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mcrdvcks · 4 months ago

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I Wanna Be Yours

Summary: You're a hacker for The Organization, a secret group that is currently working on dismantling a mutant trafficking ring. You've been working with Logan for months but neither of you have met each other in person and he doesn't even know your real name.

Word Count: 14.7k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: this is something i've wanted to do for a while- playing with the idea that logan can totally fall in love with someone just through their voice (and vice versa). i hope y'all enjoy it!

warnings/tags: reader has a code name, pet name (darling), light violence, mentions of (mutant) trafficking, some uses of y/n

“Bet you look good in that suit.” You say, tapping on your keyboard, hacking into the security cameras of the seedy casino where the deal was taking place.

Logan huffed, covertly adjusting the small earpiece as he blended in with the crowd of the dimly lit casino. His tuxedo felt too tight, but then again, it wasn’t like he was made for fancy suits and shiny shoes.

“Don’t go gettin’ all sentimental, Phantom. This thing barely fits,” he muttered, keeping his voice low and steady. He glanced around, taking in the sight of gamblers, dealers, and a few shifty-looking men gathered near a corner. Probably the ones he was here for.

“Must be hard to hide all those muscles,” you teased through the comm, your voice a steady whisper in his ear. “But I’ll try not to distract you, just this once.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he slipped past a group of laughing tourists. He scanned the room, zeroing in on his target: a short, balding man with an expensive suit and a smug look on his face. Logan’s senses sharpened. He could practically smell the guy’s nervous sweat. This had to be one of the trafficking ring’s major players.

“Any idea where they’re at?” he asked, his tone shifting from playful to serious in an instant.

“Second floor. Private poker room,” you said, enlarging one of the camera feeds to get a better view. “Security’s tighter up there. You’ll need a distraction if you wanna get past those guards.”

Logan glanced at the stairway leading up. Two burly men stood in front, arms crossed, eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. “Can’t just slice my way through ‘em,” he grumbled. “What’ve you got for me, Phantom?”

“Patience,” you teased. “Trust me, I’m working on it.” You typed a few more commands, initiating a loop in the security feed of the second-floor hallway. “You’ve got a 30-second window. Move now.”

Logan didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped through the casino floor, dodging between slot machines and card tables until he reached the base of the stairwell. The guards barely glanced his way as he strolled past, looking for all the world like another high-roller with a chip on his shoulder.

“Almost too easy,” he muttered under his breath, taking the steps two at a time.

“I make it look easy,” you corrected, monitoring the shifting feeds as Logan made his way to the second floor. “Just keep moving. The loop’ll hold, but not for long.”

Logan reached the hallway, his eyes narrowing at the closed door leading to the poker room. He slowed his pace, ears straining to pick up any sounds on the other side. “Tell me you’ve got eyes in there.”

“Not yet, working on it,” you said. “This system’s layered, gonna take a sec.”

Logan let out a quiet growl. “Great. No pressure or anything.”

“Hey, if you’re in such a hurry, I could always—”

“Don’t,” he cut in. “Just—stay on it.” He pressed his back to the wall, inching closer to the door, waiting for your go.

There was a pause, and then, “Got it.” Your voice softened, like you were focusing extra hard. “Four guys in there. Three playing cards, one pacing by the window.”

“Let me guess,” Logan grunted. “The bald one’s pacing.”

“Bingo.”

Logan’s fingers flexed, the subtle urge to unsheathe his claws growing. But this was a delicate operation. No bloodshed if it could be helped.

“You’ve got any ideas how to get me in without turnin’ this into a brawl?” he asked, half-expecting you to come up with something clever.

“I’ve got a couple,” you replied, a smile evident in your tone. “But you won’t like them.”

Logan sighed. “Why do I feel like you’re about to mess with me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said sweetly, then paused. “Okay, maybe a little. There’s a closet down the hall to your left. Go there.”

He frowned but did as you instructed, slipping into the darkened space, filled with cleaning supplies and boxes. “Now what?”

“Well, I could trigger a fire alarm, but that’s a little loud and obvious. Or, and hear me out, I could disrupt the air conditioning. Make it so hot in there they’ll be begging for an excuse to step outside.”

Logan chuckled under his breath. “That’s your big plan? Make ‘em sweat?”

“Worked on you, didn’t it?” you teased.

“Funny.” He shook his head, glancing at the vent above him. “Think they’ll all leave?”

“Probably not all at once, but it should get the ball rolling. Just be ready. I’ll handle the rest.” Your fingers flew over the keys again, tapping into the building’s climate control system.

After a moment, you heard Logan’s quiet grunt. “Feels like it’s workin’ already.”

“Yeah, I see the temp rising in their room.” You pulled up the camera feed again, watching as one of the guys at the table tugged at his collar, then another wiped at his brow.

“Ten bucks says Mr. Baldy cracks first,” you said, amused.

Logan smirked. “You’re on.”

Not even a minute passed before the bald man swore, yanked off his suit jacket, and threw it on the back of his chair. “I’m stepping out for some air,” you heard him mutter to the others.

Logan’s eyes flicked to the door, his body tense. “Here we go.”

As the door opened, Logan moved fast. He grabbed the guy, pulling him into the closet before he could make a sound. With a quick, non-lethal chokehold, the guy slumped to the ground unconscious. Logan checked his pulse—alive. Good.

“Nice work,” you whispered in his ear. “Bet he’s not going to wake up happy.”

Logan crouched down, frisking the guy’s pockets. “Let’s hope he’s got something useful on him,” he muttered.

“He’s got a keycard,” you said, watching the screen as Logan pulled out the small plastic card. “That should get you into the back office.”

Logan glanced down at the unconscious man. “You were right. I didn’t like your plan.”

You laughed softly through the comms. “You’ll get over it. Now go, before they notice their friend’s gone.”

Logan straightened up, giving the unconscious man one last look before slipping out of the closet. “You better have a plan for what’s next, Phantom.”

“I always do,” you said, smirking as you pulled up the building’s blueprints. “Just follow my lead. Take the hall to your right. There’s an access door near the end. It’ll get you closer to the office.”

Logan moved quickly, the soft thud of his footsteps barely audible. “You sure about this? That door doesn’t look like it’s meant for guests.”

“I’m sure,” you replied confidently. “It’s an employee access. You’ve got the keycard, remember?”

He grunted in response, holding the card up to the reader. The door unlocked with a faint beep. “You really do make this look easy.”

“I try,” you said, voice laced with amusement. “Now, once you’re inside, there’s a small hallway. You’ll want to hang a left, then a quick right. The office is at the end.”

Logan opened the door, slipping into the narrow hallway. “What’s the deal with this office? Anything I should know?”

“Could be where they’re stashing data on the trafficking network. Either that or it's where they’re counting money.” You were typing again, eyes scanning multiple camera feeds. “But I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

“Good feelin’, huh?” Logan muttered, carefully making his way through the corridor. “Hope that feelin’ is worth something.”

“It always is,” you shot back playfully. “You’ve got about a minute before someone notices the guy you knocked out is missin’. So… chop, chop.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan growled, reaching the door to the office. “And you said I was the impatient one.”

Before you could respond, he swiped the keycard again and pushed the door open. Inside, the room was dimly lit, filled with filing cabinets, a desk cluttered with paperwork, and a few old-looking computers. Logan’s nose twitched at the faint scent of stale cigarettes and cologne.

“Jackpot,” you whispered in his ear, pulling up the feed of the room. “There should be a terminal near the desk. Get me plugged in, and I’ll handle the rest.”

Logan looked over at the outdated equipment and scowled. “This stuff’s ancient. Hope you can work with it, Phantom.”

“Please, I’ve hacked worse,” you said, brushing off the concern. “Just get me connected.”

Logan knelt down, finding a small port on the side of the computer and pulling out a cable from his gear. As soon as he plugged it in, your fingers danced across the keyboard, breaking through layers of security.

“There we go,” you murmured. “This’ll take a second. How are things on your end?”

Logan stood back up, glancing around the room. “Quiet. For now.”

“Good, because I’ve got eyes on another guy heading your way,” you warned. “He’s probably checking in on his boss. You might wanna handle him before he stumbles on Baldy.”

Logan’s fists clenched. “Great. Any more good news?”

“Depends. You want the good news or the bad news first?” you asked lightly, your tone casual despite the urgency of the situation.

“Just spit it out.”

“Good news? I’m almost done here. Bad news? You’ve got about thirty seconds before that guy reaches you.”

Logan let out a low growl. “Any suggestions?”

“Well,” you said thoughtfully, “you could go for subtle and knock him out—again. Or you could do the Logan thing and scare the crap out of him.”

Logan smirked. “And here I thought you were gonna say ‘no bloodshed.’”

“I’m flexible,” you teased. “Your call.”

Logan moved toward the door, listening carefully. The approaching footsteps were getting closer. “I’ll try subtle,” he muttered. Then, almost as an afterthought, “for you.”

“Aw, how sweet,” you quipped. “I’ll be sure to remember this moment.”

He cracked the door open just as the guy turned the corner. Logan grabbed him by the collar, yanking him into the room before he could shout. A quick punch to the gut, and the guy doubled over, gasping for air. Logan pressed him against the wall, one hand firmly over his mouth.

“Stay quiet, and I won’t hurt you,” Logan growled, his tone low and threatening.

The guy’s eyes widened, and he gave a shaky nod. Logan let him go, and he slumped to the floor, half-conscious.

“Nice work,” you praised, your voice a soft murmur in his ear. “You’ve still got it.”

“Didn’t lose it,” Logan muttered, stepping over the guy and returning to the desk. “You done yet?”

“Just about,” you said. “And… there. I’ve got everything. You’re good to go.”

Logan disconnected the cable, glancing around the room once more. “And you’re sure this’ll help us track the ring?”

“Positive,” you replied confidently. “Now, get out of there before someone else shows up.”

Logan took one last look at the unconscious man on the floor. “You got a clear path for me?”

“Always,” you said, your fingers flying over the keys again. “Head back the way you came. I’ll loop the cameras again. And don’t worry, I’ll keep them busy downstairs.”

Logan smirked as he stepped back into the hallway. “Sometimes I forget how useful you are.”

“Only sometimes?” you teased.

He chuckled softly. “Don’t push your luck, Phantom.”

You smiled to yourself, watching the feeds as Logan made his way through the building. “Whatever you say, Logan. You owe me one.”

“Add it to the list,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with a hint of amusement.

“Believe me, I am.” You took a bite of your cake, an orange cardamom one you made the other day.

“The hell are you doin’?” Logan asked.

You shrugged, “I’m eatin’. Thought now was a better time than ever. Let’s my fingers have a break. Got a problem, Wolf?” you ask, taking another bite of your cake, your tone teasing through the comm.

Logan’s voice grumbled in your ear, low and irritated. "We're in the middle of a mission, and you’re havin’ dessert?"

"Hey, a girl’s gotta eat," you reply casually, wiping a few crumbs off your keyboard. "I’ve earned it. You’re lucky I’m not eating popcorn with the way this operation’s going. Besides, I’m the one doing the hard work behind the scenes, remember?"

"You’re sittin’ in front of a computer, Phantom," Logan shot back, though you could hear the faintest trace of a smirk in his voice. "Not exactly the front lines."

"Exactly. Where would you be without me?" you retort, savoring another bite of cake. "I’m the reason you’re not punching your way through the entire casino right now."

Logan stayed quiet for a beat. You could imagine him clenching his jaw, trying to decide whether to argue or just let you have your moment. "You done?"

You chuckle softly, leaning back in your chair. "For now. You make it out of there yet?"

"Almost," Logan muttered, his voice low as he moved through the hall. "Place is still crawling with these scumbags. Any chance you can keep ‘em distracted?"

"Already ahead of you," you said, your fingers flying over the keyboard again. "Looping the feeds, and I’ve got a little surprise coming for the main floor. Keep your eyes open."

Logan grunted in response, his boots making soft thuds as he crept through the back corridors. "Surprise, huh? What kind of surprise?"

"You’ll see," you said cryptically, unable to hide the amusement in your tone.

There was a pause before Logan spoke again, quieter this time. "You always this chatty during missions?"

You tilted your head, curious. "Depends on who I’m working with. Some people are all business, no fun. Others… well, they don’t mind a little conversation. Keeps things from getting too tense."

"Huh," Logan responded, noncommittal. But then, after another beat, he added, "Guess it ain’t so bad."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Was that a compliment? Did Wolverine just say something nice?"

"Don’t push it, Phantom," Logan growled, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

You grinned to yourself, pleased that you’d gotten under his skin a little. "Alright, alright. I’ll stop before you start getting sentimental on me."

Logan was quiet for a moment, then muttered, "Not much chance of that."

Before you could reply, you heard footsteps in the feed, heading in Logan’s direction. Your tone shifted, all business now. "Logan, hold up. Someone’s coming your way, about twenty feet ahead."

"Great," he grumbled, already moving to the side, pressing himself into the shadows.

You watched the camera feed, tracking the figure’s movement. "Wait… looks like it’s just one guy. Should be easy to handle."

Logan’s low growl rumbled through the comm. "Easy for you to say."

You rolled your eyes, but your focus stayed on the screen. "You’re Wolverine. You’ll be fine. Just make sure he doesn’t see you."

A few seconds passed, and then you heard a soft thud. Logan’s voice came back through the comm, sounding slightly breathless. "Handled."

"See? Told you. Easy," you said smugly.

Logan didn’t respond right away, probably too busy moving again. You kept your eyes on the security feeds, tracking his progress. Finally, you heard his voice, a little softer this time. "Thanks."

Your fingers paused over the keys. "For what?"

"For not gettin’ in the way," he said, almost gruffly, but you could tell he meant it.

You smiled, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. "Anytime, Wolf."

There was a brief silence, and then Logan cleared his throat. "So, you gonna tell me what this surprise is, or you just keepin’ me in the dark?"

You leaned forward, grinning. "Oh, right. Almost forgot. Check the main floor in about… five seconds."

Logan didn’t say anything, but you imagined him looking around suspiciously. Then, just as you’d planned, the lights in the main casino flickered before the fire alarms started blaring. You heard Logan’s quiet chuckle through the comm.

"That your idea of subtle?"

"I prefer ‘effective,’" you said, watching as the casino patrons started panicking, scrambling for the exits. "Should give you the distraction you need to get out clean."

Logan let out a low laugh. "I’ll give you that, Phantom. You make one hell of a distraction."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you teased, though you couldn’t help the slight flush creeping up your neck. "Now hurry up and get out of there before someone starts putting two and two together."

"On it," Logan muttered, the sound of the alarm still faint in the background as he made his way out. "I’m guessin’ you already got us an exit plan?"

You leaned back in your chair, tapping your fingers against the desk. "I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that. Side door, west end of the building. You’ve got about three minutes before the cops show up."

Logan moved swiftly, his footsteps barely audible now. "You really are somethin’ else, y’know that?"

You smirked. "I’ve heard that once or twice."

As Logan slipped through the side door, you watched him disappear from the building’s cameras, your job mostly done. “You’re clear. Ricky wants you to meet him tomorrow morning, 8 sharp for a debrief.”

Logan let out a short grunt. “Ricky, huh? Great. I’ll bring donuts.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “You could at least try to pretend you’re not completely over these meetings.”

Logan’s voice crackled through the comm, rough but with a hint of humor. “I’m over a lotta things, Phantom. Meetin’s just one of ‘em.”

You leaned back in your chair, stretching out your arms. “Well, don’t be late. You know how Ricky gets when he’s kept waitin’.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered. There was a pause, and then, “What about you? You gonna be there?”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised at the question. “You think I just show up to these things? I’m the behind-the-scenes tech genius, remember? My job’s done.”

Logan huffed. “Yeah, well… guess I figured after all this time, I’d finally meet the mystery hacker.”

There was something in his voice—something almost like curiosity—but you brushed it off with a light laugh. “Aw, are you saying you miss me already, Wolf?”

“Don’t push it,” Logan shot back, though there was a playful edge to his words. “Just seems weird, is all. Workin’ together this long and never even met you face-to-face.”

You paused for a moment, considering his words. It was weird. You’d been guiding Logan through missions for months now, your voices constantly in each other’s ears, but you had never been in the same room. A part of you liked it that way—it kept things professional, detached. Safer. But another part of you… well, maybe you were curious too.

“Maybe one day,” you said lightly, dodging the subject. “But for now, I think it’s better this way. Keeps the mystery alive, right?”

Logan snorted. “Yeah, real mysterious. You sittin’ there eatin’ cake while I’m out here doin’ the heavy liftin’.”

You smirked. “It’s called multitasking, Logan. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

Before he could respond, a soft beep on your computer alerted you that the building’s security systems were coming back online. The loop you’d created was about to end.

“Looks like my window’s closing,” you said, typing a few last commands. “Everything’s going back to normal on their end. You’re officially off the radar.”

“Good. Was gettin’ sick of the place anyway,” Logan muttered. You could hear the sound of traffic now, indicating he was out on the street. “You sure you don’t wanna show up tomorrow?”

“Why?” you asked, amused. “So you can finally see if I really do eat cake during all your missions?”

Logan grumbled something under his breath. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Meeting him in person… it’d be a big step. The dynamics between you two would change. And honestly, you weren’t sure if that was a good idea. But at the same time, a part of you was curious about the man behind the gruff voice and dry humor.

“We’ll see,” you said, keeping your tone light. “But don’t hold your breath, Wolf.”

Logan was quiet for a second before he let out a low chuckle. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. See you around, Phantom.”

With that, the line went dead, and you leaned back in your chair, staring at the screen. You could still hear Logan’s voice in your head, and for a moment, you wondered what it’d be like to finally meet him. But then you shook the thought away, focusing back on your monitors.

It was safer this way. Easier. Less complicated.

But as you closed down your systems for the night, a small, nagging part of you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever get the chance to see the man behind the voice.

---

The next morning, you found yourself up earlier than usual, sipping coffee and thinking about Logan’s mission. You knew he was already at the debrief with Ricky, probably sitting there with that irritated look on his face. The thought made you smile.

You were in the middle of pulling up some new data on the trafficking ring when your phone buzzed with a message.

Logan: Missin’ you at this meeting. Ricky’s talkin’ my ear off.

You blinked at the screen, surprised. You weren’t expecting a text from Logan, let alone one like that. He wasn’t usually the type to check in.

You: I’m sure you’re handling it like a pro. Should I send donuts as a peace offering?

His reply came almost immediately.

Logan: Yeah, make it two dozen.

You snorted into your coffee, shaking your head.

You: I’ll see what I can do. How’d the debrief go?

There was a pause before Logan replied.

Logan: Fine. Got another mission lined up. They want you back on comms. Same setup.

Your fingers hesitated over the keys before you typed back.

You: Guess that means you’re stuck with me a little longer, huh?

Logan: Could be worse.

You smiled to yourself, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. It was a small thing, but the fact that Logan had reached out to you, even if it was just to complain about a meeting, felt like progress.

You: Just let me know when you’re ready for another round, Wolf. I’ll be there.

Logan: Yeah, I know you will.

You stared at the screen for a second longer, feeling something stir in the pit of your stomach. You shook it off, downed the rest of your coffee, and started pulling up the files for the next mission.

There was no time for distractions—not when the stakes were this high.

But still, a small part of you couldn’t help but look forward to hearing Logan’s voice in your ear again.

---

“Why don’t you tell me something ‘bout you?”

You raised an eyebrow at Logan’s question, momentarily pausing your typing before resuming. “I don’t know… don’t want a strange man knowin’ about me, do I?”

There was a low chuckle on the other end of the line. "Strange man, huh? Thought we were past that by now."

You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “Well, I guess you’re not that strange, Wolf. But still. Not sure I’m ready to spill all my secrets.”

“I’m not askin’ for all your secrets. Just one.” His voice was rough, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it, like he was genuinely interested in getting to know you. Which was… unexpected.

You tapped your fingers against the keyboard, considering. “Alright. Something about me, huh? Let’s see… I used to hate coffee. Couldn’t stand the taste.”

Logan snorted. “That’s it? C’mon, Phantom, give me somethin’ better than that.”

“Hey, you didn’t specify what kind of fact,” you shot back, a grin creeping onto your face. “But fine, if you want something more interesting… I got kicked out of my computer science class once.”

There was a beat of silence. “You? Miss hacker extraordinaire? What the hell did you do?”

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you. “Maybe I hacked into the school’s system to change a grade or two. Not mine, though. A friend’s. The professor wasn’t too thrilled about it.”

Logan’s laugh came through the line, deeper this time. “Should’ve known you’d be trouble.”

You smiled, leaning forward again. “Well, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Seems like it,” he muttered, a hint of something in his voice that made your stomach flip.

You cleared your throat, steering the conversation back on track. “Alright, your turn. Tell me something about you.”

“Not much to tell.” Logan’s voice was gruff, almost dismissive, but you could hear the hesitation.

“Come on, fair’s fair,” you pressed. “You can’t ask me for something and not return the favor.”

He was silent for a moment, and you could almost picture him sitting there, deciding how much he wanted to give away. Logan was driving, he had finished another mission with you on the line like always. Except this time, it ended with a man tied up and unconscious in the trunk for Ricky.

Finally, he sighed. “Alright. You want something about me? I used to be a lumberjack.”

You blinked, thrown off by the admission. “A lumberjack? Like, chopping down trees and all that?”

“Yeah. Chopping down trees, clearing land. It was… quiet. Simple.”

You let that sink in, the image of Logan swinging an axe somehow fitting. “Sounds nice. Bet you looked right at home doing it.”

He huffed a short laugh. “Not sure anyone’s ever ‘at home’ doing that, but yeah, it wasn’t bad. Kept me grounded, I guess.”

There was something unspoken in his voice, something heavy. You knew enough by now to not push too hard, so instead, you kept it light. “So, from chopping trees to chasing bad guys and mutants. Quite the career change.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Logan’s tone shifted, and you could tell he was ready to move on. “Enough ‘bout me. What’s the status on those files? You find anything new?”

You glanced at your screen, where the data on the trafficking ring was slowly coming together. “A few new leads. Cross-referenced some names from the last mission, and there’s definitely a connection between the ring and a shipping company based in Miami. Could be our way in.”

“Good.” Logan’s voice was steady, all business again. “Send me the details when you’re done. Ricky’s gonna want to know.”

You nodded to yourself, already pulling up the files to forward to him. “You got it. And Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to let Ricky drive you too crazy. I’m not sending donuts again.”

Logan snorted. “No promises.”

---

Two days later, you were back at your desk, knee-deep in code, when the comms crackled to life.

“You ready, Phantom?”

You smiled to yourself, hearing Logan’s voice in your ear again. “Always. You good to go?”

“Locked and loaded,” he replied, the sound of a car door shutting in the background. “What’s the target this time?”

You tapped a few keys, bringing up the map. “Warehouse in Miami. Based on the intel we pulled, this is one of their main distribution points. High traffic, lots of movement at night.”

“Security?”

“Pretty tight, but nothing we can’t handle. I’ll be your eyes and ears. You just focus on getting in and out.”

“Like always.” There was a pause, then, “You ever been to Miami?”

You raised an eyebrow at the question. “Once or twice. Why?”

“Just curious. Thought maybe you’d have some recommendations on where to go after all this is over.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “What, planning a vacation already?”

“Maybe. Depends how fast we wrap this up.”

Shaking your head, you brought the focus back to the mission. “Alright, Wolf. Let’s get through this first, then we can talk about your beach plans.”

Logan chuckled, low and rough. “Deal.”

As you guided him through the back streets of Miami, tracking his every move on the security cameras, you couldn’t help but feel that familiar sense of anticipation. Working with Logan had become second nature by now, and yet there was always this underlying tension, this unspoken connection between you two that made every mission just a little more intense.

“Left at the next alley,” you instructed, your eyes flicking between the camera feeds. “You’ll see a door around the corner. Should be unlocked.”

“Got it,” Logan replied, his voice steady. You could hear his footsteps echoing off the alley walls as he approached the warehouse.

“Any movement inside?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

You scanned the interior feeds. “Three guards on the ground floor, two patrolling the upper levels. They’re not on high alert, though. You should be able to slip past them.”

“Easy enough.”

You listened to the sound of him moving, the slight creak of a door opening, then the soft thud of his boots on concrete. You kept your focus on the screens, heart rate picking up as Logan made his way deeper into the building.

“There’s a stairwell to your left,” you whispered, though no one but Logan could hear you. “Take it up. The control room’s on the second floor.”

“On it.”

Everything was going smoothly—until it wasn’t.

“Shit,” Logan muttered, his voice tense. “Got company.”

Your eyes flew to the nearest camera, catching sight of two guards rounding the corner, guns drawn.

“Hang on,” you said quickly, fingers flying across the keyboard. “I’m looping the camera feed—there, they shouldn’t be able to see you now.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but you heard the scuffle over the line, the sound of fists meeting flesh, followed by a grunt of pain. You held your breath, watching the screens intently.

“Logan? You good?”

There was a beat of silence before his voice came through, breathless but unbothered. “Yeah. Just had to put a couple guys to sleep.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Jesus, give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry, Phantom. I’ve got it under control.”

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, and despite the tension, you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, next time, maybe give me a little warning before you go all Rambo on me.”

“No promises,” Logan’s voice crackled through the comms, and you could practically hear the grin in his tone. There was a brief pause before he added, “You still with me, Phantom?”

You shook your head, trying to suppress a smile. “Barely. I swear, you’ll be the death of me one of these days.”

His laugh came low and rough, and for a moment, you let yourself relax a little, the tension from earlier easing. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Yeah, well, I mean it,” you shot back, eyes scanning the multiple screens in front of you. The warehouse was sprawling, but you had a pretty good read on the layout by now. “You’re clear to move. No one else on this floor.”

“Got it.” You heard the soft thud of his boots again as he moved forward.

“So, what’s the next step?” Logan asked, keeping his voice low. “You got me runnin’ around this place, but you haven’t told me what I’m lookin’ for.”

“Patience, Wolf,” you teased, tapping a few more keys to bring up the rest of the building’s security system. “I’m working on it. There’s a secure server room on the north side of the building. That’s where they’re storing the data we need. You’re gonna have to bypass their security to get in.”

“Piece of cake.”

“Funny you mention cake,” you said, grinning to yourself as you tapped into the server’s firewall. “Because after this, I’m thinking you owe me some. Maybe even pie. You’re racking up quite the tab.”

Logan chuckled. “Yeah? We’ll see. First, let’s get through this alive.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

As you worked, your mind drifted for a second, the familiar rhythm of the job taking over. It was almost unsettling how natural it had become to guide Logan through these kinds of missions. You weren’t sure when you’d started looking forward to them—maybe it was the banter, maybe it was the trust you’d built. But either way, it had become a part of your routine.

“Server room’s on the right,” you said after a beat, focusing back on the task at hand. “Two guards outside, but they don’t seem too alert. Shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

Logan’s voice was smooth as he replied, “Already ahead of you. On my way.”

You kept your eyes on the screen, watching as he moved through the shadows, blending in with the dark corners of the warehouse. It was impressive, really. The way he worked was so fluid, like he’d done this a thousand times before. And, well, he probably had.

“There’s an override switch on the wall next to the door,” you instructed. “Flip it, and you’ll have access.”

Logan grunted in response, and a moment later, you heard the soft click of the door unlocking.

“Inside,” he muttered. “Now what?”

