkness.

The sound of the front door opening was muffled by her cries, but the warmth of her father’s hand on her shoulder brought her back to the moment.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, kneeling beside her in the snow. His voice was steady, calm, but there was a deep concern in his tone that only a father could carry. “Come here.”

Before she could protest, he pulled her into a tight hug, his strong arms wrapping around her as if to shield her from the world. The warmth of his embrace broke something loose inside her, and she clung to him, her tears soaking into the fabric of his coat.

“I ruined everything,” she choked out, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “He’s gone. He—he thinks I...” Her words dissolved into sobs, her body shaking in his hold.

Her father held her tighter, his hand smoothing over her hair in a soothing rhythm. “No, sweetheart. You didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured firmly. “This isn’t the end. Not by a long shot.”

“But, Dad,” she cried, her voice breaking, “he saw... he saw that, and I—”

“Shh,” he interrupted gently, leaning back just enough to look her in the eyes. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “Listen to me, okay? Whatever happened, it’s not the end of the world. You care about him, right?”

She nodded, her breath hitching.

“Then you’ll fix this,” he said simply, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “Logan’s a good man, from everything you’ve told us. He’s not going to walk away from you over a misunderstanding. You’ll explain it to him, and he’ll see what we see.”

Her lip quivered, fresh tears threatening to spill over. “What if it’s too late?”

“It’s not too late,” he said firmly, his grip on her steadying her as she wavered. “Sometimes things get messy, but if this man cares for you even half as much as you care for him, he’ll listen. He’ll come back. You just need to give it time.”

The certainty in his words was a balm to her frayed nerves, and though her heart still ached, she felt a small flicker of hope light up in the darkness.

Her father pulled her into another hug, his chin resting on top of her head. “You’re strong, kiddo,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve been through worse than this, and you’ve always come out the other side. This time won’t be any different.”

She clung to him, her tears beginning to slow as the weight of his words settled in her chest. His presence, solid and unwavering, reminded her that she wasn’t alone in this.

Finally, he pulled back, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Now, come inside,” he said gently. “You’re freezing, and I’m not about to let you catch your death out here.”

She managed a shaky nod, her legs unsteady as he helped her to her feet. Together, they walked back toward the house, her father keeping a steadying arm around her as they stepped into the warmth of home.

The pain was still there, raw and unyielding, but her father’s words gave her something to hold onto—a promise that things could, and would, get better.

As the door closed behind them, the warmth of the house wrapped around Evelyn, but it did little to soothe the icy ache in her chest. Her father guided her to the couch, his arm still firmly around her shoulders. She sank into the cushions, her head bowed, and fresh tears threatened to spill again.

Her dad watched her for a moment, his expression torn. Then, with a deep sigh, he patted her hand. “Stay here,” he said gently. “I’ll be right back.”

Evelyn barely registered his words, her mind a storm of regret and panic. She buried her face in her hands, the memory of Logan’s face as he walked away replaying in her mind like a cruel loop.

In the kitchen, her father picked up the phone, his fingers pausing over the rotary dial before dialing a familiar number. The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

“Hello?” Martha’s voice was bright, but it quickly shifted to concern when she heard who it was. “Mr. Bennette? Is everything okay?”

“Not exactly,” he admitted, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard. “It’s about Evelyn. She’s... she’s not doing too well.”

“What happened?” Martha’s voice was sharp now, all traces of levity gone.

Her father explained in brief, measured tones—how her ex-fiancé had shown up, how things had spiraled, and how Logan had seen what he wasn’t supposed to see.

“She’s a mess, Martha,” he said finally, his voice heavy with worry. “I don’t think she’s in any shape to sort this out on her own, and she’s worried about leaving her mom.”

There was a pause on the line before Martha spoke again, her voice resolute. “I’m coming over.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Mr. Bennette,” Martha interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You know as well as I do that she’s not going to fix this while she’s here, stewing in her guilt. I’ll come and look after Mrs. Bennette. You just make sure she goes after Logan.”

He let out a slow, relieved breath. “Thank you, Martha. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Well, she owes me big for this,” Martha said, her tone softening just a bit. “I’ll be there in a couple of days. Make sure she’s packed and ready by then.”

When her dad returned to the living room, Evelyn hadn’t moved, still curled into herself on the couch. He crouched down in front of her, resting his hands on her knees.

“Martha’s coming,” he said gently.

Evelyn blinked at him, confusion flickering across her tear-streaked face. “Why? What for?”

“She’s going to help with your mom,” he explained, his voice steady but kind. “So you can go take care of something more important.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion.

“Logan,” he replied simply.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

“You need to go to him, sweetheart,” he continued. “He doesn’t deserve to be left hanging, thinking the worst. If what you told me about him is true, he’ll understand. But you’ve got to tell him the truth. In person.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again, and she shook her head. “What if it’s too late? What if... what if he doesn’t want to hear it?”

Her dad reached up, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “Then at least you’ll know you tried. But something tells me that man cares about you too much to walk away that easily. You just have to let him know you feel the same.”

The storm of emotions in her chest finally stilled as she stared at him. His words settled something deep within her, and after a moment, she nodded, determination flickering in her tear-filled eyes.

“I’ll go,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute.

Her dad gave her a small, proud smile. “That’s my girl.”

The following morning, Evelyn sat at the foot of her mother’s bed, a tray of tea and toast balanced on her lap. Her mother’s cheeks had regained some color, but her sharp gaze hadn’t dulled despite the fever.

“You look tired,” her mom said softly, taking a sip of tea.

“I’m fine,” Evelyn replied, offering a small smile. “Just worried about you.”

Her mother set the cup down on the tray, studying her daughter intently. “That’s not all, is it?”

Evelyn hesitated, her fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. “It’s nothing important.”

“It’s about him, isn’t it? Logan.”

The sound of his name sent a pang through her chest. She nodded slowly. “He... he saw something, something that wasn’t what it looked like. But he left before I could explain.”

Her mother reached out, her frail hand covering Evelyn’s. “Men like that don’t come around often. Don’t let fear stop you from making things right.”

Tears blurred Evelyn’s vision. “What if he doesn’t forgive me?”

Her mother squeezed her hand gently. “Then you hold your head high and know you did your best. But from the way you’ve spoken about him, I don’t think he’ll turn his back on you so easily.”

Two days later, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway stirred Evelyn from her restless thoughts. She peeked out the window, her breath fogging up the glass as she spotted Martha stepping out of her car, bundled in a thick coat and balancing a casserole dish in her gloved hands.

“Hope you’re ready for reinforcements!” Martha called out, her voice bright despite the chill in the air.

Evelyn opened the door, the cold wind brushing past her as she stepped outside. “Thanks for coming,” she said, managing a faint smile as she stepped aside to let Martha in.

Martha kicked off her boots and set the casserole dish on the kitchen counter, pulling off her gloves with an exaggerated flourish. “First order of business,” she announced, “this is my famous ‘everything but the kitchen sink’ casserole. Guaranteed to keep everyone alive while you’re gone.”

Evelyn couldn’t help but laugh softly, though the sound was tinged with exhaustion. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Martha waved her off. “Please, your parents love me. I’ll have your mom eating out of my hand by tomorrow morning.” Her expression softened as she turned to face Evelyn. “Your dad filled me in. You okay?”

“I don’t know,” Evelyn admitted, her voice cracking slightly. She wrapped her arms around herself, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well,” Martha said firmly, stepping closer and placing her hands on Evelyn’s shoulders, “first things first: you’re going to go find Logan. And while you do that, I’ll take care of everything here. Your mom, your dad, the casserole consumption. Deal?”

Evelyn hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the living room where her father was stoking the fire. “It feels selfish, leaving like this.”

“It’s not selfish,” Martha said, her voice resolute. “You’ve been here, taking care of everything and everyone. Now it’s time to take care of yourself.”

As if on cue, her father entered the kitchen, dusting his hands off as he closed the fireplace screen. His expression was warm, a quiet pride shining in his eyes as he looked at his daughter. “She’s right, sweetheart. We’ve got everything handled here. You’ve done more than enough.”

Evelyn felt her chest tighten, the weight of her guilt and hesitation threatening to crush her. But as she looked between her father and Martha—two of the people who knew her best—she felt a flicker of determination spark within her.

“Okay,” she said softly, nodding as the resolve began to take hold. “I’ll go.”

Her father smiled, pulling her into a tight hug. “That’s my girl.”

Martha clapped her hands together, her grin returning. “Alright! Let’s get you packed. No time to waste.”

As Evelyn headed toward her room to grab her things, her heart still felt heavy with the weight of uncertainty. But for the first time in days, she also felt a glimmer of hope—a belief that maybe, just maybe, she could make things right.

Chapter 7

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[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere

Although Logan had initially found a sense of safety, not from others, but from himself, and now that stillness was turning sour, quickly. The books left behind in the cabin had offered him a brief distraction, something to occupy his mind, but they weren’t enough to keep the edges from fraying. The nightmares had lessened in frequency but not in their intensity. He could manage a few hours of sleep now before jerking awake, heart racing, sweat dampening his skin. When they did come, they were brutal; Jean's face flashing before him, her nightdress soaked in crimson, Marie, her wide, terror-stricken eyes staring up at him as his hands— his hands—coming away wet with her blood. Those memories wrapped around his brain like barbed wire, tightening each night until he could barely breathe.

The wilderness here had been a refuge, a place where the world couldn’t reach him, where he couldn’t hurt anyone else. The icy, vast landscape mirrored the cold inside him, a perfect place to vanish. No one asked questions here, no one pried. He remembered his meeting with the forest ranger, Andi, but she had not bothered him in the two weeks since, so it was just him, the mountains, and the snow. Out here, he didn’t have to think, didn’t have to remember.

He knew he could leave. Any day, he could walk down to the town, catch a bus, and disappear back into civilization. But that thought terrified him more than the isolation. Because Logan knew, deep down, if he went back…what if he wouldn’t be able to control it. There was no hiding in towns, cities, full of cell phones and mutant hating people. He had come out here to get away, to keep the world at a distance, to stop himself from hurting anyone else. In the city, it was only a matter of time before something triggered the rage inside him. A wrong word, a bad memory, and he’d snap. He could already see it; fists flying, blood splattering, faces twisted in pain. The regret, even if they had deserved it, knowing he would be hunted himself.

The wilderness had given him space, a way to control himself. Out here, there was no one to hurt, no one to accidentally destroy, and he could let loose when he needed. He found satisfaction in hurting those that were breaking the law, and there was no telling on him. But it wasn’t enough anymore. He could feel it growing again, the old anger, the old instincts. It scared him—how easy it would be to fall back into it. To let the claws come out and feel the rush of violence take over. He’d lashed out at trees more than once, the feel of his blades tearing into wood, bark splitting under his fists, just to stop the tension from overwhelming him. But even that was losing its edge.

He paced the cabin, hands itching to draw the claws, to do something to stop the restless energy from spiraling out of control. Staring out the frost-covered window, he knew it wasn’t just the wilderness trapping him. He was trapped by his own fear, by the knowledge that he was a ticking time bomb that simply couldn't die, as much as he may want it. 

He snatched the small radio off of the bedside table and ran into the woods, stopping at the edge of a riverbank and stripping his shirt. The icy water shocked his head and instantly he felt relief. He lay down on a shallow rock and let the cold fill his senses as the northern lights danced above.

The nights stretched endlessly as winter dug its claws deeper into the wilderness. For Andi, the isolation wasn’t a punishment—it was a blessing. The cold, the snow, the silence all felt like home. 

As the dark winter months passed, Andi settled into the routine of nights that reached far below freezing temperatures and days with no sun. It was so highly unlikely anyone would ever survive without a set shelter, she thankfully put humans out of her mind and got to focus on the part she loved most, nature in its most unblemished state. This was when she felt true peace, stepping outside and filling her lungs with the crisp air that came with the negative temperatures. The only sounds were the soft thumps of the snow falling from the branches, the swoosh of a bird’s wings, and the rush of water flowing down the river. 

She stepped carefully through the snow, her breath misting in the freezing air, as the colors of the Aurora flickered above her. The energy in the lights danced across her skin, teasing the edges of her control. She could feel it building, the same way it always did, a pulse in time with the shifting lights in the sky.

Suddenly, she stopped. Her heightened senses tingled, and she turned in a slow circle, scanning the trees around her.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him, the hulking shadow that was undeniably familiar- the man she had met a few weeks prior, Logan. He stood at the edge of the treeline, half-hidden in shadow, his bare chest catching the faint glow of the lights above. 

Andi blinked, caught off guard, not sensing immediate danger, but taking in the scene for a second. The man radiated a primal kind of intensity that made her skin prickle—not fear, but something else entirely, as he looked at her through his eyebrows. He could be dangerous, she could tell, but not the same kind of dangerous as humans usually were.  

“Didn’t think I’d see anyone at this time of night,” Logan said, almost apologetically, his posture relaxing as he stepped towards her. 

Andi took a breath, forcing herself to act casual despite the thrum of energy buzzing beneath her skin. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone either,” she said, her voice steady. “But that seems to be a running theme with our encounters, because nothing screams normal like someone shirtless in freezing temperatures.”

Logan huffed, his breath coming out in steamy clouds in the cold air.  “Normal? I think you’ve got the wrong guy for that. Let’s just say I’ve got a high tolerance for freezing my ass off.”

Andi gave a little laugh in return. The guy was funny, too. Certainly didn’t explain how it was physically possible to ice bathe in the winter, but he definitely wasn’t a greasy poacher. 

Logan's gaze was intense, sweeping over her like he was trying to figure her out, too. “And I could ask you the same thing, you’re walking in the woods, alone.”

Andi shrugged, pulling her jacket tighter around herself, though it wasn’t the cold she was trying to guard against. “I like the quiet. The sky’s beautiful tonight.” She glanced up, letting her eyes flicker toward the Northern Lights. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, following her gaze. “It is.”

For a moment, they both stood in silence, watching the lights shimmer and pulse in the dark sky. The colors twisted and bled into each other, casting faint reflections on the snow around them. 

She turned back to him, studying him for a moment. “You live nearby? I’ve only seen one other cabin from my plane, and it's about 5 miles north of  here.”

So she’s the one with the damned plane. “That’s mine.”

“Hmm,” she said, her curiosity piqued. She couldn’t help but be intrigued by him. There was an air of mystery, something deep that he wasn’t saying. And despite herself, she wanted to know more. “Seems like we’re neighbors then.”

“Guess so,” Logan replied, and let his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smirk, surprising himself. It was fleeting, but it caught her attention. He had a nice face when he wasn’t scowling.

Andi studied him for a second longer, her eyes flicking over the hard lines of his shoulders, the rough edges of his jaw. She caught herself, her face warming in spite of the cold. He was handsome in a wild, dangerous way that she hadn’t let herself notice before.

He shrugged on a flannel and started buttoning, his large hands surprisingly nimbly doing up the buttons, too fast, in Andi’s opinion. She had no company up here, and especially no views like that.

He finished and nodded in her direction, the scowl back. “I’ll leave you alone.” 

The words resonated with both of them, him, realizing he couldn’t get attached, and her, sad to see him leave. It had been some time since she had had a conversation with someone other than a sketchy hunter, and although their interactions had been short, she found herself hoping they would run into each other again.

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[werdlewrites]

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summary: He couldn’t live in peace knowing what he'd done. Unable to enjoy a stupid party with a pretty girl without the flashbacks of war plaguing his mind. He wasn’t the kind of guy anyone should want–or have. Logan was a monster. warnings: alcohol, smoking, brief NSFW, mentions of blood and death wc: 2,341

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The night was long–nearly endless. Dawn had made it home safely without trouble like she always did with the presence of Death creeping at her back. The apartment echoes with emptiness–soon filled by tumbling shoes as she kicks them off, and the heavy sighs of relief. Charlotte doesn't stumble through the door until her roommate is already tucked into bed, yet knowing she's still awake, she calls out, “I'm home!” She only receives a mumbled reply in return.

Dawn lies awake for most of the night. Tossing and turning with her mind replaying the events of the day, her heart nearly beating free from her chest as she debates over what will happen to her come Monday morning. Cast out of the school and shamed, unable to show her face again. It leaves her chest aching–constricted and emptied of air, yet filled with consuming fear. It fills every space, leaving her in a momentary panic.

It’s October–but her body is burning up. Dawn kicks away the sheets and flips onto her stomach, arms clung tightly around a folded-up pillow for a sense of comfort. It’s not nearly enough. Her heartbeat is somehow louder and more disruptive. Thoughts fuzzy and unfocused–until something familiar creeps in. 

The smell of earth–nature. The smell of wood caught on fire–a delicious spice on her tongue as she drinks it in. A tired mind fights for recollection–a moment in time where she could place it. It’s there, just barely. In the dim light of night, the moon casts a glow through an uncovered window, adorning clothes from only hours ago laid out over the edge of a hamper. It’s a bizarre sign from the universe. Taking an unsettled mind and forcing it to think on something that brought her some joy–even if it was brief. 

The smell of Logan lingers, as does his rough but soothing voice. That particular look in his eye that says he’s curious–but keeping some distance for either his or her protection. It’s insanity the way his smirk suddenly fills her mind. Or the way his tongue glides along his lips after a shot of whiskey to collect the remnants.

The warmth of overworked nerves is replaced by something else–a scorching need building up in the pit of her stomach, spreading outward like a fire until she's squirming, seeking something–anything. She doesn’t even notice the sudden rotation of her hips. Acting on autopilot to quench a thirst–a desire between her thighs.

The gentle movements are enough to spark that small fire until it’s burning up her insides. The air sucked from her lungs as the smoke of lust creeps in–all-consuming and suffocating. Her cheek is damp from open-mouthed whimpers, but it's the last worry on her mind as desperation forces her hand. A gentle touch glides along the front of her underwear with thoughts drifting to him and what his hands would feel like. 

Was it soft and delicate? Sweet kisses masked by the scratch of his beard, heavy breath along her neck with passionate words pulling her in closer. Would he treat her like this? Knowing exactly where to touch and what to say. Letting her grind down into his hand until she’s come down from her high, whispering reassurance.

Was it rough and heated? Barely giving one another the chance to strip their bodies of clothing before she’s bent over and onto her knees. Would her skin grow flush from the contact of his hand? Bite marks of temporary claim that would be long gone by morning. Their bruises would be the only reminder it had ever happened. Would she ache for that breathless feeling? Chasing after one another until they’ve exhausted every ounce of strength.

By morning, Dawn is glowing. You couldn’t tell the girl had lost an ounce of sleep, smiling from ear to ear. Her roommate pried for the details over coffee–not getting a solid enough answer, which only aggravates Charlotte more. She wears a look of pure annoyance, glancing in the other woman's direction as they decorate for the upcoming party. It’s when she asks about the potential of meeting someone that Dawn finally breaks and confesses the details of her night. No matter how small they were.

“You invited him over?” She asks with a look of pure joy and surprise.

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

Charlotte leans against the door frame, arms folded across her chest with streamers hung from her fists. “You’re over here smilin’ like a schoolgirl with a crush, and it’s not a big deal?”

Rolling her eyes, Dawn steps down from the ladder, rolling away the spare pieces of tape stuck to her fingertips. “I hardly know him. It’s just…fun, s’all.” 

Fun is hardly how she would describe it. She was antsy–fidgeting or pacing nonstop as she searched for something to do–anything to pass the time. Dawn was giddy and full of excitement about the possibility of seeing him. The entire scenario is playing out in her head like a silly movie. She’d be lost in the music–no longer focusing on his arrival as she takes another shot, and he’d part the dancing bodies like the sea.

But by the third hour of the party–the real party, he’s not there. There’s no thunderous knock of his large fist against the door or the smell of his cigar. He’s not standing just at the corner of the room, watching and imprinting every sight to memory. The man named Logan is simply a story, and she can’t hide from the look of pity Charlotte gives her as she pours another drink into an empty cup.

Maybe she's a little hurt–maybe she feels foolish for being so affected by his absence. He's a stranger, after all. But she's already tipping that red cup back and singing along to another song. She's living without care–or is it a mask to hide the fear? A wary eye on the image of Death, hoping the night won't end in tragedy with a friend splayed out across the floor, blue in the face.

The following day, he's a distant memory–at least, for a short while he is.

Dawn is too lost in her hangover to acknowledge the ache of disappointment in her chest. Already forgetting hazy dreams where she reaches out to him, just to feel the heat of his body. But her bed is cold just like the day before–and long before that. In some way, it almost feels like every smile he spared was only a figment of her imagination. There had never been a Logan she shared salty snacks with at the bar. She chased after a hallucination. Thighs dampened by an illusion.

But the smell of his cigar stuck to every fiber of her coat, taunting her as she debated over tossing it into the washer with the rest of her dirty laundry. It’s the only proof she has of him.

When the day passes and the apartment is cleaned, she makes up some excuse to brave the cold winds of November. Charlotte is too tired to question–laid out along the sofa with legs dangling over the edge. She simply waves her hand dismissively, eyes half-opened, as she fights off an overdue nap.

Dawn can’t help but scold herself for the slouch of her shoulders once she enters that bar. There’s no leather jacket and wisp of black hair among the crowd. New faces and familiars fill up the space–but it surprisingly feels empty. He’s gone–and it’s disheartening. Why is it disheartening? The woman knows little to nothing about him, yet there’s still a tug on her heart, seeking to pull her right out the door and into the night. Maybe it’s just the excitement of something new. She can’t quite understand it.

She takes up her usual spot on the stool with a defeated sigh. She was slumped forward between two bodies that engage in separate conversations, loud and full of energy. There’s a forced smile in Barry’s direction, shaking her head as he holds up a glass suggestively. One Halloween and birthday bash was enough for the remainder of the week.

“I'm just tryin’ t'find my way.”

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was all it ever would be. Just two souls passing in the night, and she’d have to accept that. Add his face to the list of people she admired but could never touch.

Maybe it was better that way.

Iced water lands before her, kindly offered by the owner with an all-knowing smirk of just how intoxicated she had been the night before. She tilts the glass in thanks, and as it hits her tongue, something in the air seems to shift. The bell above the door chimes as another customer strolls in–the smell of something deliciously familiar in the distance. That familiar spice filling her senses and washing over her tongue. She’s hardly given the chance to inspect before his voice pulls her from scattered thoughts.

“Lookin’ for somebody?”

He stands tall at her back–an intimidating presence with a smirk on his face. She could hear it in his tone.

“That depends,” she begins. Her body easily twists to get a better look at him, proving her suspicion right as the cigar hangs from between his lips. “Do I have somebody t’look for?”

His smile is unwavering, though his gaze shifts to the stranger at her side. Smoke comes spilling out as he speaks, “Hey, bub.” A firm tap on the man's shoulder, luring in hazy eyes and seeming almost startled by him. “D’you mind if I-?” His finger gestures towards the girl and the occupied seat, his tone suggesting but eyes demanding–and the man doesn’t hesitate.

“Oh! Yeah, here.” He pulls himself away, beer in hand, as he effortlessly transitions back into his previous conversation, though casting a glance or two over his shoulder, unnerved by the once silent bystander.

“You didn’t show.” 

The words fly past her lips before she’s even thought it all through. Not even a “Hello” before she’s digging through misplaced feelings and biting her tongue. He doesn’t seem bothered, though. A thick brow raises with curiosity, a silent encouragement for the woman to continue. “I was looking forward t’see your costume.”

He chuckles, and it’s like a song. Working every string in her soul until she feels the flutter of soaring notes within her chest–a choir. A familiar feeling from that night creeping in, leaving her cheeks flushed before she was downing her water in large gulps, desperate to beat the heat.

“Do I look like a costume kind of guy?” he questions before taking another drag. It's an awful habit some women turn their noses up at. But there's an odd sense of comfort in the smell–thinking back to cozy fires in a home that no longer existed.

“Maybe.” She answers with a casual shrug. “Maybe like a…pirate or something.” 

He gives her a pointed look. Amused by the thought of where her mind has wandered in their short time apart. “You'd look good in a patch.”

It happens before she can stop it. A sudden drop of the lowest level compliment possible, and still, she has to turn away and hide her embarrassment. Unaware of the crooked grin he wears or the sudden spark in his dark eyes. Dawn wanted to crawl into a hole and forget it ever happened. While he found it endearing and sweet.

“You think so? No hook or nothin’? Peg leg?” 

She swallows her pride, along with the racing heart that is suddenly lurched up into her throat, just to face him again. She wears a brave face, but the stutter and weariness in her voice betrayed her. “D-dancin’ with a peg leg sounds…hard. Especially while drinking.”

He snorts, averting a blazing stare down toward the end of the bar, a simple raise of his fingers asking for a drink. It’s a well-known look for the frequent flyer. “M’not really a party kind of guy.”

“Then what kind of guy are you?”

The glass meets his palm, filled with ice yet still warmed by the water from being recently cleaned. He thinks of the fresh blood on his hands–he can see it even now. The blaring music turns into the sound of gunfire and the clash of blades–the crackle of a roaring fire. The eruption of laughter at his back transitions into the cries of pain and horror from his past–the thing he runs from. 

The lives he's taken–whether by his own hand or from a failure to ever speak up until it was too late. Until the body count had grown and towered high above him and every mercenary he stood alongside. He couldn’t live in peace knowing what he'd done. Unable to enjoy a stupid party with a pretty girl without the flashbacks of war plaguing his mind. He wasn’t the kind of guy anyone should want–or have. Logan was a monster.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” she begins, successfully pulling him out from the darkness of his mind, looking to the ray of sunlight at his side. “I think you enjoy the noise. You do busy work–loud work. Nonstop, all day. But you don’t go home–you come here instead. Then, when you get home, the radio goes on. The TV, anything–but it’s low. Loud enough to keep your mind busy, but quiet enough t’let you fall asleep on the couch. You just hate socializing.”

It’s the first time his smile falls in her presence–though not out of offense or disturbance, more so…intrigue. “And you’re sayin’ I could be the serial killer?”

“I’m sayin’ I know the type.” Her body tilts away from him, now facing forward to study their muddled reflection in dirtied glass. He’s got his eyes on her, lips parted and words stolen right from his tongue–and she sees something else standing in the distance. A familiar creature with dancing stars where a heart should be. The thing that she searches for in moments of uncertainty–yet despises for the pain it brings. “Because I’m the same way.”