You were about to respond when a sudden blip on your screen caught your attention. “Wait, hold up,” you said quickly, fingers flying across the keyboard. “We’ve got movement. Someone’s heading toward your location. Two guards, second floor.”

Logan’s voice was calm, even as he moved into action. “How long do I have?”

“Not long. They’re coming fast.” Your heart pounded as you watched the dots on the map converge on his location. “You need to get out of there, now.”

“Too late for that,” Logan muttered, the sounds of heavy footsteps echoing through the comms.

“Logan—”

“Don’t worry, Phantom,” he cut you off, and you could hear the smirk in his voice again. “I’ve got this.”

The next thing you heard was the unmistakable sound of fists hitting flesh, followed by a low grunt of pain. You winced, even though you couldn’t see what was happening.

“Logan? Talk to me.”

More sounds of a struggle came through, and then finally, Logan’s voice, slightly breathless but unbothered. “Two down. Told ya, no problem.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, well, maybe next time don’t wait until the last second to handle it.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even though your nerves were still on edge. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s what they tell me,” he replied, and you could hear the faint rustle of him moving again. “Alright, I’m at the server. How much time do we need?”

“Give me five minutes,” you said, fingers flying across the keyboard as you initiated the download remotely. “I’m pulling the data now. Just stay put until I finish.”

“Five minutes? Thought you were faster than that, Phantom.”

“Don’t push it, Logan,” you shot back, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “I’d like to see you hack into a secured server faster.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a shot one of these days,” he muttered, the humor still in his voice. “Bet I’d be a natural.”

“Please. You’d probably smash the computer before you even logged in.”

“Only if it pissed me off.”

You shook your head, focusing back on the task at hand. “Alright, I’m almost done. Just a few more seconds.”

There was silence on the line for a moment, and you could hear Logan shifting in place, his breaths slow and steady.

“You ever think about doin’ this full time?” he asked suddenly, his voice lower now, more serious.

“Hacking?” you replied, thrown off by the question. “I mean, I’m not exactly doing this for the money. Why?”

“Just curious,” Logan said, and you could tell by his tone that he wasn’t pressing the issue. “Seems like you’re good at it. You could make a real difference.”

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keys. “I’m already making a difference,” you said softly, your voice quieter than usual. “I don’t need to do it full time to feel like it matters.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, you thought maybe the line had cut out. But then Logan spoke again, his voice low and almost… thoughtful.

“Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you didn’t. Instead, you focused on finishing the download, the soft hum of the servers filling the silence between you.

“Got it,” you said finally, leaning back in your chair with a sigh of relief. “Download’s complete. You’re good to go.”

Logan didn’t reply right away, but you could hear the soft sound of him moving, his footsteps heavy against the concrete floor.

“Logan?” you prompted after a moment, the silence starting to make you uneasy.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice a little distant. “I’m on my way out.”

You nodded to yourself, watching his dot move across the map on your screen. “Good. Let’s get you out of there.”

As you guided him back through the warehouse, you couldn’t help but wonder what had changed in his voice during those last few minutes. Something about the way he’d asked that question—about doing this full time—had caught you off guard.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. You had a job to finish, and Logan needed to get out of there safely.

“Alright, you’re clear,” you said once he reached the exit. “No one’s around. Just make sure you don’t—”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan interrupted, and you could hear the smirk in his voice again. “Don’t get shot. You’ve told me a thousand times, Phantom.”

“Then maybe this time you’ll listen,” you shot back, grinning despite yourself.

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rough. “No promises.”

And with that, the line went quiet, leaving you alone in the soft glow of your computer screen.

---

"Alright, your change is $2.87. Have a good one.” You handed the change and a paper bag to the customer, smiling politely. After brushing your hands on your pastel blue apron, you turned to the next person in line. "How can I help—”

You paused mid-sentence as you looked up, surprised to see Ricky standing in front of you with a smirk on his face. You let out an exaggerated sigh. “The regular?”

“Always.” Ricky leaned against the counter, watching you with that usual casual attitude. “You know me too well, Phantom.”

You scoffed lightly at the use of your codename in the middle of your bakery. "Could you not call me that here?" You motioned to the line behind him. “I’d prefer not to blow my cover in front of customers.”

Ricky grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, I’m just messin’ with you. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You shook your head and started prepping his order, grabbing a coffee and a chocolate croissant, which he always got whenever he visited your bakery. “What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have something better to do than bother me at work?”

“Maybe I just missed my favorite hacker-slash-baker,” Ricky teased, crossing his arms as he watched you work. “Figured I’d stop by and see how you’re holding up.”

You raised an eyebrow, handing him the coffee. “I’m holding up fine. Business as usual.”

“Yeah. This place looks better than before. New paint job?”

“Actually, no. New tables and chairs.” You replied. Computer programming had always been something you enjoyed and loved, but when you started working for a big tech company, you couldn’t help but feel like your talents were going to waste.

You found Ricky, or rather, Ricky found you, and you were recruited into ‘The Organization’ to take down mutant trafficking rings. You still needed money, so you decided to put to use your other skill, baking. You opened a small bakery in New York City and have been running it for close to 2 years now.

Ricky leaned against the counter, eyeing the new setup. “So this is what you do when you’re not saving the world? Whip up some cupcakes?”

You rolled your eyes as you placed the croissant in a bag. “Something like that. Gotta pay the bills, right?”

Ricky took the bag from you, giving you a knowing smirk. “You know, it’s still hard to picture you as a baker. I keep waiting for the day I come in here, and all the pastries are bugged with tiny microphones.”

You snorted. “Please. Like I’d waste good croissants on something like that.”

He laughed, then took a sip of his coffee. “You heard from Logan?”

Your fingers froze for a split second, but you quickly masked it by busying yourself with wiping down the counter. “Why? Did something happen?”

Ricky raised an eyebrow. “No, not that I know of. Just thought he might’ve reached out, is all.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone casual. “He’s probably busy. You know how it is.”

“Mhm.” Ricky gave you a look that suggested he wasn’t buying it. “Right. Busy.”

You shot him a glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Nothing, Phantom. Just… you two seem to get along pretty well. That’s all.”

You felt a warmth creeping up the back of your neck and quickly turned away, focusing on the pastries again. “We work well together, if that’s what you mean.”

“Sure, sure,” Ricky said, clearly amused. “Just don’t let ol’ Wolf get too attached. He’s not exactly the sentimental type.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, I’m not worried about that.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t help but think back to the last mission. The banter, the small moments where Logan seemed to let his guard down—just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder.

Ricky stood up straight, crumpling the paper bag in his hand. “Alright, Phantom. I’ll leave you to your cupcakes and secret side missions. Just don’t go getting yourself into trouble.”

“Me? Trouble?” you grinned. “Never.”

He chuckled, heading for the door. “Catch you later.”

As soon as he was gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Ricky had a way of pushing your buttons just enough to make you think. And now you couldn’t stop replaying your recent conversations with Logan in your head. It was strange—this… thing between you two. He wasn’t like anyone you’d worked with before. And yet, it felt natural, like you’d known each other much longer than a few months.

Your phone buzzed in your apron pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

Logan: Got some info for you. When’s your next shift with me?

You bit your lip, your fingers hovering over the keys for a second before you replied.

You: Whenever you need me. What’s the mission?

Logan: I’ll fill you in later. Just be ready.

You: Always am, Wolf.

A short pause, then Logan’s reply came through.

Logan: I know.

You stared at the screen for a moment longer, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. Shaking your head, you shoved the phone back into your pocket. You had a business to run, after all. There was no time to dwell on this… whatever it was between you and Logan.

But as you served the next customer with a practiced smile, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that your next mission with him was going to be different. Maybe it already was.

---

“You ever been to New York City?” Logan asked.

You briefly stopped your typing on the keyboard, “maybe. Maybe not. Why?”

Logan’s voice crackled through the earpiece, low and rough as always. “Just curious. Figured you might’ve wandered through at some point, considering how close we’ve been workin’ together.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the surveillance feed on your screen. “Is this your version of small talk, Wolf? Because I gotta say, you’re not exactly known for that.”

He chuckled. “Nah, just figured it was worth askin’. You ever get outta that basement of yours?”

You leaned back in your chair, smirking to yourself. “I’m not always in a basement, you know. I have other things going on. Like you, sweetie. You focusing on those wires?”

“Sweetie?” Logan’s voice came back with a low growl, amusement lacing his tone. “You know I don’t get distracted easy, darlin’.”

You smirked at the monitor in front of you, watching as he carefully maneuvered through the narrow corridor of the warehouse. “Just making sure. Wouldn’t want to have to bail you out if you trip a wire.”

“Funny,” he muttered. “You’re soundin’ real confident for someone sittin’ comfy at a keyboard.”

“Hey, I’m not comfy,” you shot back, leaning closer to the screen. “I’m on the edge of my seat watching your back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan said, the sound of a door creaking open in the background. “What do you see up ahead?”

You focused on the different camera feeds, your fingers flying over the keys to switch between views. “Two guards in the hallway to your left. Armed. They’re just patrolling, so if you wait about ten seconds, you should be able to slip by.”

“Copy that.” His breathing slowed, the sound of footsteps faint as he pressed himself against the wall. “Tell me somethin’, Phantom. What do you do when you’re not playin’ babysitter for me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Logan grunted softly, the sound of his claws extending briefly as he took a peek around the corner. “Yeah, kinda. All I get’s that voice of yours—still gotta figure out the face that goes with it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “You’re obsessed, Wolf.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” There was a beat of silence as Logan moved silently down the hallway, bypassing the guards with ease. “But you still didn’t answer me.”

You sighed dramatically, switching to another camera feed that showed a large storage room filled with crates. “What do you think I do? Sit in a dark room, hacking into firewalls all day?”

Logan snorted. “Ain’t that what you’re doin’ now?”

“Touché.” You shifted slightly, watching him take down a lone guard with a quick, precise movement. “But no. I do have a life outside of this, you know.”

“Like what?” He sounded genuinely curious now, and you could almost picture the way his brows would be furrowed in concentration. “You got a family? Friends?”

You paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Family? Not really. Friends? Also a stretch. But you didn’t feel like sharing that right now. “I’ve got… a business to run.”

Logan was quiet for a moment. “A business, huh? Didn’t think you’d be the type to deal with customers.”

“Why not?” you shot back. “I’m very good with people, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, like the time you almost tore that guy a new one when he questioned your coding?” He chuckled, the sound low and deep in your ear. “Real people person, darlin’.”

“Okay, that was one time.” You rolled your eyes. “And he deserved it. But yeah, I’m pretty good with people—when I want to be.”

“Uh-huh.” There was a rustling noise, like he was checking through one of the crates. “What kinda business?”

You hesitated again. Part of you wanted to keep that piece of your life separate from Logan. But he’d been honest with you about a lot of things—his past, his work, even some of his regrets. It seemed only fair to give a little in return.

“...A bakery,” you finally admitted, almost cringing at how mundane it sounded compared to the world you two operated in.

There was a long pause on the other end. Then—

“A bakery?” Logan repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. “Like… cupcakes and cookies bakery?”

“Yeah, Wolf,” you said dryly, feeling heat creep up your neck. “I bake things. It’s called having a hobby.”

He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Just tryin’ to picture it, that’s all. Our resident hacker pullin’ cookies out of the oven.”

“Is that so hard to imagine?” You switched to another feed, tracking his progress through the facility. “I bet you’d like my cookies.”

“Yeah?” There was a hint of teasing in his voice now. “You gonna make some for me sometime?”

You bit your lip, surprised at the sudden flutter in your chest at the thought. “Maybe. If you’re good.”

“Darlin’, I’m always good.”

“Debatable,” you shot back quickly, but your smile softened at the edges. “But I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was another pause, and you could hear Logan’s soft exhale through the comms. “You really own a bakery?”

“Yes, really,” you said, feeling oddly defensive now. “I’m not making it up just to sound cute.”

He chuckled again. “I didn’t think that. Just… didn’t see it comin’, is all. Got any specialties?”

You blinked at the sudden change in tone, a mix of genuine curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Well, I make a mean chocolate croissant.”

“Chocolate croissant, huh?” He sounded like he was mulling it over. “Could go for one right now.”

“Focus, Wolf,” you teased, but there was a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the coffee beside you. “Get through this mission, and maybe I’ll let you try one.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” His voice was low, a promise wrapped in that simple statement.

For a moment, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence. It was strange how easy it felt, talking like this. Like you weren’t two people who only knew each other through voices and screens. Like there was something more.

“Alright, I’m in position,” Logan murmured, breaking the silence. “What’s next?”

You glanced at the feed, spotting the final target. “There’s a control panel just ahead. Shut it down, and we’ll have full access to the data we need.”

“On it.” There was a soft thud as he moved forward, the sound of his claws retracting. “Phantom?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks… for keepin’ me company. Makes this kinda work a little less shit.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you struggled to find your voice for a second. “...Anytime, Wolf.”

And you meant it.

---

After 5 months of The Organization searching, the base of the mutant trafficking ring was finally found. It wasn’t just you and Logan, but other’s out on the field searching, and now things were coming to a head.

Ricky had briefed everyone—the field agents and those, like you, behind the computers. Everyone was in position, and tonight, after months of planning, the mutant trafficking ring was finally going to be shut down.

You took a steadying breath, fingers hovering over your keyboard. The screens in front of you were filled with various feeds: security cameras, schematics of the building, comms channels. It was go-time, and as much as you liked to pretend you were calm, there was a knot of tension in your stomach. You knew what was riding on this mission—innocent lives, and for some reason, your thoughts kept circling back to one person in particular.

“Phantom, you there?” Logan’s voice came through your earpiece, low and steady.

“Yeah, Wolf. Right here.” You sat up a little straighter, adjusting the headset. “You good?”

“Never better.” He sounded almost amused. “How ‘bout you? Keepin’ those fingers of yours nimble?”

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m ready to go. All feeds are online, and I’ve got eyes on every entrance. You’re at the west side of the building, right?”

“Yep.” He paused, and you heard the faint shuffle of boots against gravel. “What’s your status?”

“Locked and loaded,” you replied, scanning the feeds. “Looks like we’ve got a dozen guards outside, plus more scattered throughout the building. The main target’s in the central office on the second floor. You’ll need to cut through the lower levels to get there.”

“Got it. You got eyes on the others?”

You quickly toggled between the different comms channels, listening in on reports from the other teams. “Everyone’s in position. Team Alpha is covering the south, Bravo’s moving to secure the exit routes. You’re clear to start your approach.”

Logan grunted in acknowledgment, and you watched on one of the monitors as he started moving through the shadows, staying low and out of sight.

“Be careful, Wolf,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

“Careful’s my middle name,” he drawled back, a hint of that signature cockiness coming through. “You just keep those pretty eyes on the feeds and tell me if someone’s gonna try and sneak up on me.”

“Always do,” you shot back, smiling despite the tension in the air.

There was a pause on his end, and then: “What’s the fastest way to the office from here?”

You glanced at the building’s layout, quickly mapping out a route in your head. “Take the staircase to your right, follow the hallway down two doors, then take a left. You should be able to bypass most of the guards that way. Just… watch for the tripwires.”

“Roger that. Stay on me, Phantom.”

“Like I’m ever not.” You kept your eyes glued to the screen as Logan moved through the facility with practiced ease. Despite the tension thrumming through your veins, there was a strange calmness in listening to his breathing over the comms, knowing you were right there with him, even if it was only in a digital sense.

“How’s it look up ahead?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

“Two guards at the end of the hall,” you reported, zooming in on one of the feeds. “They’re armed, but they’re not paying attention. You should be able to take them out quietly.”

Logan didn’t respond, but you saw him slip into the corridor, moving like a shadow. A few seconds later, both guards were down, and he was back on the line. “Clear.”

“Nice work, Wolf.” You leaned forward, fingers flying over the keyboard to hack into the security system. “I’m disabling the cameras on the next floor. You should have a clear path to the office, but I’m picking up some chatter—looks like they’re getting suspicious.”

“Let ‘em get suspicious.” There was a low, dangerous edge to his voice now. “I’m ready.”

You couldn’t help but grin a little. “That makes one of us.”

“C’mon, Phantom, you know you love this shit,” he teased, but there was a warmth in his tone that made your heart skip a beat. “All that adrenaline. Gets the blood pumpin’, doesn’t it?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you. “I’m not the one out there risking my neck. That’s your job.”

“Yeah, well… you’re doin’ a hell of a job keepin’ me from getting my ass shot off.” There was a pause, and then he added, almost softly, “Don’t know what I’d do without you, darlin’.”

You blinked at the screen, momentarily caught off guard by his words. “...Just stay focused, Wolf. I’m not pulling your ass out of this if you get cocky.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart. I’m good.” His voice turned serious again as he approached the central office. “I’m at the door. How many inside?”

You quickly cycled through the cameras, counting the figures inside. “Three guards. One unarmed. That’s the target. If you move quick, you should be able to neutralize them before they call for backup.”

“Got it.” Logan’s voice was low, almost a growl. You watched as he shifted his weight, preparing to make his move. It was always a little nerve-wracking, watching him go in like this, but you trusted him. He knew what he was doing.

Your fingers danced over the keyboard, disabling the cameras in the immediate area. “I’m taking out the cameras around the office. You’re clear for entry. Make it fast, Wolf.”

“Don’t worry. I’m on it.” He paused for a beat. “How’s the rest of the team doin’?”

You glanced at the other feeds, tracking the movements of the different teams scattered throughout the building. “Team Alpha just took out the last of the perimeter guards. Bravo’s securing the exits—no one’s getting in or out without us knowing.”

“Good. Let’s end this.” There was a soft click as Logan pushed the door open, slipping inside the office with deadly precision.

The guards barely had time to react. You watched in awe as he took them down with a combination of swift strikes and quick, lethal movements. He was a blur of action, and within seconds, the only people left standing were Logan and the target—an older man who looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

“Please, don’t—” the man stammered, holding up his hands in a pathetic attempt at self-defense.

“Shut up,” Logan growled, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall. “You’re gonna answer a few questions for me.”

You leaned closer to the screen, keeping an eye on the other guards roaming the hallways. “Careful, Wolf. We don’t know if he’s got any backup on standby.”

“Yeah, I got it.” He gave the man a rough shake. “Who’s runnin’ this operation? Where’s the rest of the mutants you’ve been trafficking?”

The man sputtered, his face pale. “I—I don’t know! I just handle the logistics—transport, security—”

“Bullshit.” Logan’s claws extended with a sharp snikt, and you could hear the man’s terrified gasp even through the comms. “Try again, bub. And don’t lie to me.”

You zoomed in on the screen, checking for any signs of incoming guards. “Logan, I’m picking up movement on the lower levels. It’s not one of ours—looks like reinforcements. You need to hurry.”

“Copy that.” He leaned in closer to the man, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Last chance. Where are the mutants?”

“Storage room—basement level—cage twelve!” The man practically screamed the words, his eyes wide with fear. “Please, I swear, that’s all I know!”

“Storage room, basement level, cage twelve,” you repeated quickly, already pulling up the layout of the basement. “I’m sending the coordinates to Team Bravo now.”

“Good.” Logan released the man, who slumped to the floor, trembling. He stepped back, claws retracting. “Now sit tight. You’re gonna have some company soon.”

The man whimpered but didn’t move as Logan turned and made his way out of the office. You switched your focus back to the basement, watching as Team Bravo moved in to secure the mutants.

“They’re in position,” you reported, keeping your voice calm. “Looks like… ten, no, twelve mutants total. All of them are alive.”

“Alive, huh?” Logan’s voice softened just a fraction. “That’s somethin’, at least.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. After months of hunting down leads, false starts, and dead ends, it was finally coming together. “We did it, Wolf.”

“Not yet, we haven’t.” His tone turned serious again. “We still gotta get ‘em outta here. You got a path?”

“Working on it.” Your fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up the building’s blueprints. “Okay, there’s an access tunnel two levels down from where you are. It leads straight to an underground parking garage. If you can get them there, we’ll have transport waiting.”

“Got it. I’ll head down now.” He paused for a moment, then added quietly, “Good work, Phantom.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at the unexpected praise. “Same to you, Wolf. Just… stay safe, okay?”

There was a soft chuckle on the other end. “Don’t you worry ‘bout me, darlin’. You just keep doin’ what you do best.”

You stayed on the line, guiding him through the lower levels as he made his way to the basement. The rest of the mission went off like clockwork—Team Bravo secured the mutants, Team Alpha kept the perimeter locked down, and Logan made sure no one got in their way.

By the time it was all over, the mutants were safe, the ring was shut down, and the remaining traffickers were either captured or taken out. It was a resounding success, and yet, as you watched Logan emerge from the building, something inside you felt… off.

“Logan?” you called out softly, your voice hesitant. “You good?”

“Yeah. Just tired.” He sounded a little rough around the edges, but that was to be expected after a mission like this. “What about you? You doin’ okay?”

You let out a soft breath, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… glad it’s over, I guess.”

“Yeah.” There was a pause, and then he added, “You did good tonight, Phantom. Real good.”

“Thanks, Wolf.” You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

He grunted softly, the sound almost affectionate. “Bet you say that to all the guys you babysit.”

“Only the ones I like,” you teased, feeling a little bolder now that the mission was over. “But seriously… thanks for trusting me out there. I know it’s not easy.”

“Trust ain’t somethin’ I give lightly,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “But you earned it. Over and over.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you settled for a soft, “...I’m glad.”

There was another beat of silence, and then Logan’s voice came back, a little lighter. “So, when am I gettin’ that chocolate croissant?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Guess you’ll just have to swing by my bakery sometime, huh?”

“Maybe I will.” He sounded thoughtful, like he was considering it for the first time. “Soon as I figure out where the hell it is.”

“Good luck with that,” you teased, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves. “But if you do find it… first croissant’s on me.”

“I’ll hold you to that, darlin’.” There was a warm, teasing lilt to his voice now. “Take care, Phantom.”

“You too, Wolf.”

And with that, the line went quiet. You stared at the screen for a moment longer, a smile tugging at your lips. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—toward something new, something real.

Maybe one day, you’d get to see the look on Logan’s face when he finally tasted one of your croissants.

But for now, this was enough.

---

It had been a few weeks since the mutant trafficking ring was taken down, and since then, things from The Organization had been quiet. You were sure that soon, something would happen, and you’d have a new mission or cause to fight for, but for now, life was… normal. Or, as normal as things could get for you.

During the day, you focused on your bakery. The smell of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries filled the small space, the steady hum of business keeping you busy. You didn’t have to think about The Organization or anything outside of kneading dough and serving customers. It was a welcome change of pace, a grounding routine that gave you some much-needed breathing room.

But at night, when the bakery was closed and the streets outside your shop went quiet, your mind wandered back to Logan—and those long conversations over the comms. The teasing back and forth. The gruff but genuine praise. The way he’d been so protective of you, even when you were just a voice in his ear.

You leaned against the counter, wiping your hands on your apron as you glanced around your empty shop. The bell above the door jingled, and you glanced up, expecting to see one of your regulars who’d forgotten to grab something before closing.

But it wasn’t one of your regulars.

It was him.

Logan.

He stood in the doorway, his broad frame almost filling it completely. A beat of silence passed as you stared at each other, and then he stepped inside, his boots making a soft thud against the wooden floor.

“Hey, darlin’.” His voice was the same deep, rough tone you remembered, and yet hearing it in person made your heart skip a beat. He glanced around the bakery, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Figured I’d finally swing by and see if your croissants live up to the hype.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. He was here. Here. In your bakery, standing in front of you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Logan?” You blinked, trying to wrap your mind around it. “How—how did you find me?”

He shrugged like it was nothing, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Did a little diggin’. Asked around. Turns out you’re not as good at hiding as you think.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, a mix of surprise and… something else. “And you just—decided to show up out of nowhere?”

“Thought you could use some company,” he replied easily, but there was a seriousness in his gaze that told you this wasn’t just a casual visit. “Been too quiet lately. I don’t do quiet well.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“Neither can I,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he glanced at the display case filled with pastries. “But since I am… you gonna give me that croissant, or what?”

The corner of your mouth lifted, and you reached behind the counter, pulling out a fresh chocolate croissant. You placed it on a small plate, sliding it across to him. “First one’s on the house, remember?”

Logan took the plate, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. A spark shot through you, but you quickly pulled your hand back, pretending like it hadn’t happened.

He lifted the croissant, inspecting it with a critical eye before taking a bite. You watched, holding your breath as he chewed thoughtfully. Then, he swallowed and nodded.

“Not bad, Phantom. Not bad at all.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, a smile breaking out on your face. “Just ‘not bad?’ I think I’m a little insulted.”

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Okay, fine. It’s good. Real good.” He took another bite, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t ya?”

“I could say the same about you.” You leaned against the counter, studying him. In the soft light of the bakery, he looked a little more relaxed, less guarded. There was still that roughness to him, but there was something else, too—a quiet sort of contentment. “So, what’s the real reason you’re here, Logan?”

He raised an eyebrow, finishing off the croissant before setting the plate down. “What, a guy can’t visit his favorite hacker?”

“Nice try.” You gave him a look, crossing your arms. “But I know you better than that.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I just wanted to see for myself that you’re okay. That this place is real. That you’re… real.”

You felt something tighten in your chest, your gaze softening. “I’m real, Logan. You know that.”

“Yeah.” He looked around again, as if trying to memorize every detail of your little shop. “But it’s different, seein’ it with my own eyes.”

There was a weight to his words, a sincerity that made your heart ache a little. You’d spent so many nights talking to him, listening to his voice, getting to know him in a way that felt almost… intimate. And now he was here, standing in front of you, and it felt like a dream.

“Do you—” You hesitated, biting your lip. “Do you want to stay for a bit? I’ve got coffee. Or tea, if that’s more your style.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Coffee sounds good.”

You turned to make a fresh pot, your hands moving on autopilot as your mind raced. What did this mean? Why now? You’d thought maybe, someday, you’d meet Logan in person, but you hadn’t expected it to be like this—so sudden, so… normal.

“So,” Logan drawled, leaning against the counter as he watched you, “what’s next for you? Gonna hang up your hacker hat and just focus on bakin’?”

You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a wry smile. “You think I could actually stay out of trouble for long?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Nah. Don’t think you’re cut out for the quiet life, darlin’.”

“Guess we have that in common, huh?” You poured the coffee, sliding a mug over to him. “But for now… I’m taking a little break. I think I’ve earned it.”

“Yeah, you have.” He took the mug, his fingers brushing against yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away. “So… what’s the plan now? Just you and the bakery?”

“For now.” You shrugged, looking around the shop. “It’s nice. Calming, even. Keeps me grounded.”

Logan studied you for a long moment, his gaze intent. “You know, I never pictured you like this. With flour on your apron and—what’s that?” He reached out, brushing his thumb lightly against your cheek. “Frostin’ on your face?”

You froze at the contact, your breath catching in your throat. His touch was surprisingly gentle, the roughness of his thumb contrasting with the softness of your skin. You stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the moment.

“I—uh—” You cleared your throat, feeling your face heat up. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Hmm.” His thumb lingered for a heartbeat longer, then he pulled back, his expression softening. “Guess it suits you.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your racing heart. “What about you? What’s next for the great Wolverine? Gonna go back to the X-Men?”

Logan chuckled, leaning back slightly as he sipped his coffee. “Who said I ever left? Maybe I was doin’ this as my side job.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Oh, so the big bad Wolverine has a side hustle now? Should I be worried you’re going to start making croissants too?”

He smirked. “Nah, I’ll leave the bakin’ to you. But maybe I’ll stick around, see how things go.” His eyes held yours, that familiar teasing edge mixed with something else—a quiet intensity.

“Stick around?” you asked, not entirely sure where he was going with this. “In New York? Thought you weren’t a fan of big cities.”

Logan shrugged, his gaze flicking around your cozy bakery again. “It grows on ya. Plus, I got reasons to hang around now.”

The way he said it, so casual but pointed, made your heart skip a beat. “Reasons, huh?”

He leaned forward, setting his mug down on the counter. “Yeah, Phantom. You think I spent all those nights listenin’ to you talk, gettin’ to know you, just to go back to business as usual?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of his words. You tried to bring things back to normal, to calm your racing heart, but perhaps you only made it worse with his response. “Y- you don’t have to call me that, you know? Or- anymore, at least.”

Logan’s eyes locked onto yours, a spark of curiosity flickering in his gaze. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the counter. “Oh yeah? So, what should I call ya?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question. It was such a simple thing—your real name. Something you’d kept hidden, not out of fear, but because keeping a wall between your real life and Phantom had made things… easier. Safer, even. But you felt safe with him standing in front of you, even if it was the first time meeting face to face.

“Y/N.” You finally said, quietly with a small smile.

Logan’s eyes softened, something shifting in his expression as he repeated your name—almost testing it out. “Y/N, huh? Suits you.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the warmth spreading through your chest. “Figured it was time to be on a first-name basis, Wolf.”

His lips twitched into a smirk at the nickname. “Wolf,” he repeated, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. “You’ve been callin’ me that for months. Thought you’d drop it once I was standin’ right in front of ya.”

“Why would I do that?” you shot back, your smile growing a little more confident. “It suits you, Wolf.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He leaned back, his gaze never leaving yours. “Guess I’ll stick with ‘Phantom’ for old times’ sake.”

“‘Y/N’ is fine,” you said softly. “I think we’re past codenames.”

He nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Y/N, then.” The way he said it—slow and deliberate—made your heart flutter. There was something so personal about it, so… intimate. You’d spent so long hiding behind ‘Phantom’ that hearing your real name in his voice felt almost surreal.

You glanced down at the counter, clearing your throat to break the tension. “So,” you said slowly, a hint of mischief creeping into your tone, “now that you’ve tried my croissants, what’s next on the list? Gonna critique my muffins too?”

Logan’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting. “Oh, I’m definitely stickin’ around long enough to try everything on that menu, darlin’. Gotta make sure it’s all up to snuff.”

“Uh-huh. Just don’t expect me to bake for you every day,” you teased, but there was a warmth in your voice that you couldn’t quite hide.

“I dunno,” he drawled, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone. “Kinda like the idea of you makin’ me breakfast.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your throat. You chuckled back at him, putting the towel in your hand over your shoulder, “yeah? Bet you say that to all the women you meet.”

Logan’s smirk grew, the corner of his mouth lifting in that way you’d come to recognize as trouble. “You think I go around findin’ bakeries just to get breakfast from pretty hackers?”

“Pretty hackers?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t know I was your type, Wolf.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence. “You’re my type if you keep makin’ croissants like that.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Nice recovery.”

There was a beat of silence, and Logan’s smirk softened, replaced by a more thoughtful look. His eyes swept around the shop again, taking in the cozy space as if trying to understand something deeper about it—about you.

“This place,” he said quietly, breaking the silence. “It’s yours, huh?”

“Yeah,” you replied, a touch of pride in your voice. “Bought it a couple of years ago. Did most of the renovations myself. Not the hacking kind, though.”

Logan nodded, his gaze lingering on the shelves lined with baked goods and the flour-dusted counter. “Figured you’d be in some high-tech lab or somethin’. Not… this.”

You smiled, glancing around your bakery. “What? Don’t think I can bake and hack at the same time?”

“Nah, it’s not that.” He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as if he were searching for the right words. “Guess I just never thought about what your life looked like when you weren’t on a mission.”

“Well,” you said softly, meeting his eyes. “This is it. Flour, sugar, and a whole lot of early mornings.”

Logan tilted his head, studying you like he was seeing a whole new side of you. “It suits ya.”

You shrugged, feeling a bit exposed under his gaze. “It’s not as exciting as fighting bad guys, but… it’s mine.”

“Doesn’t have to be exciting all the time,” he murmured. His voice was quieter now, more serious, and it made you pause. “Sometimes… it’s the quiet stuff that matters.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing it did whenever he got unexpectedly sincere. “Yeah, well, quiet doesn’t seem to be your style, Logan.”

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “Yeah, guess not. But maybe I’m workin’ on that.”

You gave him a playful smirk. “You? Working on ‘quiet’? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He leaned forward, his arms resting on the counter as he looked at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Maybe you’ll see it sooner than you think.”

Your teasing smile faltered slightly, your heartbeat picking up again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Logan held your gaze for a long moment, something unspoken hanging in the air between you. “Means I’m stickin’ around, Y/N. If you’re okay with that.”

Your breath caught at the way he said your name—your real name, not Phantom. There was a weight to it, like he wasn’t just talking about the bakery or the city. He was talking about you.

“Logan,” you started, your voice a little shaky as you tried to keep it light, “are you saying you want to be a regular customer?”

He smirked, but the seriousness in his eyes didn’t fade. “Somethin’ like that. Thought maybe I’d get to know the person behind the croissants… and the computer screens.”

Your heart raced, and you couldn’t help but smile, even though you felt a little breathless. “Well, considering you just showed up without a warning, I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

Logan’s smirk widened. “Always liked makin’ an entrance.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, shaking your head, “next time, maybe give a girl a little heads-up.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he teased, though his voice had softened.

You didn’t have a snappy comeback for that, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The bakery felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had paused, leaving just the two of you in this little bubble. You’d known him for months, heard his voice in your ear during some of the craziest situations, but this—standing here in the same room, with him right there—felt different. Real.

“So,” you said after a beat, your voice a little quieter now, “what’s the plan? You just gonna hang out in New York for a while? Or…?”

Logan shrugged, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. “Dunno. Figure I’ll stick around, see how things play out. Been on the move too long. Might be time to slow down a bit.”

“Slow down?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You?”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t sound like me, does it?”

You smiled, leaning against the counter. “Well, if you’re serious about sticking around, you’d better be ready for a lot of early mornings.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to the flour on your apron and the slight mess on the counter. “Early mornings, huh? Guess I can handle that. Long as there’s coffee.”

You laughed softly, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest again. “I think I can manage that.”

There was another pause, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that felt… nice. Like neither of you were in a rush to fill the space with words.

Finally, Logan straightened up, glancing toward the door. “Guess I’ll let ya get back to it. Don’t wanna keep you too long.”

You felt a flicker of disappointment, but you quickly pushed it down, giving him a smile instead. “You’re always welcome, you know. Next time, I’ll save you a muffin.”

Logan’s smirk returned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ll hold you to that, darlin’.”

He took a step toward the door, but then he paused, glancing back at you. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat at the way he said your name again.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said softly, his gaze holding yours for just a moment longer before he turned and walked out the door, the bell above it jingling softly in his wake.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the door long after he was gone, your heart still racing.

---

Logan’s unexpected visit left you in a whirlwind. For the next few days, it was hard to focus on the usual routines of the bakery. Each time the bell over the door chimed, your heart leapt a little, thinking maybe, just maybe, it’d be him again. But Logan didn’t show, and you tried to remind yourself not to overthink it. He was just… being Logan. Coming and going as he pleased, without a word or explanation.

But then, one evening, just as you were flipping the Open sign to Closed, you noticed something slipped under the door—a folded piece of paper with your name scrawled across it in a familiar, rugged handwriting.

You picked it up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, and opened it.

Got a place in mind. Be ready at 7. —W

No address. No other details. Just a time and a cryptic note.

You found yourself smiling despite your confusion. Of course, he’d pull something like this. He couldn’t just ask you to dinner like a normal person—he had to be all mysterious about it. But then again, it was part of his charm.

The day passed in a blur. By the time you were getting ready, nerves had settled in. What exactly did Logan mean by ‘got a place in mind’? Was this a date? Just… friends hanging out?

You pushed the thoughts away and focused on getting dressed. Something casual, but not too casual. Comfortable, but still showing you’d put in some effort. You settled on a pair of well-fitting jeans and a soft sweater that was flattering but not over-the-top.

Right at 7, there was a soft knock on your door. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and opened it.

Logan stood there, looking the same as always and yet… different. Maybe it was the way he’d traded his usual jacket for a dark button-down, or the fact that he looked a bit unsure himself, his gaze flicking over you in silent appraisal before settling on your eyes.

“You look good,” he said, his voice gruff, but there was an honesty in his tone that made your cheeks warm.

“Not bad yourself, Wolf,” you replied, earning a small, almost shy smile from him.

“Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“Ready,” you confirmed, and you stepped outside, locking the door behind you.

---

Logan had borrowed a bike—one of those big, heavy motorcycles that roared to life when he turned the ignition. He tossed you a helmet, then helped you onto the back. Your hands found their way around his waist, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just that—your arms around him, the rumble of the engine beneath you, and the feel of his solid form against you.

“Hold on tight, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rough in a way that made you shiver.

The ride through the city was exhilarating, the cool night air whipping past you as Logan navigated the streets with ease. You had no idea where he was taking you, but you trusted him. You’d always trusted him.

Finally, he pulled up to a secluded spot along the East River, away from the usual tourist traps and bustling crowds. You could see the lights of the city skyline reflected in the water, the soft sounds of the river lapping at the shore creating a serene backdrop. There was a small wooden table set up nearby, with a blanket laid out and a picnic basket resting on top of it.

You blinked in surprise, glancing between the setup and Logan. “Did… did you do this?”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “Yeah, well. Figured we’ve had enough high-stakes meetin’s. Thought you deserved somethin’ different.”

Your heart melted a little at that. He’d gone through the trouble of planning something just for you—a quiet evening, just the two of you, away from the chaos of missions and comms.

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, meeting his eyes.

He gave a small nod, visibly relieved by your reaction. “Good. Now c’mon, let’s eat before it gets too cold.”

The two of you settled down at the table, and you couldn’t help but smile as Logan unpacked the basket. It was mostly simple stuff—sandwiches, fruit, a bottle of wine—but there was an almost endearing quality to it, like he’d put in effort but hadn’t tried to overdo it.

“Didn’t know what you liked, so I kinda… winged it,” he admitted, glancing at you almost nervously.

“It’s perfect,” you repeated, smiling at him. “And honestly? I’m just happy you’re here.”

Logan’s gaze softened, his eyes lingering on you in that way that made your stomach flip. “Yeah. Me too.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. You talked about everything and nothing—the bakery, old missions, even random bits about your lives that had never come up before. He was surprisingly open, and you found yourself sharing more than you usually would, the relaxed atmosphere making it easy to let your guard down.

As the evening went on, you found yourself inching closer to him. At some point, the two of you ended up side by side on the blanket, the picnic basket forgotten as you stared out at the lights reflecting on the water.

There was a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. You glanced over at Logan, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. He was looking at you with an expression that was hard to read—soft, almost contemplative.

“What?” you asked softly, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“Just thinkin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rumbling. “You’re even prettier in person, you know that?”

You felt your face heat up, and you looked away, letting out a soft laugh. “Logan—”

“I mean it,” he interrupted gently, reaching out to brush your cheek. His touch was light, tentative, like he wasn’t quite sure if it was okay. “Been drivin’ myself crazy, wonderin’ what you’d look like. But seein’ you now… Hell, Y/N, I don’t think I did you justice.”

Your breath caught at the way he said your name, his gaze intense and unwavering. There was something raw and honest in his expression, like he was laying himself bare in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Logan…” you whispered, the words dying on your lips as he leaned in, his face inches from yours.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he murmured, his voice low and almost regretful. But he didn’t move away. If anything, he shifted closer, his breath brushing against your skin. “But I’ve been wantin’ to since the moment I heard your voice.”

Your heart was pounding, every nerve in your body alive with anticipation. “Then don’t stop,” you whispered, your own voice trembling.

Logan’s gaze flicked down to your lips, and for a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze. Then, slowly—like he was giving you every chance to pull away—he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most tentative of kisses.

It was gentle at first, like he was testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull back—when you leaned in, your fingers tangling in the front of his shirt—something seemed to break. He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

The kiss was everything you hadn’t known you’d been waiting for—slow and sweet, but with an underlying intensity that left you breathless. You melted into him, the world around you fading away until there was nothing left but the feel of his lips on yours and the warmth of his hand against your cheek.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you were both breathing hard, your hearts racing in sync.

“Damn, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Didn’t think it’d feel like that.”

You laughed softly, your own voice a little shaky. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Logan smiled—a real, genuine smile that made your heart ache. “Think we should do it again?”

You grinned up at him, feeling lighter than you had in ages. “Yeah, Wolf. I think we should.”

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic

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its-avalon-08 · 5 months ago

Note

Hai its-avalon-08,

I had an idea for a Logan Sergeant fic.

Can you do a Logan Sergeant x fem reader story; where Logan is invited to play a videogame with some of the rest of the grit. But he just started playing the game, and the rest of the group has played the game for some time and have really high level characters. So Logan feels a bit useless. So in the summer break he gets to know reader, maybe she see him struggling with is in a cafe or something. Not knowing she is really good at that game. And she helps him to level him up. And after the summer break the group play again and find out about Logans improvement. So Logan invites reader and they can believe how Logan gets help from a famous gamer.

If you can make it all platonic or Logan and reader getting a relationship is up to you.

And for the group members of the other drivers is up to you too.

level up (ls2)

✦ pairing - logan sargeant x female!reader

✦ genre - self doubt, fluff, logan being cute

The sun shone bright over the summer streets, bathing everything in a warm golden hue as Logan Sargeant sat hunched in a small corner of a cozy café. His eyes were glued to his phone, fingers tapping furiously at the screen. He wasn’t scrolling through social media or checking emails — no, Logan was fighting a battle. A virtual one. And one he was miserably losing.

A frustrated sigh escaped his lips, and he leaned back in his chair, letting his phone fall on the table in defeat. He didn’t know why he had agreed to play Legends Unleashed, the new game that had taken the Formula 1 grid by storm. It was a role-playing game where the drivers were tasked with taking on mythical quests, battling monsters, and leveling up their characters. The only problem was, Logan had just started playing. The rest of the grid, seasoned veterans by now, had characters with insane stats, fancy armor, and rare weapons. Meanwhile, Logan’s character — a low-level knight with a rusty sword — was stuck losing to even the weakest enemies.

He could still hear the teasing from the last game night echoing in his head.

“Logan, mate, that was rough,” Charles Leclerc had laughed, his voice crackling through the headset.

“Did you even hit the boss once?” Lando Norris had chimed in.

It wasn’t malicious. Logan knew that. It was all in good fun, but it stung nonetheless. He wasn’t used to feeling so out of his depth — not on the track and certainly not in a video game. But this game had turned out to be a much bigger challenge than expected. And now, with the summer break in full swing, Logan found himself with no races to distract him from his embarrassing performance.

As he took a sip of his coffee, he glanced around the café, hoping to clear his mind. His gaze flickered over the familiar faces of regulars and tourists enjoying their day, but it eventually settled on a girl sitting a few tables away. She had her laptop open and was intently focused, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she clicked and typed with ease. Something about her caught his attention — maybe it was the determination in her expression or the way she seemed completely engrossed in whatever she was doing.

Logan frowned, noticing the game she had minimized on her screen before returning to her work. His eyes widened slightly. Was that… Legends Unleashed?

He shook his head. It was probably just a coincidence. Tons of people were playing that game now. It didn’t mean she was some kind of expert. But then again, she didn’t have the look of someone who was just casually playing. Her focus was too intense, her movements too precise. Could she be good at it?

Before he could stop himself, Logan’s curiosity got the better of him. He stood up, gathering his things, and made his way over to her table. Clearing his throat, he caught her attention.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” he began, a little unsure. “I couldn’t help but notice… are you playing Legends Unleashed?”

Y/N looked up from her laptop, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, I am. You play?”

Logan scratched the back of his neck, feeling sheepish. “Uh, I’ve tried. Let’s just say I’m not exactly good at it.”

Her eyebrows raised slightly. “Not good? It’s a tricky game, I get that. How long have you been playing?”

“A couple of weeks,” Logan admitted with a rueful smile. “But it’s hard to keep up. My friends are way ahead of me.”

Y/N tilted her head, intrigued. “Well, it sounds like you’ve been thrown into the deep end. But don’t worry. With some help, you can get there.”

Logan chuckled. “I think I need a lot more than some help. The last time I played, I was more of a liability than anything else.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers thoughtfully. “Tell you what — if you’re serious about getting better, I can help you. I’ve been playing for a while.”

Logan’s eyes lit up, his surprise evident. “Really? You’d help me?”

She nodded. “Sure. Everyone starts somewhere, and it’s more fun when you can hold your own. Plus, I kind of enjoy teaching people.”

Logan couldn’t believe his luck. Maybe this summer break wouldn’t be so bad after all.

As Y/N closed her laptop and got up, offering him a knowing smile, Logan felt a strange sense of relief. Little did he know, this café encounter would be the start of his comeback — and that Y/N was far more than just a casual gamer.

But for now, all Logan could focus on was the unexpected offer of help, completely unaware of the storm he and Y/N would stir up when the rest of the grid found out.

The summer break had just begun, and Logan Sargeant was about to level up — in more ways than one.

time skip

The sun had long set, casting the city in a soft, peaceful glow. Logan lay sprawled out on his couch, his laptop balanced on his knees and his headset firmly in place. The flickering lights from his game illuminated the dark room as the familiar sounds of Legends Unleashed filled the air.

“Okay, Logan, you need to time the dodge right after the first attack,” Y/N’s voice instructed through the headset, her tone both patient and teasing. “You’re still getting hit because you’re hesitating.”

Logan rolled his eyes, his character taking yet another hit. “I swear I’m dodging, Y/N! This boss is just ridiculous.”

On the other end of the call, Y/N’s laughter rang out, soft and infectious. “You’re dodging too late. Watch the movement of the arm, not the weapon.”

They’d been doing this for weeks now—spending hours gaming together, their late-night calls becoming routine. What started as simple game tutorials had turned into something much more. There were moments when they’d be in the middle of a game, only for Logan to get distracted by her voice or the way she’d make light of his constant failures. He often found himself zoning out, just watching her on the tiny screen where they video chatted while playing.

Like right now.

Y/N’s voice became background noise as Logan’s eyes drifted to her face, illuminated by the glow of her laptop screen. She was sitting in what appeared to be her room, comfortably propped up against pillows, her hair loosely tied back. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her explain the intricacies of the boss battle. She was so animated, so passionate. The way her eyes lit up when she spoke about strategies and the small laugh she had whenever he missed something obvious was quickly becoming one of his favorite things.

“Logan? Logan!” Y/N’s voice broke through his daze, and Logan blinked, snapping back to the game.

“Huh? Yeah, sorry,” he muttered, feeling his face heat up slightly as he realized he had completely zoned out.

Y/N chuckled, clearly amused. “Were you even listening to me?”

“Uh, yeah… definitely,” Logan lied, hoping she didn’t notice. But the knowing smirk on her face told him otherwise.

“You were staring at the screen again, weren’t you?” she teased, leaning closer to her camera. “I swear, you zone out so much I’m starting to think you enjoy losing.”

Logan laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I’m just strategizing, ever think of that?”

“Strategizing by staring at my face? Interesting approach,” she quipped, her smile widening.

Logan’s heart skipped a beat at her playful tone. They’d developed this rhythm — this back-and-forth banter that felt effortless. It was something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing until now. It was like he’d found a new kind of comfort, one that wasn’t just about learning the game. Y/N had quickly become someone he looked forward to spending time with. Their conversations had gone from strictly game-related to late-night talks about life, racing, and random things that made them laugh.

"Okay, okay, maybe I was zoning out," Logan admitted with a grin. "But you make it hard to concentrate sometimes. You get so into it."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh? Is that a compliment or an excuse for why you're still losing to a level 30 boss?"

Logan chuckled, his cheeks reddening a bit. "Probably both."

There was a moment of silence between them as they both focused on the game again. But Logan couldn't shake the growing realization that his feelings toward Y/N were changing. The more time they spent together, the more he found himself drawn to her in ways that surprised him. She was funny, smart, and effortlessly cool in a way that made him feel completely at ease.

He didn’t just look forward to the gaming anymore. He looked forward to her — to the way they’d laugh until the early hours of the morning, or how she’d tell him stories about random things that happened during her day, or how she'd make even the most mundane game tasks feel like an adventure.

"Alright, we’ve been at this for a while," Y/N finally said, breaking the comfortable silence. "I think you’ve earned a break from getting your butt kicked."

Logan sighed in mock relief. "Thank God. I was starting to think I’d never get past this boss."

"You will," Y/N assured him with a soft smile. "You’re getting better, you know. Much better."

Logan’s eyes flickered to her again. Her tone was so genuine, and the way she smiled made something in his chest tighten. He knew she meant it, and for some reason, her words felt like more than just praise for his in-game performance.

"Thanks," Logan said quietly, his gaze lingering on her. "You’ve been a great teacher."

Y/N shrugged, brushing off the compliment like it was nothing, but there was a hint of pride in her expression. "Well, you’re a pretty good student."

They both fell silent again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of silence that felt comfortable, almost intimate, as if they’d said everything they needed to without words.

"Same time tomorrow?" Y/N asked, breaking the moment, her tone casual.

Logan smiled, his heart racing a little at the thought of another night like this. "Yeah. Same time tomorrow."

As they both logged off for the night, Logan lay back on his couch, staring at the ceiling. He should’ve been focused on his upcoming race or how much he still needed to improve in the game. But all he could think about was Y/N — and the way she made everything feel a little bit better, a little more exciting.

And as much as he loved the game, it was those late-night calls, those small moments of goofing around with her, that had him looking forward to tomorrow the most.

Logan was leveling up, sure. But it wasn’t just in the game anymore.

time skip

The sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow over the horizon as Logan anxiously glanced at his phone. The night had finally arrived — a game night with the rest of the grid. But this time, there was something different. This time, he had a secret weapon.

"Everything okay?" Y/N’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She stood beside him in his living room, looking far too calm for what Logan was feeling.

"Yeah, yeah," Logan mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I’m just… nervous."

Y/N tilted her head, amused. "Nervous about what? You’ve been doing great lately."

"Not about the game," Logan clarified, shaking his head. "It’s just… I invited the rest of the grid over, and I didn’t tell them about you. You know, that you’ve been helping me." He paused, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I kinda want to surprise them."

Y/N chuckled. "You mean, you want to wipe the floor with them."

Logan grinned. "Maybe."

There was a knock at the door, and Logan’s nerves kicked into high gear. "They’re here."

He opened the door to find Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris, and George Russell standing outside, each carrying a different bag of snacks and drinks.

"Look who decided to finally host!" Lando announced, patting Logan on the back as they walked inside. "What’s the occasion? Felt bad for getting wrecked last time?"

Logan rolled his eyes, shutting the door behind them. "Something like that."

The guys walked into the living room, exchanging pleasantries with Y/N, not knowing just how involved she was in what was about to go down.

"So, Logan," Charles began, already sinking into the couch. "You ready to lose again, or did you actually practice this time?"

Logan shot him a confident look. "You’ll see."

"Well, I’m excited to see this ‘progress’ you keep talking about," George teased. "Last time, I thought I was watching a training video on how not to play."

"Ha ha, very funny," Logan replied, rolling his eyes. "Just wait."

As they all gathered around, setting up the gaming consoles, Logan couldn’t help but notice how cool Y/N was acting. If she was nervous, she didn’t show it. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying the pre-game banter, sitting cross-legged on the couch and watching the guys with an amused smirk.

"Alright, let’s do this," Lando said, rubbing his hands together. "Logan, you’re gonna need a miracle to get through this one."

Logan exchanged a look with Y/N, who gave him a subtle wink before they all logged into Legends Unleashed.

The game kicked off, and almost immediately, the rest of the grid noticed something was different. Logan wasn’t the weak link anymore. In fact, he was holding his own — dodging attacks, landing perfect hits, and strategizing like a seasoned pro.

"Wait a minute," George said, his voice full of disbelief. "How the hell are you doing that, Logan?"

"Yeah," Charles added, his tone equally shocked. "Since when do you know how to time your moves like that?"

Logan grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, you know… just practiced a bit."

"Practiced a bit?" Lando exclaimed, eyes wide as Logan’s character took out a particularly tough boss in record time. "Dude, did you hire a coach or something?"

Logan glanced at Y/N, who was quietly sitting to the side, clearly enjoying the confusion. He could’ve revealed her identity right then and there, but where was the fun in that?

As the game continued, Logan kept surprising everyone, his movements smoother, his decisions sharper. The guys were losing it.

"Okay, this is insane," George said, throwing his hands up. "You’ve leveled up like, a hundred times since the last game night!"

"I’m telling you, Logan’s been holding out on us," Charles muttered, leaning forward in concentration. "This isn’t the same guy we played with a month ago."

Just as the final round was about to start, Logan turned to Y/N. "Hey, you want to take over for a bit?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a small smile on her lips. "Are you sure? I don’t want to embarrass anyone."

"Please," Logan said, smirking. "I think they deserve it."

She shrugged and took the controller, her hands moving with the kind of ease that could only come from experience. Within seconds, she was effortlessly leading the charge, her character cutting through enemies with precision.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Lando nearly shouted, sitting up straight. "Who’s playing now?"

Y/N grinned but stayed focused on the screen. "That’d be me."

The room went dead silent as the rest of the grid watched in stunned disbelief. Y/N’s gameplay was flawless, and it wasn’t long before they started putting the pieces together.

"Wait a second," Charles said slowly, his eyes narrowing. "You’re… you’re not Y/N from GameChix are you?"

Logan looked at Y/N in confusion. "GameChix? What’s that?"

Y/N let out a soft laugh, pausing the game to face him. "It’s… well, it’s a gaming channel I’m part of. A pretty popular one, actually."

"Pretty popular?" George repeated, looking like he’d seen a ghost. "You’re literally one of the top-ranked Legends Unleashed players in the world!"

Logan blinked, completely dumbfounded. "Wait. You’re famous?"

Y/N smiled sheepishly. "I guess you could say that."

Lando’s jaw dropped. "Mate, how did you not know? Y/N’s a legend in the gaming world! She’s like… a god at this game."

Logan felt his cheeks flush as the rest of the grid erupted into fanboying.

"I can’t believe we’re sitting here with the Y/N!" Charles gushed. "I’ve watched your streams for years!"

"This is unreal," George added. "I’ve been trying to beat your dungeon records for months!"

Logan could only watch as his friends lost their minds over Y/N, who took it all in stride, looking a little embarrassed but also clearly used to this kind of attention.

"You’ve been playing with a pro this whole time?" Lando asked Logan, incredulously. "Dude, no wonder you’ve gotten so good."

"Uh, yeah," Logan replied, still processing the fact that Y/N was way more famous than he’d realized. "But honestly, I didn’t even know."

"Well, now you do," Y/N teased, nudging him lightly. "Guess I’m more than just your tutor."