[deanscherrypie69]

Girl dad Logan🩷

Pairings; Logan Howlett x F!malereader Warnings; fluff, just logan and his girls!

A/n, I’m gonna try to turn this into a series. So lmk if yall enjoy this ! Cause I loved writing it!!!

🩷🩷🩷

You don’t t know what time you’d woken up, but you reach out to feel the side of the bed where your husband had laid. But it was cold.

Opening your eyes, you see that the covers had been thrown back. Huffing you throw the blankets off your body. You sit at the side of the bed and run a hand down your face. To wake yourself up.

“Logan?” You say with a raspy voice.

When he doesn’t answer back you manage to get up from the bed.

“Okay come on girl.” You say rubbing your swollen belly. You’d been pregnant for almost seven months. It was your second baby. A girl.

Logan was over the moon. He couldn’t wait to have another girl.

Your first daughter ivy was attached to Logan’s hip since the day she was born.

They did everything together.

It was adorable. It was Logan who insisted on having another baby. You couldnt say no. You were right there with him. You wanted to expand the family.

“Lo?” You hum as you reach the living room. There was no one in there.

Your head whips over to the sound of a shrieking laugh.

Furrowing your eyebrows you make your way over to ivy’s room.

The door had been open a crack. Through the crack you see Logan sitting as ivy’s tea table. With a tiara on.

“Here you go daddy.” Ivy says giving Logan a plastic tea cup.

“Thanks bub.” Logan took the plastic cup. You watched as he bought it up to his mouth and took a sip.

You couldn’t help but awe at the moment that was unfolding right in front of you.

Without saying a word you fully open the door.

Logan lifted his head up and smiled when he saw you.

His smile was big. He was glad to see you.

“Mommy!” Ivy shrieks and grabs your leg.

“Good morning!” You say ruffling her long brown hair.

Logan clears his throat. Causing your gaze to be on him.

“It’s actually the afternoon.”

You gasp and look at ivy’s clock that had been sitting. On her dresser. “Why didn’t you wake me? Did she eat did you give her a bat-“

“She’s fine-“ Logan cuts you off with a chuckle. “I figured I just let me two girls sleep. How is she doing today anyways.”

Ivy gives your leg one more squeeze, then goes back to her tea set.

“Come here.” Logan reaches out his hands of you to take.

You stand in front of him. He’d still been sitting down. He puts his hands into your belly.

“How’s my beautiful girl.” He kisses your belly. It’d been covered by his t-shirt. You’d used them as nightgowns.

Logan looks up at you.

“How are you?” He hums rubbing a hand over your belly.

“M’kay just tired.” You say with a big yawn.

“That’s why I let you sleep, I figured you needed it. And plus she woke me up at 9:30 this morning wanting to play princess tea party.”

He motions to ivy, who was feeling her stuffed bear a cookie.

You chuckle. You bring your hand down tj his hair and run your fingers through it. “You’re a great dad Logan.”

You hum. You feel tears begin to spill from your eyes.

When Logan notices he quickly gets up. “Hey, hey don’t cry.” He hums flicking the tears away.

“She’s lucky to have you.”

Logan pulls you into a hug, his chin resting on your head. "And she's lucky to have you, you're a great mom." Logan places a kiss onto your forehead.

He wipes the tears off your face. "I love you."

"I love you more." You hum.

"Mommy!" Ivy squeaks, "Play princess tea party with me and daddy!" She was jumping up and down with excitement.

"Okay okay." You giggle pulling away from logan.

Logan couldn't help but take in the sight that unfolded in front of him, he was happy. And he wanted it to stay like this forever.

Just Logan and his girls.

[pedroscurls]

christmas confessions (pt. 1 - day 1)

summary: spending the morning with logan before you go back home for the holidays, you suddenly get bad news that you're unable to fly home due to the severe weather. pairing: origins!logan howlett x fem!reader content warnings: slow burn, best friends (who are deeply in love with each other but don't want to say anything) trope(?) lmao, best friends to lovers, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n. word count: 3k a/n: alright y'all, happy december 1st! i'm gonna slightly deviate from the movie, but otherwise, everything will remain the same. anyway, we're in for a ride for these two so stay tuned 🙂‍↕️ pt 2. | series masterlist.

When moving to the Canadian Rockies almost five years ago, you hadn’t expected to fall in love with the area and you certainly hadn’t expected to befriend one very gruff and very handsome mutant– Logan. A man whose tough exterior didn’t deter you from striking a conversation with him one early morning at the local coffee shop. You could tell from the moment you met him that he was a man who preferred to be alone, that this was a man who had been scarred from traumatic events from his life. 

You were new to the area, Logan knew that much. You had turned to him while in line and asked him what drink he would recommend. Logan had gotten used to keeping to himself, after the events of losing Kayla and then killing Stryker, he just wanted to live the rest of his days in his cabin. Alone, just like how it should be. 

But you had looked at him with the kindest eyes he’s ever seen and a smile that made his heart flutter at the sight. When he lost Kayla, he had vowed to himself that he wasn’t going to commit himself to anyone – that he was better off alone because everyone he cared about, everyone he loved, would eventually get hurt because of him. He had thought Kayla was the turning point in his life, the person that he was going to spend the rest of his days with, but Logan was always meant to be alone. He understood that now. 

So despite the frequent visits to the coffee shop every morning before work, Logan knew that he wouldn’t ever be able to cross that boundary with you. Even though he made sure to arrive every morning at six – just so he can have a brief, five minute conversation with you – Logan knew that nothing could ever happen. 

But as your friendship with him grew, so did his feelings for you. 

What Logan didn’t know was just how deeply in love you were with him. 

The quick morning conversations while in line for coffee soon turned into having dinner once a week. You would normally go over to his place, having fallen in love with the view when stepping out of his cabin, but sometimes, he’d come by to your apartment on the way home from work. Your friendship with him blossomed, but you couldn’t help the way you felt about him. 

It had taken him almost six months for him to tell you just exactly who he was. Logan didn’t know how you would react, but there was a part of him that expected you to realize that you no longer wanted nothing to do with him. So when he told you that he was a mutant, showed you his claws, and mentioned how he had hurt many people, Logan was surprised by your reaction. How gentle and kind you were, the look in your eyes, the light touch of your fingertips against the tip of his claws – you weren’t afraid. He didn’t realize just how much of a relief he felt, how the weight on his shoulders finally lifted when he told you. 

Logan knew that night he loved you, but he knew that nothing could ever happen. So he continued to love you silently, without your knowledge, because not only could he lose you, but he didn’t want to ruin this. 

And now, five years later since you both met, the feelings you felt for each other only strengthened. Neither of you had ever made a move, had ever crossed that boundary from friends to lovers. You were aware of the hurt and pain Logan carried with him – you knew about Kayla, about Stryker, about his past. So you kept your feelings to yourself, held him at arm’s length. Logan was your best friend and you didn’t want to ruin that. 

–

DAY 1 — You pull up to Logan’s cabin, the view just as breathtaking as it was the first time you were here. You wanted to spend the morning with him before you had to leave for the holidays. Logan never was a big fan of Christmas, not really finding the need to celebrate, and he had declined your plenty of offers over the last few years about having him come with you. 

You step inside his home, the warmth from the fireplace radiating throughout his house. You remove your coat and beanie, unraveling your scarf and placing it on the coat rack near the door. Gently stomping on the mat, removing any residue of the snow from outside, you reach down and pull off your boots. 

“Logan,” you call out, walking further into his home and down the hallway. You see him sitting on the couch, dressed in his usual flannel and jeans with a cup of coffee in his hand and his journal on his lap. 

“In here,” he replies, setting his journal on the coffee table and standing up to greet you. 

“It’s coming down out there,” you tell him, leaning in to give him a hug. Your arms wrap around him, cheek resting against his chest as he rests his chin atop your head and his own arms snake around your waist. 

Logan just nods in response, holding you in his arms like this had always been the closest he could get. He would imagine what it’d be like to hold you in his arms while in bed, having you curl against him and –

“Did you make me coffee too?” You ask, pulling him away from his thoughts. You remove your arms around him and look down at his mug, arching a brow up at him. 

“I don’t have all the fancy, sugary drinks you normally like to order,” he teases. “But I did make a pot.”  

“Fancy, sugary drinks,” you scoff, following him into his kitchen. “If I remember correctly, you actually liked one of those fancy, sugary drinks. Even got whipped cream on one of them.”

Logan rolls his eyes and grabs a mug for you from his cupboard, a small smile lining his lips. “Sure, but I don’t have them as often as you do.” He pours the dark coffee into the mug and gently hands it to you, feeling your fingertips brush against his when you take the mug from him. He clears his throat, looking down at his own cup. He knows how much you love the holidays, how important they are to you and your family, but he can’t help the tug he feels in his chest when you leave. You’re usually gone until New Year’s Day and even though you call him on Christmas and on New Year’s Eve, it isn’t the same as having you here with him. 

“Hey, a vanilla latte isn’t fancy and isn’t sugary,” you reply, once more taking him out of his thoughts. 

“Oh, we both know that’s not the only drink you get,” Logan chuckles. 

You let out a quiet laugh, immediately going into his fridge to grab the carton of sweetener that he only keeps for you. You’ve been at his cabin so frequently that sometimes it feels like you live here, how comfortable and at home you feel here with him. Your family knows about Logan, knows how you feel about him, and every year, they always ask if you’re finally going to bring him home. 

But every year, you come home alone despite your heart yearning to stay with Logan for the holidays. 

“So, you all set for your flight?” Logan asks, resting his hip against his kitchen island. “You’re gone for two weeks, right?” 

“Yup, all set. My luggage is in my car outside.” You nod, pouring the sweetener into your mug. You watch the dark liquid turn into a light cream color, glancing up at Logan who’s grinning at you. “Yeah, I’m gone for two weeks.” 

Logan nods at your mug, a smirk on his lips. “Would you like some coffee with that cream?” 

“Ha ha,” you smile, placing the creamer back into his fridge. “What will you do during the holidays, Logan?” You ask, though you know his answer. 

“Nothing,” he shrugs. “You know I don’t really celebrate the holidays.” 

“But it’s Christmas. You should really decorate, maybe get into the festive spirit.”

“Not my thing, bub, and you know that.” 

“I know, figured maybe this year something would give,” you say quietly. 

Logan bites the inside of his cheek as he looks at you, tilting his head slightly as he watches you take a sip of your coffee. “Wouldn’t hold out hope,” he replies. “I’m not one to celebrate.” 

“What if I said I got you a gift?” You ask, setting your mug down on the kitchen island. 

“I’d say you shouldn’t have and you should probably return it.” 

You narrow your eyes and round the corner of the island to stand in front him. Inches separate your bodies as you stare up at him – gaze so innocent, so inviting, so warm. “What if I made it?” 

Logan sighs. “Bub…”

“You know, we go through this every year,” you chuckle. “I’m always going to get you something for Christmas.” 

Logan looks down at you and he suddenly gets an urge to pull you into him, to tell you that despite his stubbornness, he appreciates you and everything you do for him. He knows he isn’t deserving of you, but he’s so grateful that you decide to stick around, even after all these years. Even after all that you know. 

“I promise I didn’t spend any money on it.” 

“Okay,” he sighs with a nod. 

“But, you’ll have to open it on Christmas Day.” 

Logan chuckles. “Do I gotta call you when I open it too?” 

You grin, your smile meeting your eyes. “Obviously.” 

Suddenly, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket and you step back and away from Logan to pull it from your pocket. You look down at the email you received and feel your heart drop, your face falling and your smile slowly disappearing. 

“Everything okay?” Logan asks, brows furrowed at the look on your face. 

“My flight’s been canceled,” you whisper. “They anticipate a heavy snowstorm. I won’t be able to go home for Christmas…” 

Logan bites his lower lip. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

“I don’t even think I can drive back to my apartment either.” 

“So, I’m stuck with you?” Logan teases, hoping that it’d lift your spirits, but he doesn’t see a smile on your face. Your eyes are still glued to the phone in your hand and he gently reaches out to rest a hand on your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You can stay here, at least until it’s safe to drive back down.” 

“Logan,” you sigh, looking up at him. “I’m sure you don’t want me staying here for a week.”

Logan shrugs. “Would be nice to have some company,” he admits. 

“I just can’t believe I won’t make it home.”

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I know how important the holidays are for you and your family.” 

You flash him a sad smile and then point to your phone. “I should probably let my parents know.” 

“Right, yeah. I’ll go and fix up the guest bedroom for you.” Logan drops his hand from your arm and turns on his heel, beginning to walk away before he feels your hand gently wrap around his own. 

“Logan?” 

“Yeah, bub?” He responds, turning back around to face you as you keep a hold on his hand. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. “I promise not to be too festive.” Then, you release your hold on his hand and turn around to walk into the living room.

Logan watches you for a moment, biting his lower lip. He realizes that while he feels an excitement bubbling within him at the thought of you staying here, he also feels anxious. Nervous. Scared. He doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to keep his feelings to himself for the entire week. 

After about an hour, Logan finishes cleaning up the guest bedroom and bathroom. He finds you lying down on his couch, arm draped over your eyes and your phone resting on his coffee table. He bites his lower lip and walks over to you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Hey,” he whispers. 

You remove your arm from over your eyes and look up at him, sitting up on the couch to give him some room to sit next to you. “Hey,” you reply. 

“How’d the family take it?” He asks, sitting next to you. 

“Disappointed, like me, but they did tell me to tell you thank you.” 

Logan arches a brow. “Thank me? Why?” 

“Well, as my dad said: tell him thank you for taking care of my little girl.” You bite your lower lip, unsure of how Logan would react. “Sorry, my dad’s just–”

“Well, when you get a chance to talk to him again,” Logan interjects. “Tell him I’m happy to be taking care of her.” 

You slowly look up at him as you feel the heat rise in your cheeks. When you find that his eyes are already gazing at you, you clear your throat almost inaudibly. You don’t know how you’re going to stay sane this next week, being under the same roof as Logan – a man you’re so deeply in love with. You have to wonder if being snowed in with Logan and unable to go home is the universe’s way of bringing you both together… in a way that neither of you had the courage to. 

“Let me grab your luggage before the weather gets worse,” Logan says. 

“Oh, yeah, of course. Thank you,” you respond, grabbing your keys and placing it in his hand. 

“The bedroom and bathroom are all set for you.” Logan takes your keys, his own hand encompassing your own as he stares down at you. He can see the sadness in your eyes, the disappointment in your features. He then tugs on your hand, pulling you into his chest as his other arm comes up to wrap around your shoulders. 

You sigh quietly, arms wrapping around his midsection as you let your cheek rest against his hardened chest. You shut your eyes – you had always felt so safe in his arms. You can feel his large hand running along your back, causing you to lean further into him. 

“We’ll make the most of this next week,” Logan promises. 

“But you don’t like to celebrate the holidays,” you whisper, pulling back to look up at him.

He shrugs in response. “Maybe I just didn’t have someone to celebrate it with.”

You scoff, pulling away to see him with a teasing smile on his face. “I’ve been asking you to come back home with me for years now.”

Logan chuckles and walks towards the door, pulling on his coat as he stares at you. “Maybe I want you all to myself for the holidays. Ever think of that, sweetheart?” he winks, not giving you a chance to respond before he steps out into the snow to grab your luggage from the car. 

You let out a shaky breath and fall back onto the couch. God, you don’t know how you’re going to survive this next week with him. 

—

Later that night while you’re getting ready for bed, Logan – dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and his white tank top – leans against the doorframe of the bedroom. He crosses his arms over his chest, tilts his head to the side, and lets a small smile line his lips at the sight of you. 

“Hey,” he calls out softly. 

You turn around, hair damp from your shower and dressed in black sleep shorts and an oversized cropped t-shirt. “Hey,” you answer.

“Need anything before I turn in?” Logan asks.

You shake your head and close your suitcase, setting it off to the side. “Thank you,” you whisper quietly. “For letting me stay here.” 

Logan crosses the threshold and steps into the guest bedroom with you, walking towards you. “Better than being snowed in at the airport.” 

“Ah, yeah. That would have been a nightmare.” you bite your lower lip, his body now inches from your own. You yearn to reach out for him, to feel his body heat against yours. “Either way, thank you, Logan. I owe you.”

Logan chuckles and shakes his head, moving his hands into his pockets. “You gonna be okay?” 

You shrug. “Guess the holidays will be different this year.” 

“At least you got me.”

You smile, looking at him from the tops of your eyelashes. “Yeah, I’ll settle for you,” you tease.

Logan laughs, shaking his head. He glances around the room and bites the inside of his cheek, bringing a hand to run through his hair. “Well, just wanted to say good night.” 

“Good night, Logan.”

“And if you need anything, I’m just down the hall.”

“And if you need anything, I’ll be right here.” Your eyes soften at him, knowing that Logan’s nightmares become more frequent at night. 

Logan nods and leans down, gently kissing your temple as his hand rests on your hip. He feels your skin against his fingertips, the cropped shirt you’re wearing lifting just enough for a sliver of skin to be revealed. “I know,” he whispers. “You’ve always been right here for me.” Then, he slowly pulls away and turns on his heel to walk towards the door. He spares you another glance from over his shoulder and flashes you a warm smile before he shuts the door behind him.

Logan sighs and walks towards his living room, taking note of how bare his home looks. He glances at the clock and then looks down the hallway at your closed door. Logan didn’t like to celebrate the holidays, but he knew how important it was to you. He knew the storm was only going to get increasingly worse, so he decides to pull on a pair of boots, a thick coat, and a black beanie before he grabs his keys to his truck – determined to surprise you tomorrow morning.

---

taglist: @kellyxo1 @misscrissfemmefatale @mooneyloveydovey @oatmilkriver @jtheteenagewitch

[wolvbrattxx]

Family matters (part one)

Hi! My name is May and this is my first time writing something here, but I felt very inspired after seeing so many talented people posting their fics, so I wanted to give it a try as well! Just a fair warning: this story doesn't follow the storyline of the X-Men films. It's just a mixture of everything and surely imagination, but I guess that's why fanfictions are our spaces to experiment, right? The beautiful model is @/richonm on Instagram. Summary: After the awakening and the slumber of the Dark Phoenix, Logan begins to question his role and worth in life. His thoughts are shortly interrupted by the arrival of Ororo's twin sister Loren. Each form their first impressions of one another, but Loren's perspective is ruined by Scott's burst of anger at Logan. Will they make up for the awful introduction? Tags: angst, Hugh Jackman!Logan, poor self-worth, swearing, cheating, oc x canon. Word count: 4510 Next chapter

Logan opened his heavy eyes. His head was throbbing from the amount of sleep that he got this night, which was considered impressive, remembering that most of his nights were filled with nightmares and sleepless hours. He blinked at the celling for a few times and slowly sat up on the bed, feeling exhausted and refreshed at the same time.

Honestly, if anyone saw him at this very moment, they would think that Logan had a terrible night. Muscles felt sore all over as his hands held him up on the mattress, eye bags were dark and swollen, eyes bloodshot and the hair disheveled. He sighed, out of all times, in relief.

A low groan escaped his dry lips as the throb in his head hit a deep spot. His eyes looked out of the window; the day has already started. The students were chattering, playing outside in the early autumn. It seemed like nothing ever happened, as if everything was fine and that this school, where everyone like him lived, was ordinary. Except that it wasn't.

'The Xavier's School for the Gifted Youngsters' was home to many like Logan, but it had seen many problems. It seemed like an ordinary school for kids and home for many more; however, it usually fell into trouble, because it was actually a shelter for outcasts of the society - so called 'mutants'. The price for being different was too high: resulting in losing lives of your beloved ones or your own. Regardless, they all seemed to forget the traumas, tragedies and live on, because what else can you do? As danger becomes a part of your daily life, all you are left to do is to embrace it, try to get rid of it and enjoy everything else that you are left of.

Logan finally got up from bed and looked at the mirror, hanging on the wall that was about to break at any minute as many other things that he owned in this room. Constant nightmares and stress make him lose composure, that's why even walls were marked by his claws. He keeps fighting these lifeless objects as if they were enemies that appeared during the nights, wearing the faces and silhouettes of his past abusers, but today was different... Everything seemed fine; there was no need to clean up the room. It comforted him in a sense. As Logan stared into the mirror, he thought of how thankful he felt that everything went well yesterday. Even though some were harmed in the process, some may require healing, but it will turn out okay in the end. Even though he looks terrible right now and for all that has happened not so long ago he has to take the blame for, at least his friends were safe and sound for now.

The event that occurred until yesterday involved the awakening of the Dark Phoenix, though previously Jean Grey was presumed deceased. It turned out that Scott Summer's arrival at her deathplace triggered the revival of Dark Phoenix, but with the help of Charles Xavier, she was put under control. Although Scott was harmed during the incident, still he was alive and was healing slowly. However, Logan's sympathy for Jean's complicated situation (seeing her helpless, powerless, even if this state belonged to Dark Phoenix), regardless of the professor warning him countless times, made him awaken the shadow of his beloved one and all went downhill afterwards. Nevertheless, with the help of the remaining X-Men and the professor, the chaos, that could have ended in the world's destruction, was put under control and as per usual: the heroes saved the day.

Even though Scott was the first one to trigger the Dark Phoenix, but he did it without knowing, meanwhile Logan awakened her, fully acknowledging the problems she could cause to the entire world. He felt terrible, especially when Jean fell into coma after putting her shadow under deep slumber. It felt devastating to him, knowing that he brought trouble to his friends and beloved one, and wanted to eat himself up in guilt and shame. However, a tiny voice within said that it would be no help, so all he's left with is a feeling of gratitude that he managed to fix everything with his team.

Logan walked into the bathroom that was next to his room. He turned on the faucet, watching how the water flowed into the drains and washed his face with stinging cold water while trying to get rid of the soreness. For the first time cold water didn't bring up those horrible memories of the past and actually brought refreshment that was necessary at the moment. He looked up at the mirror again, that was now above the sink and checked out the situation of his sideburns and remaining beard. It was time to trim and shave, as he had to spend few days out of the mansion, forgetting to maintain his appearance. Logan curled fingers into a fist and felt how the blades escaped through knuckles. Sharp claws sprung in front of his face and he put them to action, carefully trimming his sideburns. Yet he still managed to cut himself in the process, though the result looked good enough.

The blood, gently dripping down his chin, made something turn inside his intestines. Maybe the burden of having those metal claws and seeing people die because of them or maybe the feeling of being a burden to those that he loved. Logan huffed, holding his head in those rough hands, slightly pulling at the roots of his hair. After such a long time he felt tired, tired of everything that has happened so far. He was afraid that his presence has put a heavy weight on those that he cared about.

As Logan cleaned the sink, his thoughts were disturbed by the sudden knock on his door. He still wasn't dressed, but it didn't matter. He walked up to the door to his room and opened the door slightly, only peeping his head out and hiding the rest of his body behind.

Logan's eyes met Ororo's. Her icy blue eyes felt like a ray of sunshine and it was surprising to see her in such joyful state, remembering the previous events. He smiled softly at her, ignoring that glimpse of strangeness in her gaze.

"The sun has already risen and you are still..." She didn't finish, crossing arms over her chest, cocking a brow at him.

"Mornin' to you too." Logan mumbled underneath his breath, with a tiny grin. "What brings you here?"

Ororo shook her head and chuckled at his stupid face. She clasped her hands together, finally showing the pure joy that she was trying to hide before.

"Get dressed; I want you to meet someone. Someone that is so dear to me and who will finally come back in few hours!"

"Excited over me meeting your lover?" Logan chuckled.

"Oh please... It's someone far more important that a lover. It's a part of my family and since you are a part of my family, you have to meet her."

Logan furrowed his brows and stared at Ororo with curiosity. Out of touch with the reality, he slightly leaned against the door, revealing his bare hip.

"Her? What do you mean her?"

Ororo's eyes widen as he almost revealed himself to the hallway. She looked around, to make sure that there were no students around and glared at him, shutting her lips tightly into a thin line.

Logan took the gesture and grasped the situation. He hid behind the door fully again, not losing the curiosity that caught him before.

Ororo sighed softly, shaking her head slowly with an amused smile on that bright face. She wanted to laugh at Logan, seeing how lost, confused and out of touch he was with all that surrounded him. She was sure that he had the best sleep: it was clear that events like the one that happened could make one so exhausted, that the night can pass with delightful dreams.

"It's my sister. I believe I have told you about her before?"

"Oh, not at all."

"Are you sure? Then there were too many things in my head, I'm surprised that I never told you anything about her. I remember when I first met the others I couldn't shut up about my sister, because she spend most of her time studying. Scott even asked me to stop, but... Who could ever stop the storm?" She winked at him after the remark. "If anyone could get an award for worshiping their sister, then I would be the first one to take it. Believe me, my sister means more than the whole world to me. I don't even want to imagine losing her, I believe that I wouldn't bear it... Anyway."

"That's family for you."

"I suppose so. Well then, get ready; I want you to make a good impression of yourself. I told her a lot of good things about you, so don't disappoint me. She can be... Judgmental sometimes. We are a little different after all." Ororo waved her hand as she walked into the hallway.

Logan stood there for few seconds. If Ororo wanted him to meet her sister that bad, then maybe it would be wise to follow her wishes.

He closed the door behind and stretched his sore body. As he done that, he opened the wardrobe and picked out his everyday clothing: plain flare jeans, white tank top, his favorite leather jacket, brown leather shoes. Even if Ororo wanted him to wear something different, he would find it difficult to do, since there weren't a lot of options for him. He clasped an old belt, as he pulled those old jeans up on his hips.

Logan walked up to the mirror on the wall once more and checked out his hair, which he brushed slightly, bringing it back to place. Luckily, he took care of his beard before so all he was left to do is leave the room and wait until Ororo will reach him again.