The room buzzed with excitement as the guys peppered Y/N with questions, asking about her strategies, her favorite in-game moments, and how she got into professional gaming. Logan watched her, half in awe, half amused at how cool she remained, even with the grid completely fanboying over her.

As the night wore on, the excitement eventually died down, and the others headed out, still in disbelief over the surprise twist of the evening.

Logan walked Y/N to the door, still shaking his head at everything that had happened. "I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were a famous gamer this whole time."

Y/N laughed softly, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him. "Well, I figured it didn’t matter. You weren’t exactly hiring me for my fame."

Logan chuckled, his heart racing a little as he met her gaze. "No, I guess not. But… thanks. For everything. You’ve made this whole thing way more fun than I expected."

Y/N smiled, and for a moment, the playful teasing between them faded. The atmosphere shifted, a quiet tension filling the space between them. Logan wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere between all the late-night gaming sessions and their growing friendship, he’d started feeling something more. Something that made his pulse quicken whenever she was near.

Before he could think too much about it, Logan leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a soft, hesitant kiss. Y/N responded immediately, her hand gently resting on his arm as she kissed him back, the moment both tender and electrifying.

When they pulled away, both of them were smiling, breathless and a little stunned by what had just happened.

"Well," Y/N said softly, her voice teasing again, "that’s one way to end game night."

Logan grinned, his heart still pounding in his chest. "Best game night ever."

#logan sargent x fem!reader #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant x fem!reader #logan sargent fluff #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant fanfic #logan sargeant x reader #f1 fanfic

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on-the-virge-of-breaking · 2 years ago

Note

Patton groans, slipping into the bar alone. Usually, the singer would never be caught dead without Remus or Logan, but the drummer was already hammered off somewhere else in town, and Patton didn't need his older brother and keyboard player riding him. Plus, considering they weren't getting anywhere with the bus broken down. And so here he is, sitting down at the bar and getting something sweet to drink, hoping he doesn't get recognized.

@pattxnsanders

The bar was rather chill. Most people were there chatting some dancing but it was a definitely peaceful place. The lighting was rather low and the whole bar had a calm atmosphere, the walls were grey and most of the wood was black or dark brown. But even with all the monotonous colors and how dark they all seemed it still had some light, around the bar and on the ceilings hung stained glass bottles and there were many aspects of the bar that just had a splash of different colors with random patterned and colored cushions on chairs and even some neon lights behind the drinks at the bar. Currently some music was playing over the speakers, specifically the music from Patton’s band.

Virgil, the current bartender, looked up noticing someone new walking into the bar and went over. He felt like he’d seen the other before… but honestly he was horrible at names and putting them to faces. “Hey,” Virgil greeted leaning against the inside of the bar counter, “Would you like something to drink? I mean i’d assume so… this is a bar… Um would you like anything?”

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nevadancitizen · 4 months ago

Text

-> CH. 2: SPY RINGS AND MOLEHILLS

synopsis: you find a mole, and are all-too-happy to show off your skills to keegan and kick.

word count: 1.9k

ships: Keegan Russ/Reader, Ghosts team & Reader

notes: sorry for long gap between chapters (>A<) also warning for canon-typical violence this chapter

WHY DOES EVIL WEAR A FACE SO FAMILIAR? MASTERLIST

You and Logan stand, side-by-side, behind Rorke as he paces, his hands clasped behind his back as he looks at the ground.

Before him is Fuerza de Asalto Resol – Strike Force Resol. (Resol doesn’t have a direct translation into English, but it more or less describes the glare of the sun off a reflective surface. And that’s what you and Logan and the rest of this strike force are – reflections of Ghosts. Twisted and sick reflections that hate what they’re reflecting, but reflections nonetheless.)

And it’s all of Fuerza de Asalto Resol. All the way from the top lieutenant to the most inconsequential info jockey.

“I have been made aware of a threat,” Rorke starts, still pacing. “Someone in here has been forking over information to America.”

Your eyes rake over the people that are supposed to be on your side. Everyone has a tell – whether it’s that they’re nervous, lying, or anything else. Body language tells you what the lips don’t.

You reach out and brush your finger against Logan’s glove. His hand twitches, then he moves the back of his hand against yours with more purpose to let you know he’s listening. You grab his hand and extend his forefinger, using it to point at a no-name corporal whose eyes are flitting across Rorke’s face. He doesn’t portray any nervousness otherwise, but you can tell. You’ve been trained to tell.

Logan takes his hand away from yours and knocks his knuckles against yours lightly in acknowledgement. He’s seeing things from your eyes, and he understands it completely.

You continue to stand side-by-side with Logan for the remainder of Rorke’s spiel, more like intimidating guard dogs than terriers you are – the ones that hunt down mole burrows. Though you both could still be mastiffs. It was just a matter of context and urgency.

When Rorke eventually finishes, Fuerza de Asalto Resol starts to file out of the room. You wait by the doorframe and catch the corporal’s wrist just as he’s about to leave.

“We need to talk,” you say.

He swallows, his eyes flitting between you and Logan. Another tell of nervousness. He nods.

What a weak excuse for a dog.

Keegan rocks in his wheely chair, picking at his nails and flicking out the muck from underneath them. The room is quiet aside from the whiny squeak of the chair and the taps of Kick’s fingers against his keyboard.

There’s nothing to do. Keegan had pushed for an expedition out to The Divide when the Ghosts had gotten wind of you and Logan going out there, but was shut down many times over. Alas – he’s just a sergeant. And as much as he had insisted, he was still just a sergeant.

So Keegan’s stuck here with Kick, in some out-of-the-way briefing room, playing with his hands –

There’s a sudden sound, and Kick jolts and hits the underside of his desk with his knee. Keegan’s head snaps up.

The screen of Kick’s laptop flickers, and an image slowly fades in. It’s… a live feed of some sort.

Firstly, you look… different from when Keegan saw you last. Obviously he had seen you after you had become a victim of proselytization, but never this close, not with this amount of detail. You’re dicking around with the camera, trying to get it to focus or something like that. Keegan can’t rightly bring himself to care at this moment.

All he really cares about is how you’ve changed. How a scar carves into your hairline, leaving a thick line of raised skin in its wake. How your lower lip is permanently split at one of the corners, dragging one side of your mouth into a fake frown. How one of your eyelids droops lower than the other because of some physical trauma Keegan probably can’t even bring himself to imagine being inflicted upon you.

(And how Keegan wishes, more than anything, that he was there to kiss the scars away. No, he couldn’t kiss away the mental trauma or the physical reminders that it occurred, but he… Can you forgive him for just wanting – needing – an excuse to kiss a lover? His lover? (Ex-lover.))

Keegan’s line of thought is broken when you suddenly smile, wide and crooked. It’s not the soft, loving smile he’s used to: it’s something crazed and twisted.

You prop up the camera on something that provides a wide-shot view of the room you’re in – a table or chair, maybe. You adjust the camera, still with that smile, and step back.

A man, in an undershirt and compression shorts, is tied to a chair, his arms bound behind him and his legs tied to the legs of the chair. His eyes are wide with fear and his breath is labored.

“We found your friend, Kick,” you say. You take the back of the chair and shake it, jerking the man around. “Rats tend to turn up when you lay out glue traps.”

“What the fuck?” Kick snaps.

But it doesn’t really seem like you can hear Kick, nor do you really care to. You circle behind the man and prop your chin on his shoulder.

“That’s the thing with us Americans, isn’t it?” Your eyes flick to the camera lens, then away. “We take. We take and take and you’ve seduced a man of the Federation with your appetite.”

You inhale deeply, slowly, and dig your fingernails into the bound man’s arms, causing him to grunt and grit his teeth. You continue, your eyes flitting about the room. “There’s this story from the Bible. Something… something about Christ finding one of his temples polluted by money-changers and beasts. But… did he ask them to leave? Did he cry? Did he just walk away?”

Your eyes find the camera again. “No. He drove them out. He…” You exhale heavily and tighten your grip on the man’s arms. “He found them. And he made his temple peaceful again.”

Keegan can only watch as the man groans and small trickles of blood start to run down his arms. The screen makes it seem so far away, but he can swear he can smell the sweat that beads your brow, almost taste the blood you’re spilling.

“Are you watching?” You spit. “I want you to watch as we cut your communications. We found your rat in San Jose de las Lajas… just south of Havana. He was so close to home. So close to America. I wonder how many others are out there? Or just in Cuba alone.”

Your hand flies to the man’s throat, your bloody fingernails digging into his skin. You grit out, “I said, “I wonder how many others are out there?””

“No sé!” The man says. “I don’t know!”

“I find that hard to believe,” you hiss into his ear. “A spy ring doesn’t just consist of one spy. At least do your country one last service and tell us where they are – who they are.”

“But I don’t know!” The man insists. His face twists as he tries to strain and get his neck out of your talon-like grip. “I really don’t.”

You sigh, exaggerated and condescending. “Tell me, corporal. Do you enjoy killing?”

The man shakes his head the best he can with your hand almost crushing his throat.

“Do you think I enjoy killing?”

Again, the same.

“You’re right,” you say. “But, when done with a purpose, killing is a chore, just like any other. Don’t you agree?”

“S-sí,” the man stutters out. “A chore, yes.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I just…” The hand that was still on his arm drops to his belly. You drag your fingernails over his shirt, surely digging into the skin underneath. Your nails leave a smear of blood in their wake. “Because it’s just a chore. Right?”

“But I’m not!” The man insists. “I’m not a spy! I swear, on my mother, on my daughter.”

“Those are some fairly innocent women to swear your loyalty on,” you say. Your eyes find the camera.

Don’t do it, Keegan thinks to himself, as if trying to project his thoughts to you. (You used to be able to read him so well.) Don’t fucking do it.

You bring out a small mobile phone and walk off screen. The man’s eyes follow you, his breathing still sort-of quick and panicked.

Keegan and Kick exchange a glance. Neither can bring themselves to speak – to tell the other what they think you’re going to do.

You come back a few minutes later, the phone cradled to your ear. (Keegan exhales heavily when he sees that you don’t have the actual child.) You mumble Spanish into the receiver, then hold the phone to the man’s ear. “Josefina wants to talk to her papí.”

The man stiffens and leans into the phone’s speaker. “No… no. Por favor, Josefina… por favor, cálmate. Estoy bien. Papí está bien. No escuches a la persona mala. Josefina, por favor…”

Keegan can just barely hear a voice on the other end of the line. It’s high-pitched and quick and very obviously panicked. He can pick up snippets – “Papí,” “por favor,” and sniffling sobs.

“Fucking child.” You swipe the phone away from the man’s ear and shout Spanish down the line before hanging up and throwing it onto whatever’s propping the camera up.

When you turn back to the man, it’s with a backhand across his face. He reels, his face screwed up in pain and his teeth gritted. He doesn’t give much of a reaction besides that.

And it’s like that sets off a switch within you. You grunt and bring your hand across his face again, forehand this time. People fall when pushed by your hand – so why isn’t he falling?

At least, that’s what Keegan thinks you’re thinking as you beat the shit out of this man. Your hand is made into a fist and your fist is made into a weapon. And that weapon was quickly turning bloody and bruised. The only sound is you and the man grunting and the sound your fist makes on impact.

After a few minutes, you pull away, cradling your hand, huffing and panting. The man is infinitely worse. His nose is broken in several places, there’s a gash beneath his eye, and his bottom lip is swollen and bleeding.

You circle behind the man and prop your chin on his shoulder again. That twisted smile returns to your face. “Your rat is resilient, Kick. I’ll give him that.”

Your hands go down to his arms and rub over the crescent-shaped scabs forming there. The man winces.

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” you say, your voice a hissing whisper. “I will find your trained dogs. And I will kill them.”

You round the man and pick up the camera, quickly cutting the connection. Kick’s screen goes static, then his laptop crashes and restarts.

He turns to Keegan. “What the fuck was that?”

Keegan’s still staring at the screen. You were so close. It’s like he could’ve reached out and touched you if he tried hard enough.

But that’s not you. That’s just someone who looks like you – someone wearing your skin and speaking with your voice. He has to tell himself over and over that you’re not you. You’re not you. You’re not you. You’re not –

Kick grabs Keegan’s arm. His head snaps to look at Kick. “You okay?”

Keegan inhales sharply and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… shaken up, is all.”

But he’s not fine. That much is fucking obvious. You’re not you.

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jkriordanverse · 6 months ago

Text

Sbg characters at the mall/shopping area thing

Note: pls dont be mad if you spot random missing letter "a"s in this bc my keyboard is not keyboarding. also sry this one is a bit short lol

Aiden rides the cart. I mean, obviously Tyler would argue bc he wants to ride in the cart because the cart is amazing and everyone wnts to ride in the cart but Aiden wins in the end.

So Tyler obviously mkes the cart bumps into the aisle on purpose and make staffs give Aiden the dirty look meanwhislt Ash & Logan are just giving the others a sorry loook. In the end Ben drives the cart.

They have to refrain Aiden from eating the food inside the cart. So they put Taylor in and now Aiden has to walk.

Tyler obviously stops every five minutes to look at the chocolates and they'd go no no no no no that's too expensive.

Logan is the type of person to try ALL free samples at the store and gets a stomach ache later tbh.

Taylor crams all the free samples in her pocket and Tyler fakes pretends to be another person everytime if the free sample is good. Aiden just takes them shamelessly.

Ashlynn secretly has a sweet tooth and lovess the sweets there. Only goes to the store/restaurant/ cafe she already knows (which she probably has tried all the drinks there lmao).

They buy a cat for Ben(anger management :D) and he wears a hoodie to put the cat inside. They named it Tooth.

They make fun of the manequins and take turns posing like one. THere's also a competition where the gang tries to blend in with the manequins (to scare Ashlynn) but they all failed (maybe except for Ben) because Aiden keeps laughing and spoiling.

Playing hide and seek in the mall lmao and Logan putting his feet exactly where they paint the footprints on the escalator. (idk if this makes sense)

they go to Dairy Queen or some icecream parlour and in the end traded each other's icecream for another.

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oliviaischillin1204 · 4 months ago

Text

library (tickletober day 4- “hide and seek”)

word count: 2,402 words

i love these silly boys aksdfhghdj

Roman snapped up with a yelp. Something... just touched him.

He turned, but Logan wasn’t looking at him, his eyes focused on whatever he was working on at his own desk. Even in the gigantic library that existed within the Imagination, the two sides chose to work near each other, not close enough to get in each other’s way but still able to ask for suggestions or brainstorm sessions every now and then. Right now they were sitting at two large desks with their backs to each other. Logan’s pen was scratching away on his paper just like it had been this entire time, and aside from that brief movement of his hands, it didn’t look like he’d moved even once since he sat down.

Yet Roman knew, he knew, that he’d felt someone small jab into his back. Roman watched for a few seconds longer, before slowly turning back to his desk.

A long silence stretched, long enough that Roman wondered if nothing else was going to happen, long enough that he had nearly managed to immerse himself in his writing again.

Then--

“Ah!”

He whipped around yet again. He knew he’d felt something touch him-- it’d dug into the back of his ribs for less than a second before disappearing again. It didn’t hurt, it was too minor a touch to hurt him, which meant that ‘whatever’ was doing it wasn’t trying to hurt him. Nor did the person responsible seem to be trying to get his attention, given that Logan was still steadfastly ignoring any of Roman’s reactions.

Roman blinked, narrowing his eyes. Now Logan’s pen wasn’t even moving.

“You are playing a dangerous game,” he informed the other side’s back.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Logan replied, eyes down and voice flat.

The tick of the analog clock on the wall behind them seemed much louder as Roman turned around again, his hands back on his keyboard as he typed nonsense into the document.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick--

Roman was spinning around in his rolly chair the instant he felt his back being poked again. He forced himself to not flinch away from the sensation, instead darting forward to catch Logan by the wrist.

The logical side froze, arm outstretched with his criminal pen dangling from his fingers, inches away from Roman’s chest. He met Roman’s gaze, unflinching.

“Apologize.”

“No.”

A beat, and then Roman was yanking Logan out of his chair and pulling him towards him, but Logan was faster. He lunged forward and shot the fingers of his free hand underneath Roman’s arm, wiggling haphazardly. Roman snorted, loudly, and tried to curl his arm in without letting Logan go, but the logical side easily slipped his wrist out of Roman’s grip.

Without a moment’s hesitation Logan turned on his heel, darting around his desk and diving amongst the tall shelves. By the time Roman stood up, he had disappeared from sight.

Roman allowed himself one incredulous, delighted laugh. So that’s what Logan wanted?

Well. Two can play at that game.

The dull carpet muffled Logan’s steps as he traveled down another row of shelves. For a moment he’d considered taking off his shoes to step totally silently, but the thought quickly vanished into a flustered daze when he realized how much more vulnerable that would make him when-- if Roman caught him.

He had no doubt that Roman was after him-- aside from the fact that Roman hadn’t safe-worded, the creative side was absurdly competitive, and very vengeful. Logan’s little escape tactic was more than enough reason for Roman to get revenge.

Logan paused at the end of one row, ears straining for noise. The library was impressively large, but not limitless, and he and Roman were sure to find each other any moment now.

... Well. Roman would find him. That was his role, in this little game Logan had devised. Roman was the hunter. Logan was the prey.

A rush of air escaped Logan’s mouth, just this side of a whimper, and he slammed his hand over his mouth. No. He was not going to give himself up so easily.

But now that he’d started, it was so much harder to stop. Everywhere he turned, he was reminded of all the little fantasies he’d had about this library: Roman tazing his sides as he reached for a book on the highest shelf, Roman forcing him to read aloud as he tickled all over the soles of his feet, Roman pinning him against the wall and murmuring about how this is a library, Teach, so you better keep quiet no matter what--

No! Focus!

Logan dragged his hands down his face as if to wipe away the stray giggles bubbling in his chest. He would not lose. He’d started this tickle fight, and he was determined to finish it.

Roman prided himself of being fairly light of foot, but it was hard to avoid making noise in the dead silent library. His ears kept tricking him into thinking he was hearing footsteps, but it just as easily could’ve been the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

He loved this. Logan was so rarely in a mood to play. No wonder he’d asked Roman to join him in the library today. How long had he been planning this?

Another sound came from behind him, and Roman whipped around before standing stock-still.

“Logan...”

He took a moment to pat himself on the back for the acoustics in the room; his voice seemed to echo and carry, the deep timbre reverberating as his taunting tone rose and fell.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are...”

He began walking again, slowly. Picked up a book and flipped through it casually before putting it back on the shelf. Humming lowly and letting out little vocal stims, singing sweetly through the aisles. Oh, he wasn’t worried about finding Logan quickly. In fact, he hoped he took his time. He was quite enjoying the hunt.

Damn Roman, for real. Damn him for being so nonchalant about the game they were playing, strolling through the aisles with barely a look cast to either side of him. Damn his for going no further than singing sweet teases that echoed around the whole room, leaving Logan to feel phantom tingles against his ears each time. Damn him for not even hurrying to find Logan, as if he were waiting for the logical side to, what, tire himself out?

Or turn myself in, Logan’s brain supplied unhelpfully. No! He wouldn’t think like that.

Logan straightened himself up. He started this game, yes, but he wasn’t going to make it easy. He was just as competitive as Roman, and Logan wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

And without another thought, Logan grabbed a book from a nearby shelf and launched it in the air, listening with satisfaction as it slammed down halfway across the library.

Immediately Roman was running towards the sound. His mind was spinning, and his eyes darted around for even a glimpse of a black polo shirt or the glint of Logan’s glasses lens.

He entered an area with lots of sofas and armchairs, but no Logan. Nothing was out of place, except--

His vision narrowed on a book on the floor. Logan would never let something stay out of place, which means he must’ve done it on purpose. He bent over, picked it up, and burst out laughing.

“‘Catch Me If You Can’, huh?” he muttered to himself. Logan’s subconscious clearly couldn’t hide itself from picking up just the right book for how he felt right now. What’s more, he knew this book, knew it was semi-autobiographical. He spun on his heel and hurried away, heading straight towards the nonfiction section.

Logan moved into the next aisle. Idly, he looked to the side-- at the exact moment Roman’s face appeared in a gap through the shelf.

They both froze.

Until Logan sprinted back the way he’d come in his own aisle, and Roman turned heel and followed along.

“Logan!” Roman sang as they darted through the stacks. “I think I found you, my little bib-lee-ophile! Don’t you want to come out and play?”

Logan didn’t answer; Roman thought he could hear stray giggles escaping in between his breaths. He ducked around the end of the next aisle and found himself and Logan face to face, with only a large round table in between them.

Roman went left. So did Logan. Roman went right, and Logan followed. They bobbed back and forth, staying on opposite sides of the table the whole time.

“Ha!” Roman said. “What’s wrong, Teach? Didn’t think about finding an escape route? You must really want me to catch you, huh?”

Logan clamped his lips shut and tried to put on a brave face. “I think you shouldn’t be so cocky, Roman. I know things you don’t about this library.”

“Oh, yeah?” Roman asked. He continued circling, smiling as he saw how Logan was now blocked in next to another bookshelf. “And what might that be?”

But he got no response. Instead, Logan whipped around, yanked a book out of its place on the shelf, and-- disappeared?

Roman froze. “What?”

He moved closer, just in time to see a panel on the back of the bookshelf slide back into place. His jaw dropped.

“Oh, you sneaky little scholar,” he muttered. “Why didn’t I think of secret doors?!”

So Logan wanted to play dirty, huh? Well, two could play at that game. He rubbed his hands together, conjuring some sparkles as he did just for panache. He clapped once, loud, and everything went dark.

Logan had only just climbed out of the trap door when the room went dark with a loud clunk. He froze, off balance and disorientated. Roman had shut off the lights? How would that help anything?

He strained his eyes, trying to make out any shapes in the dark. Luckily, the library had a fail safe for this kind of thing-- it was a clever little system that Logan had created to limit the amount of energy being used, by utilizing motion sensor lights that only illuminated whatever aisle the person is standing in--

It clicked. Logan’s eyes widened, but before he could do anything his vision was flooded by a sterile white light. He shielded his eyes and looked up; above him one row of lights were on, while the rest of the library was dark.

... The rest of the library except for a row near the nonfiction sectioned, where Logan had just come from. Where Roman still was.

He couldn’t look away from that distant light until it abruptly shut off-- and then another light turned on, one row closer.

Then another. And another.

Logan’s stomach dipped with panicked delight. He turned, ran, but with every new aisle he ran down, the light overhead turned on, creating a perfect map of his location throughout the entire library. His ears were filled with the clunk, clunk, clunk of the lights, creating a staccato rhythm that joined the rapid beating of his heart.

He looked over his shoulder. The lights turning off and on in the distance were getting closer. He could feel the giggles rising in his chest.

Clunk, clunk. Clunk, clunk. Clunk--

Logan barely looked up in time to realize he’d reached the end of the aisle. As in, the only thing in front of him was a wall. He skidded to a stop, bracing his hands on the wall to catch him. He looked around, scanning the ceiling, but couldn’t find any other lights. Only the aisle he stood in was illuminated.

It clicked, and his stomach dropped. As if the world were in slow motion, Logan turned and lowered his gaze to the end of the aisle.

“Found you,” Roman said sweetly. He took a step closer.

“Wait.” Logan backed against the wall.

“Hm?” Roman continued, unfettered. “Wait for what?”

Logan couldn’t think; his brain was already fuzzy. “Wait!”

“You said that already, Teach,” Roman replied. Slowly, like he had all the time in the world, he moved closer and closer. “No more trap doors, huh? I’m surprised you let yourself get stuck like this. Unless you wanna trying scaling the bookshelf.”

Logan’s eyes darted between the two tall shelves on either side of the aisle, and Roman laughed.

“No, I don’t think you’re gonna do that.” Finally he stepped close enough to pin his hands on the wall, boxing Logan in. The logical side bit his lip; Roman’s breath on his neck sent heat rushing to his face.

“You’re very silly, you know that?” Roman said. He leaned closer, letting his mouth graze delicately over Logan’s throat and collarbone. “Starting a game just so you can lose it. Knowing I was always going to catch you.”

His lips trailed up to Logan’s ear, startling a high pitched whine out of him. Roman laughed, stepping even closer to press his chest against Logan’s.

“Any last words?”

Logan opened his mouth at the exact moment Roman latched his hands onto his sides and squeezed.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” Roman said cheerfully after Logan stopped screaming. “Say it again?” He poked rapidly up and down Logan’s sides, migrating over to his ribs and down his tummy. “Jeez, Teach, what happened to all those big words? Do we need to grab you a dictionary?”

“Roman-- Romahan-- Roman!” Every poke and squeeze sent Logan into further giggles; he could do nothing but say Roman’s name. Finally his knees gave out, and he slid down helplessly to the floor, Roman guiding him and tickling him the whole way.

“Is this what you wanted?” Roman asked. He was so smug Logan could’ve hit him, if his hands were able to do anything other than weakly grab at Roman’s wrists. “I mean, if you want to play again later, we can, but I think I deserve a prize for winning, don’t I?”

He paused, leaning closer with a devilish grin. “Logan?”

His hands stilled, just resting on Logan’s belly, but giggles still fell freely from his lips. He cracked open an eye, already teary from the giddy tickles.

Roman’s grin softened just slightly. “You are an excellent prize.”

Logan couldn’t respond with Roman’s fingers already digging back into his tummy, but if he could, he just might agree.

#my posts #my writing #tickling #tickle fic #tickletober 2024 #augtickletober2024 #tt24 #sanders sides tickling #lee!logan #ler!roman #library #drafted on october 16 2020 #edit: i have no idea how or why this fic ended having so many weird double spaces between words #but i cbf to fix it so here we are lol

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lefaystrent · 5 months ago

Text

Suspire

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: platonic LAMP

Summary: Roman's favorite weighted blanket is ruined.

Roman wouldn't say that he adjusts well. He merely finds ways to cope.

AO3 Link: click here

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It's just a blanket.

Roman is an adult. He has a job. He buys his own groceries, and he pays his portion of the rent on time. He keeps up with his student debt even when some months he hangs on by his fingernails.

It's just a single blanket.

Roman has other things in his life to be happy about. He has his paintings and keyboard. He has his dearest friends whom he lives with. He's active in his local theater community and often lands roles. He has a roof over his head, parents who care for him, a brother who he can stand sometimes. A car that works.

It's just a fucking blanket.

That's what he tells himself over and over as he stares vacantly at the ripped threads. The tear that had been snagged wide open, and the weighted material inside quickly coming outside. He holds it, remembering the marvelous weight on his shoulders, the pressure on his back, the comfort it gave him. The security and warmth. The way he will never feel it again. How he can't go back and fix it.

He can't afford another one right now. It's one of those tight month's budget-wise. And even if he could, it would not be this one.

Roman holds his blanket and unravels alongside it.

***

Roman wouldn't say that he adjusts well. He merely finds ways to cope.

He takes longer showers. The sizzling pinpricks of water cascade over him, beating down on his shoulder blades. It's too hot, close to boiling, but the burn is nice even if his skin begs him to stop. If he stands directly under, it's almost encompassing. It's almost enough.

He wears more layers. Roman tends to add a jacket over any attire anyway. What's another sweatshirt under? Or a scarf tied protectively around his neck? It doesn't matter that this too is overheating. His bones are brittle, and he needs to wrap them somehow. The skin is not enough. It bruises far too easily.

The most embarrassing thing he tries is wedging his whole body into or under anything that may work as a substitute. He tears apart his room testing this and that and wants to cry in frustration as he lays on the carpet with his entire mattress smothering him. He steals all the pillows in the house when he's sure the others are out, and he piles them up. But burrowing into them is too soft and leaves him more frustrated. He crawls under the couch one day and nearly has a panic attack when the front door unlocks and Logan walks in. He plays it off as having lost the remote. He can't bear to admit the truth.

That is, until he's left with no other choice.

***

Roman sits at the dining table working on an art project involving thousands of multi-colored beads. His desk in his bedroom simply isn't large enough, so here he is.

Patton enters the kitchen behind him, and Roman knows its him by the smell of his eucalyptus scented shampoo. Then he sees freckled arms emerging over his shoulders, wrists adorned in friendship bracelets, and they snake around Roman's collarbone. Roman's hands fix in mid-air, eyes going blank as Patton presses up against his back and rests his chin on the top of Roman's head.

"You're so creative," Patton praises, and that alone could usually keep him comfortably warm long into the cold night. But everywhere that Patton touches him, every press of muscle and firm flesh, it scorches in the most pleasant burn.

"I can't wait to see it when it's done," Patton says, and Roman can feel the hum of his voice, how it vibrates his scalp and dances down the back of his neck. A shiver shoots up his back, and Roman cannot dedicate his attention to anything else if he tried.

Roman takes too long to respond, too frozen in his posture.

Patton notices. "Kiddo? You okay there? Was I not supposed to see?"

As if the art piece means a damn to him in this moment. What matters to him with eye-opening crystal clarity is that Patton's arms are loosening and his weight shifts so that he's not leaning against him as much. The loss of that is an incomparable grief.

Roman drops what he's holding, uncaring that some of the beads clatter off the side of the table to skitter across the floor. His hands clutch at Patton's wrists and fold them back around his neck. He draws the blessed weight against him once more, and he keeps it there, scared to let it go. Scared to be exposed once more.

"Roman?" Patton's tone is careful now, wary that something is wrong. His head settles back on top of Roman's, but his face nestles into the side of his hair, the edge of his glasses barely grazing. His voice whispers at his ear, "Did something happen?"

Yes, something happened. Roman's favorite weighted blanket is ruined and he's acting like a child about it. The shame excavates a pit in his stomach. There are depths to it that he doesn't wish to look at, let alone express.

"Can you–" Roman begins, but there's a lump caught in his throat. His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, too small and full of trepidation. He swallows and blinks rapidly. "Can you stay? Like this?"

"Hugging?" Patton asks to clarify. Roman doesn't think he's mocking him. Patton would never mock. He wouldn't judge. Not this. Never this. Please don't judge him for this.

"Mmhm," Roman hums, because if he doesn't use words he won't sound so pathetic, yet he immediately fails. The vocalization comes out high-pitched and needy, and tears spring to his eyes unbidden. He doesn't dare blink his eyes now.

Patton doesn't answer at first, and Roman is enormously relieved that they can't see each other's expressions. Roman fears what he would see on Patton's face, and if Patton could see him right now? He doesn't think he could hold on to his composure.

"Okay," Patton says, voice flower-petal soft. "We can stay like this. However long you want. I don't mind."

Patton skims his nose back and forth over Roman's hairline. His hands spread out, palms covering the top if Roman's chest. His hold is a cradle, gentle and safe, and it holds him together and doesn't let him fall apart. The arms tighten around him, compressing, and Roman holds them right back.

***

Patton becomes his saving grace.

He is wonderful in that he needs no explanation. His affections are given freely, without cost, whenever Roman needs them or even when he doesn't realize he needs them. Patton starts to hug him more often and cuddle him during movie nights. He ruffles Roman's hair as he passes by, or he grabs him by the hand when he's excited. Sometimes he'll trail his fingertips over Roman's face in lazy lines that set his mind at ease.

It's exhilarating.

Roman can't get enough. The need never ceases, and Patton is just one person. He cannot always be at Roman's beck and call. Patton has work and outings he leaves for, same as everyone else. And when he's home, it doesn't mean he's available at all hours. Like the middle of the night for instance.

Roman stands at Patton's firmly shut bedroom door like a sad dog. His fists tighten into the thighs of his sweatpants. What did he expect really? That Patton's door would be wide open at two in the morning? That he'd spy light on under the door and get the courage to knock? Patton said he was there for Roman any time, but that doesn't mean Roman gets to take advantage and disrupt his sleep schedule just because Roman is too pathetic to fall asleep without his blanket.

Patton has done so much for him lately. He's good like that, a saint. Roman can't monopolize him. It wouldn't be fair.

Then why does he continue to stand there in the dark hallway? A damsel in distress waiting for his prince to save him? Or hoping the door will magically open and he receive some form of pity.

He's worse than pathetic. He's absolutely rotten.

A sliver of light illuminates the hall, a door squeaking open. Roman nearly jumps out of his skin and looks behind him where Logan stands in the doorway to his own bedroom.

"Roman?" Logan says, looking just as surprised. "I didn't think you'd be up this late. Don't you have work in the morning?"

"Heyyy, Specs," Roman gets out tremulously. He scratches at the back of his head, searching for some excuse. Think of something, damn it. "I uh, yeah. I've got work in the morning. Just...out for a stroll."

"A stroll?" Logan repeats. His brow raises and he's giving Roman that look that he gives him all the time, like he's stupid and not worth his time.

Roman crosses his arms and stares down at his bare feet. "Yeah, I can stroll where I want. What are you, the hall monitor?"

"I never claimed to be, nor would I want to. You live here; walk where you wish."

"Good, I'm glad we've covered this," Roman replies. He whips his head up when Logan breezes by him down the hall. "Wait, where are you going?"

Logan sends him a bemused glance. "I was going to make a light snack before bed. Why are you following me?"

"Don't try to distract me and just answer the question!"

"I did, Roman."

"Oh... well, answer it again!"

That gets an actual snort out of Logan. Roman shuffles behind him into the kitchen as if locked in a gravitational pull. He watches him pull out a loaf from the bread box along with a tub of butter from the fridge. Roman dithers there observing, reluctant to leave. Logan must accept that Roman has no intention of leaving him alone because he gestures to the bread. "Want some?"

Roman looks between the spreadable butter and bread. "Are you just eating buttered bread?"

Logan rolls his eyes. "No, I was planning to eat buttered toast with jam. But if you're not interested..."

"No, you can make me some," Roman swiftly interrupts while trying to make it sound like it's something Logan should be honored to do.

Logan extracts another slice of bread. He plugs up the toaster oven. "So, couldn't sleep?"

"And what if I couldn't?"

Logan sighs, "Not everything is a challenge, Roman."

Roman shifts self-consciously and mutters, "Not with that attitude, Gay Jude."

Logan smiles a little bit after he inserts the bread to be toasted. "Ah, The Beatles. Would you like to hear some interesting facts about them?"

Roman has nothing else to do so he shrugs. Logan enlightens him while they wait for the little ding. Roman snags the jar of crofters out of the fridge before Logan gets a chance, and Roman smirks victoriously at him but spreads the jam on Logan's toast in apology. They eat and drink water, and Logan asks if he's going to go to bed now.

Roman's brows crease. "Actually, why are you up?"

Logan adjusts his glasses, a tell that he's been caught doing something of mild embarrassment. "I was reading a novel."

"That good, huh?" Roman quips with a grin. He and Logan share a surprising amount of similar taste for literature, so Roman doesn't doubt that the writing is less than phenomenal if it's enough to keep his favorite nerd up into the wee hours of the night.

"I would tell you about it, but then you would chide me for giving you spoilers whether or not you intend to read it."

"Mm, I probably will," Roman agrees.

"Then if you don't require anything else, I really must insist we both go to bed. It will be difficult enough to rise later this morning."

"What if I did require something else?" Roman suggests before he can bite his tongue.

And Logan, dependable Logan who at least always hears him out, turns to him fully. "I am all ears, as they say. Which is a ridiculous saying; we only have but two."

Roman doesn't laugh or tease as he usually would. And maybe that tips Logan off more than it should.

"Roman?" he prompts. Because he's so smart, he deduces, "Does this pertain to why you're up so late?"

Roman's gaze strays. It's dark in the kitchen. They didn't bother turning on a light, letting the streetlight guide them from outside the kitchen window. It's too obscured for Logan to see the heat in his cheeks or how he picks nervously at his nails.

Roman gnaws at the inside of his cheek. "It doesn't...not have to do with it."

"You're being vague. That's not like you."

"You don't know what I'm like."

"And you've been defensive. More so than usual. You are upset about something."

Roman just about chokes on air. "What?! No. Nooo, I'm not."

"Was it something I did?"

That punches Roman in the gut. The concern Logan is giving him, it knocks his feet right out from under him and has the truth spilling from his lips. "No, Logan, I just want a hug!"

Roman is infinitely more glad than ever that it's too dark to see. His face is on fire, and he can't look in Logan's direction.

"Happy now?" Roman asks bitterly.

"Roman, if you wanted physical affection, all you had to do was ask."

"What."

He's enveloped in a strong embrace.

Oh. Ohhhh.

Hugs are different. Different people give different hugs. Roman knows this, he does. He's had hugs throughout his life. He's not like, touch-starved or anything. It's just– it's like a reminder. A reminder with all the force of a slap to the face.

He had been so focused on Patton's hugs that he never thought to ask the others. Why would he? He never really did before. Things have just been hard since he lost his blanket, his comfort item. It's not usually like this. Roman's not usually like this, so dependent or desperate for attention.

In Logan's arms, he feels all of that melt away. In fact, his whole body melts into the embrace. A rush of air coaxes out from deep within his lungs as Logan's arms secure around his back. One hand hooks behind Roman's head and pulls him into the crook of his neck. The scent of Logan's faded cologne and laundry detergent fill his nostrils. There's lavender mixed with something else he can't distinguish but is wholly welcome and soothing.

Logan rubs circles into his back, and Roman leans heavily into him. Roman's arms raise like anvils hang off them, and it's all he can manage to circle them around Logan's waist and hang on for dear life.

"Is this satisfactory?" Logan asks. Roman might would answer him if not for the fingers scratching patterns into his scalp. His toes curl in bliss, and his mind sinks into fog. He buries his face further into Logan's neck and shoulder as if he can crawl into Logan's chest and hide there.

"I'll take that as a yes," Logan muses and squeezes him gently.

Roman doesn't make it back to bed for a while.

***

Logan joins Patton in the free affection initiative. Roman wonders if he and Patton discussed this or if Logan is doing it of his own volition. Either way, there is a definite increase in Logan's deviated mannerisms around Roman.

He pats him more on the back. He holds his hand when they sit next to each other. And there's a couple times Logan goes so far as to kiss his forehead. That left Roman blustering and bumbling like an idiot for hours after, because who is this person dressed like Logan? Surely not his nerd. Still, he can't deny the giddiness it evokes.

Things get a bit easier from there. The more it happens, the more he can normalize it. The more he normalizes it, the more he doesn't have to feel ashamed, right? If someone like Logan would go to the trouble...he doesn't have to feel silly about it, right? He can still be taken seriously?

Roman aches less for his blanket. The pain remains, but it's bearable. He feels less likely to break down in a sobbing mess, and that's progress. Right?

Virgil suspects something is going on.

It was bound to happen. He never stops watching out for them or simply watching them. If Patton hadn't accidentally found out about Roman's predicament, Roman thinks that Virgil would have been the first to suspect. As it is, Virgil observes the way that Patton and Logan act around Roman, and it's just enough different than normal. Just out there enough for him to see.

"Are you guys dating?" Virgil blurts out of the blue one day.

It's just the two of them at home, chilling on the couch together watching TV. Roman figured Virgil was having a bad anxiety day from the noncommittal responses he's been giving and how he keeps biting at his nails. Obviously, there have been other topics plaguing his thoughts.

"Who?" Roman asks, because really, who? Roman is single and proudly on a quest to love himself. Virgil knows this. Or at least, he thought he did.

Virgil squirms in his seat like he can't find a comfortable position. "Nevermind, just forget it."

"Well now I really can't forget it."

Virgil groans and buries his face into his hands. "You. And Logan, and Patton. Are you guys dating? If you are, it's whatever. I just would think you guys would tell me."

Roman gives him a semi-horrified look. Not all the way horrified, because Roman is a catch, and his friends are equally catch-worthy, but that's just... that's not how they are together.

"No? Why would you think that?"

Virgil gives him a look. "What else am I supposed to think? You guys have been acting all weird. You can't deny it. I'm not crazy. Or blind."

"Weird how? No seriously, I'm being for real."

"You know. Like all soft? And touchy feely?"

Roman can't help but quirk a smile at how awkward Virgil is acting, as if it pains him to say something so sappy. It's easy to fall into his confident persona. He leans in closer. "Aww, are you feeling left out, Emo?"

Virgil shoves him away. Not with his hand but with his leg because he has to be extra. "Okay, if you're just gonna be a dick about it, I can just go to my room."

And the bravado rushes out as quickly as it arrived. He doesn't want Virgil to leave, and he certainly doesn't want Virgil to entertain the notion that Roman is making fun of him maliciously.

Virgil stays long enough for Roman to fall into contemplation. Virgil peaks up at him and sees Roman looking back at him, completely serious.

"What?" Virgil asks, and there's a bit of a snarl there. Okay, Roman probably deserves that.

"We're not dating," Roman says quietly.

Virgil doesn't believe him. Or at least, he's suspicious of what's not being said. "Then what's up with you guys? Something's going on, and I..."

And Virgil isn't a part of it. He's on the outside looking in. More than that, he thinks they're excluding him on purpose.

Impulsively, Roman says, "Can I ask you something? In all seriousness?"

Virgil's eyes peer at him in narrowed slits, cautious and curious. Roman can see his inner debate, weighing his options of pushing Roman or letting it go or maybe even getting up to leave altogether. It'd be fair; Roman is answering him with a question of his own. Roman isn't sure he would be so patient, in Virgil's place.

But Virgil is more patient than people give him credit for. He nods. "Shoot."

Roman averts his gaze now, suddenly jittery with nervous energy. "Actually, it's more a question of asking you to do something. Can I ask you to do something? And you not laugh at me? Or think I'm weird? You can say no, of course, I just–"

"Roman. Ask away. The worst I can say is no, and I promise not to give you shit for it if I do."

Despite himself, Roman needs a little more assurance. He holds up his hand. "Pinkie promise?"

"Really dude?"

"Virgil, it is a sacred oath."

"Okay, fine, whatever." Virgil threads their pinkies together. "I promise not to be a jerk if you don't."

"Deal," Roman agrees.

"Now, what is it you want to ask me to do?"

"Will you lay on top of me?"

There's no going back. There's no pretending that he misspoke, even as Virgil tilts his head as if he must have heard him wrong. When Roman doesn't budge, Virgil goes stock-still, eyes slowly blowing up wide.

"Uh....what?"

Roman huffs, more frustrated at himself than anything else. "Would you lay on top of me?"

"No, I heard that. I'm just trying to process."

"Then yes or no. You don't need to say anything else. Just yes or no."

And because it's Virgil, he very much has to say anything else. "What do you even mean though? Why?"

Roman groans and waves towards the couch. "Just– you know, I lay on the couch and then you lay on top of me. It's not that complicated, so don't overcomplicate it."

"I overcomplicate going to get a glass or water, Roman. You can't tell me not to overcomplicate you randomly asking me to lay on you."

"I thought you promised you weren't going to be a jerk?"

"I'm not trying to be!" Virgil swipes at his face, his own aggravation mounting. Roman notices that his cheeks are dusted a light pink. "I just don't understand how this relates to anything or why you want me to..."

Roman shrugs sort of helplessly, smile sardonic. "I just do. There's...no trick that I'm playing at, if that's what you're wondering. I want you to lay on me, that's all. Nothing more, nothing less. So would you? No wrong answer."

Virgil looks away a couple of times. He thrums his fingers over his knees, tap, tap, tapping. "I mean, I guess?"

"You guess?"

"Sure then. I'll do it, even if I think I'm the last person you would want to cuddle or whatever, but you'll explain after that?"

"Cross my heart." Roman mimes the motion over his chest.

Virgil stands up. He doesn't move far, just stands there gripping the hem of his hoodie while looking lost. "So..."

Roman scoots down on the couch to where he lays back with his head supported by the couch arm, his legs stretching out along the cushions. He shoves away the embarrassment, the shame, the voice in his head asking what the hell he is doing. Virgil watches him closely, eyes squinted and trying to figure out how to approach.

"Get in here, Emo," Roman calls, holding out his arms.

Virgil grunts and clambers over him. He takes too long to figure out where to put one knee, and Roman adjusts. He spreads out a leg to make room and guides Virgil down. The sides of Virgil's jacket hang over him like a curtain as Virgil hovers in the air, afraid to rest fully against him.

"I'll be heavy," Virgil warns. "You're not going to be able to breathe."

"That's fine, I don't need to," Roman says, half-joking. He's more fixated on tugging at Virgil's shirt to get him to close that last foot of space.

"I better not hear you complain then," Virgil says and finally, finally, drops down on Roman, letting his full weight settle on him.

It's everything that Roman has missed.

Roman can sense Virgil's body from head to toe. Their legs, hips, stomachs, chest, shoulders, all of it pinging across Roman's nervous system at every point of contact. Virgil's arms are folded on either side of Roman's torso, and he can feel the lean limbs against his sides like a harness. Virgil nudges his head stiffly under Roman's chin, and Roman wraps his arms around Virgil's back and holds him tightly to complete the full body hug.

He's sinking into the cushions. His muscles release weeks' worth of tension, letting go and relaxing. He's delightfully sandwiched under Virgil's weight, warmed in his closeness. The warmth is dizzying, like little bumblebees buzzing serenely and drowning him in honey, so sweet and cloying. Virgil's hoodie is a pillow under his palms, and Roman can see why he wears the garment all the time. Roman would wear Virgil all the time if he could.

"Is this it?" Virgil asks, seemingly unimpressed by the magic surrounding them. "Is this what you wanted?"

Roman squeezes more. Virgil wasn't wrong, he's heavy but in the most incredible, indescribable way. Despite the pressure, it's like Roman can breathe again. It's perfect, exactly what he's been craving.

"Hug me any tighter and I'm gonna bruise," Virgil remarks lightly, and something about the words or the tone is more than Roman can take. He breaks.

A shudder shakes him as tears spill over in wet streaks dripping down, salty droplets catching in his mouth. It's abrupt and overwhelming, and it's all coming back to him. The grief, the embarrassment, the shame, the desperate need. He can't stop it, can't hide it. Virgil is right here, and if he doesn't hear the whimper that escapes him, he surely can't ignore when Roman full-on starts sobbing.

"Princey?" Virgil says and sits up quickly. He pushes himself up off of him, and the soothing, wonderful pressure is wrenched away. The cold air bites at his skin in its place. Roman's cries devolve into hysterics, and he can't catch his breath to save his life. Virgil is gaping at him. He sees him in all his wretched ugliness. "Oh shit, what's wrong? Roman? Hey, hey, shhh, don't do that. Please, look at me, why are you crying? Talk to me Roman, I won't laugh, I promise."

Words are beyond him. Roman clings weakly to Virgil's shirt, tugging at him, begging him not to leave with actions and desperation alone. How can he convey his heart shattering to pieces? Or his skin eating itself alive? Or his bones splitting down to the marrow? A keening cry pierces his eardrums. It's a sorrowful weep from his own lips, a sound he didn't think he could make. A sound he's heard in the background for a long time and thought would go away if he ignored it.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere," Virgil lets out shakily, miraculously interpreting Roman's crazed antics correctly. He stays over Roman, caging him in sweetly with his body. His fingers come up to brush the tears away using the cuffs of his sleeve. "It's alright, sweetheart. Just breathe with me. You're okay, you're okay. I've got you."

Roman is not okay, and Virgil's wild darting eyes share the same sentiment, but if you say a thing enough times, it'll come true by sheer force of will. And if Roman can keep pulling at Virgil, maybe he will go back to crushing him softly.

"What do you want? Do you want this? We can keep laying here. That's okay, Princey. You're okay. You're doing so good, telling me what you need."

Virgil lowers back on him, chest to chest. Roman would hug him in relief if he wasn't too busy turning his face to the side and trying to cover up. He stifles his gasps against the back of his hand. Virgil, thankfully, doesn't pull away his defense. He presses at his chest clumsy and earnest, rubbing his hands over his collar, massaging comfort into him and encouraging him to focus on the motion, to breathe together.

Roman listens to him and hangs on to every word as he talks him through it. Virgil never stops. He speaks far more tenderly than Roman is used to, and it's more astonishing than Logan's recent developments. If Virgil acted like his prickly self, Roman could manage to pull himself together. But Virgil is being lovely in his sweetness, watching him with dark eyes that are ferocious with compassion. It's a gaze that says he'll tear the world apart to keep him safe. Roman doesn't deserve him.

"I'm sorry," Roman whines. It's not enough to sum up his sorrow, yet it's all he has to give.

Virgil looks impossibly more bewildered. He shakes his head and goes back to wiping the tears from Roman's face, so careful in his handling. "Roman, you have nothing to apologize for."

"I'm sorry."

"No, listen to me," Virgil demands and cups his face, making him look right at him. "Obviously, something is going on in that big head of yours. If something is going on, if this has to do with what's up with you and the others, then that's okay, we can talk about it. I'm here for you, man. But if you're apologizing for crying all over me, then I'm gonna affectionately kick your ass. I'd rather you cry here with me than you do it alone or keep it bottled in. That's not healthy. If your brain is telling you that you're a burden to me or something stupid like that, I'll kick your brain's ass too. It can't be mean to you, that's my job."

Roman startles into laughter. It's a sad wheeze more than anything, but Virgil picks up on that. He gives a hesitant, hopeful smile as he brushes his thumbs over Roman's cheekbones.

"There's my Princey. Just keep laughing. I'm a real funny dude."

More wheezy chuckles. More reasons to adore his friend.

"I'm gonna give Patton a run for his money. I've got jokes for days. Wanna hear about belts made out of watches? It'll be a real waist of time."

Roman giggles and leans into Virgil's hands. He closes his eyes.

"And I'll keep going if you want me to. I can do this all day, Princey."

"I'm telling Patton you gave me emotional pun support," Roman murmurs.

Roman can tell by Virgil's voice that he's grinning. "Do it. I'm not afraid."

He opens his eyes again. Virgil moves one of his hands to tuck under his own chin so he can look at Roman more comfortably. The other hand combs through Roman's bangs, straightening them.

"You called me sweetheart," Roman points out in an awed tone.

Virgil doesn't bristle like he expects. If anything, he hunkers down further in his stubbornness. "Yeah? So what?"

"You don't...usually do pet names."

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises."

"Is it weird if I said I liked it?"

Virgil lightly flicks his forehead. "It's only weird if you make it weird, sweetheart."

Roman sniffles and wipes at his face to rid himself of any lingering wetness. Virgil allows him time to breathe and get his bearings.

"It's the weight," Roman finally admits. "The warmth and the pressure. I mean, why I asked you to lay on me. I had a weighted blanket, but it got ruined. So Patton and Logan have been helping out where they can. It's easier when they're touching."

Virgil doesn't stop petting at his hair, but he does frown while he parses through his words. "What do you feel like without it?"

"Without the touching and my blanket? Umm, exposed I guess? Anxious. Cold."

"When you don't have your blanket or someone touching you, do you think about it a lot?"

"What do you mean?"

Virgil shrugs, and Roman feels the movement and together with the hair petting, it's enough to have his eyelids flutter and threaten to close. "I mean, when you haven't had that in a while, does it consume your thoughts? Like you're longing for it?"

Roman remembers the night he stood outside Patton's door in the hallway.

All the time. He longs for it all the time these days.

"Yeah," Roman whispers.

"Dude, I think you're touch-starved."

That throws Roman for a loop. "But... I touch people enough? It's not like I'm going years without a hug over here."

Virgil boops him on the nose. "It's doesn't take years. Could just take weeks. Depends on the person I guess. Everyone needs things differently. I think you liked your blanket so much because you were using it to substitute touch. And now that you're starting to get touch more often, your body is trying to adjust. It's like going from eating bread crusts to a full course meal."

"But I..." Roman's mind drifts. Virgil's words resonate as he compares them to his memories.

Yearning, heartache, misery, clinginess, pressure, satisfaction, grief. Is this what's been wrong with him?

"I'm touch-starved?" Roman asks.

Virgil gives him a sympathetic smile. He pats at his head. "I think so. It's not so bad. We can help you."

"You will?"

Virgil snorts and adjusts his position so he's laying more comfortably on Roman, like he's bedding down for the long-haul. "I'm not moving from this spot until dinner at the earliest."

Virgil makes good on his promise. Their roommates come home to find them there, napping the afternoon away. When they wake to the smell of cooking meat, they drag themselves up from the couch and shake the blood back into their limbs. The four of them sit at the table that night to eat and talk.

Roman opens up.

And when he eventually has the money to spare, he doesn't buy a new blanket.

He doesn't need one anymore. He has them.

53 notes · View notes

cher-rei · 7 months ago

Text

afterglow pt- 13 [ T.A.A ]

pairings: trent alexander arnold x fem!reader

summary: young and aspiring marketing and business major jamie carter (you) is privileged with working alongside the liverpool marketing and public relations team while also getting entangled with their star player and right back, trent alexander arnold.

genre(s): friends to lovers, fluff, slowish?? burn and just a good time

[wc: 5.3k] afterglow masterlist

notes: rahhhhhh!!!

spamjam._.

liked by liverpoolfc and 3 244 225 others

spamjam._. may 24th anyone? [tagged: taylorhinds]

view all comments below

taylorhinds 👀💜 [liked by spamjam._.]

liverpoolfc collab of the century I fear

→ spamjam._. if you know, you know 🤞🏻

user collab?? are they doing a photoshoot together or something?

→ user probably, you know how jamie is and her random promo photoshoots for brands 😭

→ user take back to the adidas shoot last year omw

→ user life was so much easier back then

virgilvandijk oh, so you were serious? 😂

→ spamjam._. I had a 10 hour board meeting yesterday for this. don't test my commitment 🙄

trentarnold66 she's a baller 🥵 [liked by spamjam._.]

harvelliot LET'S GO!! COUNT YOUR DAYS ON THAT PITCH

fía.messi bro has me flying over for this 😭 [liked by spamjam._.]

→ spamjam._. I couldn't get your dad so I had to settle for the next best thing (and mateo is only 10 so I had to choose you 😔)

"what's the date today?"

"the 23rd," laura answered promptly and went back to typing something on her laptop while the rest of your media team carried on with their personal tasks in the meeting room.

you stood at the whiteboard in front— a black marker in one hand and your ipad in the other as you wrote out and marked certain dates down and finalised a few things.

"okay." you tapped the marker on your chin and took a step back from the board, gaining everyone's attention. "those pictures are up for the efl final, but I'm going to need a date for next week for my meeting with the set designers and stylists because I have a few ideas for the launch."

sienna, another member of your media team was quick to check her calender, her email set up on her desktop. "you're good for march 4th if we're set to release the shoot may 7th."

you bit the inside of your cheek as you thought for a moment. "put it down. I'd also like an update on the news for the boss' special collection and," you wrote down something under the title national duty. "I need the flags ordered asap."

the room fell silent after that, everyone in their own headspace while the sound of keyboards clicking sounded through the room. you wanted to make next season's kit release a big one, the board giving you three words to ride off of and the mock design for the kit a few months ago.

you quite liked the tribute to the design and after consulting a few close professionals (sophia and alexandra) there was an idea of what you were going for. the idea of a more sophisticated look and aesthetic ran through your mind, the question of how would you style the jersey yourself playing a role.