Logan walked from side to side, lost in thoughts of how his life was going. Greeting the students, having chats with some, small talks with others, but time passed surely slowly. He went outside for some time, walking from one oak tree to another, throwing rocks at the pond and kicking some that got in his way. Everyone that saw him thought that something bad happened to him, which isn't entirely a lie. He grieved at the thought that Jean has chosen another, but in a sense, he understood why. It's not even worth to compare himself to Scott. Scott was a great person, a great leader, a great group member and of course, a great lover. Loyal, smart, strong and ambitious, but Logan? Sure, he could be all of those things, but he tends to cause problems and slack off, even unwillingly. Leaving for a year or so, without any news of when he'll come back... That's not someone who Jean deserves. She deserves someone better, someone like Scott. Dang, if someone even deserved Logan then... That person definitely wouldn't have any self-respect. And that made him upset. Logan loved Jean, truly, such a smart, brave and outstanding woman that helped him to discover his past. He loved the way that she put words into a coherent sentence, the way she looked when she thought of something serious, the way that she laughed at his awful jokes and the way her eyes looked at him. However, if Jean would ever try to show the same affection to Logan as before, he would be the one to reject, because in no universe should Logan be with such an excellent woman as Jean. No, only Scott would make her happy and he was sure of it. He would make a good partner, a good husband, father and friend. Regardless of their previous conflicts, Logan always envied Scott's traits that seemed unachievable. He wished to be somewhat like Scott, but... He is just himself and that's not enough. Not enough to keep his beloved ones safe, that's why he felt doomed to be alone and forgotten, unloved for the rest of the eternity.

Logan sighed as these thoughts raced through his head and he didn't even realize that he was in the kitchen, rubbing his temples while trying to find alcohol. He was sure that it laid somewhere in the cupboards. And he struggled in front of Rogue and Remy, not even sensing their existence behind his back, even though they chatting loudly of something surely playful.

"Tough night, suga'?" Rogue paid attention to Logan's mood, as he was searching for his only comfort. She leaned against the counter while smirking at Remy.

"Ma cherie, he was awfully quiet this night, so maybe something happened during the day?" Gambit followed the man with his red eyes though his voice sounded serious.

Logan chuckled softly at both of them, maintaining a small smile and still facing his back at them.

"You two better tell me where is-"

"Gone. Your hidin' spots are getting worse, ya' know?" Rogue clicked her tongue as she raised an empty bottle and put it on the counter with a thud, making sure that Logan would turn his head.

And he did. And he was disappointed.

"Someone's gotta' pay for that."

"Calm down, all we wanted to do is to relax. I mean, we did help Jean and now we are awaiting for a good friend of our's after all, is that right, ma cherie?" Remy caressed Rogue's thigh softly, as she was ruffled her frizzy hair.

"Are y'all talking about Storm's sister?" Logan asked, gripping the counter, while his eyes observed the lovers.

"Course', she is a part of our one big ole' family after all. Our pretty gal' was studyin' for couple of years, tryin' to get a degree or somethin'." Rogue replied with a smirk on her face.

"Seems like her welcoming means a lot to everyone."

"Like Rogue said, she's a part of the family. Not to mention, gives a huge helping hand to the team though she may seem... Weak at first, but trust me... That's not the case. God, she can cause a bigger storm than her sister. She's the opposite of Ororo, but has the same passion and love. You'll get used to it." Gambit added while studying Logan's face.

This mysterious sister of Ororo peaked Logan's interest. He couldn't imagine how Storm could have a sister that was the antonym of her being, as he previously thought of this woman being somewhat similar to her sister.

Logan wandered around the mansion again, leaving the lovers to themselves. He didn't even realize how he suddenly stopped at Ororo's classroom, waiting when her class would end. Luckily it didn't last for long, because soon enough the door swung open and students ran out of the classroom, chattering loudly about they will do during their short break and what to prepare for the upcoming class.

Logan walked into Ororo's classroom and leaned against one of the desk, waiting for her to pack up and collect the students' papers before the next class. She lifted her eyes up and flinched suddenly, causing a thunder outside. She quickly grasped the situation and sighed in relief that it was only Logan. Her attention came back to her table as she shook off the tremble.

"You startled me, but I'm glad that you came in time."

Logan raised his hands up.

"I'm no threat."

"Oh I know that, but I'm already tensed up, I just can't wait to meet her again! Let's go, I'm afraid that she is already here and I'm not the first one to hug her!" Ororo clung onto Logan's arm and dragged him out in a hurry, even forgetting to close the door behind herself. That's how excited she was to finally reunite with her sister.

As they rushed to the main entrance, Logan seemed surprised to find most of the team members waiting for Ororo sister's arrival. Even Scott managed to get up from his bed with bandages, pillars on both sides of his body. The only person that was missing from the big picture was Jean.

Finally, the main doors pushed open.

Ororo's sister turned out to be her identical twin, but even physically, you couldn't count the differences on fingers. She was slimmer from her complexion, as Ororo was more muscular. The sister had the same blue eyes that were covered by glasses, but their gaze seemed cold as ice, analytical, critical. The pixie white hair contrasted with Ororo's long silky hair, but it matched her overall appearance: she wore a blue striped button-up shirt that made her breast pop-out; low-rise flare jeans; black heels with white socks; long golden earrings, an amber necklace, a watch, surprisingly long sharp nails. All seemed to fall into place with her dark skin which complimented her even more. She wore a cocky grin on her face as those icy eyes absorbed everything and everyone in front of her, but as soon as she spotted Ororo, that expression softened. She let go of all luggage that she was dragging and ran to Ororo, hugging her tightly in her embrace. You could even think that small tears formed in her eyes.

"Finally you came back, I missed you so much!" Ororo laughed, as the sister was pulling her into a tight hug, making her lightly gasp for air.

"You know that I wouldn't leave you forever." Her sister finally loosened her grip and held Ororo's cheeks instead, kissing each one of them.

Ororo laughed joyfully and pulled her sister away, turning her to greet all the others that were waiting for their turns.

She went round and round, trying to catch up with each one of them, giving out kisses and embraces. Out of all, she greeted Hank the friendliest. She pulled his shirt down to her level and hugged him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he was forced to lean down and hug her waist, planting kisses on his cheeks.

"Beloved! Missed me, haven't you? You'll have to show me what you've been up to lately; I'll have a hard time trying to catch up with your work."

He chuckled nervously, patting her back carefully with his large hands. "All is well, my dear. You'll be fine"

And finally she stood in front of Logan, reaching out a hand for him to grasp. Comparing her previous attitude, she seemed serious, but you could see the glimpse of interest in her eyes. He accepted her hand that was soft and warm. "You must be the new guy that Ororo told me about, Logan, right? I am Loren, Ororo's twin."

"I figured." Logan shook her hand lightly. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." She let go of his hand. He felt a pang of disappointment in his chest as he imagined that this sister of Ororo's would at least try to make a short conversation. He shook off the feeling with a tiny hope that they would catch up later on, after all, she wants to greet everyone that she was close with and for now Logan was just a stranger.

Right now Loren approached Scott with slight worry. Scott tried to hug Loren, but hissed in the process and gave up quickly due to the pain defeating his intentions.

"What happened while I was gone? Where's Jean?" She asked, not trying to hide the concern.

"Too many things, but don't worry. We're all still here, glad to see you again." Scott smiled softly, trying to smoothen the mood.

Loren took a deep breath and looked at Ororo.

"I remained silent so you could finish your studies with ease. We'll tell you of all that has happened while you were gone, believe me. Let's give Jean a visit, what do you think?" Ororo took her hand and led her towards the school's infirmary.

Logan stalked behind both of them and Hank, as the trio seemed to have a nice conversation that he didn't wish to disturb. He curiously watched Loren laughing and talking loudly, trying to point out more differences that set the sisters apart.

Loren seemed like a strange person. Ororo couldn't hide her emotions well and her face, though tough like a stone, always featured the soft, gentle and motherly aspects of her soul. Loren, on the other hand, was the opposite of that. Sometimes she was serious and at another minute, a pure smile could wash her face. Her natural grim consisted of a stabbing glare, gently furrowed brows, slightly pressed lips, making it look like a natural resting bitch face. Anyone would think that she her face exclaims: "don't approach me or I'll cut you in pieces and destroy your life", not caring about anything else that isn't related to her. Logan doubted that he would ever approach women with such a look, but he saw that Loren is more than her face could portrait. She talks genuinely, placing her words with care, slowly and wisely. The way that she spoke to both Hank and Ororo showed her true nature, which still seemed quite mysterious to Logan.

He didn't even know why he was following them, but someone had to help Scott to go along so Logan gave him a helping hand. Even though it made Scott mumble a couple of insults underneath his breath, Logan didn't mind that at all.

As they finally reached the destination, Loren rushed to Jean's bed, carefully brushing the strands of hair in her face and tucking them behind the ear. Jean's face seemed pale, tired, the dark circles around her eyes made her look like a lying corpse, but the soft breathing proved wrong. Loren gently grasped her hand and caressed it, brushing her thumb against the light skin. "What happened to her?"

"We thought she died. For a long time. One day I came to visit the place where she... I... I don't know how it happened, but I triggered the awakening of the Dark Phoenix and... You can see the outcome of that." Scott spoke first with slight confusion and then glared at Logan. Even though his eyes were covered by glasses, but the daggers that were directed at Logan could be seen by anyone. "The others maintained her, but then this dumbass that you now know of as Logan decided that it would be a good idea to wake her up again, ignoring the warnings of our professor. Mind you, professor gave those warnings directly to you. But you always do what you want, do you? Thinking that you know better... Even though I was laying in bed barely alive, I was still conscious, I've heard everything and seen everything, you fucking bastard. And why did you think that it was a good idea, was it worth the few seconds of pleasure? So Jean would call you a savior or something? That she could climb onto your neck and kiss your lips with such passion as she did? Tell me, you f-"

But Scott couldn't finish the sentence as an ugly cough interrupted his lips and turned into a series of coughs. The anger that boiled inside of him from the moment that he witnessed his beloved one betraying him with Logan finally spilled out, making him suffer not only physically, but mentally as well. As the seizure stopped, he laughed lowly.

"And what did you was going to happen? So what, you two almost fucked right in front of my lifeless body, but in the end, who did she choose? Why did she stop? Oh I know why. I'm going to tell you that right in front of them. It's because she chose me, not you. Now you can fuck off and go where you came from. Piece of shit. If you were here only for her then make sure to note it in your head that she doesn't care about you anymore. She cares about me, so you can do what you want and leave us alone."

Ororo and Hank looked at Scott with horrified faces, making sure that heard everything correctly. Sure, what Logan did was awful, but this is not the place and definitely, not how such information should be presented. Especially to someone who hasn't been home for a while and if you want to make a first good impression of someone, they've never met before. However, Scott didn't care at all. It seemed like he didn't notice his surroundings, only with Logan and Jean present in his eyes. Sadly, Logan was taking up all of that space, the space that he wanted to leave for Jean.

Logan sighed, massaging his tensed forehead. This isn't something that he expected to happen, especially in this setting. However, he didn't fight the allegations thrown at him as he felt that it was necessary to hear them and feel the burden of his actions fall onto shoulders. He didn't want it to be like this, but it was very much needed and he knew it. It was upsetting, depressing sure, but he had to pay the consequences of his actions.

The only problem, that they weren't alone.

Loren's upper lip twitched as she heard the accusations and her brows furrowed deeper than before as Logan didn't deny them. She was purely disgusted to say the least, that look was written all over her face. She let go of Jean's hand, feeling disappointment in her and even more in Logan.

"So that's what kind of person are you, huh." Loren came in front of him blurring view, blocking Scott behind. She was too close to Logan, making a long pause while her eyes swore and yelled right into his face words that she didn't express. "You shameless brute." Then she turned her back at him, not facing any of her friends. "I don't want to hear any of you; none of you can explain what happened properly without your own versions. I'm going to talk with the professor. Excuse me."

That's all that Loren said to him that day. That's all of the direct contact they've had, but it sure looked awful. Logan felt a stab in his chest when she called him that. The way that her cold eyes pierced right into him made him shudder. He couldn't even hear what Hank was saying to both Scott and himself, it didn't matter at that moment. It felt terrible, knowing that you made a bad impression to someone that you've just met. He huffed, knowing that Scott's words were welldeserved, but to put them in this situation felt just brutal. And surely hurtful. But the look in her eyes... Even if Logan wanted to erase it, he felt as if it burned something deeply within him, leaving yet another scar.

It felt impossible to feel happy with yourself. Maybe it was better this way.

[thefandomfires]

Chapter One of my new Remy Lebeau/Original Female Character fic is up!

In Between The Shadows

Link to Chapter 1

Summary

After a battle with Magneto, the X-men and mutants are accidentally revealed to the world. As the humans try to come to terms with this revelation, some want to make sure the mutants know they’re not welcome.

Neighbors begin to turn on each other and one seemingly human girl, Morana Cain is caught in the crossfire.

With her life is turned upside down, she keeps waking up in random places with no memory of how she got there.

Meanwhile the X-men try and track down a mutant who seems to be methodically taking out humans who express anti-mutant sentiments.

[howlett-n-morgan]

Next Take Me Home (arthur morgan) Chapter is in editing still, but the next More Than Words (Logan) is also close to being done because I have no self control...

[ladysif8]

Primal Attraction 18+

One late night, as I was aimlessly scrolling through TikTok, I came across those pheromone perfume ads and, of course, a steady stream of Logan TikToks. It sparked something, and thus, Primal Attraction was born.

•Pairing: Logan Howlett/Witch Original Female Character

•Rating: Explicit

•Tags: X-men Universe, Mutants, Wolverine, Witchy Vibes, Familiars, Pheromone Perfume, Smut, Possessive Logan, Kitchen Sex, Unsafe Sex,

•Summary:

Join Logan and Indica as they navigate wild magic, pheromone-fueled chaos, and all the possessive, steamy moments you could ask for. 😏💜 From kitchen counters to sweet (and spicy) moments, this fic is packed with love, laughter, and just a little bit of trouble! 😉

Nestled near the quiet town of Banff, Alberta, stood a small stone cottage that looked as if it had been plucked straight from a fairytale. Its walls were made of weathered gray stones, framed by black trim that outlined the windows and roof. The front door, painted a dark, enchanting shade of purple, seemed to beckon visitors into a world filled with secrets and stories. Towering spruce and cedar trees shaded the house, their branches swaying in the breeze and casting playful patterns of sunlight over the stones, adding to the cottage's timeless, rustic charm.

A large white fence surrounded the cottage, its posts carved with runes—symbols of protection that whispered quiet magic. Just inside the gate, the air was fragrant with rosemary, planted in neat rows that flanked the entrance. Beyond the herbs, a lush garden thrived in vibrant shades of green and purple, showcasing the bounty of each season under the careful, loving care of its gardener. Vegetables and herbs of all kinds flourished, while chickens wandered freely, pecking at the earth and clucking softly, adding a lively touch to the serene scene.

The front porch creaked softly as if welcoming every step, and the feeling of stepping into another time deepened once inside. The cottage was a Victorian-style marvel, with ornate trim that framed doorways and windows, and each room was washed in deep, cozy hues that contrasted beautifully with the streams of natural light pouring in from large windows. Despite the dark colors, the abundance of light bathed the space in a warm, inviting glow, creating a perfect balance between light and shadow. Plants cascaded from every available surface, their leaves catching the sun, adding vibrant splashes of green that enhanced the cottage-core vibe of the home.

The kitchen, a true heart of the home, featured wooden butcher block countertops that gleamed softly in the morning sun. Open shelving lined the walls, filled with an array of jars containing dried herbs, spices, and bubbling jars of sourdough starter. Fresh herbs hung drying from hooks overhead, filling the air with their earthy scent, and vintage copper pots were neatly displayed above the stove. This space invited creativity and comfort, blending Victorian elegance with rustic cottage warmth effortlessly.

Through an open set of double doors, the sunroom awaited like a secret garden within the house. Tall, arched windows lined the walls, reflecting the greens of the outside garden. Sunlight streamed in, warming the terracotta tiles underfoot and casting dappled patterns across the room. Whitewashed wooden beams arched overhead, adorned with delicate hanging plants that swayed gently with every passing breeze. Potted herbs and flowers thrived in every corner, reaching toward the sunlight, while vintage wicker chairs with plush cushions and cozy throws invited you to sit and soak in the serene beauty. The room was alive with the scents of lavender, rosemary, and warm earth—a space where the line between the indoors and nature blurred effortlessly.

In the living room, a large stone fireplace with a sturdy chimney served as the focal point, radiating warmth and comfort. Above the mantel, antique candlesticks and a collection of small curios told stories of the past. A large flat-screen TV subtly blended into the old-world charm of the room, perched on a wall opposite a small, cozy sectional. The sectional was draped in soft throws, flanked by vintage side tables topped with lamps whose intricately detailed shades cast a soft, golden glow. The walls were adorned with pictures of ancestors—sepia-toned portraits in ornate frames, their eyes peering out from the past, lending a sense of history and belonging to the space.

The bathroom was a moody retreat, its dark-painted walls making the space feel like a comforting cocoon. A large window overlooked the side yard, where bees buzzed around vibrant plants that fed them. In front of the window stood a clawfoot tub, its porcelain surface gleaming—a perfect spot to soak and watch the play of light and shadow outside. Plants trailed from shelves and perched on windowsills, their lush greenery offering a refreshing contrast to the deep, moody colors. The tile shower featured eucalyptus hanging from the showerhead, releasing a fresh, invigorating scent with every hot shower. Fluffy towels and neatly arranged bath bombs promised relaxation, making the bathroom a haven of comfort.

Across the hall from the bathroom was the master bedroom, an enchanting space where modern comfort met Victorian elegance. The walls were painted a rich, dramatic black, which made the white ceiling feel all the more expansive. A large, old black vintage iron bed frame took center stage, its frame sturdy and elegant, dressed in soft, inviting bedding. Faux ivy intertwined with delicate fairy lights trailed along the headboard, casting a soft, magical glow that made the room feel like a dream. It was a space designed for rest and escape, every detail thoughtfully considered—from the textures of the bedding to the gentle twinkle of lights that sparkled like stars above.

In one corner of the room, a vintage vanity with an ornate oval mirror stood, its wooden surface polished and rich with age. The vanity was adorned with candles, their soft light flickering gently, casting dancing shadows against the walls. Bottles of perfume, each with intricately designed glass stoppers, sat alongside antique trays holding an array of cosmetics—creams, powders, and delicate brushes. The scene was completed by a plush stool tucked neatly underneath, inviting moments of quiet reflection. It was a space that whispered of old-world glamour and everyday rituals, adding a touch of personal charm to the room.

Tucked away at the end of the hall was a second bedroom, currently storage but maybe one day there would be a little one sleeping in crib.

Sound asleep and nestled in the king-size bed, Indica Howlett lay wrapped in sage green bamboo sheets, a thick, cozy duvet draped over her. The morning sun rose steadily, its rays filtering through the large windows, casting a soft, golden light that danced across the room. Indica shifted slightly, stirring against the warmth of her bed. Her auburn hair, streaked with hints of blonde and woven with a few delicate dreadlocks, fanned out across the pillow in a tousled halo. The sunlight caught the different textures, giving her hair a warm, golden glow. A light dusting of freckles graced her pale skin, adding a touch of character to her serene, peaceful expression.

Beside her, sprawled comfortably on the bed, was a massive ball of black fur: Ranger, her devoted 100-pound German Shepherd. He lay with his legs stretched out and his head nestled near her side, his thick coat shimmering under the morning light. His deep, steady breaths matched the gentle rise and fall of Indica's chest, a quiet rhythm of comfort and companionship. Ranger's ears twitched occasionally, half-listening to the waking world while still lost in his own dreams. His calm, watchful presence added a sense of security to the tranquil setting, his protective instincts ever-present even in sleep.

As the sun climbed higher, Indica slowly drifted from sleep, her mind gradually surfacing as she stretched her limbs under the soft duvet. She arched her back, feeling the satisfying pull of a full-body stretch. Ranger, waking with her, let out a deep, lazy yawn, his jaws stretching wide as he blinked his eyes open. He hopped off the bed with a soft thud, his paws landing lightly on the wooden floor. Stretching out fully, he extended his back legs behind him, his front paws spread wide in a perfect downward dog pose, a picture of relaxed contentment.

Indica shifted to the edge of the bed, her bare feet brushing against the cool floor. She reached out to Ranger, her hand smoothing over his head and sliding gently down to his snout, her fingers sinking into his soft fur. Leaning down, she pressed a light kiss to the bridge of his nose. "Good morning, handsome," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. Ranger's tail wagged slowly at first, then picked up pace, a steady rhythm that matched the easy, calm start to their day.

Glancing at her cell phone on the bedside table, Indica noted the time—a little before 8 AM. She smiled softly, setting the phone back down as she turned her gaze back to Ranger. "Guess what, big guy? Daddy's coming home today." Her voice was filled with quiet excitement. Ranger's ears perked up at the familiar words, and his tail wagged a little faster, as if he understood and shared her anticipation.

Indica pushed herself up from the bed, her long auburn hair tumbling down her back, brushing just above her waist. The soft dreadlocks mixed with loose strands gave her hair a unique, natural look that suited her free-spirited style. The oversized tee she had worn to bed slid up her bare thighs, a cozy, well-loved favorite that moved easily with her every step. She stretched her arms above her head once more, feeling the satisfying pop of her joints as she fully woke up. With a contented sigh, she walked over to the window, her bare feet making a soft, whispering sound against the floor. She paused there, gazing out at the day unfolding beyond the glass. Her heart felt light with the thought of her partner's return, and Ranger by her side, ever her faithful companion in their quiet cottage home.

Her steps were slow and unsteady as she made her way to the bathroom, eyes still half-closed. She relieved her aching bladder with a sigh of relief, the early morning quiet wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. Returning to the bedroom, she caught Ranger's expectant gaze. "Alright, let's get you outside," she murmured, her voice soft with lingering drowsiness. She opened the side door, letting him trot off into the yard with his nose to the ground. She propped the door open slightly, allowing the crisp, cool fall air to creep into the house, its chill brushing against her bare legs and waking her up a bit more.

Indica headed to the kitchen, still groggy but comforted by the familiar routine. She started the coffee pot, the sound of dripping water and the rich aroma of brewing coffee filling the air. She leaned against the counter, arms folded loosely as she waited, savoring the peacefulness of the morning. The early sunlight filtered through the windows, casting soft shadows across the walls and floor, painting everything in gentle, warm hues. Once the coffee was ready, she poured herself a steaming cup, the warmth seeping into her hands as she held the mug close. She called Ranger back inside, and he followed her up the stairs, his nails clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floors as they returned to the bedroom.

Indica settled down at her vintage vanity, the oval mirror reflecting her sleepy expression. She placed her coffee mug carefully beside her, the steam curling up in lazy tendrils. Her reflection showed the early signs of the day—hair tousled with a mix of loose waves and a few dreadlocks that framed her face, her eyes still heavy with sleep. Her gaze shifted to the photo tucked into the corner of the mirror, and a soft smile spread across her lips. The picture captured a perfect moment of herself and her wonderful husband Logan Howlett to the rest of the world Wolverine. Indica's hair in the photo was shorter, falling just past her shoulders in a mix of loose waves and dreadlocks. Her sapphire blue eyes twinkled behind thick-rimmed glasses, radiating happiness and a touch of excitement. The picture captured the moment perfectly—the day they had closed on their little cottage. Indica's smile was wide and genuine, her joy almost leaping off the photograph. Logan stood close behind her, his broad frame nearly enveloping her as he held her tightly, their happiness reflected in the way they clung to each other. His strong arms wrapped snugly around her thick waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. His broad, muscular frame easily dwarfed her, his 6-foot-4 stature slightly hunched to meet her height. His messy brown hair was tousled as if he'd just run his hands through it, and his hazel eyes sparkled with warmth and a touch of mischief, a look she knew well.

The cottage had been a dream come true for both of them, a cozy sanctuary nestled away from the bustle of everyday life. Indica remembered the way Logan had looked at her that day—his hazel eyes soft with love and pride as they signed the final papers. She'd been nervous about such a big commitment, but with Logan, it had all felt right. The excitement of that day still lingered in her mind, and every time she looked at the photo, she could almost feel the warmth of Logan's arms around her again, the thrill of their new beginning captured in that single, perfect moment.

Indica traced her fingers along the edge of the photo, her heart swelling with affection. Logan's presence in the picture felt almost tangible, his grin infectious even in stillness. "Just a few more hours," she whispered to herself, her voice tinged with anticipation and a bit of impatience. The thought of Logan's return filled her with a warm, fluttering excitement. Ranger nudged her leg gently with his nose, his tail wagging softly as if he could sense her mood and shared in her joy.

She took another sip of her coffee, savoring the rich flavor as it spread warmth through her body. The oversized tee she wore to bed shifted slightly, brushing against her bare thighs as she adjusted in her seat. Indica glanced around her bedroom, taking in the soft, golden glow of the morning light that bathed everything in a gentle brightness. The vintage vanity with its oval mirror and scattered candles, the bottles of perfume and cosmetics neatly arranged, the comforting mess of her life—everything felt just right.

Indica hopped happily down the steps, the hem of her high-waisted sage green skirt fluttering with each bounce. The soft cotton fabric swayed around her thighs, catching the morning light as she moved with a buoyant energy. A playful sliver of skin peeked out between the waistband of her skirt and the dark gray square-neck crop top that stretched snugly across her chest, highlighting her natural curves. Around her neck, layers of delicate necklaces shimmered, their pendants catching the light as they gently clinked with her steps, adding a subtle melody to her cheerful rhythm.

Draped over her shoulders, a long black cardigan flowed with her movements, its cozy fabric trailing behind like a soft, comforting shadow. Her bare feet, with black-painted toes peeking out from beneath her skirt, softly tapped against the floor as she hopped down the stairs. Indica's auburn hair was pulled into a carefree bun, beads, and charms woven into her dreadlocks, peeking from the back of her head, adding a touch of whimsy and individuality to her look. The beads glimmered with each step, catching the light, a small yet personal statement of her unique, effortless style.