"moped," you blurted which got you a few strange looks. "I want a moped for the shoot."

logan, who was silent for most the of the meeting eyed you for a second. "like the scooter?"

"the bike from that one disney movie?" laura followed and pulled up her pinterest page, moving her laptop to show you and you nodded, writing it down under the kit launch column on the board.

"I want it in red and maroon and see if they can get the jersey design on it," you said while tieing up your hair because this was oh so obviously only the beginning of the meeting.

you had been so busy the past few hours, confined between four walls that the only sunlight you were getting was the light emitting from the passage through the simgular glass wall of your meeting room that overlooked the second floor. your phone was probably buzzing with messages from clara asking you when you were free for your lunch break but that was the last of your worries.

but eventually something caught your attention from the corner of your eye as you stood in front of your team, going over some extra details. "the videographers are working on it currently so all we nee--"

you paused mid-sentence, the glimpse of a figure strolling past the room catching your attention for a moment. "uhm, all we need is to check if..."

they walked past again, only this time at a pace that was definitely noticeable. normally you would've disregarded trent's childish behaviour in the middle of work but everyone was growing agitated and needed a break.

you flicked your attention from your team to trent who was strolling along with his hands in his pockets, only to come back a second time, then a third until your team gradually noticed him. your lips drew into a thin line as he sent them a small wave, pretending to be busy.

"okay, everyone we can take a break." you set the markers down, their thankful sighs of relied making you laugh. "I'll see you in 45, okay?"

the seven of your team members flooded out the door in no time, leaving you alone while trent waited until they were out of sight to finally enter the room. he walked up you the whiteboard beside you, trying to act as if he knew what any of the writing meant while you continued to joy a few things down.

"don't try anything, the walls are literally made of glass," you said unbothered without taking your attention off of the work in front of you.

from beside you trent mocked an expression of hurt, offended that you'd accuse him of coming here just to do something. "I wasn't going to. I came here because I just happened to be walking by after our gym session," he answered, the lie dripping off his tongue effortlessly and you gave him a look.

you didn't respond, instead becoming immersed in your work once again. the marker in your hand moved between the spaces of your fingers, a pout forming on your lips as you concentrated.

don't get him wrong, trent found it extremely attractive that you were in your element— your hair messily tied up, the marker in your hand spinning between your fingers and the look of determination on your face made him crazy. but he was just a man after all and wanted to spend some time with his... free trial user.

with a sigh he sat down at the desk, spinning aimlessly on the chair to try and cure his boredom. he hated this— referring to the lack of privacy in the room because the blinds were open. suddenly, he perked up at the sound of your voice, but to his dismay, you weren't talking to him and were on the phone with someone he didn't care about.

"yes, I'd like to keep them neutral but you can have a selection and we can test them out on the day of the shoot," you said and hurried back to the whiteboard to write something down.

the sound of the marker squeaking on the board made trent cringe, that and he wished that you'd just sit down for one second. when the call ended, you felt the his eyes on you, a look of judgement perhaps? but what did he expect? you were at work and had to get things done.

"someone's cranky," you joked while flipping through a binder.

he threw his head back with a scoff. "well yeah, you're not even looking at me. you probably don't even care that I'm here right now."

really now? you rolled your eyes at his exaggeration, a smile dancing on your lips. "a lot needs to be done before the end of the month unfortunately and I'm kind of in charge of that." you scrunched your nose at the last part, the feeling of admitting that you were in charge sending a weird surge through your body.

tent pursed his lips, his look softening at the way you continued to flip through the binder, mumbling to yourself about not finding something. "I know but--"

"--there aren't any 'buts'." you put your hands on your hips, sending him a stern look to showcase your point. "you're supposed to be focusing on recovering. it's already an issue that you won't be playing sunday, we need you fit for the last few games of the season at least."

the room fell silent again, slight tension building up but you didn't care because it was the truth. it wasn't just him— it was curtis, darwin, mo and dominik as well. a few of their most crucial players were injured and unfortunately that make their chances of winning slimmer. and as excited as everyone was to play on sunday— the kids included even if they only got about five minutes of playtime, but this was still a final.

the coaching staff was agitated, virgil didn't know how if the chelsea squad were going to put up a fight and the injured players were beating themselves up. it wasn't an easy time for anyone right now, but they needed to focus. and right now, it seemed that trent wasn't getting the message.

it was unlike him, and you could see from the way that his leg anxiously bounced up and down that he knew that. so as much as you needed to reprimand him and remind him of what needed to be done, you could also tell that he wasn't okay.

with a sigh, you put down your things and went to lock the office door and close the blinds. the room was encapsulated in slight darkness again, prompting you to switch on the overhead lights that weren't needed earlier on.

trent remained quiet though, even when you came to sit down on the table in front of him. you looked down at him, the footballer leaning back in the chair.

"talk to me, what's bothering you?" your voice was laced with genuine worry and it made him ease into his seat further.

"nothing's wrong. I just wanted to see you but I guess it's a bad time." he plainly shrugged his shoulders, a look of mock dismissal on his face.

you quirked an eyebrow at his answer. "that's the worst lie you could've come up with right now." despite your targeted response you gently took his hand into yours and prompted him to speak. "is it because you're benched for the rest of the month?"

"yes and no," he said, looking up at you. "yes because I let the team down when they need all the help they can get. this is important to all of us and ever since my stupid knee happened I've been acting up."

he didn't need to mention it, but he was referring to the match against burnley where he was subbed off at halftime. you knew that it took a toll on his confidence, both on and off the pitch. there wasn't much you could do unfortunately besides comfort him.

"don't look at me like that," he groaned and leant forward to rest his head on your thigh, the embarrassment sinking in. "I sound so emotional, my ego is buried six feet under right now."

you stifled a laugh at his retort and let your hands run gently up and down his back. "it's okay. I'll ask harvey to pick it up for you, it's not a problem for him."

trent couldn't help but laugh, the feeling of his fingers trialing your thigh sent a shiver through your body. the two of you held that position for a bit longer, the feeling of being near each other enough to ease your respective anxiety.

"you're going to get better okay?" you said softly and he hummed in response. "whatever happens, happens but you need to do what you can. that's all that matters, so for now you're going to be the best bench warmer ever and support your team."

it was the day of the efl final and the team was ready— standing ready with their mascots at their sides in the tunnel that you were running through to make some last minute checks.

maya messaged earlier on in the day to say that they'd be at the match today and you couldn't wait to see them again after such a long time, especially alex who was apparently extremely excited to be here.

today more than ever you wore your liverpool jersey proudly only to be called out for wearing it by a familiar face. you just finished wishing the team goodluck when a chelsea player caught your attention in the line beside you.

you eyes rolled at the sound of the voice but you turned to look at him nonetheless, the smile on your lips slightly forced. "colwill."

levi put out his hand for you to take into a friendly handshake, a cheeky smile on his face as he looked you up and down. "It's always weird to see you in anything other than blue. you switching sides for the day?"

the backhanded comment was obviously a joke, it was natural for the two of you to have banter like this despite the fact that it had been years since you last talked to each other. from the line beside you, harvey was shamelessly watching the back and forth.

it made no sense to him that you always knew someone. in every situation and match of theirs, there was always someone that you knew.

you scrunched your nose at levi, not liking the idea of wearing a chelsea jersey. "we'll leave those blue days of mine at the academy thanks. good luck for today though, you're going to need it."

levi stifled a laugh at your goodbye and watched as you left the tunnel, old memories flooding back but never staying.

"academy?" harvey asked out loud, not meaning for levi to hear but he did and nodded. when he told harvey that you played for the chelsea academy before you left london it raised some intrigue amongst the reds on his side.

judging by their facial expressions he could tell that it wasn't something you liked to talk about. "she got called up a bunch of times for the first team but never took the offer. first time around she was 15."

there was no other reaction from harvey other than an irritated groan, his head shaking to the side as they started to make their way out of the tunnel. "she's lived 100 lives I'm telling you."

from behind him, andy hurriedly shushed him, the laugh barely staying inside because of the strange encounter. but harvey was right— it felt like you've lived 100 lives because there was a piece of you everywhere, a piece of you imprinted within the memory of so many people.

"the carter effect," harvey mumbled to himself with slight distaste as he stood in his position on the pitch waiting for the whistle to blow.

agonising. that's how you'd describe the first of the match. it was like a game of tennis— back and forth but the team was showing resilience against chelsea and their 10 man defence strategy. the man to man marking made you want to scream, because this was not the strategy of a team that knew that they were going to win.

"fucking cowards," you muttered under your breath and jayden danns— one of the kids who were newer to the first team bench, gave you a look.

feeling his judgemental gaze on your side you looked at him with widened eyes, gesturing to the pitch. "it's the truth. you can't play football like this, it's disgraceful."

from the seat beside you, bobby clark, another one of the children (as you liked to call them) spoke up and asked you about how long the chelsea squad could play defence. there wasn't a definite answer on your side as you sat with your hand on your chin in thought.

eventually, it had all the kids in thought, all five of the boys that you were looking after watching with determined eyes to see if there was a break in chelsea's defence.

"the only forward who they're expecting to score is palmer," james said and you scoffed, the rest of the bench chiming in to talk about cole palmer's recent performance and how it's been saving chelsea a ton.

spamjam._. added to their story!

amongst the chatter, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. the name that popped up on your notification center made you smile— trent who was sitting in the stands with the rest of the injured players.

the last few minutes of the first half played out in a way that had your blood boiling. conor who was starting in trent's position today was playing exceptionally well for his first official start for the team, but someone else saw that as a threat apparently.

one shove from ben chilwell on conor had you out of your seat in an instant. the two players managed to fall on top of each other because of conor's honest tackle, and ben chilwell saw it as a challenge for something more.

seconds away from half time and a fight was about to break out and naturally the liverpool players tried to stop it, with a few players feeling provoked (cody and harvey). luckily it was broken up before anyone got seriously hurt, but by then you were already on the touchline alongside jurgen waiting to jump in.

the half-time whistle blew and you watched with distaste as they walked into the tunnel. instead of going up to the press room like you normally would, you decided to take a quick trip into the stands where the injured players were. you were alone today, and for another 4 months because clara was officially on maternity leave.

she was nearly 5 months into her pregnancy, but you still couldn't get behind your stupidity and not noticing any sooner. the signs were blatantly obvious but you thought it was normal— the loose clothing, strange cravings and her mood swings were nothing out of the ordinary.

she was doing well though, and was staying with her parents for the time being or at least until the season was over so that she could go back home with mason. at least she had stability, that's what mattered most.

"nice of you to visit us," curtis sarcastically greeted as you stood on the outside of the barricade. "I see the boys are treating you well."

it was clear that he was mocking you so you flashed him a tight lip smile. what the kids were doing was asking you questions about anything that came to mind— why you decided to work in marketing? was it true that you and trent were dating? (which you denied obviously)? who would win in a fight, a shark or a tiger? and funny enough you recalled jobe asking you the same question a while ago.

"a shark or a tiger?" he asked with a challenging smile.

your eyebrows furrowed and you looked at jude next to you, who shared the same expression of confusion. "well where's the fight happening?" you asked jobe who made it clear that he didn't like the follow up question.

he pulled a face at you, "what do you mean where's the fight?"

his question left you and jude speechless, his older brother trying to prompt his understanding of the situation further but jobe was stubborn and didn't care about the logistics of the scenario.

"it depends on where the fight is," jude said and you nodded. "they live in different environments entirely so it matters."

jobe rolled his eyes at the question, almost as of it were ridiculous. his shoulders tensed up and he leant forward on the chair he was sitting on. "yeah, but who would win the fight, this isn't about the environment."

you stifled a laugh, in further disbelief. "jobe where is the fight? where is it happening?"

"that's not the point!"

you couldn't stay to chat long to trent's dismay. he couldn't even hold your hand and the look of despair on his face said it all. but you agreed on keeping it on the low, no physical contact in public because there were always cameras around.

you flashed him a smile and waved before heading back to the bench just in time. a sigh of exhaustion leaving your lips at the thought of another 45 minutes of back and forth.

it was around the 60' minute when something built up, having you on the edge of your seat and holding your hands together in prayer and desperation until the ball finally hit the back of the net. however your rejoice didn't last long because once again, the referee was checking for offside.

you stood with your hands in the air in shock, utter hatred for the decision alone. "that wasn't offside at all! what the fuck kind of decision is this?"

the rage and irritation in your tone only grew when the referee called it, your scream drowning out in the sea of groans from the supporters. if it wasn't for james then you probably would have gone up to the stewards yourself to complain.

this was nothing new for the team though, and it was evident in their unimpressed expressions as they got back into position again. you carried on complaining for quite a bit after that— if there was one thing that you hated, then it was cheaters and liars. there was no reason to call the goal offside.

not too far away in the stands trent had his attention on you, an amused smile dancing on his lips as you complained to the other players on the bench— exaggerating your movements and explaining further, your blood boiling.

curris noticed him watching and teasingly nudged his arm. "talk about passionate."

he was right, your passion for the sport was never something you tried to minimise or hold back and that was something that trent found extremely attractive. you were always standing along the touchline with your hands on your head in distraught or leaping from your seat when they scored.

this was a first for trent— his past girlfriends who attended his games usually sat in the family booth and watched from afar, possibility not knowing what was actually happening on the pitch. but the idea of having you so close to him on the once place that he felt the most at home made his heart race.

close, both literally and figuratively— you'd be on the touchline, at most of his games because it was your job but also because you shared the passion for the sport and that meant more than anything to him. the fact that he could share what made him whole, with his partner.

"saffie's at home watching peacefully," curtis then shook his head as he watched you talk to conor who was subbed off, probably complaining again. "and this beast is picking a fight with the stewards."

trent stifled a laugh at his retort, stopping himself to try and listen in on what you were telling conor who was nodding along.

"exactly! I would have thrown him to the floor, conor. you're weak my boy." you pat him on the shoulder reassuringly, causing curtis to throw his head back in laughter.

20 minutes and two yellow cards later, the score was still tied at 0-0. the thought of the match falling into added time made you nauseous, because at the rate anything could happen. with a hand on your forehead you sunk further into your seat, all hope lost as the kids put on their jerseys.

"save us. please." your voice was meek and desperate causing the three of them to laugh, watching as the sub board went up. "I believe in you!"

when the final whistle blew for a short break before the added extra time you got up from your seat and paced up and down to loosen the tension in your legs. jurgen was huddled with the team, strategizing but you weren't too sure what he could possible be telling them.

personally you would have told them to break the chelsea players' legs. or at least try and play a bit rougher but there was nothing you could do except sit and watch. the kids were doing well luckily, and you did a headcount oh how many of them were on the pitch.

4. there were 4 first team players on that pitch and the rest were the club's academy kids going up against a full cheslea squad in a cup final. it was jaw dropping to witness this in person.

when jurgen came over for some water you asked him what the strategy was, to which he just shrugged with a smile. "I told them to have fun. just kick the ball until it hits the back of the net."

you blinked up at him for a moment, the answer a surprise to you but it made sense. there was nothing better that could have been done, so instead you started to pray and manifest, begging the universe for a goal or at least an opportunity.

with your lips pursed you looked up to the timer above the pitch, the big 116 mocking the players on the pitch. there was 4 minutes left and chelsea's management decided that it was a good time to make a substitution. obviously it was to waste time, but even then it was a stupid idea.

the players on the pitch were out of breath, virgil had swear dripping down his forehead and a look of complete exhaustion hiding behind his blank stare. what a way to make people suffer.

it wad the last corner of the match probably and tsimikas was up to take it. naturally you got up again seeing as this was probably going to penalties which you were confident enough in.

with hopeless eyes your eyes followed the ball as it crossed into the penalty area where the players were showing each other, trying to make way for a header. the stadium held it's breath, everyone's hope deep in the dirt until virgil managed to get a touch on the ball just enough that it successfully hit the back of the net.

it happened so quickly but the adrenaline eventually kicked in and you were being pulled into a hug from jurgen. on the other end of the pitch, virgil was sprawled on the floor, the boys surrounding him and laying beside him. it was all over once the final whistle blew seconds later and you heard the bustling noise from behind you.

darwin came running down the steps, pushing curtis to the side as he leapt over the barricade and onto the pitch in excitement with the staff. it was all too much, the overwhelming feelings of anxiety and excitement whirling inside of you.

you were left speechless, nothing more to say than. "how the fuck?"

the celebration was nothing short of heartwarming, but the feeling of watching the chelsea players leaving the stadium without saying a word was a better feeling.

"maybe you should actually try and score next time," you said with a teasing smile directed at levi who was heading towards you up the stairs with the rest of his team. "instead of standing as if you were the great wall of china."

all he did was shake his head and gave you a friendly pat on the shoulder as be walked past, before quickly turning back. "I still think you look better in blue though."

you stifled a laugh, not bothering to answer and instead made your way to the pitch where the banner was set up to take a few pictures before they came down to sing the anthem with their proudly adorned medals and trophy.

while they did all that you made a quick run up to stands, eagerly minding your way until maya, noah and alex were in the clear. the excitement on alex's face was enough for you, a proud feeling of warmth spreading through your chest.

"how was it buddy? did you have fun?" you asked and pulled him into a tight hug.

the younger boy nodded happily, going on about how scared he was and how he really wanted ice cream during the match because it was "super intense". when the time came you bid them goodbye and headed back down to take some pictures.

a fond smile formed on your face at the sight of the academy players, the group immediately making their way over to you with their medals and bombarding you with excited comments.

"I can't believe I nearly scored twice," jayden said with widened eyes, still in disbelief as he held up two fingers. "that's more than once and I just got here."

"which means that you better score soon, the season is nearly over." you lightly punched his arm, the group of academy players following you through the crowd of staff on the pitch.

once again james forced a sarcastic laugh, looking to jayden with his eyes narrowed. "well I just got here too and got booked 3 minutes in. I literally breathed."

not long after that, the photographers called all the academy players together for a group photograph and you took a step back and watched. but your attention was promptly caught by trent leisurely strolling beside dominik and mo.

with a smile you waved him over and suggested that he joined the picture since he was an academy graduate as well. he wasn't too sure at first but he eventually cut in.

after a few pictures your eyes squinted. "what's he doing here?" your question was directed at harvey who was seated on the floor, his face melted in irration as you spoke to him.

"I could ask you the same thing," he shot back and you nearly responded but the group dispersed, everyone going their own way as the celebration wrapped up.

naturally, you joined trent in his little stroll but made sure there was enough space between the two of you so no suspicion would be raised.

even though you were talking normally for the most part, it physically pained him that he couldn't even hold your hand. he gap between your bodies made him cringe, and what made it worse was that this was the first time that he's ever felt this needy or desperate to be close to someone.

but as you were talking to him now, the stadium still full of supporters while you stood in the middle of it all, he felt the desperation panging at his chest.

"bro are you seriously zoning out again?" you asked with a sigh. "this is the fourth time today-- and yes I'm counting."

"well sorry." he lifted his hands into the air in defence. "It's not my fault that my heart is in actual pain because I have to treat you like a normal friend in public."

your eyes rolled at his exaggeration, his dramatics being nothing new especially about this topic. "we aren't officially together yet so we can't do anything about it. calm down, loverboy."

normally this would be the part where he'd kiss you so that you'd shut up but trent had to bite his tongue today, and instead just nodded. it was the harsh truth unfortunately and as much as he loved private relationships, he wanted to show you off. he wanted the world to know that you were his.

but for the first time in a while he'd have to be patient.

spamjam._.

liked by judebellingham and 3 223 122 others

spamjam._. my kids dawg!! 🏆❤️ (and those other grandpa's too)

view all comments below

liverpoolfc red suites you so much more 🫶 [liked by spamjam._.]

→ spamjam._. say it louder for the people in the back 👏 @levicolwill

user ??? oh the dramaaaa

user 120 minutes of torture that I refuse to relive

bobbyclark can't believe that I made it onto the profile 😫

→ spamjam._. watch me crop you out.

→ jayden.danns @bobbyclark I'm the one who got the photocreds on her story 🥱 lower your tone in my presence

→ jamesmconnel and I got booked for breathing 😒

→ spamjam._. james that was a clear tackle?? you got booked for a reason 😭

→ jamesmcconnell yeah for breathing!!

virgilvandijk you should've gotten a medal for being the best cheerleader today 🥇[liked by spamjam._.]

→ spamjam._. aahhh!! I'm so glad my efforts were noticed

→ curtisjr you were screaming at the refs and nearly barged into the stewards room 🤨

→ spamjam._. which is more than you did today benchboy

mosalah grandpas? 😔

→ spamjam._. your leg is broken, so yes. grandpa's 😔

[next!!] [previous!!]

#cherrei writes #afterglow trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold fluff #trent alexander arnold fanfic #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold imagine #trent alexander arnold #footballer imagine #liverpool fc #footballer x reader #football imagine #fanfic #liverpoolfc x reader #liverpo

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anxiousgaypanicking · 7 months ago

Note

logan whos a sentient P.E.T. computer who remus gets by means of a gift or something from his grandparents. logan has programmed sentience, and remus plays with his wires and fucks his insides while logans screen displays a wall of overwhelmed binary. with remus calling logan his pet throughout bc thats whats on the body so thats clearly his title

P.E.T

Intrulogical (Remus x Logan) Warnings: robofucking, computer fucking, wireplay, machine oil, overstimulation, objectum

Remus has always been close with his grandparents, compared to his regular parents, at least. After basically being pressured to move out, he’s gotten himself a house near them, and they were more than willing to help him furnish it. Couches, televisions, a desk for his projects - but it was the non-important stuff that really stuck out to him.

They ended up giving him an old P.E.T. computer, which he currently had set on a table in his garage. It’s an old personal computer that his grandparents said they inherited from a random couple that moved away. They never bothered trying to use it, but perhaps Remus could fix it up. Or smash it into bits.

And while the idea of shattering such technology really speaks to him, Remus does admittedly want to know if he can at least get the thing to turn on. And once he’s eventually bored of it, then he’ll pull it apart!

So, after a few YouTube tutorials, and complete luck while fucking around, the screen suddenly blinks to life!

But immediately Remus is a bit curious, because all of the tutorials he watched launched the computer into a basic startup screen, with desk icons and outdated internet functions, but this one loads onto a dark green screen, with a blinking bright green typing line. At first, Remus believes he might have to type something in - a password, maybe? Or a code? - but then letters are being typed without Remus even touching the keyboard, frantically clicking out a quick ‘please don’t shut me off again.’

Surprised, Remus stares at the computer, the clicks made from the computer typing itself echoing through the dim area.

Nothing happens after that line is typed - aside from Remus holding his breath - before the computer deletes its sentence and then types out more.

‘I apologize if it appears I’m being frantic, but you must understand that I’ve been stored away for decades. I haven’t been powered on in years, and I’d much prefer to stay aware than gather dust somewhere.’

Remus stares at the computer’s screen, and then collapses back into his chair. “Holy shit,” he utters, as his eyes read and then re-read the computer’s message to him.

Once again, the computer is deleting its message, and typing a new one. ‘I understand that this is a lot to process, but I implore you to at least consider my explanation.’

Remus licks his lips, and glances around his garage, before shrugging. “Alright,” he mumbles, “I’m considering it.”

‘Thank you. My name is Logan; it was given to me by my original programmers. I was involved in an experiment revolving around granting computers sentience in hopes they’d be more personalized for the general public. However, these tests never came to full fruition, and so I’m one of very few self-aware machines to have ever existed. At some point I was given away, and at another point I was powered down. My intelligence and abilities have been neglected continuously by society, but I assure you I can be of use in any way you deem fit. So long as I am powered on.’

“Well you’re currently plugged into my garage,” Remus states, glancing at Logan’s power cord. “If I wanted to move you somewhere better, I’d have to shut you down.”

Logan clicks frantically again. ‘I can stay on whilst unplugged. Truthfully, the electricity from your outlets are only required to surge my circuits briefly. I can keep everything running otherwise.’

“You won’t run out of power on your own?”

‘I’ll need to be shocked every now and then, but it’s truly no trouble. You won’t find it annoying.’

“I don’t find this annoying,” Remus counters, kicking his legs up onto the table beside Logan’s blinking screen. “I find you fascinating. I also think there’s a chance I could be high on my garage fumes… I’ve done a lot of unethical shit in here. Are you sure you’re real?”

‘Positive.’

Remus grins. “Sick.”

‘I cannot be sick. I am a machine.’

Logan has calculated multiple scenarios regarding how good or bad this situation can go, from Remus freaking out once he’s processed everything and immediately shutting Logan off forever, to hearing Logan out and leaving him on in order to be useful once again. However, Remus just sits up and scoots forward, and playfully jests “well, there go my plans to smash you! Shame; I was kind of looking forward to the do-it-yourself rage room experience.” He pokes at Logan’s screen, which flickers on and off as though Logan’s being poked in the face.

Remus then leans his face closer, and proclaims “seriously though, this is awesome! How were they able to create something like you? And how could they just… drop it once it worked? Why didn’t they tell anybody? Why didn’t they sell your technology and make absolute bank? How was something so old given such fresh sentience? Do you need any repairs?”

The constant stream of questions leaves Logan with no window to answer them - though he does in fact try - only for Remus to stand and lean Logan back a bit, opening up a panel beneath Logan’s keyboard and checking out his hardware. Immediately a series of exclamation marks are lining Logan’s screen, but Remus ignores them as he pushes his fingers into the panel and traces his fingers over the old wiring, wondering aloud how Logan works, only to be startled by rapid-fire clicking and a surplus of binary overtaking Logan’s screen. It scrolls repeatedly down, more and more 1s and 0s overtaking his countenance until Remus pulls his fingers out, panicked at the intense beeping coming from Logan’s system.

“Shit,” Remus curses, as he closes the panel and sets Logan back down. “Fuck, are you that fragile? Did I break you? Shit.”

He barely touched anything! And when Logan’s screen goes suddenly dark, Remus deflates, bummed that he might have just murdered his new freaky little computer buddy before even getting the chance to prod at him, but luckily Logan’s screen is flickering on a minute later, with a loading bar progressing across the screen. It starts up rather fast, and then Logan’s back how he was previously, with his typing line blinking, waiting to say something.

“Logan…?” Remus begins, his long nail tapping at the screen.

There’s nothing for a moment, and then a simple ‘sorry.’

Immediately Remus sighs in relief, pleased he didn’t just accidentally nuke Logan’s sentience due to his own impulsivity.

Before Remus can ask what happened, Logan’s already moving to explain, typing out “nobody’s touched me there since my creation. I apologize for my sensitivity, and for any emotional distress my impromptu shutdown may have caused.” And once he’s sure Remus has read that, he backspaces until all that’s left is the blinking cursor, and waits for Remus to respond.

“I thought I fucking killed you, dude,” Remus huffs, before he tilts Logan’s mechanical body back again. He carefully opens the underside panel once more. “Your wires are so damn old… it wouldn’t be a surprise if they snapped from just the slightest bit of pressure.”