Indica felt light and free, the crisp fall air brushing against her exposed skin, adding to the sense of renewal that filled her with every step. She couldn't help but smile, her lips curving upwards as she descended the stairs, the thought of Logan's return filling her with a warm, bubbling excitement. Everything about her felt right and true to herself—from the effortlessly chic outfit to the playful sway of her skirt, and the way her jewelry softly tinkled like a gentle reminder of her happiness.

Ranger followed closely behind, his tail wagging in sync with her upbeat pace, his ears perked and alert as if sharing in her joy. Indica glanced back at him, her smile widening at the sight of her loyal companion, and gave him a quick wink. Ranger responded with a soft woof, his tail swishing even faster, matching the light, carefree energy that filled the room.

Indica grabbed her long, wide wicker basket from the kitchen, the familiar weight resting comfortably against her hip as she made her way out the back door. The cool morning air greeted her, carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers and freshly turned earth.

Indica stepped off the path out her side door and into the dewy grass, the cool moisture kissing her bare feet as she walked further into the yard. She set down her basket and stood still for a moment, arms lifting to her sides with elbows tucked in, palms facing upward. Her chest rose with a slow, deliberate breath as she closed her eyes, her toes flexing into the soft earth beneath her.

She felt it immediately—the hum of energy from the land beneath her feet. The power of Mother Nature surged up from the ground, flowing through her like an ancient current. Indica exhaled slowly, focusing her mind, letting herself connect deeply to the earth. She imagined the energy like roots from a tree, spiraling up into her body, and she soaked it in, drawing it into every fiber of her being.

The warmth of it spread through her, filling her with an undeniable sense of peace, strength, and belonging. The soft energy wrapped around her, soothing, healing, and energizing her all at once. She smiled faintly, feeling the pulse of the earth underfoot, her body vibrating with life as she continued to ground herself in the moment, in the energy freely offered to her.

Like her husband, Indica was a mutant—though her gifts were of a different nature. While Logan's abilities were grounded in raw physicality and survival, hers were ancient and elemental, deeply intertwined with the world itself. She was a witch, and a powerful one at that. She had walked the earth for over a hundred years longer than Logan, carrying the wisdom and power of centuries in her veins. Time had taught her the secrets of nature, the elements, and the mysteries that lay between life and death.

Her skin began to glow faintly, shimmering in the soft morning light, as if absorbing the energy of the earth like a flower soaks in the warmth of the sun. This was not a grand display of power, but a quiet communion with the forces that surrounded her. The centuries she'd lived had taught her patience, control, and a deep respect for the magic she wielded. She knew that true power was not in the loud, explosive moments, but in the quiet, steady strength that came from being in tune with the world around her.

Unlike most mutants, Indica's abilities weren't just tied to her DNA. They were rooted in the ancient magic that had been passed down through generations of witches before her. She could feel the life force of everything around her—the trees, the wind, the animals hidden in the forest—and she could call upon that energy, bending it to her will if the need arose.

But today, she needed nothing more than the peace of connection. Her glowing skin was a testament to the energy she drew from the earth, a soft aura of magic that surrounded her like a protective blanket. Despite the peaceful scene, there was always a wildness in her—an untamed force, like a storm waiting to be unleashed. It was the kind of power that lay dormant until it was needed, and when it was released, it was devastating.

Logan knew that side of her well. He'd often teased her, saying that while he could survive almost anything, it was Indica who truly scared him when she was pushed too far. Her power, unlike his own, wasn't something that could be fought or overpowered. It was subtle but immense, like the slow rise of the tide that you only notice when it's already swept you away.

She wore that power with a quiet grace, moving through life as though she carried the weight of the world effortlessly on her shoulders. And in many ways, she did.

Indica stepped into her garden, the dewy grass cool under her bare, and took in the sight of her plants, thriving in the warm spring sunshine. This was her favorite way to start the day—hands in the soil, surrounded by the quiet hum of nature, and the sense of peace that came with nurturing her little piece of the world.

She crouched down among the rows of vegetables, the hem of her skirt brushing against the soft soil. Carefully, she plucked ripe, plump tomatoes from their vines, placing them gently into her basket. Next, she moved on to the peppers, their vibrant colors standing out against the green leaves. She selected a few zucchinis and squashes, their firm skins still cool from the morning air. A large head of cabbage, nestled among its leafy companions, found its way into the basket as well, along with a few heads of broccoli, their bright green florets crisp and fresh.

Indica then made her way to her herb garden, where the fragrant scent of thyme and lavender filled the air. She snipped generous bundles of each, tucking them carefully into the basket, their earthy and floral scents mingling with the vegetables. She paused for a moment, inhaling deeply, letting the soothing aroma ground her in the quiet morning.

With her basket now brimming with fresh produce and herbs, Indica walked to the chicken coop. She set the basket down on the ground, glancing at Ranger who was never too far away. His watchful eyes tracked her every move, his ears perked and alert, always on guard and always protecting. She smiled at him, a silent thank you for his steadfast presence.

Indica opened the coop, stepping inside to greet her flock. The chickens clucked softly, flapping their wings and pecking at the grain she scattered on the ground. She moved carefully among them, her hands deftly collecting nearly a dozen warm eggs, each one nestled gently into the straw-lined sections of her basket. The chickens clucked in approval, their gentle noises creating a peaceful soundtrack to the morning's tasks.

With her basket full and her chores nearly complete, Indica paused for a moment, soaking in the serenity of her surroundings. Ranger trotted up beside her, his nose twitching at the scent of fresh eggs and herbs. She gave him a gentle pat on the head, appreciating the quiet companionship he offered.

As Indica turned back toward the house, the sun had climbed a little higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the garden. The light filtered through the leaves, creating dappled patterns on the ground as she walked. She glanced down at Ranger, his loyal form trailing just a step behind her, ever watchful.

"Come along, Ranger," she said softly, her voice carrying the gentle authority of someone who knew he would follow without question. She adjusted the wicker basket on her arm, its weight a pleasant reminder of the morning's harvest.

Ranger perked up at her words, his ears twitching as he fell into step beside her, his presence a comforting shadow. Together, they walked toward the cottage, its cozy silhouette framed by the early morning light. The cool breeze brushed against Indica's skin, the scent of freshly picked herbs and earth mingling in the air, making her feel connected to the land she cherished.

As they approached the back door, Indica paused for a moment, taking in the peaceful scene around her. The garden, the chickens pecking contentedly in their coop, the quiet hum of nature—it was all a part of the life she and Logan had built together.

Pushing the door open, Indica stepped inside with Ranger trailing close behind, his nails clicking softly against the wooden floor. The familiar comfort of the cottage wrapped around them like a warm hug, the scent of home mingling with the fresh air she'd brought in from outside. She moved into the kitchen, the cozy heart of the house, where sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow over the rustic wooden countertops.

Indica set her basket down and began washing the vegetables she'd just picked. The cool water splashed over the tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, squash, cabbage, and broccoli, washing away the last traces of garden soil. She worked with practiced ease, humming softly to herself as she laid each piece out to dry. Once the vegetables were cleaned and set aside, she moved on to her herbs, bundling the thyme and lavender with twine and hanging them by the window to dry. The fragrant bundles swayed gently in the morning breeze, filling the kitchen with their fresh, earthy scent.

After washing her hands, Indica reached for one of her prized jars of sourdough starter sitting on the counter. She cradled it carefully, knowing the effort and care that had gone into nurturing the culture over time. She could already imagine the tangy aroma of fresh bread filling the cottage—a scent that always made the house feel like a true home.

With her sleeves rolled up, Indica began the familiar process of making two loaves of bread and a dozen bagels. She measured the flour with precision, her movements fluid and sure, a dance she had perfected over countless mornings. The dough came together under her hands, soft and pliable, as she kneaded it with care, folding in the promise of a hearty, delicious meal. Ranger watched her from his spot nearby, his eyes tracking her movements, content to keep her company as she worked.

As she shaped the dough into rounds for the bread and bagels, Indica felt a quiet joy settle in her chest. There was something deeply satisfying about creating with her hands, about filling her home with the warmth and comfort of freshly baked bread. She glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of the sun now fully risen, bathing the garden in golden light. With Ranger by her side and the simple, soothing rhythm of her morning chores, Indica felt at peace, eagerly awaiting the moment Logan would walk through the door and make their little cottage feel whole again.

After finishing the bread and bagels, Indica carefully transferred the warm loaves and golden bagels onto the cooling rack, the rich, yeasty aroma filling the kitchen and spilling into every corner of the cottage. The scent mingled with the lingering hints of thyme and lavender from her herbs, creating a comforting, homely blend that made the space feel alive. She wiped her hands on her apron, glanced at the clock, and saw there was still plenty of time before she needed to meet Logan. Deciding to make the most of the morning, she grabbed a light sweater and stepped outside to check the mailbox at the end of the brick path.

Ranger trotted beside her, his ears perked up and tail wagging, alert to every sound and scent around them. The morning sun was now bright and cheerful, warming Indica's skin as she strolled down the brick path lined with wildflowers. Their colorful petals swayed gently in the light breeze, adding splashes of purple, yellow, and pink against the lush green backdrop. Indica couldn't help but feel a sense of peace; mornings like this were what she loved most about their little cottage.

Reaching the mailbox, she opened it and found a small stack of letters along with a neatly wrapped package addressed to her. Curious, Indica tucked the letters under her arm and carefully opened the small box. Inside was a delicate vintage perfume bottle, ornate with a golden cap and a beautifully etched glass design that caught the sunlight. It sparkled softly in her hand, looking like something out of an old movie. She spotted a folded note inside and pulled it out, her heart warming as she read the familiar handwriting: "To Indi, love Nessa."

Indica's smile widened, and a warm feeling spread through her chest. She gently uncapped the bottle and brought it to her nose. The scent was divine—citrusy and sweet with just a hint of wildflowers, bright and refreshing, yet grounded by a soft floral undertone. It was the kind of fragrance that instantly lifted her spirits, light and invigorating, like a small burst of sunshine captured in a bottle. She couldn't resist spraying a little on her wrist, inhaling deeply as the scent settled on her skin. It felt like a personal little gift of happiness, a reminder of her friend's thoughtfulness.

Back inside, Indica set the mail on the kitchen table, still smiling as she glanced at the perfume bottle again. She carefully wrapped the fresh bread and bagels in soft linen cloths, tucking them neatly into their places in the pantry. The kitchen felt cozy and complete, with the fresh loaves on display like a testament to the simple joys of her morning. She paused for a moment, just enjoying the sight and smell of her work, the way the sun streamed through the windows, making everything feel warm and golden.

Realizing she still had a few things to take care of before meeting Logan, Indica grabbed her bag and checked her list of errands. She needed to pick up a few essentials in town—fresh produce, a couple of things from the hardware store, and perhaps a quick stop by the local market for some special treats to welcome Logan home. The day already felt full of promise, and she was eager to make the most of it.

She gave Ranger a gentle pat on the head, feeling the soft fur beneath her fingers, and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door. With a final glance around the cozy kitchen, she headed out the door, her thoughts already drifting to the moment when she'd finally see Logan again. As she walked down the path, the citrusy, floral notes of the perfume lingered in the air around her, mingling with the fresh morning breeze.

Indica climbed into Logan's old, beat-up blue Ford truck, its paint slightly faded but still holding a certain charm. The engine rumbled to life with a reassuring growl, and she steered the truck down the gravel driveway, the wheels kicking up tiny clouds of dust behind her. She drove along the winding road, the crisp mountain air filling her car as she rolled the windows down. The morning sun bathed the landscape in a warm, golden light, making the journey to town feel like a serene escape. As she rounded a bend, she spotted a small roadside stand brimming with fresh produce. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the baskets of peaches, their vibrant orange hue gleaming under the sun. She smiled, thinking of Logan and his love for her peach cobbler.

Pulling over, she parked and stepped out, the earthy scent of ripe fruit filling her senses. The old man running the stand greeted her with a friendly smile, and she picked through the peaches, selecting the ripest ones that would be perfect for her cobbler. She paid the vendor and placed the basket of peaches gently in the passenger seat, giving them a fond glance before getting back on the road.

The road into town wound through the picturesque town, framed by the dramatic peaks of the surrounding mountains. The sun shone brightly, casting long shadows of the jagged peaks across the streets. Banff was a quaint, charming place with a mix of rustic and modern elements. Small shops with colorful awnings lined the main street, their windows filled with local crafts, souvenirs, and cozy café signs. The streets were busy with tourists and locals alike, giving the town a lively, vibrant atmosphere.

Indica parked the truck in front of the hardware store, a modest building with a red and white striped awning that offered a touch of old-fashioned charm. She stepped out of the truck, taking a deep breath of the crisp mountain air. The town's fresh scent, a mix of pine and the faint aroma of brewing coffee from nearby cafés, filled her senses.

Indica strolled through the hardware store, scanning the shelves for the items on her list. It didn't take long for her to notice the way the male employees' heads turned as she walked by, their eagerness to assist almost palpable.

One of the workers, a lanky guy with a name tag reading "Evan," approached with a bit too much enthusiasm. "Can I help you find anything, miss?" he asked, his eyes darting over her face and lingering on her form longer than necessary.

Indica offered a polite smile. "Just browsing, thanks," she said, moving on, but she caught him leaning in subtly as if trying to catch a whiff of her perfume. She arched an eyebrow but kept walking, shaking her head slightly.

Further down the aisle, another employee, stockier with a mop of curly hair, was stacking bags of mulch. His eyes drifted south the moment she passed, staring shamelessly at her chest. Indica shot him a pointed look, and he quickly turned back to his task, cheeks reddening as he fumbled with the bags.

By the time she reached the checkout counter, the young cashier couldn't have been more than nineteen and looked utterly flustered. His eyes widened when he saw her, and he stumbled over his words as he tried to make small talk.

"Uh, hi, ma'am! I mean—hey! Uh, find everything okay?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Indica nodded, placing the bags of chicken feed and dog food on the counter. The cashier's hands shook as he scanned the items, his fingers hitting the wrong keys on the register repeatedly. He mumbled an apology, cheeks turning pink, clearly overwhelmed.

"Uh, s-sorry," he stammered, glancing up at her with wide eyes. He knocked over the pack of gum by the register in his haste, and Indica bit back a small smile, trying not to let her amusement show.

"It's okay," she said gently, passing her card over the reader. The cashier nodded, his hands still shaking as he bagged her items, practically tripping over himself to finish.

Indica smiled softly, trying to put him at ease. "Don't worry about it," she said, watching as he finally managed to ring up her items.

The cashier fumbled with the receipt, dropping it twice before finally handing it over. "Uh, have a great day!" he squeaked out, avoiding eye contact as Indica gave him a kind nod and walked out of the store, the sound of his relieved exhale following her out the door.

Indica took her bags, giving the cashier a nod of thanks as she turned to leave. As she stepped outside, she exhaled a slow breath, shaking her head slightly. The over-the-top attention was almost comical, but she wasn't about to let it get to her.

Driving to the liquor store, Indica noted the mix of calm and hustle that marked the late afternoon in Banff. The store, a modest establishment with a faded sign that read "Banff Liquor Store," had been a regular stop on her errands. Inside, the aisles were neatly stocked with everything from local craft beers to imported wines, and the familiar clinking of bottles filled the air.

As she scanned the shelves for Logan's favorite Molson beer, she became aware of the attention she was drawing. A pair of frat boys, clearly tipsy and a little too eager, followed her movements, their whispers and low chuckles not going unnoticed. Indica kept her focus on the task at hand, pulling two twelve-packs off the shelf and setting them in her cart.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of them called out, a smirk plastered on his face. He was tall, with messy blond hair and a backward cap, the epitome of college arrogance. "Need some help with that? Looks heavy for someone like you."

Indica rolled her eyes internally but maintained a polite smile. "No thanks, I've got it." She pushed her cart forward, trying to ignore the way they continued to trail her through the aisles.

The second one, shorter but stockier, with a jersey that looked like it hadn't been washed in days, stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "You know, we could use some company tonight. What do you say? You, us, a couple of drinks... maybe more?"

Indica sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Not interested, guys. Just here to grab some beer and go."

Undeterred, the first guy leaned closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. "Aw, come on. Don't be like that. We're fun. You should give us a chance."

Before Indica could retort, a voice boomed from behind the counter. "Indica! Hey there, kiddo!"

Indica looked up to see Mickey, the store's owner, an older man with a grizzled beard and a cap that seemed permanently affixed to his head. His eyes were sharp as he took in the scene unfolding in his store.

"Everything all right over here?" Mickey asked, his gaze fixed on the frat boys with a steely look that could cut through glass. "These fellas bothering you, Indi?"

The frat boys exchanged uneasy glances, suddenly looking like school kids caught by the principal. Mickey's reputation as a no-nonsense guy—and his long-standing friendship with Logan—clearly struck a nerve.

"Uh, no, we were just talking," the taller one mumbled, his earlier bravado quickly dissipating.

Mickey didn't budge. "Well, how 'bout you talk yourselves right outta my store? Ain't got time for any funny business today."

The frat boys muttered a half-hearted apology, shuffling out of the store with their tails between their legs. Indica watched them leave, shaking her head slightly before turning back to Mickey.

"Thanks, Mickey. Those guys were getting a bit too friendly," Indica said, her voice laced with relief.

Mickey nodded, a wry smile breaking through his gruff demeanor. "Ain't no problem, Indi. I've known Logan too long to let punks like that give you any trouble. You're practically family around here."

As Mickey rang up the beer, he glanced over his shoulder at a small display behind the counter. "Oh, by the way, just got a fresh batch of Logan's cigars in. You want me to add a pack?"

"That'd be great, thanks," Indica replied, genuinely appreciative. She watched as Mickey added the cigars to her purchase, his weathered hands moving with the ease of someone who'd been in the business far too long to be rattled by much.

He handed her the bag, his expression softening. "Take care of yourself, Indi. And tell Logan I said hi. Don't need folks like those boys bothering you 'round here."

Indica smiled, feeling a warmth that came from more than just the friendly gesture. "I will, Mickey. Thanks again."

She headed out, beer and cigars in hand, reflecting on the odd string of encounters that seemed to shadow her day. With a sigh, she started up the truck, the engine rumbling to life as she set off for the small-town grocery store, hoping the rest of her errands would be less eventful.

Indica moved through the grocery store with the ease of someone who'd been through these aisles a hundred times before. She grabbed a bunch of bananas, added them to her basket, and moved toward the leafy greens, mentally going over her list. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, blending into the hum of the store's atmosphere. It was supposed to be a routine trip—get in, get out, and go home. But something was clearly off today; she had been approached multiple times by men she'd never talked to, some men she didn't know from around town.

She could sense him before she saw him.

Indica spotted him lingering by the cucumbers, pretending to look at the produce but clearly watching her, waiting for a moment to pounce. Indica sighed, her grip tightening on her basket. She wasn't in the mood for this.

She ignored him and moved to another section, trying to make it clear she didn't want any interaction. But, of course, that didn't stop him. He followed her, slithering through the aisles like an unwanted shadow. Every turn she made, he was right there, just a step behind.

When she stopped to pick up some apples, she felt his presence even closer than before. She turned, ready to give him the standard cold shoulder, but he was standing too close—way too close. Close enough that she could smell the faint, stale scent of cologne on him; before she could step back, he leaned in, took an audibly deep breath, and sniffed her.

Indica froze for half a second, disbelief flooding her mind. The guy actually sniffed her. This had crossed a line.

"As if the fuck off stamped across my forehead wasn't clear," she said, her voice low and firm, "to leave me alone."

He sneered, his smile creepy and self-assured, as if he thought her irritation was cute. "Aw, come on. I'm just tryin' to talk to ya," he purred, his eyes roving over her in a way that made her skin crawl. "You smell good, by the way.....really...really good."

That was it.

Before he could react, Indica's hand shot out, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. His cocky expression shifted to shock, his mouth opening in protest as he realized that he wasn't just being grabbed—he was being lifted off the ground.

His feet dangled helplessly a few inches above the grocery store floor, eyes wide with panic as the realization of what was happening sank in. The basket in her other hand dropped to the ground with a thud, apples rolling away, but she didn't care.

"You've been warned," Indica growled, her voice low and deadly. "I've had enough of you following me around like a creep. I told you no. That means no."

The man's eyes flickered in terror as he stared at her, now fully aware that she wasn't just some ordinary woman. There was something else about her, something dangerous. His lips trembled, but he was too stunned to speak. His hands clawed at her grip on his shirt, but it was no use.

"And if you don't leave me alone," Indica added, her voice dropping even lower, "you're going to regret it."

Then, as if to punctuate her throat, her eyes began to glow—a soft, fiery amber that lit up her face with an ethereal intensity. The man's breath hitched, his entire body going rigid as he stared into those glowing eyes, realizing he was dealing with something far beyond his understanding.

"I—I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice shaking as he scrambled to get his words out. "I—I'll leave you alone. I swear."

Indica's lips curled into a tight smile, more predator than anything. "Good."

She released him, and he stumbled back, nearly falling on his ass in his hurry to get away from her. He turned and bolted toward the exit, not bothering to look back as he disappeared into the parking lot.

Indica took a deep breath, the glow in her eyes fading as she collected herself. She glanced around the produce section. A few other shoppers had noticed, some staring wide-eyed, but no one dared approach her.

Grabbing a few items from the ground, Indica shook her head. "Freaks everywhere," she muttered to herself, turning her attention back to her groceries.

She was more than done with this trip—time to head home.

As the X-Jet, the Blackbird, descended smoothly toward a secluded clearing near Logan's cottage, the engines' soft hum filled the cabin. Storm expertly guided the jet down, landing on a tranquil stretch of land surrounded by dense forest, with the rugged peaks of the Rockies visible in the distance. The hatch opened, and Logan was the first to step out, the crisp Canadian air hitting him as he stretched, rolling his shoulders. Scott followed, still grumbling about something Logan had said earlier.

"I'm just saying," Scott argued, his voice tinged with irritation. "There's no way the Leafs are making it to the playoffs this year."

Logan scoffed, grabbing his duffle bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Shows how much you know, Slim. That new goalie they got? Kid's a wall. Mark my words; they'll be there."

Scott rolled his eyes, clearly not interested in Logan's sports opinions. "Yeah, sure. Just like you said, the Bears would win the Super Bowl last year, right? How'd that work out?"

"Hey, that's different," Logan shot back, pausing at the edge of the jet to pull his last cigar from the box. He bit the end off and spat it onto the ground, fishing in his pocket for a lighter. "Bears had injuries; the whole season was a wash."

Scott made a face, crossing his arms as Logan finally got his cigar lit, the tip glowing brightly in the early morning light. "Excuses," Scott muttered under his breath.

Storm, watching their back-and-forth with an amused smile, followed them down the ramp. "Do you two ever stop arguing?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with humor. "You're like an old married couple."

Logan smirked, taking a deep drag of his cigar. "He's just pissed 'cause I'm always right." He exhaled a thick plume of smoke, the scent of tobacco mingling with the crisp mountain air.

Scott snorted, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

Storm turned her attention to Logan, a playful gleam in her eyes. "Speaking of impossible, you got anything special planned for Indica's birthday?"

Logan's expression softened slightly at the mention of Indica. He grinned, his eyes glinting with a mischievous light. "Yeah, I got plans," he said, winking at Storm. "Gonna keep her in bed all day if you catch my drift."

Storm laughed, a musical sound that echoed in the open space around them. "That sounds like you, Logan. Just don't forget the flowers—or something a little more romantic."

Scott made a face, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief. "I don't know why she puts up with you, Logan. She deserves better."

Logan shot Scott a pointed look, his smirk widening. "Wouldn't you like to know, bub?" he quipped, taking another puff of his cigar. Scott grimaced, looking away with a disgusted shake of his head as if trying to banish the thought entirely.

Jean, Rogue, and Bobby emerged from the jet. Next, Jean's red hair caught the morning light as she descended the ramp. "What's all this about flowers and picnics?" she teased, catching the tail end of Logan's conversation. "You going soft on us, Logan?"

Logan's grin widened as he tapped the ash from his cigar. "Nah, just got a special day planned for Indica," he said, his voice taking on a rare, softer edge. "Found the perfect spot—a field full of wildflowers, tucked away from everything. Place looks damn near magical like it's out of a fairy tale or somethin'."

Rogue smiled, her Southern accent slipping through as she spoke. "Well, ain't that sweet. Ah, never pegged ya for the romantic type, Logan."

Logan shrugged, playing it off. "What can I say? Indica's got a way of bringing that out in me." He took another puff of his cigar, the scent mixing with the fresh mountain air.

Bobby nudged Rogue, smirking. "Logan's got a soft spot; who knew?"

"Watch it, Iceboy," Logan warned, though his tone was more amused than threatening.

Jean looked at Logan, genuinely impressed. "That sounds lovely, Logan. I'm sure she'll love it."

Logan nodded, a flicker of pride in his eyes as he thought of Indica. "Yeah, she will," he said confidently. "Gonna pack a picnic, take her there, and let her just soak it all in. Ain't nothin' she loves more than a place that feels like it's got a story to tell and that field—it's got somethin' special."

Storm gave him an approving look, her smile full of warmth. "That's really sweet, Logan. You know, sometimes you surprise me."

Scott, overhearing the exchange, made a face as if the conversation was almost too much for him. "Wildflowers and picnics? Who knew you had it in you, Logan," he muttered, half-sarcastic but tinged with a reluctant acknowledgment.

Logan shot him a sideways glance, a sly grin still on his face. "Like I said, Slim—you'd be surprised at what I got in me. Indica's just got a way of bringin' it out."

Scott shook his head, his exasperation clear as he turned back toward the jet. "Whatever you say, Logan. Just don't screw it up."

Logan's smirk didn't falter. "Not a chance," he called after him. "See ya around, Scott. Try not to be so uptight."

Storm chuckled, giving Logan a knowing look. "You're a piece of work, Logan. But I think you've got this one right."

Logan nodded, his eyes glinting with determination. "Damn right, I do," he said.

As the group reboarded the jet and took off, the roar of its engines fading into the distance, Logan turned his gaze toward the dirt path leading to his cottage. The wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant colors popping against the lush green of the surrounding forest. It was quite peaceful, a hidden gem tucked away from the rest of the world. Logan took a moment to breathe it all in, imagining Indica's reaction when he brought her here.

Slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder, Logan set off down the dirt path toward his cottage. He'd already planned every detail down to the last sandwich in their picnic basket, and he couldn't wait to see the look on Indica's face when she saw it all. The thought kept him going, his steps steady as he made his way home, the scent of wildflowers lingering in the air and mingling with the faint trace of cigar smoke. Logan couldn't help but smile—it was good to be home.

Logan approached the cottage, the faint crunch of gravel beneath his boots, the only sound breaking the stillness of the morning. The air felt crisp, carrying the earthy scent of pine and damp soil, but as he crossed into the boundary of their property, something else tingled in the air.

It was subtle at first, like the quiet hum of electricity just beneath the surface, but Logan could feel it—an almost tangible buzz of energy. He paused for a moment, taking it in. The sensation was familiar, a steady, comforting pulse that surrounded the land like a protective blanket. Whether it was the intricate protection spell Indica had woven around the property, making it impossible for anyone—man or mutant—to find them unless she allowed it, or whether it was simply Indica channeling her powers today, Logan couldn't quite tell.

Either way, it felt like home.

The energy hummed in his bones, warm and steady, like a quiet heartbeat that matched the rhythm of the forest around them. It wasn't intrusive, just there—always present, always protecting. He knew that as soon as he crossed the invisible line, he was safe. No one could track him here. No one could find them. The spell was old magic, ancient and powerful, like everything Indica did. It wasn't flashy, but it was unbreakable.

As he took another step closer to the cottage, Logan's lips curved into a faint smile. The sensation of the spell, or maybe just the natural energy Indica drew from the earth, wrapped around him like a familiar embrace. He'd never been one for magic, but this? This was different. This was her.

He could feel her essence in the land, in the way the leaves seemed to sway a little softer, in the way the sunlight filtered through the trees just right, casting warm, golden rays across the ground. There was a peace here that he hadn't felt anywhere else—a calmness that settled deep in his chest, reminding him that he wasn't just a wandering soul anymore. He had a place, a home.

And that home was with her.

The closer he got to the cottage, the stronger the buzz became, like a low hum thrumming just beneath the earth. Maybe she was channeling today, grounding herself as she often did, drawing power from the land and sky. Or maybe it was just her presence—her very being—that made everything here feel alive, like the world itself bent to her will in the gentlest, most natural way.

Either way, Logan found comfort in it. It wasn't just the protection or the magic that made him feel at ease. It was knowing she was here that she had created this space for them—a sanctuary away from the chaos of the world.

He took a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs as he reached the front door, feeling more grounded with each step. Yeah, this was home. And whatever buzz of energy lingered in the air, he'd never get tired of it. It was Indica. It was them.

And it was exactly where he wanted to be.

As Logan pushed open the cottage door, he couldn't help but announce himself. "I'm home!" he called, his deep voice filling the cozy space.

Almost instantly, Ranger was there to greet him, tail wagging and eyes bright. The German shepherd nudged his leg affectionately, the connection between them more than just a man and his dog. Ranger had been Indica's familiar for as long as Logan could remember, a loyal companion who had walked beside her through countless years. In his past life, Ranger had been a sleek, black cat named Nightshade, or Spicy Cat; Wade liked to joke. Logan had heard the stories of how Nightshade had prowled beside Indica, full of attitude and sass, just as Ranger was now, though in a different form.

"Hey, buddy," Logan murmured, scratching behind the dog's ears as he closed the door with a gentle push, the familiar thud of the purple wood hitting the frame making him chuckle.

That damn purple door.

Logan still remembered the day Indica told him she wanted to paint it purple. He had stood there, paint can in hand, brows furrowed in confusion. "Why in the hell are we painting the front door purple?" he had asked, popping the lid off the can with a little more force than necessary. "Doesn't that throw off the feng shui or whatever?"

Indica had only laughed, that melodic sound that always made him feel lighter. She'd grabbed the paintbrush from his hand and dipped it into the vibrant color. "Purple is a symbol of wealth, prosperity, and peace, Logan. It also represents the magic that lives here, in us, in this space. It's an invitation for those who understand and a warning for those who don't," she explained, her eyes sparkling with that ancient wisdom she carried so effortlessly.

Logan had scratched his chin, still skeptical but trusting her judgment as always. "And the runes? All those carvings you did in the doorframe and throughout the cottage?"

Indica had smiled softly, her fingers tracing one of the intricate symbols carved into the wood. "They're protection. Each one has a purpose—to keep us safe, to ensure no unwanted visitors find us, and to help the house feel... alive. A home, not just a place to live."

Logan had stared at her for a moment, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Well, alright then. Purple it is."

That memory always made him smile. He still got a kick out of how serious she was about those little things, but in the end, it all worked. The cottage was their sanctuary, protected by her magic and the love they'd poured into it.

He was pulled from the memory by the warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. His stomach rumbled in response, the smell filling the small space with a sense of comfort and home. "Babe?" Logan called again, his voice softer this time as he headed toward the kitchen.

"I'm in here!" came Indica's reply, her voice warm and full of life.

Logan smiled, giving Ranger one last pat before making his way down the hallway, eager to find her and sink into the warmth of their little home once more.

Logan stepped into the kitchen and stopped, his gaze falling on Indica. She stood at the counter, her delicate hands working a crumble mixture as she leaned slightly over a bowl filled with sliced peaches, the golden fruit glistening with spices. The sweet scent of cinnamon and nutmeg filled the air, mixing with the warmth of the freshly baked bread she must've pulled from the oven earlier.

Without a word, Logan crossed the small space and wrapped his arms around her from behind. His presence was solid, comforting, as he pulled her against his chest, rumbling a low, content sound deep in his throat. "Missed you," he muttered, his voice rough but soft with affection.

Indica smiled, her hands stilling for a moment in the bowl of crumble. Logan lowered his chin to her shoulder, having to hunch down a bit to accommodate the height difference between them, and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. Her warmth, the scent of peaches, spices, and the faint trace of lavender in her hair—it was all home to him.

"I missed you too," Indica murmured, her voice soft and full of that deep connection they shared. She paused her work, wiping her flour-dusted fingers on her apron before looking over her shoulder, her gaze meeting his.

Logan didn't need an invitation. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. It wasn't rushed or hurried, just full of the quiet love they'd built together over the years. His lips moved softly against hers, and for a moment, the world outside their little kitchen seemed to disappear.

When they finally pulled away, Logan rested his forehead against hers, a content smile on his face. "Smells good," he rumbled, glancing at the peaches. "But you smell better."

Indica laughed softly, the sound as warm and comforting as the kitchen around them. "Flatterer," she teased, nudging him playfully before turning back to her task, but not before stealing one last kiss.

Logan nuzzled into the crook of Indica's neck, pressing soft kisses along her warm skin. The familiar, intoxicating scent of her hair—lavender and something earthy—mixed with a new, sweeter aroma that hit his senses all at once. It was citrusy and bright but with an underlying note of wildflowers that seemed to wrap around his mind, making it hard to think of anything else.

He inhaled deeply, the scent taking hold of him like a drug, stirring something deep and primal inside. "Mmm, what's that smell?" he murmured, his voice already rough as he buried his face deeper into her neck, his lips moving against her skin. "You smell... different."

Indica didn't get a chance to answer before Logan's instincts kicked in. The sweet, wild fragrance wrapped around him like a vine, pulling him closer as his hands began to roam over her body. His fingers found her waist, his grip tightening as he pulled her back against him, feeling the warmth of her body through the fabric of her cardigan. A low growl escaped his throat as his lips brushed her pulse point, his nips turning more urgent, more possessive.

He nipped at her neck, teeth grazing the soft skin before soothing the sting with a slow, heated kiss. "You're driving me crazy, darlin'," he rumbled, his voice thick with desire as he moved to the other side of her neck, his tongue flicking out to taste her. He couldn't get enough, the citrusy sweetness making his senses hum and pushing him closer to that dangerous, feral edge he kept so well hidden.

His hands moved up, one sliding under the hem of her shirt to grip her bare skin, the other slipping over her chest, pulling her even tighter against him. "Damn, Indica," he growled as he sucked a mark onto her skin, the scent clouding his mind, turning every thought into need. "Smell like sunshine... like somethin' wild..."

He groaned low in his throat, the scent flooding his senses, making him want to devour her, to claim her in every possible way. His lips returned to the sweet spot just below her ear, nipping and sucking, his body pressed flush against hers as his hands wandered, possessive and hungry.

Whatever that scent was, it had him hooked, pulling him deeper into her orbit, where nothing else existed but her.

Indica felt Logan's warmth seep into her as his lips moved hungrily along her neck. Her breath hitched, and her fingers instinctively gripped the edge of the counter in front of her, trying to steady herself against the surge of heat flooding through her. The scent of peaches and spices from the crumble she'd been working on faded into the background, replaced by the intoxicating mix of Logan's rugged presence and his rough, demanding touch.

She melted against him, her body surrendering completely to his. The strength of his arms around her, the way his hands roamed over her skin, made it impossible to focus on anything else. Every nip and kiss sent shivers down her spine, a soft moan escaping her lips as she pressed her back into his chest, wanting more, needing more.

Logan's growl rumbled through her, vibrating against her skin as his teeth grazed her neck again. Her knees weakened, and she clung to the counter for balance, her knuckles turning white as she tried to ground herself. But it was useless—he had her, completely and utterly, and there was nowhere else she wanted to be.

Her breath came out in a shaky exhale as she tilted her head to the side, giving him better access to her throat. "Logan..." she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. She arched her back, pushing herself closer to him, feeling the hard lines of his body against hers, the possessiveness of his touch igniting something deep inside her.

He responded with another growl, his hands gripping her tighter, pulling her even closer. She gasped, her fingers slipping from the counter for a moment as she leaned into him, her body pliant, her heart racing. Logan's scent—earthy, raw, masculine—mixed with the sweet, citrusy wildflowers clinging to her, enveloping them both in a heady cloud of desire.

Indica's breath hitched again as she let herself go, surrendering to him completely, the world around them vanishing until all that existed was the feeling of his lips, his hands, his body pressing her deeper into that primal, electric connection they shared.

Indica's heart throbbed fiercely against her ribcage, each beat echoing Logan's intense desire. Her hands reached up, tangling in his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp in a way she knew drove him wild. She could feel the rumble of his growl against her skin, a vibration that spurred a deeper arousal within her.

"Logan," she breathed out again, this time a plea mingled with exhilaration. His response was a deeper groan, almost animalistic, as he pressed his body harder against hers.

His kisses moved with more urgency now, tracing fiery paths down her neck, over her collarbone, each one stoking the flame higher. Logan's hands were relentless and gentle all at once, exploring with a familiarity that only heightened the thrill. The edge of his fang-like canines grazed her skin softly, dangerously, reminding her of the wildness within him that matched the storm he stirred in her.

The sound of her heartbeat filled the kitchen, mingling with the crackle of the oven behind them and their labored breaths. Indica's fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to erase any space left between them.

With a growl, Logan lifted Indica effortlessly, his strong hands gripping her hips as he hoisted her onto the counter. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as she clung to him, their lips crashing together in a heated kiss. Neither of them noticed the chaos they were creating—too lost in each other to care.

As he leaned into her, one of Logan's hands swept the counter, knocking over the tub of flour. It tipped and spilled, sending a white cloud puffing into the air around them, dusting their skin and clothes. Indica let out a breathless laugh, but it was swallowed by Logan's hungry kiss as he pressed even closer, his lips capturing hers with unrelenting intensity.

In the midst of it all, the sugar tub teetered, then fell, scattering across the counter and onto the floor in a sticky cascade. Eggs, forgotten from earlier, rolled across the counter before slipping off the edge, landing with soft thuds on the hardwood floor.

Neither Logan nor Indica seemed to notice—or care. Logan's hands roamed over her waist, her back, her thighs, pulling her closer, deeper into his embrace as he nipped at her lips, his breathing ragged with desire. Indica's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him in as she kissed him back just as fervently, her body arching toward his, eager for his touch.

Flour dusted her dark skin, and she barely registered the soft crunch of the sugar under her bare feet as Logan pulled her further to the edge of the counter. The mess around them grew, but their focus remained entirely on each other—on the electric connection that sizzled between them, making everything else fade away. His strong hands ran up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher, his touch sending electric shocks through her veins. Indica moaned softly, her body reacting with an intensity that surprised even her; she was lost in the sensation, in Logan, in the overwhelming desire that coursed through them both.

Logan's eyes, usually a calm sea of blue, now mirrored the storm raging inside him. His gaze was intense, almost predatory, but filled with an undeniable love that made Indica's heart swell even as her body ached for him. He kissed her deeply, passionately, a kiss that spoke of raw need and fierce protectiveness.

Her fingers traced the muscles of his back, feeling them tense under her touch as he deepened their kiss. The world outside this burning circle of passion might as well have ceased to exist—they were here now, everything else fading into insignificance.

Breaking the kiss, Logan trailed his lips across her cheek to her ear, whispering words thick with emotion. "You have me spellbound, darlin'. Completely."

Indica's response was a mix of laughter and breathless desire. "And you have me... more than spellbound, Logan. You have me enchanted, ensnared." Her words tumbled out between gasps as his mouth once again found her neck, sending tingles spiraling down her spine.

Logan chuckled, the sound dark and enticing. "Ensnared, huh?" He teased lightly, his breath hot against her skin. "Just where I want you." His hands settled on her hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles through the fabric of her skirt, each touch sending waves of anticipation coursing through her body.

Indica felt a surge of power well up within her—a wild, thrilling energy that seemed to pulse in sync with Logan's own feral intensity. She leaned back slightly, looking into his eyes with a daring smile. "Maybe," she whispered huskily, "it's where I want to be."

The heat in Logan's gaze intensified, a flare of desire so strong it nearly took her breath away. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers softly, teasingly. "Is that so?" he murmured against her mouth, the words barely audible yet laden with promise.

Indica nodded, her eyes locked on his, reflecting the fire she saw burning within them. She pulled him closer, eliminating any remaining distance between them. Their lips met again, this time in a kiss that was nothing short of explosive. Logan's hands moved with purpose now, tracing the contours of her body as if memorizing every detail through touch alone.

"Need you," Indica all but whined, her voice breathless as she clung to Logan. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in lightly as she pulled him closer, her body trembling with anticipation. The raw need in her voice sent a shiver down Logan's spine, his desire for her flaring even hotter.

"Yeah?" he rasped, his lips brushing against her ear as his hands roamed her body, tracing her curves through the fabric of her clothes. "You got me, darlin'. Always."

Logan's voice was low and rough, the primal edge in his tone matching the intensity in his eyes. He leaned in, kissing along her neck, each press of his lips more urgent than the last. Indica's body responded instinctively, arching toward him as she whispered his name, her need for him a palpable force between them.

His grip tightened around her waist, and he kissed her fiercely, swallowing her soft whimpers.

Her hands wandered down Logan's back to tug at the hem of his shirt, seeking skin, craving the warm contact of flesh on flesh. He obliged without hesitation, pulling the garment over his head and discarding it carelessly to the floor.

As the shirt hit the floor, Indica's breath caught at the sight before her. Logan, bare-chested, was a sight to behold. His muscles rippled beneath his skin, his broad chest covered in a layer of coarse hair that only added to his raw, rugged appeal. His physique was a perfect balance of man and beast—primal, powerful, and utterly mouthwatering.

The deep grooves of his abs led down to his waistband, each muscle flexing as he shifted closer to her. His arms, thick with muscle, bore the marks of countless battles and the strength that came with being Wolverine. There was a raw energy about him, something untamed and dangerous, but beneath that wild exterior was a man who loved her fiercely.

His chest rose and fell with each breath, his body exuding heat and power. Indica's eyes traced the scars scattered across his skin, faint reminders of the wars he'd survived, only to heal and come back stronger. But it wasn't just his strength that made her heart race—it was the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in his world.

Logan stood there, every inch of him dripping with masculinity, and she couldn't help but bite her lip at the sight. He was raw, untamed power, yet the way he was with her—the way he surrendered only to her—made him even more irresistible.

"Like what you see, darlin'?" he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly, a smirk tugging at his lips as he caught her staring. His eyes glinted with that feral edge, a promise of everything to come.

Indica reached out, her fingers barely brushing over the surface of Logan's chest, tracing the lines of muscle beneath her touch. "Always, my love," she whispered, her voice filled with both admiration and desire. His skin was warm—hot, even—like the very heat of him was rising to meet her, pulling her closer with every pass of her fingers. The muscles under his skin rippled with each subtle movement, every breath he took vibrating through him like restrained power waiting to be unleashed.

Indica's hands moved slowly, savoring the feel of him, her fingertips gliding over the firm planes of his chest and down toward the valleys between each sculpted muscle. There was a raw energy in him, an untamed force that hummed beneath her touch. With each stroke, the connection between them grew deeper, more tangible, crackling like electricity in the air between them.

Her fingers mapped his chest, lingering on old scars that told stories of battles fought and survived, her touch soft and reverent. She was in awe of him—of the sheer strength and resilience that radiated from his body, yet how he allowed himself to be so vulnerable in her hands. It was an intimacy few knew, a side of Logan that only she was privileged to witness.

As her hands moved lower, trailing over the ridges of his abdomen, the air around them seemed to hum with a potent energy—a spark ignited between them that only grew hotter. Logan let out a low growl, his body responding to her touch, muscles tensing under her fingertips as if aching for more. The tension between them was almost too much to bear, and yet Indica savored every second, knowing that this moment was theirs alone.

Logan's hands were not idle either; they moved up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts, teasing her over the fabric of her crop top, which suddenly seemed far too much of a barrier between them.

The scent of her—sweet and citrusy with a hint of wildflowers—hit him again, and this time, something snapped. Logan's grip tightened on Indica's hips, his breathing turning ragged. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with feral intensity, pupils blown wide with desire. The perfume that clung to her skin, mixed with the raw magic he could feel pulsing through her, was driving him wild.

Without warning, Logan's hands moved with rough urgency, tugging at her clothes, fingers gripping the fabric as he pulled her shirt over her head, his growls low and primal. He wasn't gentle—not this time. His need was too strong, too immediate. The sound of fabric tearing filled the air as he yanked her closer, his lips crashing against hers, swallowing the soft gasp that escaped her.

As the fabric fell away from her body, completely exposing her large breasts to the cool air of the kitchen and then to the heat of Logan's gaze, a sense of vulnerability swept over her, quickly chased away by the depth of desire she saw reflected in his eyes. His touch was reverent as he traced the lines of her body now laid bare before him.

Indica leaned back on her hands, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each heated breath. Logan's fingertips danced across her skin, exploring every curve and contour as if he were mapping a precious terrain.

"Beautiful...most beautiful thing I've seen in my life," His lips followed, pressing against her flesh with a mix of soft kisses and slight nibbles that drew small, delightful sounds from her throat.

As Logan's broad, hairy chest pressed against Indica's, he could feel something more than just the heat of her body. It was a sensation that pulsed just beneath her skin, a subtle energy—her magic—coursing through her and into him. His muscles tensed slightly as he felt it, a tingle that began at the point of contact and spread outward like sparks flickering through his veins.

The deeper his fingers dug into her hips, the more the sensation grew, as though her magic was responding to their closeness to his touch. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was impossible to ignore. He could feel the hum of power she carried within her, like electricity dancing beneath her fingertips, sparking against his skin.

It was intoxicating, the way her magic blended with the raw physical connection between them. Logan groaned softly, burying his face in the crook of her neck as the sensation intensified. "I can feel it," he growled, his voice thick with desire, "your magic... it's in me."

Indica smiled, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps as she trailed her hands down his muscular arms, fingers tingling with the same power he felt. "It's always been yours," she whispered, her voice laced with a mix of passion and something deeper, a connection that went beyond the physical. "You bring it out of me."

The warmth of his mouth journeyed across her collarbone and delicately down the center of her chest, hovering over her heart as if he could feel the rampant beat echoing his own. Indica's body arched towards him, seeking the pressure of his touch, craving more of the intoxicating mixture of pain and pleasure only he could deliver.

Logan's gaze met hers, intense and unyielding. In that look, she saw the wildness of the beast within him, restrained but palpable, held back only by the thin thread of control he maintained. It thrilled her; it terrified her—a delicious terror that only fueled the flames higher.

He lifted her slightly, his hands firm under her thighs, shoving her skirt up, bringing her even closer, the strength in his arms unquestionable. Logan's lips found hers again, the kiss deep, consuming as if he could somehow draw her very soul into his.

Indica responded with equal fervor, her own passion matching his, stroke for stroke, kiss for kiss. Her hands roamed over the broad expanse of his shoulders and down his back, feeling every muscle tense under her touch.

Her fingers shook as she struggled with the button and zipper of his Levi's, her mind consumed by the searing heat of Logan's lips on her neck. Each kiss left a trail of fire that burned through her body, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the task at hand.

As the button finally gave way and the zipper descended, a rush of excitement surged through her veins. With a swift movement, Logan tugged down his jeans and boxer briefs.

His thick, flushed cock erupted from his pants, pulsing and throbbing with desperate need. The intense pressure and heat burned through every nerve in his body as he ached to release his desire.

Indica's gaze locked onto him, her eyes dark with want and a touch of wonder. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she touched him, her fingers wrapping around his girth. Logan groaned, the sound deep and guttural, filled with raw need. His eyes closed for a moment in sheer pleasure at her touch.

His rough, calloused fingers traced a path up her trembling inner thighs until they reached the fabric barrier of her panties. With a primal growl, Logan hooked his fingers in the waistband and yanked them down with a force that left red marks on her skin. The scent of her arousal filled his senses as he exposed her throbbing wetness.

"Indi, darlin'," he whispered hoarsely, his voice strained with desire. He opened his eyes, locking on to hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "Please."

The single word was a plea filled with longing and anticipation. Indica nodded slightly, understanding his need, feeling it mirrored in her own body. She shifted her position slightly, guiding him closer with a gentle tug of her hand. Logan obliged, stepping forward until he was nestled between her thighs.

Indica throws herself back onto the counter, knocking over the vase of flowers and scattering sugar across the kitchen. She bites down hard on her lip, eyes locked with her husband's as he leans in and sucks a pert nipple into his mouth. The scent of citrusy perfume fills his lungs, clouding his mind and igniting a primal urge within him. His higher brain struggles to maintain control as the beast inside of him roars, begging to be unleashed and ravish Indica without mercy.

"I'm going to devour you, my little witch," he snarls, his voice dripping with primal hunger as he positions the thick, fat head of his cock at her sloppy entrance.

With agonizing slowness, he begins to press inside her, torturing her with each millimeter of penetration.

Indica bites down hard on her lip, suppressing a whimper as she feels the pressure building inside her. The anticipation coils tightly in her body, setting every nerve on fire and making her ache for release. With a shaky breath, she nods in consent, giving him the permission he seeks.

"Harder...fuck me harder, my beast," she gasps out, surrendering herself completely to the wild desire that consumes them both.

Logan's response is immediate and powerful, his body responding to her plea with an intensity that matched the ferocity of his nature. He drives into her with a primal force that leaves no room for gentleness; each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The sound of their bodies colliding fills the kitchen, blending with Indica's gasps and moans.

The kitchen becomes a blur around them, the world narrowing down to the intense connection of flesh on flesh, the raw, nearly animalistic sounds filling the air: the slap of skin against skin, their mingled breaths, and growls of unrestrained desire.

Logan sets a punishing pace; each thrust sending waves of pleasure radiating through Indica. He leans into her, his hot breath against her ear. "Mine," he whispers fiercely between gritted teeth, each word punctuated by another deep drive that sends shivers racing down her spine.

"Yours," she whimpers.

Indica feels herself spiraling toward oblivion, every nerve ending screaming as she clings to Logan, her fingers digging into his muscular shoulders. The world tilts and spins, every sensation heightened to an almost unbearable intensity. She feels as if she's teetering on the edge of a precipice, one more touch, one more thrust away from plummeting into ecstasy.

"Logan," she gasps, her voice breaking with the force of her passion. "Don't stop."

He growls in response, a sound so primal and unrestrained that it sends another wave of desire coursing through her. His hands grip her hips firmly, guiding her to meet each of his thrusts, the connection so deep that it feels as though they are merging into one entity driven by the same wild hunger.

"Won't stop.....never gonna stop," he growled in response, hips snapping forward hard.

Above them, the kitchen lights flicker as if resonating with the energy they are generating, a low hum filling the air alongside the scent of citrus and arousal. Indica's senses are overwhelmed; the scent of Logan's skin, the taste of his kisses, and the feeling of him moving within her fuse together in a dizzying crescendo of sensation.

Each thrust pushes her closer to the edge, and she can feel her body tighten around him, her climax building like a storm on the horizon. Logan senses it too, his movements becoming more desperate, his balls heavy and tight, the growing pressure at the base of his spine; he became more focused as he seeks their mutual release.

Indica's world narrows to the electric connection between them, each point of contact sparking with raw energy. Her cries grow louder, less inhibited as she nears the peak of her desire. She grabs Logan's face, pulling him down for a fierce kiss, their teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance in a dance as old as time.

The tension in her builds to an almost painful degree, her entire body wound tight as a bowstring. And then, with one final, deep thrust, Logan sends her over the edge. Her climax washes over her in waves, powerful and relentless.

"L-Lo—nngh," she cries out back arching off the counter.

Logan groans deep in his chest, feeling her velvety blood hot walls massage his aching cock. "Fuck!"

She clings to him, nails digging into his back as she rides the waves of her release, each contraction pulling a deeper growl from Logan's throat. His own climax follows close behind, spurred on by the clenching of her body around him. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, his body shuddering with each pulse as he empties himself into her, cum spurting out in thick milky ropes marking her as his in the most primal way possible.

The world seems to pause, their heavy breaths and the slowing thud of their hearts the only sounds in the now silent kitchen. Gradually, they come back to themselves, the haze of lust dissipating slightly as reality begins to seep back in.

Logan lifts his head to look at Indica, his eyes still dark with residual desire but softened with something deeper, a tender yet fierce affection that sends a warm flush through her body all over again. He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead before easing back slightly to look at her.

"We might have gotten a bit carried away," he says with a rough chuckle, his voice still husky from their exertions. A sheepish grin crosses his face as he takes in the disarray around them—the overturned vase, sugar spread across the countertop, their clothes discarded haphazardly on the floor.

Indica laughs, a light, joyous sound that fills the kitchen. She reaches up to brush a damp lock of hair from his forehead, her touch gentle and affectionate. "Maybe just a little," she agrees, her eyes sparkling with amusement and love. "But I can't say I minded it."

He nods, his eyes locking with hers, intense and burning yet filled with an emotion so deep it makes her heart swell in her chest. He bends down to capture her lips once more, this kiss tender and loving, a stark contrast to the passion-fueled ones that had preceded it. It's a confirmation of something beyond their physical desire—an affirmation of their deep, unwavering connection.

Logan took a deep breath, that scent hitting him again, he felt his cock stir. "What the fuck are you wearing? Smells too damn good..." His voice was rough, teasing, but there was a glint in his eyes—like he still hadn't gotten enough of her, even after everything.

Indica chuckled softly, sliding off the counter and pushing her skirt down her legs before pulling on one of his t-shirts. The shirt, oversized on her, fell to just mid-thigh, and she padded barefoot over to the kitchen counter, where the small bottle of perfume sat. She picked it up, sniffing it once more just to test how strong it was before handing it over to him. "Here, see for yourself," she said, smiling.

Logan didn't even need to remove the lid to catch the scent; it hit him full force. He took a deep breath, his nose flaring. "Smells like pheromones," he muttered, more to himself than her, as his brow furrowed in curiosity.

As Indica leaned on the counter, her gaze dropped to the floor. A small brochure, glossy and folded, lay there like it had been waiting to be noticed. She picked it up and read it quickly, her eyes widening before she burst into a fit of giggles. Leaning heavily against the counter for support, she couldn't stop the laughter from bubbling up.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. "What's so funny?"

Still giggling, Indica handed him the brochure and the little card that had come with the perfume. "Here, read this," she said, trying to catch her breath.

Logan scanned the brochure, his expression shifting from confusion to amusement as he read the bold print: Pheromone-Infused Perfume: Enhance Attraction, Elevate Desire.

Logan held the perfume bottle between his fingers like it might explode at any second, his brow furrowed as he stared at it before glancing back up at Indica. "Who the fuck sent you this?" His voice was gruff, laced with curiosity but edged with a little annoyance.

Indica's lips twitched into a knowing smile. "Vanessa," she replied, watching as his reaction shifted from confusion to that trademark grumpy scowl.

Logan grunted in response, his face hardening as he handed the bottle back to her like it was some sort of dangerous contraband. "She's almost as meddlesome as her husband," he muttered, shaking his head as if dealing with Wade's antics in spirit, even when the man wasn't physically present.

Indica couldn't help but laugh at that, setting the bottle back on the counter. "You know they mean well."

"Yeah, sure," Logan grumbled. "Well-meaning chaos, just like Wade."

Indica grinned, still laughing softly. "That's probably why every guy in town was acting crazy around me today. I didn't realize I was walking around wearing literal pheromones."

Logan let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head as he tossed the brochure on the counter. "No wonder. Damn near drove me feral myself." He pulled her close again, his arms wrapping around her waist as he buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. "But hell, I don't need pheromones to want you, darlin'. You do that just fine on your own."

Logan stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Wait... what do you mean 'acting crazy'? Was somebody hitting on you?" His voice grew rougher, a low growl slipping into his words.

"Logan—" Indica started, trying to calm him down, but before she could say more, she was hoisted up and slung over his broad shoulder with no warning.

"I'll be damned if someone's hitting on my old lady," Logan grunted, marching through the kitchen and living room with determination.

Indica giggled, lightly tapping his back. "Where are you taking me?"

"To bed," he rumbled, his grip tightening possessively on her thighs. "We aren't leaving this house again until you smell like mine," he declared, giving her a playful slap on the ass as he stomped up the stairs, each step filled with intent.

Indica's laughter echoed through the house, warmth filling her chest. She knew Logan was serious, but his protectiveness had a way of making her feel cherished. She relaxed against him, content to let him be feral and wild, knowing all too well how much they belonged to each other.

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[th3mrskory]

Chapter 1: Unspoken Goodbyes

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Original fem!Reader x Fiancé (past/present) / Original fem!Reader x Origins!Logan (future)

Word count: 2.3k

The morning of her wedding should’ve been a dream—a culmination of love and promises. Instead, she stood before the mirror in silence, the soft rustle of her wedding dress the only sound in the room. The knot in her stomach tightened, its weight dragging her heart down with it.

Memories of their last argument played on a loop in her mind, the words sharp and unresolved. Had she missed something? Ignored the signs? The questions clawed at her, each one pulling the knot tighter, as if her body already knew what her heart refused to admit.

She glanced at the clock—ten minutes, then fifteen—still no sign of him.

The bridal suite grew quieter with each passing minute, the hum of voices from outside the door fading into a distant murmur. Her mother had checked on her earlier, fussing over her veil and assuring her everything was perfect. But now, as she sat alone in the priest's private room, the knot in her stomach tightened.

Her bouquet lay on the table next to her, the vibrant blooms a vivid testament to what the day should have been—a celebration of love and unity. Yet, their liveliness seemed to mock the pallor of her trembling hands, a cruel juxtaposition to the ache that tightened her chest. They reminded her of the promises they had made, the plans they had woven together, and now, the sharp sting of those fractured dreams. She tried to breathe, to steady herself, but her thoughts raced, louder than the silence around her. Where is he?

He wasn’t one to be late. He had always been the responsible one, the steady rock in their relationship. If anyone had doubts, it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him.

The door creaked open slightly, its groan breaking the oppressive silence of the room. She looked up sharply, her breath catching in her throat as her heart skipped. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and the faint scent of the wooden frame mixed with the distant murmur of voices outside, amplifying the moment's tension. For a moment, she thought it was him. Relief bubbled up, but it quickly evaporated as she saw who it was.

It wasn’t her fiancé. It was his best man.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He looked uncomfortable, almost pained, his hand fidgeting with a piece of paper.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice strained as she stood, her heart pounding harder. “Where is he?”

The best man hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the floor. “He wanted me to give you this,” he said quietly, holding out the folded letter.

She stared at it, her stomach twisting into knots. Her hands shook as she reached out to take it, her mind racing with every possible explanation except the one she feared the most.

The paper was light in her hand, but the weight of it pressed down on her chest, as though the words scrawled within it carried a gravity she wasn’t prepared to face. Her breath hitched, the air feeling heavy in her lungs. Slowly, she unfolded it, her breath catching as she read the words written in his familiar, careful handwriting:

"I can’t do this. I’m sorry."

The world seemed to tilt. Her vision blurred as the words echoed in her mind.

She looked up at the best man, her voice shaking. “What’s this?”

His shoulders slumped, his guilt palpable. “He left the letter this morning,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t tell me anything. Just... left this for you.”

Her legs felt weak, and she sank into the nearest chair, the letter crumpling in her hands. 

The best man nodded, his expression pained. “I’m so sorry, Evelyn. I tried to stop him, tried to get him to talk, but he wouldn’t. He just...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

The air felt suffocating, the walls of the small room closing in around her. The sound of muffled laughter and conversation from the guests waiting outside was like a cruel reminder of what was supposed to happen today.

Her mother burst into the room moments later, her expression shifting from excitement to worry the instant she saw her daughter’s face. “What’s going on? Where is he?”

Evelyn didn’t answer, couldn’t find the words to explain. Her mother’s gaze flicked to the best man, who still stood there, looking like he wanted to disappear.

Her mother’s gaze flicked to the best man, her expression sharp and demanding. “Where is he?”

The best man shifted uncomfortably, his hand running over the back of his neck. He glanced toward Evelyn, hesitant, before finally saying, “He’s not coming.”

Her mother froze, her brows furrowing as the words sank in. “What do you mean, he’s not coming?” Her voice rose, each word more incredulous than the last. “This is his wedding day! What the hell does that mean?”

The best man’s jaw tightened, his guilt and discomfort clear as he said, “He couldn’t go through with it. He’s gone.”

Her mother’s face turned red, a mix of disbelief and fury twisting her features. “Gone where? How could he just leave? What kind of man does that?”

“Mom,” Evelyn said weakly, her voice barely audible, the letter crumpled in her hands.

“No,” her mother snapped, rounding on her daughter now, her anger spilling over. “He doesn’t get to do this. He doesn’t get to just walk away! There are people waiting out there. He owes you—he owes all of us—an explanation!”

Her voice cracked, and for a moment, her anger seemed to falter, replaced by the raw pain of watching her daughter’s heart shatter.

The murmurs outside the door grew louder, the guests undoubtedly beginning to wonder what was causing the delay. She could already imagine the questions, the judgment, the whispers.

“What do we tell everyone?” her mother asked, her voice trembling.

Evelyn stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. Her hands trembled as she clenched the crumpled letter, her emotions bubbling to the surface. Anger. Pain. Humiliation.

“I don’t know, Mom!” she snapped, her voice cracking under the weight of her hurt. “Just... get me out of here.”

Her mother froze, her expression shifting between shock and heartbreak, but Evelyn didn’t wait for her to respond. She grabbed her bouquet off the table, not because she needed it, but because her hands needed something to do—anything to stop them from shaking.

She turned back to the best man. “Did he say anything else?”

“No…” he replied. 

Her heart broke all over again at those words. She pushed past them both, leaving the room and making her way to the car waiting outside. She ignored the stares, the questions, the looks of pity. She needed to get out, to get away from all of it.

That night, while the wedding venue emptied and the guests went home with their unanswered questions, she packed her belongings in silence. The apartment she and her fiancé had shared during their engagement felt suffocating, every corner filled with traces of a life they would never have. Her wedding dress hung limp over the back of a chair, mocking her with its unfinished story.The bouquet sat on the kitchen counter, its once-vibrant blooms already wilting.

Her parents arrived just as she was throwing the last of her clothes into a battered suitcase. Her mother, still in her formal gown, clutched her pearls with trembling fingers, while her father’s tie hung loose around his neck, his face etched with exhaustion and worry.

“Sweetheart,” her mother began carefully, stepping into the room.“You can’t just leave,” her mother insisted, her voice sharp yet quivering with emotion. “You’re upset, and I understand that, but running off won’t fix this. It won’t undo what he did to you.”

Her father stepped forward, his tone measured but firm. “Selling the house? Taking off? You don’t even know where you’re going.You need to take a breath, let us help you figure this out. This isn’t the answer, kid.”

She froze for a moment, then turned to face them, her eyes red-rimmed but blazing with defiance. “And what is the answer, Dad? Stay here and keep pretending everything’s fine? Wake up every day in a place that reminds me of him? Of what I wasn’t good enough to hold on to?” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care.

“Sweetheart, no one’s saying that,” her mother began, but she didn’t let her finish.

“Yes, you are!” she snapped. “You want me to stay here, smile through the pain, act like nothing happened. Well, I can’t. I won’t. I need to go. I need to get out of this town, out of this house.” She gestured around her, her hands trembling. “It’s like he’s everywhere. I’ll never get away from it.”

“Please,” her mother said, tears welling in her eyes. “At least sleep on it. You’re not thinking straight.”

She let out a hollow laugh, running a hand through her hair. “I’ve never been thinking clearer in my life, Mom. Staying here will kill me. I need to leave.”

Her bestfriend, Martha, showed up later that evening, carrying a bottle of cheap wine and wearing the dress she’d worn to the ceremony that never happened.

“I get it,” her friend said, breaking the silence. “I’d want to burn the whole damn world down if I were you. But you can’t just pack up your life and disappear. What about work? Your family? What about us?”

Evelyn shook her head, her fingers gripping the rim of her coffee mug so tightly she thought it might shatter. “I’m not running. I just…” She shook her head, biting her lip to keep her voice steady.“I can’t be here anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I see him standing at the altar. Except he’s not. He never was.”A tear rolled down her face, she sniffed and whipped her cheek“I just know I can’t be here anymore. It’s like... everything about this place is choking me. I need space to figure out who I am without him.”

Her friend sighed, but there was no point arguing. The decision had already been made.

Her friend hesitated, her expression softening. “What if you regret it? What if you run, and it just... follows you?”

“Maybe it will,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “But I’ll take that chance over staying here and pretending like everything’s fine.”

The house sold faster than she expected. Within days, strangers had walked through it, commenting on the potential it had—the very same potential she and her fiancé had dreamed of building on together. 

Walking through it one last time, she couldn’t stop the memories from flashing before her eyes—the corner where they’d put up the Christmas tree, the creak in the floorboard he always promised to fix, the way the light filtered into the bedroom where they’d planned to start their mornings together.

By the time she handed the keys to the new owners, her chest felt hollow, but it was a relief to walk away.

She packed her things into her old Chevy, a mix of essentials and sentimental items—though not much of the latter remained. The radio became her only companion on the road, playing Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, and Pink Floyd as she drove for hours aimlessly through towns that all blurred into one.

There was no plan, just the old creased map folded on the passenger seat and the faint hope that somewhere out there, she’d find a place that didn’t remind her of everything she’d just lost.

The miles rolled by in a haze of faded road signs and forgotten gas stations. The highways blurred into narrow backroads, lined with towering trees that seemed to close in around her. A week passed before she saw it—the sign, small and weathered, half-hidden by overgrown brush: Welcome to Clearwater.

The sign was small and unassuming, barely visible through the overgrowth vegetation.

The town looked like it belonged in another decade—or maybe another century. Small shops lined the main street, their faded signs creaking in the wind. A church with a tall steeple stood proudly against the skyline.

 It was the kind of place that seemed untouched by time.

She parked outside the church, stepping out of the car and stretching her legs. The air smelled of pine and damp earth, and for the first time in days, her chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.

Pinned to the bulletin board by the church steps was a weathered “For Sale” flyer. The edges were curling, and the ink was faint, but the words were clear:

Small cottage for sale. Fully furnished. Need’s lots of love. Located near the river. Please Contact Pastor Edwards.

She tore the flyer from the board and dialed the number from the payphone outside the general store, fishing a few coins from her pocket. Each turn of the rotary dial echoed loudly, and she tapped her fingers nervously as the line clicked and rang.

“Pastor Edwards speaking,” came a warm, steady voice.

“Hi, Pastor Edwards my name is Evelyn” she said, clearing her throat. “I’m calling about the cottage. Is it... still available?”

“It is,” he replied. “It’s a little rough around the edges, but it’s got good bones. Peaceful, too. Folks around here say it’s the kind of place where you can hear yourself think.”

She arranged to see it that afternoon, and when she did, it took her breath away.

_____________________________________________________________

The cottage sat nestled at the edge of the woods, its shutters faded and crooked, the porch sagging with age. Ivy climbed the stone walls, and the river just beyond the trees glimmered faintly in the sunlight. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a sanctuary.

Pastor Edwards smiled kindly as he handed her the keys. “It just needs someone to put in a little love.”

The transaction was quick—cash exchanged for a set of old, rusted keys—that night, as she stood in the center of the dusty living room, surrounded by creaking floorboards and chipped paint, she felt something she hadn’t felt in weeks: hope.

_______________________________________________________________tagging some amazing people that showed interest on my previous post (if you don't want to be tagged please let me know): taglist

The house wasn’t perfect. Neither was she. But maybe, just maybe, they could rebuild each other.

Chapter 2

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© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere

Now that Logan had something to look forward to, the week crawled by painfully slow. Each day seemed to stretch, time dragging like a weight as he wandered through the wilderness, his senses on high alert. He didn’t return to the cabin much, choosing to stay out all night when he knew her plane hadn’t returned. Andi’s story about tranquilizing that bear on her own kept echoing in his mind, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. The thought of her out there, alone, dealing with men and animals alone didn't sit right with him, however confident she was about it. 

Logically, he knew she was able to cover a wide area in her plane, a far wider area than he could ever cover in a day, but it gave him some purpose, and if anything happened to her, he knew he could never forgive himself. It was one thing to not be able to protect Jean from many many powerful mutants, it was quite another to protect a human from an attack from a bear. That would be quick and easy work. 

As he walked, the memory of that snowball fight replayed in his mind. The way she’d laughed, the way she hadn’t backed down even when he’d cornered her. She was fearless in a way that was both irritating and... something else he didn’t want to define. He didn’t like thinking about it, didn’t like the way his thoughts kept drifting back to her in those quiet moments when he wasn’t actively focusing on anything else.

It made him feel better, to be out of the cabin, with a purpose, however unnecessary it probably was. 

Andi carried on with her life as usual, except now there was an undercurrent of contentment she hadn’t felt in years. Something to look forward to, something other than the usual distractions of TV and knitting. There was the anticipation of conversation, of sharing her meals—simple things she hadn’t experienced in so long, that she had convinced herself she didn't need. It was strange how a new presence could slip into her routine and change the very texture of her days, but she couldn’t deny that Logan’s existence had done just that.

She was careful not to let thoughts of him interfere with her job, and she would never let it affect her flying. But when she was alone, when she had nothing to occupy her mind, he was there, his face sharp in her memory, the strong lines of his jaw, the messy cowlicks in his hair that softened his otherwise rugged exterior. And his eyes. Those intense eyes that always seemed to be watching her so closely, like she was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

There were so many unknowns about him, so many reasons she should be cautious.  She didn’t know him, not really. But despite that, there was something about him that her gut said wasn’t a threat. She couldn’t explain it, but deep down, she knew he wasn’t dangerous. Not to her, at least. He was dangerous in the way a storm could be dangerous, unpredictable, powerful, but not malicious. 

Tuesday morning finally came, and since there was no urgent reason for Andi to be out in the bush, she spent the morning calling some of the other remote rangers in the area to compile reports, then working on her latest knitting project. She had never really told Logan a time and so they had ended up cooking together after he arrived, but this time, she wanted to get right into their Friends binge. She put together a meal into a dish and put it back in the fridge, ready to throw in the oven whenever he decided to present himself. 

Andi was facing the windows as she knit, and couldn't help but smile when she saw his figure approaching. She didn’t wait for his knock, but flung open the door as he climbed the stairs. 

“Hey, neighbor,” she greeted, her smile bright enough to chase away the lingering chill that had followed him inside. He felt his own expression soften, a rare reaction he’d started to expect when she was around.

“Were you waiting for me?” he asked, stepping inside and taking in the familiar warmth of her space. It felt like a small sanctuary, one that he had started to look forward to more than he would admit.

“Absolutely, I’m starving.” Andi moved into the kitchen. “I’ve got snacks to start, and we can start Friends while dinner’s in the oven. 

“You really know how to spoil a guy,” he followed her into the kitchen as she put the casserole in. 

She turned around, and started handing him bowls. “I didn’t know what you'd like so I made a selection.” 

Logan watched with a sudden feeling of... what? Something gnawing at the edge of his mind, a sensation he wasn't used to and definitely didn’t want to explore, but it left him feeling warm and cozy, like sliding into a warm bed on a cold cold night. The way she handed him the bowls, so casual, like this was something they did all the time. It was simple, almost domestic. 

He set the bowls down on the counter, glancing sideways at her as she busied herself with the snacks. This was different. Completely different from anything he'd let himself be a part of in a long time. He didn't know why it was happening now—why, of all places and people, this was the one thing he couldn't just walk away from.

"Selection, huh?" he muttered, leaning against the counter, watching her with that familiar half-scowl. "You trying to fatten me up?"

She laughed, that soft, unguarded sound that seemed to come so easily around him. "Hey, if you're not gonna eat it, I will."

Logan's eyes drifted over her, and he felt something tug at him—something he tried to push down. This was stupid. He shouldn’t be thinking like this. She was human, normal, a far cry from the kind of life he was meant for. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. He couldn’t drag her into the kind of mess that followed him, not with what he was.

But then, she turned to him with that bright, easy smile again, her eyes catching his for just a moment too long. He felt that familiar warmth creeping up, the same one that had been growing since the night in the snow.

He clenched his jaw, trying to shake it off. "You really don’t gotta go through all this trouble," he added, his tone rough but lacking the bite. 

Andi gave him a sideways glance as she finished putting the casserole in the oven. “Trouble? This is barely any work, Logan. You act like I cooked a five-course meal or something.”

He shrugged, his hands moving idly over the bowl of popcorn. “Just seems like a lot of fuss for just me.”

“Well, I figured you’d appreciate the variety,” she teased, coming over to stand next to him, brushing her hand lightly across his as she grabbed a bowl of chips. “Didn’t want you thinking I’m a lazy host.”

Logan felt that familiar tension spike in his chest, the briefest contact of her fingers sending an unsettling warmth through him. He didn’t like it—didn’t like how easily she could make him feel something he hadn’t felt in years. And for what? She didn’t even know him, not really. She didn’t know the half of it.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, trying to shake off the feeling. “You’re spoiling me, and I don’t like it.”

Andi laughed, and there was something so carefree in the sound that it tugged at something deep inside him. “Too bad. You’re gonna get used to it.” She nudged him with her elbow, not seeing the way he stiffened, trying to keep himself at arm’s length.

Logan snorted, accepting the bowl. She was fearless in the most ridiculous ways. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get used to me sticking around too much. I’m not exactly prime company."

"Sure," she said, her eyes narrowing playfully. "But you keep coming back."

Logan felt the air shift between them, just for a second. That pull he’d been trying to ignore. Damn it, she was right. He did keep coming back. And he didn’t have a good reason why.

He froze for a moment, processing that thought, but she brushed past him, leading the way to the couch, and Logan followed,  He settled onto the worn cushions next to her, the warmth of her presence close but not too close. He should’ve been comfortable, but his mind wouldn’t let him settle. Not with her right there.

He shifted, adjusting himself on the couch, realizing it wasn’t the cushions or the stiffness that was bugging him. It was something else. He wasn’t supposed to get comfortable anywhere—not here, not with anyone.

But he was. That’s what scared him.

Five episodes in, Andi collected the dishes from between them and put them in the sink.

I’ll do those tomorrow. 

The time with Logan was now something she craved, to look over and watch that tough expression melt into a smile at something stupid on the TV. Or the way his head would tilt back as he ate, his eyes fluttering closed and whole lanky body actually relaxed for once. From her view, she saw his low chuckle and shoulders shake as he laughed at the scene, those damned cowlicks ever present. 

She wiped her hands on a dish towel, trying to shake the feeling creeping over her. They were just watching Friends , just hanging out, but it had started to feel like more than that. She caught herself watching for his reactions, feeling a flicker of warmth whenever he laughed at a scene or muttered some sarcastic comment under his breath.

“You gonna stand there staring all night or join me?” Logan’s voice cut through her thoughts, a teasing edge to it.

Andi snapped out of her daze, her cheeks flushing slightly as she crossed back to the couch. “Sorry, I was just thinking how funny it is that you of all people are so into this show.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching as if he were holding back a smirk. “Yeah, well, you put it on. I’m just... indulging your weird tastes.”

“Uh-huh,” she shot back, sitting down beside him. “You’re laughing harder than I am, admit it.”

“Dream on.” He glanced over at her, his expression softening just a fraction as he held her gaze until she looked away.

Andi turned her head back to the show, but she was no longer paying attention to the plot. The way he looked at her, the way his gaze had lingered, sent butterflies swirling in her stomach. Andi felt as if she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, even though they were on opposite sides of the couch. She could smell the faint scent of woodsmoke mixed with something distinctly him—something warm and masculine that made her heart race.

Since their first meeting, there was something about his rugged handsomeness, the way his strong jawline caught the light, and those intense eyes that seemed to see straight through her that drew her in, making her pulse quicken. She couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt, and it sent her thoughts spiraling. She caught herself imagining what it would be like to lean closer, run her hands through his hair, kiss him. But with those thoughts came a wave of uncertainty. He probably didn’t feel the same. He was obviously up here alone for a reason, and was likely only here for the meal. 

Each time he laughed, that low, rumbling sound that sent warmth flooding through her, she felt the urge to reach out, to pull him closer, but she hesitated, keeping to her side of the couch, sneaking glances.

The time ticked on, each episode passing. Andi wouldn’t admit it, but she was not keeping up with the plot anymore, her eyes didn’t want to stay open, but she didn't want the night to end. But he was here, and happy. She was happy, and he was filling something within her soul she didn’t know was empty. 

–

–

Logan stirred, blinking his eyes open slowly. The room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the TV playing the last few minutes of Friends.He groaned quietly, his mind hazy as he adjusted to being awake. For a moment, he didn’t move, disoriented by the unfamiliar feeling of waking up without the usual jolt of adrenaline or edge of panic. His mind was foggy, peaceful even.

Warmth. Not his own.

He froze, instinctively holding his breath. His gaze dropped to where Andi lay, down the quilt, as he registered where her legs barely brushed against his under the covers, one hand reached back and resting on his hip. Instantly, his chest tightened, and he froze, like any movement might shatter the strange quiet between them. Their legs were barely touching beneath the covers, but that subtle point of contact of her hand sent a wave of something through him, something he didn’t want to put a name to.

She was still there, asleep beside him. It wasn’t some hazy dream. She was real, and worse—he liked it. Too much.

He lay there for a moment, watching her sleep quietly. She looked so peaceful, wrapped up in the blankets like she belonged there, beside him. The tension that usually gnawed at him had disappeared. He’d slept better than he had in years, no nightmares, no panic, just calm. Andi had trusted him enough to fall asleep next to him, and his chest tightened with something dangerously close to affection. It felt too good, too right.

His pulse quickened as the reality of the situation hit him hard. 

  Shit.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to piece together his thoughts. He had slept well, too well, with no nightmares, no waking in a panic, no claws coming out. Just peaceful, dreamless sleep, something he hadn’t experienced in years. It should have been a relief, but instead, it filled him with a quiet sense of dread. Because the reason he had slept so easily was lying right beside him .

Andi. The strong, beautiful woman that just happened to be out here in the middle of nowhere with him. Who's couch he had fallen asleep on. 