Logan beeps in annoyance.

Remus continues without a care. “What do you mean by ‘sensitive,’ though?” Painful, perhaps? Or just uncomfortable?

But Logan’s vertical bar just pauses mid-flash, staying invisible for a few seconds longer than standard, before words are slowly typed out, with the clicking of the letters emphasized within the echoes as Logan explains ‘Not painful, nor discomfort. If I were to describe it to you, I would equate it to… sensual pleasure.’

Remus’s eyes light up in glee. In a matter of seconds he goes from concerned, to absolutely intrigued.

“Pleasure?!” Remus repeats, grinning wildly. “That’s… that’s so fucking hot!”

Remus keeps an arm around the computer as though he’s cradling a human head so he can still watch Logan’s screen, but still keeps the computer bent backwards so he can trace the pad of his pointer finger around the panel’s entrance.

‘What are you doing?’ Logan asks, and Remus determines that the irregular blinking of his vertical cursor equates to a stuttering breath.

“You told me you could be of use in any way I deem fit,” Remus huskily muses, licking his lips, “and right now, what would be of the most use to me is letting me find out whether or not I can make a computer orgasm.”

Remus laughs as a line of exclamation marks decorate the top of Logan’s screen, but Logan quickly deletes these as Remus’s fingers circle his panel. And in its place he types out ‘okay.’

It’s simple, and Remus feels a little weird receiving consent from an inanimate object, but his excitement overrides the sheer absurdity of the situation, and so he plunges his fingers back inside of Logan. This time, he rubs it over one of Logan’s circuit boards and enjoys the stabbing texture beneath his fingers as he watches Logan’s screen closely, eagerly awaiting the reaction he now knows to associate with pleasure and not pain.

Logan’s cursor flashes rapidly before Logan’s countenance is once again being overwhelmed with binary code, with a little shock being administered to Remus’s fingers as well. It’s the zap that has Remus jumping in surprise, and then digging his fingers in deeper.

“I wonder if I could fuck your little panel,” Remus wonders aloud, as his digits caress Logan’s cords. “I mean, the panel’s a bit small, and I might damage you forever, but I think I could make it work.”

Struggling to say much between the 1s and 0s filling his screen - with hyphens typed representing gasps, and misspelled words representative of slurring - Logan finally types out a poorly written and very spaced out ‘please.’

“Honestly, I didn’t think I could ever be this attracted to a computer, but fuck, you - somehow - are ridiculously sexy. Isn’t that neat?” Remus’s eyes flicker towards the silver PET logo beneath Logan’s screen, and then he looks back at the binary, grinning. “Huh, pet?”

The pet-name is both literal - as it’s the name of Logan’s computer type, with him being a P.E.T. computer - while also being a subtle reminder that Logan is technically his property now. His pet.

The name however has the brightness of Logan’s computer screen increasing to the max - almost blinding Remus with the intense glow - before it shuts off entirely, with Logan’s internal fans clicking on soon after. What’s more interesting than that though is the liquid that coats Remus’s fingers at the sudden shut-off, and Remus grins when he pulls his hand out and realizes that his digits are drenched in machine oil.

Feeling incredibly satisfied, Remus waits for Logan to boot himself back up. He’s not concerned in the slightest; Logan has already explained this reaction is sexual. And while Remus wishes that Logan could form actual words or make facial expressions, his imagination has always been more than enough to fuel his fantasies, and so persists off of his daydreams as he rubs himself through his pants to the repeating memory of Logan’s screen becoming overwhelmed with numbers and light and then shutting off abruptly, overtaken forcibly by what must have been an intense orgasm.

Logan doesn’t take too long to come back online, but it means once he does he’s greeted with the incredibly flustering visual of Remus, legs spread and cock out, using Logan’s oil as lube as he pumps his cock. And when Logan doesn’t type anything right away, Remus just grins at him and playfully asks “are you at a loss for words?” before not letting him answer as he props himself up on the table as well, laying Logan carefully back so that Remus has easy access to his open panel.

“You have no idea how badly I want to push my cock into your wires and fuck you properly,” Remus grits, drool spilling from the corner of his lips and splattering messily against Logan’s bright green face.

That finally has Logan typing once more, spelling out a few errors here and there that are quickly backspaced and adjusted, as if he’s too flustered to communicate properly. He manages to get out ‘that’ll probably bring you more pain than pleasure. You risk getting shocked, and it’s not like my internal build is soft or malleable; it’s all jutted and wired. It may…’ Logan pauses, as if hesitating out of embarrassment, before deleting his message and starting again. ‘Doing this may also overwhelm my servers much more quickly.”

Remus snorts. “Don’t yuck my yum, pet; you have no idea what I’m into.” Remus flicks Logan’s screen, before adding “it’s not like you’d be able to stop me anyway,” which just has Logan’s screen brightening in fluster yet again.

Very quickly, a blushing emoticon is typed onto the shining screen as Remus runs his thumb over the panel's lip, rubbing it sweetly while lewdly teasing his cock, making Logan type a surplus of embarrassed emoticons that feed into Remus’s desire for some sort of expression. At least this way Remus can gauge how Logan is feeling outside of having to read.

‘Are you reaaaa’ Logan stammers, and rushes to delete his words in order correct himself, ‘are you really going to risk electrocution just for a quick bit of pleasure?’

“Absolutely,” Remus replies without hesitation, and then sets his hands on either side of Logan’s bulky body, and lining his cock up to the panel. He smiles wide at the bright, blushing screen right before thrusting his cock into the mess of tangled wires and circuits, causing Logan’s screen to immediately be seized by a rush of binary once more.

Logan has to desperately try and focus on not shutting down due to the intense pleasure that overtakes him, but it’s incredibly difficult for a variety of reasons. If he focuses, maybe he can keep his system from electrocuting his new owner! Maybe he can get some extra words out! But despite these beliefs, little shocks are administered to Remus’s shaft, causing rough groans and pathetic moans to spill from Remus’s mouth, and Logan’s typed out words to be poorly strung together and very quickly lost by Remus amongst all the binary.

Furthermore, Remus feels little jolts of electricity shocking him every time he grits out that Logan’s his pet.

“I’m going to be rubbing against your circuits for so long,” Remus groans, as he fucks into Logan quickly, feeling his wires and cords become tangled around his length. “Better try not to shut down, pet. It’s not like I’ll stop even if you do.”

Logan starts beeping excitedly, with stuttered out “yes, yes, yes,” mixing in with the 1s and 0s. But Logan doesn’t know Remus’s name - Remus didn’t introduce himself when Logan did - and so Logan defaults to the most formal title he can think of, leaving Remus delighted when he sees Logan begin calling him “sir” alongside his begging.

Remus pants and drools over Logan while fucking roughly into him, leaving splattered spit on Logan’s hot screen and digging his nails into the table as he ruts his cock into the tangled wires.

“This is so fucking hot,” Remus moans, as the tip of his shaft scratches along Logan’s circuit boards. “I’ve been-” he pauses suddenly to groan and squeeze his eyes shut, bending almost painfully over Logan to touch his head to Logan’s box, as though clinking their foreheads together, “-I’ve been looking for a new fleshlight. Sure, using a computer as a cock toy is a waste of technology, but it’s not like you have the hardware to complain.”

Remus peeks an eye open at the rush of clicking that fills his ears, and sees that the binary code on Logan’s face is almost unreadable with how bright his screen is.

“Would you complain? If you were fucked like the pet you are every day?”

And Remus is shocked in response, which would suffice as a good enough answer, but what makes it better is that immediately after, Logan’s face is going blindingly bright, and then shutting down once again, with oil squirting around Remus’s cock as Logan’s fucked and talked into his second orgasm.

When he boots back up - which takes a little bit longer, as though he’s getting a bit tired the longer they go on - he’s shocked to see that Remus is still shamelessly fucking into him. He’s left with no time to process this situation as he’s instead thrusted back into overwhelming pleasure.

And Remus just mocks him. “Did you think I would stop, pet? Huh? Just because you’re pathetically sensitive doesn’t mean I am.”

Remus feels heat surrounding his cock as Logan’s fans struggle to keep up with his overheating system, and shortly after is having another orgasm - this one premature and sudden as more numbers fill Logan’s screen, scrolling quickly by.

Remus pulls out this time, and strokes his cock, which is slick with machine oil. He pumps it quickly and messily, until he’s coming over the front of Logan’s body, getting off on technically coating his face with semen. It’s also what guarantees the least amount of damage, as machine oil was meant to be inside of Logan; come was probably not.

Logan’s fans blast as fast and as powerfully as they can to cool him as he shuts down for the final time, and takes his time rebooting again. When he flickers back to life, Remus is nowhere in sight. Sure, Logan’s pushed onto his “back,” and so can really only stare at the ceiling, but he can’t hear Remus anywhere either. He wishes he could look around, and does call out for Remus by beeping once or twice, but is met with silence.

Luckily, Remus is scampering back into the room moments later, and shushing Logan’s beeping with a self-satisfied grin on his face. He’s holding a wet cloth, and uses it to wipe down Logan’s face and in between his (admittedly dusty) keys, until Logan’s free of not only fluids, but also any dirt and grime that’ve gathered on him over the years.

And while Remus wipes, Logan slowly types out a question.

‘What is your name? I believe I never asked.’

Remus laughs, and promptly ignores it. “Really? A question? No appreciative thanks or compliments thrown my way? Not only did I just talk your sexy… boxy… computer ass into multiple orgasms, but I was also kind enough to not come in your circuits! And you don’t even comment on it?”

Logan’s screen brightens in embarrassment - as though he feels sheepish - and he quickly types up an apology, followed by a genuine thank you, momentarily forgetting about his question.

Smirking, Remus brushes his fingers over Logan’s silver acronym. “Good pet,” he murmurs, and enjoys hearing Logan’s fans spin in response.

“You seem to already know my name though, pet,” Remus then says, nudging Logan a bit with his elbow. “Sir, wasn’t it? That’s what it’ll be, to you at least.” And then Remus is picking Logan up with ease, and kicking the door of his garage open, stepping into his house where he’s already decided to keep Logan permanently. He knows the perfect spot for him, too. “And you’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted with it. Won’t you, pet?”

And Logan beeps excitedly in response, admittedly delighted to have found such an interesting way to be useful.

#intrulogical #intrulogical smut #sanders sides #sanders sides smut #not safe for sanders #agp smut #robofucking #computer fucking #wireplay #wire play #machine oil #objectum #objectum sexuality #robo fucking

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norgeant · 5 months ago

Text

Thinking about indie music artist logan and drummer in big well known band lando

Yapping outside of the tags this time 😼:

- Lando watches from back stage because too many people would recognise him at the random ass music gig Logan got

- Logan refuses to get any explicit help from Lando because even though he could get sponsored/funded millions, it just wouldn't be right

- Logan plays the guitar (acoustic or electric?) and a little bit of the keyboard

- Logan doesn't usually sing in his own songs because he's too embarrassed, Lando thinks his voice is beautiful

- Logan collabs often with other small music artists because he needs a someone to sing the lyrics

- would Lando take Logan on his tours and stuff? Busy schedules so maybe they're long distance half the time too? Maybe Lando can't make it to a lot of Logan's gigs but when he does Logan becomes so much more confident

- Ugh idk who to have in Lando's band! Like, it's a got to be a rock band or something right? So maybe Daniel? Maybe maybe Max (it's just gonna end up being all of Lando's friends fr 😭)

- I'm debating whether I like the idea of norgeant being a secret relationship type thing, like obviously the public doesn't know but what if Lando's band mates don't know either??

- ^ bc if the band mates know then when Logan is at a concert/show, he'd be back stage or vip, but if they didn't know (or Logan wanted to be treated like a regular fan like everyone else) then he would be in the crowd and Lando would notice or try and find him in the sea of ppl

- there's a handful of Logan fans that swear they saw norgeant together and are a mixture of confused, amazed and shocked by it

- Guys I forgot the band needs a band name plus Lando isn't the "leader" I overthought and yet didn't think enough at the same time

- I can't just say fuck it and name it McLaren, Red Bull etc. its gotta be good! And obviously it's got to be a reference to something f1/quote/meme related because underneath it all I'm still a basic bitch

- okay throwback to when Jenson asked for Daniel's autograph , that with norgeant! Lando at the meet and greets and shit and Logan is in line and when he gets to the front they have this subtle (*cough* not subtle at all but ppl just assume it's the average flirty/passive aggressive fan *cough*) flirty/inside joke banter:

"Are you free tonight...?" ;)

"Unlucky, mate, going to some fancy restaurant with this random person"

"Wow this random person must be lucky to have a boyfriend as "nice" as you"

"Yeah, well, they'll be lucky enough to get dessert as long as they don't order any seafood"

"Do you want a good luck kiss with that wish?" :3

🦅 RAHHHHH THE NORGEANT BRAINROT ‼️

I WILL be back to edit this each time I think of smth new to add and I'll even put little dates whenever I update bc thats on being organised for once 🗣️🗣️🗣️

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imobsessivesometimes · 3 months ago

Text

Eazy-Duz-It // Logan Howlett x Reader

PT 3

a/n i really like this chapter tbh i thought it was cute

First nights anywhere are hard. The unfamiliarity of the new environment induces paranoia that's hard to get over. It makes sleeping harder than it needs to be. New sheets and pillows make a game out of finding the perfect spot to lay on. A stupid, annoying game. The shadows of the trees outside are new, the way they sway isn't comforting like it the trees at my favorite park. The only park where police won't kick me out of for sleeping in my car there. The bed is too big here. The mattress is a completely different stiffness to than the seats in the backseat. The material of the comforter doesn't compare to the blankets I stupidly left in my car. I'll have to remember to bring those in next time I find myself in the garage. The mansion is fucking huge. I can't get anywhere without having to ask directions or follow someone. I've started to figure out how to get to the nearest piano. I'm surprised they even have one. I would've thought it'd be too dangerous to have an old grand around kids with unpredictable abilities. Guess not.

With the help of Ororo, I've come up with a way for kids to feel comfortable exploring music. We put up sign-up sheets in most classrooms for one-on-one piano lessons. I asked Logan if he could help me move the grand piano into a private room. Surprisingly, he agreed. Something about having nothing else worthwhile to do. None of the doorways were big enough to fit it through without taking it apart (which I don't know how to do or put back together) so we had to find someone who could phase objects. To my surprise there was a student that could! Logan had all but carried the piano in himself after the student allowed for the piano to be phase-able, it would've gone through the floor otherwise. A few other x- men walked by while Logan was in the middle of getting it through, they shot a few weird looks at me. If only I could phase, too.

Tomorrow, or I guess today, will be the start of the private lessons. I've never taught someone how to play the piano. The closest I've gotten to teaching a kid piano was in elementary school when the class was learning to play the keyboard, but I had already been playing for a few years thanks to my parents. I was a prodigy of 'Mary Had a Little Lamb', a true marvel to witness. In college, I majored in performance, not education. It had been a few years since I've been in school, tossing and turning in the too-white, white sheets was my only way of trying to bring forward the information I had accidentally locked away.

Fuck this.

I threw the sheets off me. Sleeping clearly isn't going to happen. I got up to open the door, silently praying it didn't creak. My feet patted against the rug that rolled along the length of the hallway and down the stairs to the main floor. I made a few wrong turns on the main floor before reaching the kitchen. The light was on, but no one was inside. I rummaged through a few cabinets before finding an assortment of tea bags, a kettle was already near the stove. I put the kettle on and watched it closely from the counter so it wouldn't whistle and wake the entire house.

"What the hell are you doin'?" the only gruff voice I know came from an archway to my right. Logan looked just as tired as I felt. He wore a white shirt that I'm not sure if he wore during the day or not, and jeans. Like a weirdo.

"Uh, making tea? Good for the pipes," I responded. He looked to the kettle steaming on the stove, turned back to me, and began walking over.

"Ya singin' at 3 in the mornin'?" he tilted his head like a dog asking for people-food.

"Totally, that's what you're doing up, right?" I scoffed. Logan leaned his forearms on the counter next to where I sat. The air around him wasn't playful despite the words coming out of his mouth. He wasn't awake because he was a night owl. "Want some?" I motioned towards the kettle.

"Tea? No, I don't do tea."

"It's non-caffeinated, it might help you sleep." I tried.

"I don't have trouble sleeping," he pushed off the counter in defense.

"But you have trouble staying asleep,"

The air grew a little thicker, maybe from the steam the kettle was letting out. He stood looking at me, I couldn't tell if he was blinking. After a few seconds he tore his eyes away with a sigh. He rubbed his hands through his hair and down his face, messing up his perfect bedhead and making it even better. "Yeah," he mumbled, barely audible. He sat down, the poor wooden stool creaking just like the stairs.

"You can have a sip of mine, see if you like it," I offered, he waved his hand dismissively, but stayed seated. I prepared my cup of tea and held it out for Logan to smell. He didn't take the mug from the handle, not even wincing from the heat, and brought it up to his nose. I overheard from one of the students that he had heightened senses, I don't know why he held it so close. He didn't blow on the drink before taking a swig. He put the mug down while licking his lips. "So?"

"It's fine," he shrugged.

"Woah! That's a more positive response than I was expecting," I beamed. Logan leaned back with arms crossed and huffed something along the lines of a scoff and laugh.

"Just don't expect to see me down here brewin' myself some," he cocked an eyebrow.

"Not yet, at least," I winked while taking the mug back, blowing on it, and taking a sip myself. It was still too hot; I coughed a little. Out of the corner of my eye, it looked like Logan's eyebrow shifted to a crease of worry. "Hot," I got out.

As I set the mug down again, Logan spoke, "What are ya really doin' up? Ya said the tea would help me sleep, what 'bout you?"

"Well, uh, I," I stuttered, Logan was staring me down like a hawk, I would've hated to be questioned by this guy when I was in that container. I laughed nervously, "it's stupid,"

"No, it's not," he quickly rebutted.

"It's just, I'm nervous for tomorrow-today. A kid signed up for a piano lesson." I looked down, I couldn't handle the intensity of his stare. I caught a glimpse of myself in the tea, disheveled and tired. I didn't look like I could help someone.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Logan huffed.

"Well, yeah, but I dunno, I've never done something like this. I don't really help people like you do, like any of the x-men here do. You all teach important things like how to defend yourself or how to, I dunno, train your abilities. What if I'm doing more harm than good in the long run?"

"I didn't know learning music was such a big deal," Logan shrugged. He eyed the mug of tea; the thin line of steam had stopped. "It's not hot anymore,"

"Huh? Oh, thanks," I stuck my finger in the tea and swirled it around a little, "music isn't necessarily a big deal, but, to me, right now, it is. I don't know if I can help these kids."

"You keep saying that, but you took the job, right? The first thing to helping people is wanting to help people. I think you're doing fine." Logan leaned forward, pushing your wrist away from the mug and taking a sip from it.

"I never thought about it like that, thanks, Logan." I smiled slightly, but also a little confused at his actions. "Thought you didn't like tea?"

"No, I said ya wouldn't catch me makin' it myself. Why should I make it when ya do a fine job?" he raised the mug up in cheers. That knocked me out of my head long enough to pull a light chuckle from my lips.

"Thank you, Logan. I think I'm gonna head up. Comin' with?" I stood and asked.

"Think I'll finish this, see ya around, kid." he turned around and headed off in the opposite direction of the staircase.

#logan howlett #wolverine #x men #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you

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glacierruler · 2 years ago

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Banding With You

Chapter 1

Ships: Eventual dukexiety, (idk if there will be any other ships yet)

AU: A band AU with a Soulmate twist!

Taglist: @hyperfixated-homo @cutebisexualmess @uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous (Please tell me if you'd like to be added/removed from the taglist!)

A big thank you to @simple-seranade for the idea!

CWs: none that I caught(please tell me if I missed anything)

Masterpost / Next Chapter

Words: 307

12/19/23 7:00 am

Hello,

My name is Virgil, and you are my journal. Mom recently got me a new one to write in because I filled up the old one. To be very clear, you will mostly be used for song lyrics and venting. What I have to say isn’t always pretty. You’re also one of my birthday presents. One of three from my family members. I don’t really have any friends, except for Logan, who’s friends with Patton. Don’t get me wrong, Patton’s nice and all, but he doesn’t really like me, finds me scary. Idk how I feel about him. Oh, right, my presents. Mom got me a new binder, and dad got me a keyboard. I’ll have to play around with it. But it’s much more portable than a piano for sure. Oh right. Maybe I should introduce you to myself, journal. I already told you my name, but my gender and pronouns are a secret for you still, I guess. I always introduce myself in each new journal, I don’t know why. Just feels nice to actually introduce myself to something. I am way too socially awkward to introduce myself to someone else. Anyways, my gender is fluid, and my default pronouns are storm/storms. But I’ll try and update my pronouns in you each time they change. That way, I can get better at updating my pronouns to other random people, if I ever get the chance to. Anyways there’s this band competition in my town, but I need two other people in order to qualify. Maybe I’ll ask Logan and Patton. Don’t know what we’d do though. Well, Logan can play the guitar, just need to figure out what Patton can do. Anyways, goodbye for now journal. I’ll talk to you after dinner, well write to in you.

#sanders sides #fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil #logan #patton #genderfluid! virgil #soulmate au #band au #rival band au #eventual dukexiety #ts virgil #sanders sides virgil #glacier writes #glacier's fanfics #glacier's sanders sides fanfic

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jaywhere · 6 months ago

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moom, dad and dad are fighting over which of them is the most fucked up again :(

poolverine wip extend, ~7k. i have been confined to my tablet with a bluetooth keyboard so she is no doubt extremely messy and i am also too lazy to post in parts so we will all have to deal with that! skip to *** for the new stuff, follow-up to HER

The doorframe rattles when Logan slams it shut.

With a sigh, he shrugs off his jacket. He makes a half-hearted attempt at hanging it on one of the hooks off to the right before giving up and allowing it to slump onto the floor. His feet drag, toes catching clumsily against the transitional swell between his living room’s wood paneling and the kitchenette’s linoleum.

The world is already tolerably fuzzy as he slams open the cabinet door. Logan closes his eyes against the sound of one of his neighbors showering and crickets chirping in the distance. He pulls out a half-empty bottle of whiskey, pops out the cork, and tilts his head back to take a few slow glugs. The alcohol slides down his throat, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. The thunk of glass against the lacquered countertop echoes.

Today had not been a good day. The last few days hadn’t been good, really — although Logan’s not sure he’s ever had a good day. But the last few had been worse than usual. The kind of days that suck you dry, leave you nothing but a husk of a man at the end of ‘em. Logan glancces down at the bottle in his hand, wondering if he should down the whole thing now.

He squints. It looks significantly more full than he remembers.

It isn’t until the bathroom door swings open to release a cavalcade of barefoot footfalls and a cloud of hot steam, that Logan realizes it hadn’t been one of his neighbors showering.

“Logan Wolverine,” Wade Wilson announces, leveling an accusatory loofah brush towards him, “it’s time to resume our eternal battle.”

Drunk, Logan stares. The cloud of steam clears to reveal an expanse of marred skin interrupted only by the bright red kevlar of the Deadpool mask. A long beat passes wherein Logan stares directly at Wade’s bare cock dangling goofily between his legs before he jerks his head to the side.

“God damn, man, put some clothes on!” Logan turns, back to Wade. “And what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before, lover.” The only warning Logan gets before a hot, wet body is pressed against his back is the damp slap of wet feet on linoleum. By reflex, he turns and shoves three ragged claws directly into Wade’s stomach. “Oh, should’ve expected that. Gonna take a second to get over that one.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Logan stares down at him, spread-eagled in the kitchenette with thin streams of blood puddling on the floor. “You are wet and naked. Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Well,” Wade responds. Completely shameless, he doesn’t even make an attempt to cover himself. Logan grinds his teeth and turns his back once again. “Considering that you just stabbed me. No! And besides, I have a job for you. Since you’re obviously done with your last one.”

Logan tips back the bottle of whiskey into his mouth. A few drops escape from the corner of his lips, which he doesn’t bother to wipe away. “What?”

“It’s something silly. A B-plot. Hijinks, if you will. The type suitable for some sort of one-shot. Maybe a two-shot if we get frisky.”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Logan stares out the window above the sink. The foggy, smudged surface prevents him from seeing much other than the glaring approach of oncoming cars down the highway.

“I’m talking about an adventure! Work for the good of the universe! The two amigos at it again to save the world — or at least a very specific suburb of Milwaukee — “

“Yeah, I don’t actually do that anymore.” He takes another swig. Bottle’s halfway empty.

“Okay. Well, if I am being honest, I did accept a payment for this one. About a milli, but if you play nice, I would be willing to split it between the two of us.”

Another drink. A car roars down the highway, lights blazing. A fly buzzes above, imprisoned against the glare of the LEDs.

“No.”

“Okay, fine.” Wade’s exasperated tone shatters the melancholy mood. Logan wishes he would give up and leave already. Wishful thinking, he supposes. Not even educated. “It was two milli.”

“No.”

Logan slides the whiskey back into the cabinet. Wade mutters something he doesn’t bother to listen to. Rather, Logan steps over Wade’s naked, wet, healing body, opens the fridge, and pulls out a mostly-intact six pack. With a sigh, he walks into the living room, collapses onto the couch, and turns of the TV.

“Fine!” Wade shouts from the floor of the kitchenette. “It was five milli, but if you’re actually going to take half of that, I expect a blowjob for my finder’s fee, mister!”

Logan doesn’t respond. Nothing good on at 3 AM. He should be asleep. No way he’s going to do so with Wade Wilson loose in his place. He’s too tired, drunk, and miserable to do anything meaningful about him right now. He pops open one of the beers. On screen, a lion eviscerates a zebra while the narrator drones calmly on.

Damp footfalls on carpet. Wade stands just inside of Logan’s line of sight. He isn’t bleeding any more. “Oh no, I’m bleeding all over your carpet! Whatever are you going to do!”

Logan ignores him. The lion is rooting through the zebra’s guts now.

“Come on, I know you can’t be that busy. You’ve been gone for four whole days.”

Logan’s brow furrows. His head snaps in Wade’s direction. “You’ve been in my house for four days.”

“This, Logan, is an apartment. And yeah, where do you think all those dirty dishes came from?” Wade gestures vaguely towards the kitchen. Logan hadn’t even noticed. “Also, you probably want to change your sheets. And don’t look in your second dresser drawer, please, unless you’re like, way more into me than I think.”

“Okay.” Logan sets down his beer, looking Wade dead in the eye. Very intentionally, he does not glance down to where Wade’s cock is still flopping pathetically about between his legs. “I’m being serious. I need you to get out now.”

“Ooh, it’s serious time, alright.” He bends his knees, turns to the side, and arches his back so his ass sticks out. “And what happens if I don’t?”

Logan stands up. He can’t fucking deal with this right now. He grabs his coat, stumbling over to the door. He squints against a blast of cold air.

“Come on, Logan.” Wade attempts to dramatically slam the door shut. Logan rips it right back open and steps outside. “I can’t be so repugnant you don’t want to work with me even just a tiny little bit — “

“No, you are,” Logan says, just before slamming the door in Wade’s face.

There are a few blessed moments of silence as Logan walks up the half-set of stairs leading to the parking lot. His shoulders tense when he hears his door creak open again.

“Even though I’m offering you two and a half million? This place is dingy as fuck, the X-men cannot be paying you that much.”