Her breathing was soft, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. She looked peaceful, her arm tucked under her head, eyelashes resting softly against her cheek. He could hear her heartbeat, and it was steady, calm.  She had trusted him enough to fall asleep beside him, and more than that, he hadn’t hurt her. He hadn’t woken up in a cold sweat, claws ready to strike. Somehow, being around her had quelled that constant undercurrent of tension he always carried. For the first time in a long time, Logan had felt like himself. He hadn’t been running. He hadn’t been on guard. He had just been.

He watched her face, his expression softening without his permission. She looked so vulnerable, so trusting. It hit him like a punch to the gut, how much he wanted to stay in this moment, how much he wanted to stay forever and stay by her side, make sure she’d be safe. 

But now, as he stared at her sleeping form, that peace started to evaporate, replaced by a growing sense of unease. What the hell was he doing here? He wasn’t supposed to get comfortable like this, wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Not with her. She was human—normal. She had no idea who he really was, what he was capable of. The thoughts churned in his mind, gnawing at him like a wound that wouldn’t close.

His mind started to spiral, the memories creeping in, uninvited. Jean. The way she had smiled at him, how he had thought—no, believed—he had found a home with her and at the X-mansion. And then how it had all fallen apart, how his love for her had destroyed everything. His fists clenched at the thought, and he could feel the phantom pain of his claws cutting through his skin, just as they had cut through so many others.

And then there was Marie. The memory of her limp body in his arms, his claws embedded in her chest. He had nearly killed her, and that was the reality of it. He was a weapon, always a threat to those closest to him, even when he didn’t mean to be.

His breath hitched slightly, his chest tightening as he looked at Andi again. The thought of her lying in his arms, bleeding because of him, made him feel sick. He was so damned worried about keeping her safe from bears, from wild animals, but the truth was, the biggest threat to her safety was him.

He glanced at her again, the rationalization picking up speed in his mind. She didn’t know who he really was—what he was capable of. The quiet moments, the banter, the way she trusted him... she had no idea what he was, and whatever trust she had placed in him would be gone in an instant. Hell, he could barely keep himself from going off the rails most days. If he let himself get even closer, if she shared the same feeling for him, it wouldn’t end well.

He shifted slightly, pulling away from her just a fraction, testing the distance. His mind churned, working through the steps logically. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when. He was a ticking time bomb, and when he went off, she’d be caught in the blast.

His claws itched beneath his skin, a dark reminder of the thing he carried with him, always lurking beneath the surface. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He wasn’t the guy who could be around her like this, not without fucking it up. She deserved better. Someone who wouldn’t wake up with claws out, ready to hurt her by accident.

He pulled away just enough to put some distance between them. Every inch felt like pulling teeth, the weight of the decision heavy in his chest. He wanted to stay. He wanted to, more than he’d admit, but staying wasn’t an option. He knew how this would end if he didn’t get out now.

He glanced at her again, the rise and fall of her chest steady as she slept, blissfully unaware of the storm inside his head. She looked so damn peaceful, trusting. That’s what tore him up the most. She trusted him. And he had no business being the guy she trusted. The guy she was letting in.

Logan sat up, the quilts rustling as he moved. A physical distance was easier to create than the mental one. He had to go. He had to walk out before this spiraled any more than it already had. He couldn’t give her the chance to wake up and make it harder than it already was to leave, to run, to create a distance she was so fucking good at closing.

He forced himself to his feet, the warmth of her proximity slipping away as he stood there, staring down at her one last time. It felt like someone had twisted a knife in his chest, but he didn’t flinch. This was what he had to do. If he really cared, he’d leave now, before he dragged her deeper into his darkness. And he did care about her, far too much.

Logan made his way to the door, each step heavier than the last. His body felt sluggish, like it was dragging through mud, weighed down by something more than just the usual fatigue. Every fiber of him screamed to turn around, to just lay back down, and pretend for a little longer that he wasn’t who he was—that he could stay here with her and have this. But he couldn’t.

His hand rested on the doorknob, cold metal under his palm, and he stood frozen, staring at it as if it held the answer to some question he wasn’t ready to ask. His throat tightened, a bitter lump forming there as the realization washed over him again. The truth he’d been running from, the one he kept shoving down, clawing its way back up.

I can’t stay and play house. I’m a monster. 

He could picture it so clearly in his head: a life where none of this mattered. Where he wasn’t what he was, a mutant, a weapon. He could be normal, a guy who could enjoy waking up next to someone without the fear of hurting them, of losing control. 

But he wasn’t any other man. And that dream, that ridiculous, fleeting hope, evaporated the moment he remembered what lay beneath his skin. The claws. The violence. The endless baggage. All the reasons he had to keep his distance from people like her, as strong as she was, she wouldn’t be able to handle him.

His chest burned, a low ache spreading beneath his ribs, an emptiness that had been filled by her, and now was quickly being drained, that could never be truly filled. No matter how much he wanted this—wanted her—it would always be just out of reach. Because he wasn’t made for this kind of life. He wasn’t made to have what everyone else did, what normal people had. It wasn’t for him. It never had been.

His grip tightened on the knob, knuckles turning white as he clenched it harder than he meant to. The pain in his chest twisted, like something sharp was lodged there, stabbing deeper the longer he stayed. His muscles ached, but not from exhaustion—from something worse. Something inside him wanted out, but it stayed locked behind years of walls and defenses he couldn’t let crumble. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths as the weight of it all bore down on him. His heart was hammering now, blood roaring in his ears. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry, and the air felt thick, suffocating. 

Logan exhaled a shuddering breath, his fingers slowly slipping from the knob as he braced himself. The door felt like a barrier, one he wasn’t ready to cross. His throat tightened again, the bitterness of it all rising up, hot and sharp, but he swallowed it down. He had to. This was what he had to do.

He couldn’t stay, because the moment he let himself believe he could have this, it would all come crashing down. And he’d be the one to destroy it.

With one last glance over his shoulder at Andi—peaceful, still asleep, her face illuminated softly by the flickering TV light—he let go of the doorknob, stepping back. The urge to walk back to her, to stay, surged inside him like a tidal wave, but he buried it, pushing it deep down where it belonged.

He turned back to the door and finally forced it open, the cold air from the hallway seeping in. It bit at his skin, sharp and biting, but it didn’t compare to the cold settling in his chest as he stepped through, leaving behind what he could never have. He shut it quickly, not warning the cold air to wake her up. She wouldn’t understand, even if he could find the words to explain. She would think she could though, and he could picture it now. 

He shook his head to clear the picture and started walking, then running, the claws coming out as he fell to his knees in the dark forest, the pain in his heart finally something that fucking mutation couldn’t heal. 

Previous Part Next Part

[werdlewrites]

ł ฿Ɇ₵Ø₥Ɇ ĐɆ₳₮Ⱨ - ₱₳Ɽ₮ Ø₦Ɇ

masterlist - ao3 - twitter @ djomamma

PROCEED WITH CAUTION. TW AHEAD

summary: The shock of its truth momentarily numbs the pain in her body–or is it the Creature itself that steals away her agony? She finds herself no longer tense from labor but broken at the mere thought of her baby being stolen from her womb. Fresh tears fill tired eyes, pleading once more for her child’s life with hands raised protectively over her abdomen. “She’s all I have left.” warnings: UNALIVING, loss of family, mentions of blood and potential miscarriage, no logan in this part wc: 2,703

Next part

They say Death walks among us–among the living. An entity never to be seen as They wear a new skin to blend in with the neighbors and the public as They bump shoulders in the streets. They wear the face of someone yet to be created by God’s hand. A soul yet to experience the bizarre wonder and grace of fingers dancing through the universe to pluck and pull. To morph and build another success–another failure. Another lesson learned. Another dream tarnished and bruised before Death sweeps in for another claim in their final moments.

Some say Death wears the face of a familiar when They come for you. 

A man spends his life on the peak of mountains constructed by ambition and desire. Constantly in need of a new high, no matter how tall his achievement grows. He’s searching for a moment to end the torment of his mind–anything at all. The applause of his success dies down in the glass room of his office, and the hateful voices return in the quiet. They call him a failure despite all he’s done. He’s not good enough–he’ll never be what his family dreamt of. And eventually, he makes peace in knowing he’ll never escape his demons–not in this world, anyway. 

The glass breaks, and he feels free for those few seconds soaring alongside the birds. And when the world finally goes dark and the self-doubt ends, the face of his mother appears through the night to greet him. She takes hold of his now still hand–no longer trembling from anxiety–and they walk onward into the afterlife, guided by stars.

Just down the road, an elderly couple lies in bed. Weak but joyous laughter fills their home as they travel down memory lane the best a fading mind would allow. A full yet simple life had been spent under this one roof. Watching their babies learn and grow, then having children of their own to carry on the legacy of the ones who came before. They’d pick up Grandpa’s sense of humor and Grandma’s most treasured cherry crumb pie recipe. 

Her hands had gone weak with time. No longer able to bake but full of bliss as other attempts would slide across the table for each holiday. Her husband still cracks jokes–but forgets he already made the same one twice an hour ago. Still, they laugh, because one night, as the two are tucked deep into warm comforts, Death comes. They wear the face of the other partner to give comfort, taking them by the hand to help them from the bed until their souls are intertwined once more. Their minds are cleared from the heavy fog of age with newfound strength in younger bodies. 

Their family promises not to linger in sorrow. Eventually learning to laugh again at Grandpa’s comedic timing.

On October 30th, 1951, a woman cries out for Them–for it. Her torso is stretched out over the bed, back arched with fingers gripping and tearing at old sheets stained with blood. Thick hair is matted and stuck to glistening skin, with sweat dripping from her brow. The woman’s voice has grown hoarse, her throat dry and aching for water that’s far from her reach. She’s left paralyzed by the pain of every contraction and isolated from the world–from any help.

But still, she calls. 

She screams into the night. Begging for mercy, pleading for life. 

A crimson hand roams along her swollen belly, sobbing as she envisions the chaos brewing within. A precious life coming to a slow end as another contraction tries to force the baby out from her womb. Labor had begun hours ago, and somewhere between the first ache and now, something had gone wrong–she could feel it tearing apart her insides. But it wasn’t her own body that she mourned for–it was the child she had yet to meet.

With shaken knees and trembling hands, the mother struggles to climb up and lay across the mattress, her back to the rickety metal headboard, and her knees spread for any form of comfort. She pushes again and again, yet nothing ever comes. Hope is flickering out like a dying star in this little cottage out in the middle of nowhere. Her screams fade as exhaustion takes over, her body nearly surrendering to what was beyond her control.

The flames of a nearby fire have gone low, leaving the room much darker than it once had been. But look closely, and you’ll see the slightest tint of blue just beyond closed curtains. She wonders if she’ll ever see the sun again. If she’ll ever get the life she dreamed of with a child she prayed for. She’s left in a daze as scenarios play out in her mind, unaware of the Creature that emerges from a nearby shadow.

The floorboard creaks beneath its weight, and she turns to meet the icy blue stare of familiar eyes. Golden hair is tied back, just as it always had been. He had always been unwilling to cut long locks but always seemed irritated by the way they hung in his view. He looks just as she remembers–a knitted sweater, handcrafted by his wife, and dirtied jeans from hours spent wandering through nature, collecting logs for another fire on a cold night.

“Sam-” His name weakly falls from her lips. Barely audible yet somehow heard as the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile. 

The distance between them lessens, and the closer he becomes, the more a delirious woman gains clarity. He’s full of color–full of life. Unlike the man she found lying out in the bushes with grayed skin all those months ago. The light was long gone from once brilliant and loving eyes. Death had taken him without warning–and now They’ve come to finish the job while in the skin of her deceased husband.

He uses caution as he takes a seat just by her side, fingers slipping their way to entangle with her own, and she’s too weak to stop him. “You wear his face, but you’re-you’re not him,” she says in a whisper, lip trembling as she drinks in the sight of a man she loved and lost. “I know you.” The woman spits in a bitter tone, her jaw tight and teeth clenched.

The smile once etched into mimicked features fades, falling to a flat line with eyes staring straight through her soul. Her heart breaks all over again, right before Death. Aching and yearning for the warm touch of her companion. Hollow and desperate for the joy this child would give. The only piece of him that remained.

“Show your face.” 

The Being provides what is demanded without hesitation. Skin and fabric peeled away like old paint to dissipate in the crisp air of autumn. Heavenly strands of gold break away like shards of glass to never meet the ground. Blackened smoke spills out from every crack, enveloping Death and expanding until it towers above her, nearly reaching the angular ceiling of a lonely home. The space suddenly seems much smaller.

There are no defined features left of the entity, only a shadowy figure buried beneath the haze with piercing eyes in the abyss of nothingness. The body, if it could be described as such, was littered with hundreds of thousands of stars. They flicker in and out–some bigger than others. Some brighter or a different hue. Some say it’s every soul collected in a single night–perhaps only within a few hours, maybe even one. It’s immeasurable. And when you stare into the eyes of Death, it’s the last thing you consider.

The shock of its truth momentarily numbs the pain in her body–or is it the Creature itself that steals away her agony? She finds herself no longer tense from labor but broken at the mere thought of her baby being stolen from her womb. Fresh tears fill tired eyes, pleading once more for her child’s life with hands raised protectively over her abdomen. “She’s all I have left.”

A hand much larger than her own lays across to nearly engulf her entire belly, thumb soothing along the marked skin. Nothing is said between the two. The mother is left in the torment of the unknown, while the Being has already worked its way inside to greet a sleeping baby–unaware of the danger. Her life blossoms within Death’s eye. A child growing into a woman unlike any other gifted soul stolen from this world and moved to the next. A child already born of darkness–burdened by Sight.

It’s unknown how it all came to be that night. Maybe Death had grown tired. Or was it perhaps some twisted connection? The mother doesn’t ask, and Death would never tell. But, by the morning of October 31st, Dawn Rosalin Kennedy takes her first breath–her first wailing cry–before falling asleep against her mother's chest. She’s finally safe and remains protected throughout her years.

She grows–just as They envisioned. Picturesque with pudgy cheeks and a dimpled smile as small fingers pluck wildflowers. Her mother tends to the garden just nearby, trusting in the universe that her only child is safe from any harm that may lurk beyond the treeline. And that trust does not go misplaced. The Creature has shown itself on more than one occasion. Sitting at the small dinner table in total silence unless spoken to–watching as the two girls eat a homemade meal.

Every visit They come bearing a new mask, and the girl sees right through it. An unknown man standing before her in the same field where her father died. A stoic expression set alight in the summer’s glow as the entity studied the child. Her doe eyes are on him–quizzical and bewildered until their true form is seen tall above the husk. The shadow of a monster–a God.

Her smile is full of innocence and love. Entirely unafraid of this otherworldly Creature and the heartache it brings. Dawn Rosalin can only see the beauty within it as stars burn brightly in the darkness. The girl offers out a dandelion in kindness, and Death instructs the body it wears to take it with grace, kneeling to her level with a gentle look in adoring eyes.

Time passes, and the child becomes a woman. She’s full of experience–venturing out beyond the grassy fields and into the city. The site alone of so many people was dizzying–the tall buildings sent her stumbling back in awe and wonder. Dawn grew to love this new world–yet always returned to that quiet cabin for the company that waited for her. And the value of that company grew stronger the sicker her mother became, and those city trips dwindled to non-existent.

Disease had wormed its way inside–eating her alive bit by bit. Her skin thinned and bruised, even after agreeing to receive treatment. It was an unstoppable monster, and Dawn could only point the finger of blame at the beast that began to linger in the home more frequently. Death was patient, but she was not.

“This is all your fault.” She would spit. Every slice of carrot was a little harder than the last, leaving indents on the wooden board. She chopped, crushed, and prepared dinner–hardly focusing and moving in a blur as anger took over. Dawn had become a storm–wrapped in unseen danger as she flew across the small kitchen, knife in hand.

The Being sits in all its mystery and glory–no mask used for comfort as the efforts were wasted on the girl with Sight. They have shrunken themselves to fit beneath the short roof, sitting quietly on a stool just at the corner of the room. Eyes built from galaxies follow after her on instinct–unblinking and focused, even as the mother shares an agonizing cough just in the other room–blood spit into her palm.

“You saved us for what?” Dawn says as she spins on her heel, facing the Creature without fear. “Just t’take her from me? You should have put us both out of our fucking misery!”

Death says nothing, nor does the stare break from her scowling features. Her hatred has been heard over a million times in various other situations. The denial–a lack of acceptance as all that is loved must come to an end. Babies, friends, neighbors, and strangers must all succumb to the darkness. Death is inevitable.

“ł ₳₥ ₦Ø₮ ₣₳₮Ɇ.” They speak in defense. Millions of voices echo and climb over one another, dancing through the painful air of a bitter winter. “ł ₳₥ ₮ⱧɆ ฿Ɽł₦₲ɆⱤ Ø₣ ₱Ɇ₳₵Ɇ.”

The girl would laugh in disbelief if she hadn’t been in so much pain. Every ounce of energy spent to hold herself upright. To stand tall against the tsunami threatening to crush her in its fury. Should she let it, she fears she may never stand again. “D’you see peace anywhere?” 

Death is slow to stand. And despite the smaller size, its form still towers high above the girl–once seen as an ant in its eye. The knife she flicked back and forth carelessly slips in through the hazy sternum as the distance is lessened. It stands with the hilt–her hand–nearly buried among the scattered souls. A constant galaxy spiraling and filling up before being released into the afterlife. 

Another cough–another gasp as the older woman struggles to breathe in her bed, and all focus lands on her empty doorway. Each time Dawn looks, she hopes to wake up from this nightmare and find a healthy mother smiling in her direction. 

Nothing ever changes.

“₴ⱧɆ ₩łⱠⱠ.”

The Creature earns another glare, though it goes unnoticed. All of its attention is on the space where a dying woman lies–simply waiting for her final moments. A final breath and a weak goodbye. The tears that build in the girl's eyes bring no amount of guilt for what is meant to be done. No amount of sorrow or empathy. But, as they spill, a ghostly hand wipes them away with a soothing touch.

“You saved me,” Dawn mutters through gritted teeth. “Why can’t you save her?”

“ł ₵₳₦₦Ø₮ ₵Ⱨ₳₦₲Ɇ ₩Ⱨ₳₮ ł₴ ₳ⱠⱤɆ₳ĐɎ ₩Ɽł₮₮Ɇ₦. ɎØɄⱤ VɆⱤɎ ɆӾł₴₮Ɇ₦₵Ɇ ₴₳Ɏ₴ ₣₳₮Ɇ Ⱨ₳Đ ₱Ⱡ₳₦₴ ₣ØⱤ ɎØɄ. ɎØɄ ₩ɆⱤɆ ₦Ø₮ ₩ⱧØ ł ₵₳₥Ɇ ₣ØⱤ ₮Ⱨ₳₮ ₦ł₲Ⱨ₮.”

A trembling lip stills and her hold on the knife loosens. Nearly slipping from her grasp as it hangs at her side. Realization falls upon her like that threatening wave on the horizon–breaking through her chest and sucking every breath from her lungs by the sheer force of it. Her mother was walking the thin line between life and death the moment labor had begun. Death simply extended her time to give her what she longed for–and what the child needed.

And now that extension had reached its end. Death does not wear the face of someone she loved like They once had. The Being appears in its true form–sitting at her side with Dawn on the left, clutching a frail hand. Peace had been made, though the emptiness of her loss weighed heavy on the girl. Her eyes were dry–tears swallowed up by the hollow dessert of her heart, just trying to survive another moment–a second.

It’s different this time. Different than the pleas for protection all those years ago. She begs for release in a voice that no longer sounds like the woman Dawn adored. Someone with nothing left as Death takes her hand and guides her from the bed. The soul pries itself from the host, unable to tear an entranced gaze away from the twinkling abyss, before her hazy form flickers and fades into the tiniest ball of light in the palm of Death.

“Where will you take her?”

Eyes study as the star slowly embeds itself into the darkness. Dancing through time and space with strangers and family, finally granted an eternity without pain or loss. “₮Ø ɎØɄⱤ ₣₳₮ⱧɆⱤ.”

The girl nods along in acknowledgment. Her fingers squeezing around the hand that no longer held her—no longer combed through tangled hair at night when dreams turned to ugly nightmares. No longer dug through the dirt to pull vegetables from the garden or flip through the pages of a favorite story. “I don’t want t’be alone.”

“ɎØɄ ₦ɆVɆⱤ ₩łⱠⱠ ฿Ɇ.”

[steviebbboi]

Logan Howlett/The Wolverine Masterlist

🌶️ = smut; 🥹 = fluff; 🩹 = angst

If You Could, You Would (I could, and I would) 🌶️🩹

Pairing: Logan/Wolverine x Original Female Character (OFC)

Type: Series (In-Progress); 5/?

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Amelia Arson (Emmy) is among the many gifted and talented professors at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. She is intelligent and kind, but also wise and jaded from her own troubled past. As an Elemental, her presence is welcome and swift when acclimating into the X-Men. A fortified team member with mentors like Jean Grey and Storm by her side to continue guiding her in developing her powers. But, what happens when the team goes on a mission only to bring back a certain leather-wearing jacket man with characteristics of a wolf and a timid, glove wearing, doe-eyed girl back to the mansion? Whirlwind ensues.

[pedroscurls]

christmas confessions (pt. 5 - day 5)

summary: it's christmas day and you and logan navigate your new relationship and get acquainted with one another. pairing: origins!logan howlett x fem!reader content warnings: smut (18+ mdni), seated cowgirl, fingering, unprotected p in v, these two lovebirds get their happy ending, no use of y/n. word count: 2.4k a/n: merry christmas everyone and happy holidays to those who celebrate (and even to those who don’t - hope you have an amazing day today) 🎄 hope you all enjoyed this little story - i really had so much fun writing it and giving origins logan a happy ending 🥹 pt. 4 | series masterlist.

DAY 5 — You wake up to the feel of Logan’s lips lightly peppering kisses along your shoulder, his strong arms wrapped around you from behind. Yesterday felt like such a dream. This was what you always wanted. He was always what you wanted. Knowing that he felt the same way felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. The entire night, you both spent it getting acquainted with each other. His soft kisses, his low growls, the feeling of him pushing into you… It was everything you dreamed of and more. 

You slightly stir in his arms and he just pulls you closer, lips now moving to your ear. “Morning, baby,” he whispers. 

You smile to yourself and slowly turn on your side to face him, hand coming up to his cheek. Your thumb brushes against his facial hair as you stare deeply into his eyes. “It’s Christmas,” you answer excitedly.

Logan chuckles and nods. “It’s Christmas. Merry Christmas, baby.” 

“Merry Christmas, Logan.” 

“Think we can spend every Christmas snowed in from now on?” he teases.

You let out a quiet giggle. “Hmm, well you’ll have to meet my family eventually.”

“Of course, but can I have you to myself for a little while longer before we get there?” 

“Oh, you’ve got a year,” you grin.

Logan laughs quietly and pecks your lips lightly. “Haven’t slept that good in a while,” Logan admits. 

“Maybe you just tired yourself out,” you tease, letting out a quiet yawn.

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning in to brush his nose with yours. “If anyone was tired after what we did last night, it’s you.”

You feel the heat in your cheeks rise as you move your hand from his cheek to move around to the nape of his neck. “Well, you just kept going… even after I felt like I couldn’t anymore.”

He smirks proudly. “Oh, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing against your own. “I just couldn’t get enough of you and the sounds you make, the look on your face when you come…” he growls lowly. “Mmm…”

Gently, you bring your free hand to push against his hard chest as you bite your lower lip. “Logan…”

“Yeah, baby?” he smiles, leaning down to brush his lips against your jawline. 

“I’m just a bit sore…”

“Okay,” he whispers.

“But maybe you can help me feel better?”

Logan grins as one of his strong hands moves to hook your leg around his hip. He brings you flush against his growing erection, feeling the thin fabric of your panties and his boxers separating. “Once we start, I may not be able to stop,” he says quietly, feeling your hips roll against him. 

“Then don’t,” you answer, leaning in and pressing your lips firmly against his. 

—

It’s noon by the time you and Logan get out of bed, but not after hopping into the shower together. You couldn’t get enough of him, just like how he couldn’t get enough of you. You never thought that you’d be here with him, like this. To get to see him come undone, to feel his lips on your most intimate parts of your body, to hear the way he groans and growls when he gets closer and closer to come. 

To finally get to hear him tell you that he loves you.

“I love you,” he whispers as he comes up from behind you. Logan’s arms wrap around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder as you stand near the stove to begin cooking lunch. 

You stop stirring the sauce and gently turn around in his arms, hands snaking up his chest. “I love you too, Logan.” 

“So, I got you something.” 

“You did?” You ask, your eyes lighting up. “What did you get me?” 

“It’s a surprise. Figured we could exchange gifts tonight.” 

“I’d really like that,” you answer. “Can we have hot chocolate too?” 

He chuckles. “Anything my girl wants, she’s gonna get.” 

“You spoil me,” you smile, leaning up on your toes to peck his lips. 

“That’s because you deserve the world, baby.” 

“Logan…”

“You do,” he says honestly. “And I’ll do my damn best to give it to you.” 

You bite your lower lip and card your fingers through his hair, hearing him let out a quiet purr as his eyes flutter in contentment. “You deserve the world too, Logan.”

“I don’t know about that, baby,” he chuckles. “Been alive for so long… have done a lot of things that I regret… lost people that I love and care about. I think maybe I’m just doomed from the start. I’m just trying not to screw this up.” 

“You won’t,” you reassure him. “And you’re not doomed.” 

“Nothing ever works out for me,” he whispers hesitantly. “And if I’m being honest, it’s only a matter of time before I screw this up too.” 

“I’m not going to say it’ll be easy,” you begin. “But I can promise you that I’ll be here for everything; the good, the bad… I want it all as long as it’s with you. I would choose you over and over again, Logan.”

“Why?” He asks, brows furrowed. Logan never thought he was worthy of ever being loved, despite the lingering desire that looms over him. He always felt alone, felt like he just couldn’t belong anywhere, until he met you. 

You had felt like home the moment he met you. 

“Because you’re worth it… and I believe in you, in us.” 

Logan lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he suddenly leans in to peck your lips. Wherever you go, Logan knows that he’d follow. 

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” he finally says. 

“You’re a good man, Logan,” you say quietly, moving a hand to rest on his cheek. “And I’m a very lucky woman.” 

He scoffs playfully. “If anyone’s lucky, sweetheart, it’s me.” 

—

Later that night, you’re seated on the floor of the living room with a mug of hot chocolate dressed in one of Logan’s flannels and socks (and nothing else). He’s seated on the couch, staring down at you with a small smile on his lips. You’re so excited to open the gift he’s gotten you just as much as you’re excited to give him the gift you had gotten for him. 

He feels a sudden sense of happiness and contentment wash over him. Logan has loved before, but never like this. With you, he feels hopeful. With you, he feels like he can finally live a life that he’s seen so many people live. 

A life with someone you love. 

To build a home with. 

To build a future with. 

To settle down, to have kids… to be your husband and eventually a father to your children. 

With you, the possibilities are endless. 

“Okay, you open yours first.” You grin, handing him a neatly wrapped gift. 

Logan takes it from you gently and leans down to kiss your cheek. “Thank you, baby.” 

“It’s nothing big,” you tell him. “But I figured that you could put it up somewhere in here.” 

He tears open the wrapper and tilts his head. Once he unwraps the gift completely, a large grin lines his lips as he looks down at the small picture frame. Logan runs his thumb across the photograph, glancing over at you then moving his gaze back down to the picture frame in his hands. 

“I love it.” 

“Do you really?” You ask with a hopeful tone in your voice. “It’s one of my favorite pictures of us. I have it framed at my place and figured you could have one here too.” 

He nods, staring down at the picture in the frame. Logan can’t take his eyes off of you; the way your smile meets your eyes, the happiness written all over your features. It was a photograph of the both of you, his arm draped over your shoulder as your face buried into the crook of his neck. It’s obvious that you’re in the middle of laughing and Logan’s surprised at the look on his face too. 

His own smile looks relaxed, peaceful and he’s staring down at you with a loving gaze. He loved you then… just as much as he loves you now. 

“I love it,” he repeats. Logan stands from the couch and places the picture frame above his fireplace. He grins to himself as he gazes at the frame down to the fire he had going and along to the Christmas tree. For once, his cabin finally feels like home. 

“Okay, your turn,” he nods, pointing towards the gift in your hand. 

You grin excitedly and begin to rip through the wrapper. Logan lets out a chuckle at the sight of you, so focused and eager to unwrap the gift and find out what’s hidden. 

“D’ya like it?” He finally asks, seeing the gift he had gotten you now in full display in front of you. 

You nod slowly, tears stoning your eyes as you pull it close to your chest. “I love it, Logan.” 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s… Perfect.” 

“Not a lot of Wolverine plush toys out there,” he points out, moving back to the couch. “And I– I figured you’d like it… that maybe when I’m away or when we’re not together, you have this.” 

You nod and then gently set it aside to climb onto the couch with him. You straddle his waist and wrap your arms around him tightly, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he smiles to himself, arms wrapping tightly around your frame. “Did I do good?” Logan asks honestly. 

Slowly, you pull back to look down at him with a small smile and eyes glistening with tears that threaten to spill over. “You did amazing.” 

He smiles proudly. “Amazing enough that I get…” he wiggles his brows suggestively. 

“Oh, definitely.” You answer, leaning in to press your lips firmly against his own. It’s a slow and intimate kiss, like you’re finally kissing him for the first time. His strong hands move to lift the end of his flannels so that he can rest them on your hips. 

Logan plays with the waistband of your panties, gently tugging on them as he moves his lips with your own. Truthfully, he could spend the rest of his days like this with you. When he feels your hips roll against his own, you both let out a quiet groan. He uses this opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue past your lips as he moves one hand between your legs instead. Slowly, he pushes your panties off to the side and sinks one digit into your tight heat. You’re already so wet, causing Logan to pull away from the kiss to look at you instead. 

Your hands move to his shoulders, gripping it tightly as you feel his finger move in and out of your depths slowly. “Lo– Logan!” 

“Already so wet for me,” he points out with a grin. Logan pulls his finger out of you only to slide it back in with another digit. He can feel your walls stretching due to the width of his fingers as he slides both into the knuckle, curling his fingers within your depths. 

You let out a loud moan, back arching. “Baby, please,” you beg, walls trembling. “Need you…” 

He nods and tugs down his shorts with his boxers, revealing his erected length as it leaks at the tip. He replaces his fingers with his tip, slowly sliding you down onto him. Logan growls at the feeling of your warm and wet her sliding down inch by inch down his throbbing length. He can feel your fingertips dig into his shoulders and it only urges him further. 

“Will never get enough of this, of you,” Logan groans, feeling you sit firmly on his lap as his cock remains sheathed inside of you all the way. His eyes flutter when he feels you lift yourself and slide back down. He reaches up and undoes the few buttons on the flannel you’re wearing to reveal your bare front to him. 

“You feel so good,” you moan, back arching to expose more of your chest for him. Slowly, you begin to rock forward and backwards in his lap, the hair at his base causing just the right amount of friction against your bundle of nerves.  

“Yeah, baby?” He groans, hands moving to your hips to guide your movements. “Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. Fuck,” he grunts. 

“S– So deep, so full of you,” you whimper, picking up the pace in your movements. You can feel your peak bearing closer and closer with each roll of your hips and Logan lifts his hips just enough for his tip to nudge at your cervix. You let out a loud moan as a result, hips slowing down as your walls begin to tighten even further around him. 

“Fuck, baby– that’s it, take what you need,” Logan groans, watching you in absolute awe. 

You collapse against him, face burying into his neck as your body shakes against his own. You slow your movements to a halt as you ride out your climax, but it’s not enough of a break because Logan’s arms wrap around you tightly to keep you flush against him. He grounds his feet into the hardwood floor of his cabin and begins to thrust up into you. Skin slapping against skin echoes throughout his cabin, mixes in with your moans and his low groans. 

“Logan!” You exclaim, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he continues his quick and rapid thrusts. 

Logan turns his head and gently places a soft kiss on your temple as he pulls out to his tip only to slam back into you; he repeats this movement once, twice, three times before he begins to feel the tightness in his lower abdomen. 

He’s close, so fucking close… 

“I love you, Logan,” you whisper through your moans. It’s enough for Logan to pull out of you abruptly, reaching down to stroke himself as thick, white ropes of his come lands on your lower abdomen. He lets out a loud groan, body shuddering at his intense release. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “I love you, baby.” 

You smile to yourself and lean in to gently peck his lips. “Merry Christmas, Logan.” 

Logan chuckles. “Merry Christmas to you too, sweetheart.”

—-

taglist: @kellyxo1 @misscrissfemmefatale @mooneyloveydovey @oatmilkriver @steviebbboi

[wolvbrattxx]

Family matters (part two)

Summary: After the horrible introduction to each other, Logan wants to find Loren and to talk to her privately. However, when the two of them meet in the laboratory, a heated conflict ruins the attempt to rebuild a lost friendship. Loren's prejudice holds her, not allowing Logan to get close. Tags: Hugh Jackman!Logan, Ororor's sister!Loren, angst, self-doubt, regrets, conflict, oc x canon, alcohol, smoking, swearing. Word count: 4164 Previous chapter

More than a week passed since Logan has last seen Loren.

Surprisingly, nothing much has happened during that time. Jean remained in coma, but her condition improved day by day. Scott's physical state was the same, as he was struggling to walk and perform primary abilities. Only Ororo seemed happier than ever - a dazing smile never failed to leave her face, making her the embodiment of the sun itself. It seemed like even the biggest tragedy couldn't affect her bright mood. How else can one feel, when your beloved one is always in your sight? Henry was less seen, as he spent most of his time in the laboratory working with dear friend - Loren.

For Logan, each day of the week was bland and depressing.

Something turned in inside, making his world spin round and round, ever since Scott took revenge on Logan. Though he couldn't hide his grumpiness from the suffering one, his features seemed softer as their eyes met in the hallways. He tried to help Scott rebuild the damaged body, but his efforts were discarded into the void, as Scott always pushed his help away. Hell, the old man even tried to apologize for his actions, but it didn't reach the other. Scott didn't even want Logan to come near him, let alone help him. He still felt pain and disgust after seeing Jean cheating with Logan. He couldn't possibly bear it, his feelings (perhaps pride, disappointment, betrayal, self-pity) didn't allow it. Soon enough, Logan gave up and found the weight on his shoulders too heavy to handle. He couldn't erase the past, but even the attempt to fix and make up for it didn't provide any help whatsoever.

Here he was, sitting by an old oak tree, which wasn't any special than others that surrounded him. He let out small puffs of his cheap cigar's smoke and drank his even cheaper beer in the middle of the night. Stars shone like tiny pearls through the veined leaves, irritating his already red eyes. They were the only ones that were trying to comfort his mood in this evening, even attempting to invite him to get some rest. Logan wished to get drunk at least once in his lifetime, so it could provide at least any ease to his heavy mind, but it was impossible with regenerative powers. Being alone didn't really bother him, as anyone else seemed to annoy him, even though he secretly dreamed to meet Loren again. He wanted to make up for the horrible introduction, prove her that he isn't just some kind of scum. After all, Logan was just a lost man in a terrible world that either took everything from him or wanted to destroy him.

The days went off fine as Logan trained with his team members or students in the danger room. It made him forget everything that happened for the week, as training required full concentration and attention, leaving no time to focus on harsh thoughts or regrets.

Most of his evening were also occupied with a couple of his drunk buddies: Rogue and Remy. Both of them made Logan's gloomy feelings disappear, surrounding his mind with carelessness, laughter and annoying chattering that made him out of touch with the reality. Yet, he always had to act as a father for the two, helping them to reach their beds while carrying jelly-like bodies into their rooms. Overall, both provided comforting company, as they weren't judgeful. Rogue and Gambit still saw Logan as a member of their strange family and wanted to make his depressing days happier even in a slightest bit.

"Suga', we all do somethin' stupid once in a while'. No need to beat ya'self up like' that. Heck, even I made plenty." Rogue used to say, patting Logan's shoulder with a hiccup interrupting her words.

"Exactly, mon ami, don't let it get to you. Time will help you, only time." Remy added, nodding his head to Rogue's words.

Sadly, that wasn't enough, as dark thoughts were making him fall into a deeper pit of sorrow. Sleeplessness creeped in and once again, every night was filled with nightmares.

Logan rubbed his tired face, massaging the tensed facial muscles. He wanted to disappear again, like he did once before. At least for a year or so. Then everyone's lives will go back to how it was before his arrival: peaceful, flowing, progressing. Scott and Jean could make up for the past, start their own little family together and Logan would move on. Perhaps. At least that's what he wanted to imagine, though it seemed impossible, realistically speaking. He felt so tired of feeling lonely, forgotten or left out over someone else. He wanted to feel something softer, something that would make him feel lighter and happier, but was it truly possible?

His eyes wandered at the mansion that proudly stood in the middle of nowhere and noticed the bright lights in the laboratory. Hank must be working on something, Logan smiled at the idea. It wouldn't hurt to give him a visit, would it?

Logan stood up on his feet that were paralyzed by stillness, trying to get them back to work while stretching his entire body. He picked up the empty bottles, knowing that Charles would definitely give him some comments if he'd leave them, as if the professor was Logan's own father, and threw them out into the trash can. The fog rose above the pond and slowly swallowed everything that got in it's way, but the light still showed the way into the mansion. And so, he dragged heavy feet inside, making his way into the laboratory.

Hank was a good listener, was maybe opening up to him could ease thoughts? After all, he had a baggage of wise words, once said by the famous philosophers of the past or written by the best novelists/poets.

The automatic door slowly opened, recognizing Logan as a member of the institution and the part of the X-Men. Firstly, his ears were met by the unnerving sound of computer's keyboard clicking, clacking and pop hits of 2000's, supplemented with soft melodic humming. The last two sounds didn't even remind him of Hank's usual repertoire, as it was necessary to play classical music at such a time to keep him focused on the task.

Logan took a single steep inside and curiously looked to the side, where the working table could be found. He was slightly shocked to find Loren sitting in front of the computer, though it was late already. Out of all times, it was this one that they had to meet. She clearly didn't expect visitors as well, and her pajamas made sure to notify that. She wore loose black pants and a tight white tank top, hiding her short white hair in a black silky bonnet. The look of her face seemed worse since dark circles surrounded those icy eyes, making her look as if she hasn't slept for days and her dark skin slightly paled, hinting that she was probably malnourished in the process. Her state tried to tell him that she was about to go to sleep, but it was far from truth. The amount of mugs told another story: the strong black coffee's scent in the air hit nostrils' so deeply, that it made his head spin.

Loren's head turned to greet the stranger that interrupted her work in the middle of the night. She couldn't erase the annoyance off her face since the intruder made her lose an incredible thought. Her eyes fluttered in shock as she witnessed Logan staring at her, but quickly relaxed and her brows faintly furrowed into their natural state.

"Oh, it's you, Logan. Need something?"

Logan blinked for a couple of times and cleared his throat. "Was searching for Hank, is he on a break or-"

"Sleeping." She cut him off, turning back to work, clearly screaming from her posture: 'leave me alone'.

"I see." Logan mumbled silently, but his feet didn't move from where he stood.

Loren typed something fast on the computer. Logan peeped his head to the side to see what's she was doing. It looked confusing, he wasn't sure of what he saw: programming, science, equations, scales, diagrams. So many things that he couldn't wrap his head around, but it made him feel respect to the hard work that she was obviously putting. Logan wanted to converse with Loren, at least for a little bit, try to rebuild something. There couldn't be harm in trying.

"What you've been up to?" Logan started, his voice not as confident as he wished.

"Solving problems, trying to make our gear better." She replied, not breaking her eye contact with the screen.

"Must be hard."

Loren hummed in response, agreeing with his words.

Another minute of silence passed. Logan bit his lip, trying to get something in his mind, but it was harder than it looked. He took careful steps closer to her, glancing over her shoulder.

"What you've been studying?"

"Look," Loren flipped her chair to Logan's side and her expression was brutal. Her tired eyes narrowed to slits, glaring without a single blink and her eyebrows pressed closer to one another. Her voice was loud enough to put one into place. "I don't know if you can see, but I'm working. I'm really not interested to talk right now. Go bother someone else; I'm sure you'll find company."

Logan stumbled back after such an attack. It caught him off-guard. He wondered was it something that he said that made her mood turn. Sure, she was absolutely tired, but was such attitude necessary? He felt his defense rising up slowly, as he confidently placed his feet on the ground.

"What's up in your ass?"

"Thought that I've made my stance clear last time we saw each other, no?" She sneered at Logan, still not backing down her ground.

"Oh, that I'm a shameless brute?" Logan replied, his jaw visibly tensing. "Heard that before, no worries, bub."

"Bub? Who do you think you are to call me that?" Loren stood up and took fierce steps forward, making the chair almost fall down from her powerful moves.

"What? Don't like it?" Logan crossed his arms against the muscular chest. "Want me to call you princess instead?"

Loren's eyelid twitched.

"I don't have a problem with the nickname. My only problem is that you're calling me that," she stood right in front of him, almost spitting those words in his face. "I hate infidelity and I hate those, who take part in it."

"So that's your problem," Logan felt his eyes flickering from the anger and sorrow building up on his tongue. "Infidelity." He laughed, almost mockingly.

"Laugh all you want, asshole, but I will support Scott in this."

"Oh no, that made me shiver!" He raised his hands up in defense, trying to ridicule her.

"Don't mock me. You don't understand how it feels to see your friends breaking up over a tiny interest. Trust me, you mean nothing to Jean, no offense," Loren pointed a finger at his sternum and poked it. "I've seen them go through heaven and hell together. They've been through too much, seen too much, talked too much, dreamed too much of their future together, so your presence in Jean's life is a mere adventure to her. I'm saying this not only for their good, but for your own as well. Have some self-respect for god's sake; don't dip your fucking feet into an established relationship. You act like there are no other women in this world."

Logan took a step back again, hardly believing that Ororo's sister had such a sharp tongue. Gambit wasn't lying when he said that Loren could be a bigger storm then her own sister. His head spun from the emotions that were starting to choke him.

"Jean was to first one to understand me."

"So you'll fall for any woman who will understand you, is that it?" Loren's voice rose into a shout.

"You don't choose who to love, y'know?" He replied slowly to her harsh words.

"But you can choose to step back." She talked back, not even trying to hide her disgust.

"You don't get it." Logan turned to leave. It wasn't worth to continue this pointless conversation.

"Don't get what?" Loren scorned, pacing after his footsteps.

"You don't get that I understand what my stupid ass actions made me pay for," he faced her once more, stopping at the door that has already opened. "I understand that what I did was wrong. Hell, I did it from impulse and must admit: it was a dumb decision. I've tried to make for it."

"How? You're talking like it's possible to change the past... It's something hard to forgive for, you know."

"I look like a dumbass, that's a fact, but as a smart woman, you shouldn't forget that there is more to people than past mistakes. Try to look deeper sometime, not just at the surface," Logan cut off the conversation with those last words and walked out of the laboratory. "Night', Loren."

The door closed behind him in a perfect timing.

Logan took few steps forward and felt weak in his knees. He leaned against the metallic wall and slid down to the ground, feeling defeated. That woman definitely caused a storm in both mind and heart. For the first in the whole week, he felt sleepy in his dreadful thoughts that were trying to drown him deeper in sorrow. Thankfully, Loren didn't rush after him with her cruel remarks, he was sure that she would poke fun of his current helplessness. Logan sighed into his hands that were rubbing the fatigue out of eyes. Finally, his body gave in to the efforts to stand up and reach his bedroom. He planted heavy steps ahead under duress, his eyes fixating on the cold ground. At such a minute, he felt like blacking out by the chronic fatigue that followed him for the entire week.

Luckily, Logan managed to reach his destination and collapsed on the bed, fully clothed, as all of his energy suddenly disappeared.

The morning started slowly, but as per usual. The night provided refreshment once again. Fatigue can do something nice once in a while, it seems.

Logan washed up; dressed differently today, only changing his flare jeans into tighter ones and tank top into a flannel shirt, but the leather jacket had to stay on as a rule.

This morning he felt the need to talk with someone of the things that bothered him for a while now. Out of all options, he chose the professor, who will surely try to understand his concerns. So, Logan rocked forward through the hallways, being friendly around kids that looked up to him and friendlier with those, that caught his heart dearly.

However, surprises can't be unseen at some times.

Once again, out of all days, it was this one that Loren finally walked pass him in the hallway. She looked better than yesterday, but still tired, hurrying somewhere. She carried a ton of books in one hand, constantly checking her clock, while her shoulder was leaning down from the weight of the papers.

Once Loren realized, that Logan headed right before her view, she quickly grasped his arm.

He glanced at the side where he the sudden touch and cocked a brow at her. The pleasant smell of tobacco caught his senses, as it rose directly from her rich dark skin.

"Logan..." Loren started, immersing her gaze on to the creaking wooden floor, which was ornamented with brilliant symbols. Suddenly, she snapped out of her daze and looked at the clock on her hand, hissing silently at it. "I have to go, let's catch up later, okay?"

Loren ran away without giving Logan a chance to reply, just to follow her figure with his eyes that was slowly fading away in the corridor.

Soon enough, Logan knocked on Xavier's door, making sure that he was alone before entering the office. Then a familiar raspy voice, with a calm accent spoke in his head: 'come in'.

Professor sat in front of the large window, absorbing all of the sunlight. Ororo's happiness expressed itself in a delight: the sun barely left the sky after the reunion of two sisters; of course, sometimes the days were rainy, in order for the earth to regain strength from golden sunshine's influence. The dust flew from one bookshelf to another in the large room, becoming the stars it. This picture transferred the tranquility that was searched for.

"I sense that something is bothering you, Logan?" Charles turned his head to Logan and offered him to rest in the brown-leathered armchair with his inviting gaze.

Logan nodded, as he sat down.

"It's just... That lately..." He scratched the back of his neck, not even knowing where to start, leaning his elbows against knees. He wasn't used to opening up to anyone, not even to someone as wise as the professor. He sighed heavily, regretting his choice to come here already.

"Take your time." Charles interrupted his thoughts, recognizing how hard it must be for Logan to show his true emotions.

The silence that provided comfort at first soon enough became too loud to handle, squealing in his ears. Logan rubbed his palms together, nervously stroking the harsh skin. The intensity of professor's stare into his soul made him search for a way of how to open up faster: how to destroy the walls that were ready to break. All he needed was a little push and so, he leaped into the unknown.

"I don't know what's gotten into me... I want to run away for some time. From everything." Logan spat out those words in a single breath.

"And why is that?" Charles rolled his wheelchair closer to get a better sight of Logan's pained face.

"I feel like I've matters worse here."

"Nonsense, you have made our future brighter. You us helped to conquer heavy tasks, have you not?"

"But maybe they happened, because I was there. It feels like wherever I'd go, somethin' horrible might happen..."

"However, all goes well each time, because you know how to stop it, do you not?"

"Not like I have a choice to stand back. I just think that everything was better before I got here. I don't wanna' cause trouble or somethin'."

"And you are a gift to us, Logan, not a burden."

"How can I be a gift to y'all, when all I do is ruin things?"

Charles chuckled while the sunrays danced in his eyes.

"My students have always had their own personal struggles and the same doubts as your own. The fate of a mutant is to feel that you might become dangerous to those around you. You know how to control your gift, but you do not understand how to propel the danger that comes into your life, your bubble, from the outside world. Logan, you are no danger to us, our lives are already in danger each time we try to prove the world that this cycle of abuse is wrong. You happened to be in the process and yet helped to overcome those hardships. All has happened not because you are here with us; it happened, because you are here with us. But I believe that your concerns grew after the events with Jean, am I right?"

Logan huffed, hanging his head lowly. A reflex kicked in: a hand lowering to his pocket, searching for a cigar, but he forgot that professor sat in front of him with a warning look written all over his face.

"You are driven by your impulses, Logan, desires and secret wishes. It is only natural to act in such a manner, but we must control ourselves at all costs, as self-restrain may provide us a brighter path to our destiny. Though I cannot interfere with your relationships and your hopes of the future, as I do not have such a right to do so, but I want to give you an advice, because I care for you. You are dear to me, Logan, so allow me to speak further," Charles drew closer to the armchair where Logan sat silently and took his hand, making him look up. It felt like Charles was older than Logan, like a father, even though it was quite the opposite. "I believe that you can now see that Jean is not meant for you, as she has chosen another. Love is a strange thing, I know it from my experience, but you must not be blind to everything else in life. If she is not destined to be with, it does not mean the end of your world. There is so much more to your life, so please: explore it. Find peace with your friends, find joy in the outside world that is awaiting for you and move on from your heartaches, as they cannot change a thing. Furthermore, have you not seen more women that would even outshine Jean in your life? You deserve to be a first option for someone, not a second one. Find someone who will appreciate you, celebrate you and choose you firstly, even if you would not be the best option. Silly, is it not? However, I believe that someone in this world could understand you better than Jean. Yes, she has helped you to witness a glimpse of your past and discover yourself, but she will never help you to understand yourself better. Give love a second chance and be sure: you can find someone better in your life. I truly love Jean as my own, but I know her far more than you do and I understand that only Scott can be her equal. You are far from that, Logan, and that is not considered a bad thing, because you all are different. You must find the puzzle piece that will fit you in life. If you must travel, then go and rest, but please know that you are more than welcome here. You are a part of our big family and we shall always celebrate your existence."

Logan listened to Charles patiently, forgetting to breathe at times or to blink. Silence covered the both of them. He was in awe of professor's words, feeling inspired, even motivated, as demons retreated from the back of the mind. His chest still felt a pang here and there, but it was far better than before. A soft, relieved smile drew his lips up, as Xavier looked divine in the gleaming sunlight, shinning behind him and over his figure. Logan couldn't understand where his wisdom came from and felt the irony on his tongue since he was far older, but surely stupider.

"Did I do a good job?" Charles laughed to a certain extent, breaking the long pause.

"As always, Chuck. As always."

"Good, now go, I have to prepare for a class with Miss Loren." Charles turned around immediately and strolled towards the chalkboard.

"So she's a teach' as well?" Logan spoke up again and he slowly stood up from the comfortable armchair. "Oh, about her... Did you tell her of what happened?"

"Yes, but I can sense that Scott made an impact on her, with his revenge taken upon you." Charles took the chalks from the desk, masking his fingers with the white powder, and dragged his hand up and down, drawing lines and figures in order to explain some sort of laws of physics to his students. "Therefore, it makes sense why the two of you had an argument yesterday."

"How'd you know?"

"I know everything, Logan," Charles chuckled, as if it should be obvious already. "You must understand that I hear all heartaches and complains of one another. Every week. Even though you all are adults, sometimes you act as children and I suppose that someone has to take the role of a parent, no? Well, Loren came today just before you, and I have done my best to prove her my point, that her prejudice against you is more than wrong. Give her some time to rethink. She is a remarkable woman, but sometimes a sense of pride can overshine her inner beauty. Please, be sure that she is not against you. Loren has strong principles and follows them by heart, but someone must remind her from time to time that there is more to the surface."

"You took my words from yesterday..." Logan pointed his finger at the professor's back with a tiny grin.

"Those are wise words. I can learn something from you too," Charles turned back, with an audible snicker escaping his slim lips. "Now, be gone. I need to prepare for the upcoming class."

Logan drew his hand up to express his farewells and walked out of the office. A glimpse of hope shone inside of him, leaving space for new beginning.

[thefandomfires]

Chapter 8 of In Between the Shadows is posted

Remy LeBeau/OFC

Link to Chapter 8

Summary

After a battle with Magneto, the X-men and mutants are accidentally revealed to the world. As the humans try to come to terms with this revelation, some want to make sure the mutants know they’re not welcome.

Neighbors begin to turn on each other and one seemingly human girl, Morana Cain, is caught in the crossfire.

When her life is turned upside down, something starts happening to her. She keeps waking up in random places with no memory of how she got there.

Meanwhile the X-men try and track down a mutant who seems to be methodically taking out humans who express anti-mutant sentiments.