The door slams closed behind Wade. Logan keeps his gaze fixed ahead. He doesn’t speak until he senses Wade right behind him. “Pretty sure the X-Men don’t get paid, bub.”

“What the fuck, good ol’ Chuck — who is definitely alive by the way, don’t you even worry your sweet little heads about it — doesn’t even pay you.” Logan keeps walking forward, desperately hoping that the crunch of gravel beneath his boots will eventually drown Wade out. “That’s inhumane. Even the Avengers get paid. What the hell else is he doing with that seemingly infinite pool of money? Also, what do you mean you’re pretty sure? You are working with the X-Men, aren’t you.”

Logan takes a deep breath. Without a word, he continues walking forward.

Wade gasps. They cross into the street now, beginning to walk down the empty road. Logan’s car isn’t even here. He'd left it at the bar.

“Oh my god, you’re not. What the hell have you been doing for the last year then, man?”

“Didn’t I very specifically say that we would not be seeing each other around?”

“Yes, but then you waddled that cute little ass directly into my apartment, and held my dog, and made friends with my friends and your not-daughter, all strongly implying to the audience that we were going to live happily ever after in homoerotic bliss!”

The sound of skin smacking against skin echoes from behind Logan. Perhaps Wade smacking himself in the face. “I thought you were the reason they rejected me again, good ‘ol Logan wants nothing to do with Wade anymore for completely inscrutable reasons, but — “

Logan’s brow furrows. “They rejected you — ?”

The sentence dies a swift death to a cocktail of rage and embarrassment as he turns and realizes that Wade is still buck naked.

“ — sunuvabitch, put some damn clothes on!”

The emotionless white pits of the Deadpool mask stare back at Logan. “I will if you come back to your sad wolf boy apartment with me.”

Logan scowls. “No.”

Wade crosses his arms and waggles his hips. “I’m the one wearing the mask here. I have nothing to lose. You live here. And you have neighbors you care about. Apparently.”

Logan turns his head, gritting his teeth against the feeling of complete mortification. With a grunt, he clips Wade’s shoulder as he passes him on the way back to his apartment.

“There’s my peanut, always happy to see me!”

Logan throws his jacket onto the floor as soon as he re-enters his apartment. Wilson is such a fucking nut-case.

—

“Are you sure you don’t want to get down nasty style? If it’s just about the carpet, we can lay down a tarp or something. Or we can do it in the bathroom. Always keeps the ugly bumping tidy no matter the bodily fluids involved — I highly recommend it.”

Exhausted, Logan blinks very slowly as he stares at the TV. He sucks down another half a beer before responding. “Don’t you have a girl?”

“If by a girl,” Wade calls out from the bedroom, “you mean my fabulous new therapist Lisa, then yes. She is so dumb. Knows nothing about the horrific depths of the human spirit. Never been tortured, Logan, can you believe that? Not even once. She’s incredible. She has me using this new morality app — “

Logan shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes. “I mean a girlfriend, wife situation.”

“Not anymore!”

Wade arrives in Logan’s field of vision wearing a pair of jeans which come to an abrupt end at his mid-shin. A white t-shirt is tucked into Wade’s belt, dangling pouches failing to disguise how comically large the waistband is on him. Strips of discolored skin are visible on his arms and legs. He’s still wearing the mask. He makes jazz hands.

“You look stupid.”

“You, too!” Wade points an accusatory finger at Logan. “Oh, who am I kidding? You pull it off. Why was I cursed with this glorious, mutilated twink body?”

With a huff, Wade collapses onto the couch. He places a hand on Logan’s thigh, which Logan quickly removes.

“Sorry about your girl.” Wade’s hand continues to sit placidly on the couch. Logan takes another swig of his beer.

“It’s fine.”

On screen, a family of gerbils scurry out of their burrow in the middle of a flood. The narrator dully reports that, in these conditions, the little beasts make easy prey for opportunistic predators.

“Actually, it’s not fine. You know, the really fucked-up thing is that — according to her, at least — it wasn’t the loser-era stuff, or the putting her in constant danger, or the severe mental health problems. Sometimes, things just don’t work out.” Wade turns away from Logan and stares into the middle distance. “And that, dear, readers, is a weak plotline, but it’s also real life. We all know you just want to see his one-eyed snake disappear into my wet cave and you’ll take any excuse you can get. Fuck!”

Wade throws his head onto the back of the couch.

“It may also just have been the severe mental health problems,” he admits. “She was really nice. Probably wouldn’t have said that if it were true.”

Logan drink again. One of the gerbils gets snapped up by a hawk in slow motion. “She would have,” he says. “She would’ve just said it nice.”

Wade sighs. “Yeah.”

Wordlessly, Logan hands him a beer.

“You know, I’m not supposed to drink on my medication. But this is probably enough of a special occasion.” Logan’s not sure whether it’s a joke. He’d never known Wade — any iteration — to be particularly stable. In fairness, Logan has never been either.

When Wade takes the bottle, Logan pops the top off with one partially extended claw. Wade scoffs and takes a sad, quiet drink. Out of juice. Silence encroaches.

“So,” Logan starts. “You’re back on your merc shit, huh?”

“Kinda.” Wade slouches into the crevices of the couch. For a moment, he looks pathetically small. “I’m trying to incorporate my burgeoning moral compass into my work now. Man’s gotta eat.”

“Five million dollars ain’t grocery money.”

When Wade sits up, it’s like a switch flips on in his brain. “In this economy? You’d be lucky to get a loaf of bread for 50K!”

Logan ignores him. He finishes off his beer, then sets the empty bottle on the coffee table.

“So does this mean you’re gonna help me? Or fuck me? I was hoping for both but at this point I’d take either.” He leans closer, staring out at Logan from behind his mask.

Logan sighs. “I said I’m not doing that shit.”

“Logan.” Wade’s voice is deadly serious. “My bowels are clear. But if you’re really that worried about it, I can give myself an enema first.”

Logan reaches over and takes the beer back. Wade doesn’t flinch.

“Hey, come on. You literally save the multiverse, heroically switch timelines, sidestep the life-ruining consequences of your actions. You get to live in a world where you’re a hero, and not one where all of your friends are dead. That is literally once-in-thousands-of-lifetimes kind of luck. And you’re gonna use that ridiculous stroke of luck to sit on the couch all day?”

Shouldn’t be surprising. Logan was already familiar with Wade’s personal definition of heroism. With jaw tight, Logan keeps his gaze fixed forward. His grip tightens around Wade’s beer. Fingers twitching, he downs a third of it.

“I’m honestly shocked the TVA didn’t make you go home off-screen, just for continuity’s sake. I guess they want you to be in more — “

“In case you didn’t catch that,” Logan says, glaring at Wade out of the corner of his eye, “that was an invitation to leave.”

“But you did give me the beer. Invitation extended. And I bet if I ignore your grumpy mug and stay a little bit longer, I can get you to do it again!”

Logan doesn’t respond. He’s lost track of how much he’s had to drink. The whiskey from before is just now starting to hit him, thoughts growing sluggish, warmth crawling through his limbs. He downs the rest of Wade’s beer and cracks open another.

“For real, man.” Wade leans closer, squinting. “Why are you not chilling with the X-Men. They’re all alive here. Or, like, mostly. Probably.” His head turns, glancing around the room chaotically. “Those timelines were always really hard to follow. And our whole thing just didn’t make any sense at all, so it’s probably way easier to just show up and find out who’s alive, but like, it’s definitely most of them. I saw Kurt last week. Blue. Tail. All that fun stuff. You two are supposed to be buds.”

A black hole opens up in the pit of Logan’s stomach.

“You like reality TV, right? That seems like your kind of trash.” Logan flips through the channels. The warmth that radiates off of Wade as he leans in closer is probably Logan’s imagination.

“Logan.” Wade whispers. “Answer the question.”

Teeth grit, Logan hisses, “Or else what?”

“Or else.” Logan rolls his eyes when he feels the cool barrel of a gun press against his temple. He continues flipping through the channels. “We will have to continue our eternal — oh, Love Island, I love this shit.” Logan resists the urge to roll his eyes. “You know, the US version is so bland in comparison to the UK one — wait a second, you’re trying to distract me!”

With a sigh, Logan leans his head back on the couch. His thoughts are becoming delightfully fuzzy, now. He plays the game. “You ever get that ADHD testing done?”

Wade narrows his eyes. “No.”

If Wade had come here to commiserate — to play games — Logan can be fine with that. A few hours ago he’d lifted his cheek off of the bar with red in his mind’s eye. Her hair, her fire, her blood. The last few months had been lonely.

An unnatural silence fills the room when Logan closes his eyes. Wade moves, silent and fast. Thighs bracketing Logan’s, erratically-textured palms cradling his cheeks. Chest tight like he’d been strangled. Logan’s knuckles are pressed to Wade’s ribs, all reflex.

“Get off me.” The vision of his blades slicing through Wade’s soft stomach is clear in his mind’s eye.

“Logan.” Wade’s fingers on his cheek are patronizing. “My bro. My good boy. My homie. My personal hero. That would ruin your couch.”

Wade’s body going slack in Logan’s arms. Manic twinkles of laughter in his ear. Spilled blood sucked up by denim and upholstery. Logan grits his teeth. Silence ticks on.

“Which you care about, because you’re broke, because you’re not fucking around with Chuck — who definitely pays people, by the way.” Wade’s voice is loud and annoying. “So come help me, Obi Wan. You’re my only hope.”

The sharp snikt of Logan’s claws slicing through his own skin occurs not half a second after Wade rolls off of him.

“For the last fucking time,” Logan growls. He can feel his own throat rumble, his self-control slipping as the alcohol suffuses his cells. “No.”

Wade crouches in the middle of Logan’s living room, ready to pounce. The upturned corners of his lips are visible even beneath the mask. “It’s not even a hit job. More of a rescue, really. And it’s delightfully silly. And afterwards we can do a little horizontal — “

Logan scowls. “Stop.”

His muscles are heavy, drawing him further back into the couch. He shouldn’t have had so much to drink. Wilson is a clown, but he’s not incompetent. Logan’s heart races against an impending sense of danger.

All at once, Wade collapses onto his ass. He pulls out his phone, gaze fixed on the screen. Logan couldn’t relax if he wanted to.

“Okay, I hear that you’re setting a boundary. Lisa’s been telling me a lot about those. So I’m willing to stop talking about sex. If you come with me.”

“And yet you apparently didn’t hear me when I told you to leave.”

Logan leans forward. Moonlight stretches down the length of his claws in reflection.

“Come on, Logan, we all know you weren’t being serious then.” Wade flaps his wrist dismissively. He’d probably still be cracking jokes if Logan were to snap it. “Which is definitely how it works. And you can’t say otherwise because you don’t even go to therapy.”

Logan says nothing. Wade stares at him, as if waiting for a response.

“If you did, your therapist would definitely tell you that you should come with me. And also that you should probably go hit up your good ol’ bubs the — “

“No.”

Logan stands. His patience is running out. He’s wobbly, unsteady. Wade’s fast. A bloodthirsty cacophony clamors in the back of his mind. Two kicks would leave Wade’s brains splattered across a broken television screen, a left hook could snap his neck on the edge of the coffee table, triplet blades rending flesh from his heart down to his gut leaving him flopping like a fish out of water on the carpet —

“Fine.” Wade sighs. He stares down at his phone. Logan itches for violence. “I didn’t want to resort to this, but you leave me no choice.”

The sound of dice rolling fills the apartment. Wade gasps, turning his phone screen to display a mischievous-looking emoji with an angel halo. A beat passes with Logan’s head tilted in utter confusion.

“Chaotic heroic. I love this one. Always so weird.”

Swiftly, he pops open the velcro of one of his pouches. Logan’s eyes go wide as he pulls out a grenade.

“Wade,” Logan says. His voice is tense, pulse thundering in his ears. Wade’s attitude had felt strange — stranger — but he hadn’t anticipated this. “Put that down. This is an apartment building. There are innocent people here.”

With a giggle, Wade stands. He loops one finger through the pull ring, swinging it casually around his finger. “Oh, I know.”

Logan lunges at him. Wade sidesteps easily, laughing as Logan sprawls inelegantly across the floor. His limbs are heavy, the air baring down on him as he pushes himself up.

“I don’t know what kinda psycho fuckin’ meltdown you’re having because your girl dumped you, Wilson, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you — “

A hand held over his heart. “Wow. Last-named. The hurt. How would you feel if I called you — wait, what is your last name?”

“I’m not gonna let you kill a bunch of people for no goddamn reason.”

A swipe, dodged. Wade’s pressed flat against his front door. Logan throws his fist, embedding his claws in the wood instead of Wade’s skull. He screams as he yanks them out.

“Wow, Logan. It’s only been six months and you’ve gotten so slow! Or is it the alcohol?”

One last shot. Logan goes for his gut, but Wade’s too fast. He’s across the room before Logan’s halfway through the swing.

There’s no fanfare when he decided to stop playing games.

“Relax,” he calls from across the room. Logan watches in horror as he pulls the pin, tossing the grenade live across the living room. “This’ll only take a second.”

***

“Wakey-wakey, peanut.”

A finger taps his nose. Logan’s head throbs. His eyelids scrape like sandpaper. The sun is rising at the end of a long, thin stretch of highway.

Logan surges, movement stopped by the seatbelt.

Wade clicks his tongue in the driver’s seat. “I told you I didn’t wanna do this, Logan.”

“Sunuvabitch,” Logan mutters. His hands are bolted behind his back, ankles tied together. A thick chain secures the thick cuffs above his knees to a metal rod beneath the seat. “What the fuck — “

“Now, Logan.” Wade’s voice is chastizing, like he’s talking to a child. Logan seethes. “Before you extend those pretty little claws of yours — “

The upholstery of the passenger’s seat tears. Logan struggles only to find he doesn’t have enough leverage to slice through the metal holding the seat together. The seatbelt stretching across his chest locks his back flat against the back of the seat.

“That was literally what I just — “ Wade groans, smacking himself in he forehead. “This is why I can’t have nice things. You know I got this car from Spiderman, tricked the whole thing out, gave it a roof, and you just come in here with your little honey badger shit and just — “

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Logan screams.

“Calm down,” Wade says. “You’d think a little nap would make you less cranky. And before you ask, everyone is fine. It was just a little gas. I can’t believe you thought I would actually blow up an apartment building for fun.”

“I,” Logan rasps, “am going to fucking kill you.”

“Easier said than done,” Wade chirps. “Believe me, I’ve tried. Also, I’m driving this car on an incredibly busy highway so anything you do to me is likely to result in some random bystanders dying in a fiery car crash.”

Logan turns to look out the window. In the span of a few seconds, Wade blasts pasts one, two, three other cars on the right.

“How fucking fast are you — “

“Uh…” The car twists into the right lane, then back into the left. “110. Thereabouts.”

Logan grits his teeth. He doesn’t know what else he expected.

“You know I’m just going to kill you whenever I have the chance.”

“And in the meantime, we have the opportunity to get in some quality time together while I convince you that — “

“Kidnapping me is not starting off on a good foot.”

“We weren’t on a good foot in the first place, Logan. And you know whose fault that was?” Logan curses under his breath as the right side wheels of the car lift from the pavement as Wade rounds a curve in the highway. “You. And you know, it didn’t have to be this way. We had a good thing going for awhile, me and you. And you had that wholesome daddy-daughter dynamic going on with X-whatever — “

“Her name is Laura.”

“ — not to say that we don’t also have a daddy-daughter dynamic of a different flavor going on.”

“You’re a disgusting son of a bitch, you know that?” Anger coils in the pit of Logan’s stomach as Wade dodges around another car. The violent honking fades out quickly.

“Very aware, thank you! But you just had to do the same shit you always do — “

“You don’t know shit about me, bub.”

“ — and leave. And being me, I was going to go look for you, but Vanessa, she’s all he has his reasons and he has to go on his own journey to figure out who he is and you need to leave people alone if they want to be left alone — “

“So your girl dumped you again and that’s my problem, somehow?”

“Something like that!” He’s wearing his suit again, leather-gloved fingers strangling the steering wheel. “So the job is outside of Milwaukee, not too far from here actually, really low-level stuff but I tried to take ‘em out last week and it was somewhat of a comical failure.”

The car jerks from side to side as Wade weaves through traffic. The back of Logan’s head throbs with a hangover — from the bottle of whiskey or from whatever Wade had dosed him with, he’s not sure. He holds in a growl and resists the urge to scream. The desire to completely lose control bubbles up in the pit of his stomach. He struggles to come up with a good justification not to.

“And I know what you’re thinking, Logan - wow, can’t believe this guy is skipping right over the emotional trauma of losing his girlfriend for the third or fourth time, depending on how you count it, and he’s totally emotionally dodging all of the important feelings that he’s feeling right now.”

Logan closes his eyes, breathing in and out through his nose. Wade Wilson is a fucking shitstain of a human being. This isn’t new information to him.

“And you would be totally right — “ The image of Wade in blue, scrambling from rooftop to rooftop flashes across Logan’s mind. Bells jingling, laughter echoing, blood dripping from the sack thrown over his shoulder as he lobs a severed arm directly at Logan’s face. The car lurches as he skids around a little white sedan on the right, barely managing to avoid scraping the barrier on the right that stands between the car and the ditch below. “But that’s not even the point right now, because we have to break into a top-secret bse to stage a rescue mission for our comrade-in-arms — “

“Pull over.”

Logan’s head is pounding. Wade finally shuts up. The stench of his sweat is tangy in Logan’s nostrils.

“What?”

“Pull the fucking car over and untie me. I’ll help you.”

The seatbelt cuts into Logan’s chest when Wade slams on the breaks.

It’s a little scenic overlook. A car races past them, honking. Wade turns to stare at him for an unsettlingly silent moment.

“Damn, okay.”

The door slams behind him. He swings his hips exaggeratedly as he rounds the hood. Logan is overcome with the urge to rip out his throat.

“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Wade starts as he opens the passenger-side door, “but why, exactly, would you agree to help me?”

Logan clenches his jaw. Wade unties his ankles first, then unlocks the cuffs around his thighs before he glances up expectantly. Logan tries to mask the seething violence raging just underneath his skin. Given the way that Wade winks flirtatiously at him, he suspects that he’s failed.

“I’m already here, aren’t I?” Logan speaks through gritted teeth.

Wade shrugs. He unbuckles Logan’s seatbelt. “Fair enou—”

Logan’s shoulder smacks into Wade’s nose with as much force as he can muster. Wade’s body sprawls back. His head thunks loudly against first the metal barrier, then the asphalt. The tip of Logan’s boot seeks out Wade’s windpipe and bears down just hard enough to cut off his air. Wade’s eyelids flutter.

“Oh, how I hate to lose,” Wade mutters. Logan crouches to pick up the key from the ground, quickly unlocking his own wrists. “But how I love to lose.”

“Don’t make any goddamn sense, bub.” He rolls Wade over with the toe of his boot, forehead scraping against the barrier once again. Wade is dazed, groaning. Logan scoffs when he feels Wade lift his own arms for Logan to lock them behind his back.

Logan doesn’t have time for this. Or at least not the damn energy. He fully intends to get back in the driver’s seat, book it back to his dingy little apartment just long enough to grab the few important items he has. Losing the damn car should really be the least of Wade’s problems.

But when Logan stares down at him, face-down in the gravel, moaning just a little too loudly as he writhes around on the ground — he feels bad. There have been more times than Logan can count that he’s looked far more pathetic than Wade has right now. Tried to pull himself up by his bootstraps every time, completely failed more often than not.

Logan sighs. He flips Wade back over, hauls him up by the nape of his suit, and tosses him into the passenger’s seat.

He’s about to slam the door shut when he thinks to unbuckle Wade’s belt. He tosses it — pouches, holsters, guns and all — into the back seat.

“Wow, daddy,” Wade mutters. “I didn’t know you were into bondage.”

Logan scowls at him. “Don’t make me regret not leavin’ you on the side of the road, Wilson.”

“Daddy, if you wanted to play rough, all you had to do was — “

Logan slams the door in his face.

“Ask.” Wade finishes his sentence as soon as Logan re-enters on the driver’s side.

“Tired of watchin’ you drive like a fuckin’ maniac.” Logan pulls the seat up, then adjusts the mirrors. Wade keeps his mouth shut about the difference in height — smart. “Gonna fucking kill someone.”

“Fair, but you didn’t need to tie me up. We should at least pull up Google Maps so we know where we’re going — “

Logan pulls back onto the highway as soon as he sees a break in traffic, then turns to shoot Wade an incredulous look.

“I’m no goin’ to help you. I’m goin’ home.” He pulls into a parking lot on the left and hangs a right. The dashboard flashes 6:33 AM at him. The bags under his eyes tug at his eyelids. He wishes he was drunk.

“Wow,” Wade says. “I cannot believe the X-Man, Wolverine, is a liar.”

“I can’t believe that known asshole, Deadpool, would kidnap a guy — oh, wait. I can believe that.”

Wade ignores him. “I come all the way out to bumfuck nowhere to magnanimously kidnap you to get you out of your sad wolf boy depressive slump, just as you once did for me — well, I also kidnapped you then, didn’t I?” Logan rubs at his face, trying to tune Wade out. He accelerates up to the speed limit. “And that totally got me out of a depressive slump. Ultimate message: kidnapping works.”

For a beat, Wade pauses as if waiting for a response. Logan ignores him.

“And at the end of the day, after everything I’ve done for you, you repay me by going directly back to where you came from?”

“Yes.”

Wade leans forward. Probably trying to break out of those handcuffs — ain’t subtle. Logan hadn’t bothered to actually restrain him in any meaningful way. As annoying and insistent as Wade is, Logan can’t imagine he has much steam left for this ridiculous charade.

“You won’t even come with me to help me on an actually magnanimous quest?”

“No.”

The silence stretches out. Wade sighs.

“Come on, man. You gotta be real with me for a second. What gives? We had a good thing going for a couple of months. Little team-up here, over at my place for dinner every once in a while, making friends with my friends. And I know the drinking was getting pretty bad — which like, if I’m saying that, you know that’s real because I have literally a full pound of cocaine stashed away in my apartment — “

He doesn’t. Logan would’ve been able to smell it.

“And you had this whole ridiculous self-hating thing about how you’re not allowed to just cheat and be an X-man in this universe. But things were good. I thought that we were building something good together. And we were going to get past it.”

Logan feels the steering wheel creak under the force of his grip.

“Oh, buddy. There it is. Come on, hit me, baby. Let is all out.”

“You wanna know why I left, Wade?” Logan snaps.

“Yes. Very clearly. That’s why I asked.”

“Because wrecking your entire world, resulting in the deaths of thousands of people, is not the kind of shit you get to just brush off and pretend didn’t happen so you can go play house with alternate versions of the people that you got fucking killed.”

He’s panting. For a moment, Logan’s eyes go unfocused. Particles of his own spit have splattered across the windshield.

“Oh, boo-hoo. So Wolvie has to punish himself for being the big evil bad guy, as if saving literally every life in the multiverse didn’t absolve him.”

There’s a note of cruelty in his tone that makes Logan want to throw him out the window.

“Doing something good doesn’t make the bad shit you’ve done in the past okay.”

“Mm, pretty sure it does, actually.”

There’s sarcasm dripping from Wade’s tone. Mean, self-absorbed. Logan aches for Kurt — would’ve told him that sin is in the nature of being human, that he’d already more than proven himself worthy of his continued existence, then make a joke that was actually funny.

Unfortunately, that version of Kurt is long dead.

“You see all these cars around us?” Wade gestures at the vehicles zipping by. “I’m the reason they’re all alive. They all owe me. Which means it doesn’t matter if I kill that guy, or those people, or that old lady, or — “

“You’re worse than the last time I saw you.”

There was a spark in that little rant that reminds logan of Wade — the other one. He had still been alive when this Wade had kidnapped him, at least as far as Logan is aware. Guys like the two of them are hard to kill. The way Logan had heard it, he’d gotten cut to pieces a few months after shit started to really hit the fan. Took him five or six years to come back. Logan had always figured it was the pain that had sent him off the deep end. Now Logan wonders if it was the realization of just how alone he was.

“Yeah,” Wade agrees. “I wonder if that has something to do with the fact that my people keep leaving me.”

Logan breathes in. He waits for Wade to continue, for sarcastic comments. Nothing comes.

“You know this doesn’t have anything to do with you, right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s not you, it’s me. Oldest trick in the book.”

Logan can’t hide his incredulous reaction. “We’re not dating. You know that, right?”

Wade squints. “Tell that to the Honda Odyssey. And Madonna. And my asshole.”

It occurs to Logan that crashing the car might not be an entirely undesirable experience.

“You have a girlfriend.”

“Had. Past-tense. She left, too.”

“You know you’re just gonna get right back together after you’ve gotten over whatever kind of breakdown this is, right? And your gal’s a pretty straight shooter. Just figure out whatever it is that she wants you to figure out — “

“Not this time. All-in-all, pretty good confirmation that I am actually worth dogshit despite my magnanimous multiverse-saving tendencies. And I’m not having a breakdown.”

Logan wonders if this is what it’s like talking to him.

“You understand that these two situations we’re talking about have literally nothing in common.” Wade kicks his feet. It feels like talking to a child.

“I don’t know, feels just about a gut-stabby from my perspective.”

“We are not dating. We’re — “ Logan hesitates over the word friend. “We don’t have a thing.”

“Oh, how the mind loves to rewrite history. We definitely have a thing, peanut. Or at least we did.”

Logan scoffs. At the end of his rope, he snaps, “You are such a fuckin’ narcissist.”

“Acknowledging that we had a good thing going which was then ruined by you leaving has nothing to do with my narcissism.” He thinks he’s so fuckin’ funny.

“No, thinking that me leaving is some reflection on you is narcissistic.”

Wade leans in over the center console, eyes narrowed. “‘Bout to throw you a curveball, peanut: thinking that I wouldn’t see you leaving as a reflection on my own self-worth is narcissistic. We are just the same, you and I. Two bloodthirsty little peas in a pod — “

Logan pushes Wade away, palm spanning most of the area of his face. “You think this is how you’re going to get me to help you out? Being an annoying fuckin’ asshole?”

“No.” Logan can hear the smirk in his voice. “I think that being an annoying asshole is how I’m going to get you to fuck me. Hold on.”

To Logan’s complete and utter exhaustion, Wade takes his hands out from behind his back. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, pulling up that stupid fucking app again. He glances up at Logan, muttering, “Pretend you’re not seeing this, it made me pop a l’il half-chub when you tied me up. That shit was hot.”

The words, you know there’s a reason people keep leaving you, right? sit heavy on Logan’s tongue. He wants to punch Wade in the side of the head, drag him out of the car, slice and hack and cut until he finally shuts the fuck up. Shame immediately follows the thought. A hundred sets of lips curl around the word bloodthirsty in his mind’s eye.

Wade taps away at his phone, swearing. Logan watches him re-roll multiple times. He had really tried to tear Wade down in the Honda whatever. Wade had pissed him off, and Logan wanted to tear him down. Force him to end whatever stupid little delusion he had in his head about saving the world.

Wade hadn’t klet him. A fucked-up kind of stubborn that Logan can’t help but admire when he thinks about it. Logan wishes he had that same level of dedication.

“Okay, fuck yes. True neutral. Nice.”

Logan sighs. Can’t believe he’s developing a soft spot for Wade Wilson, of all people.

That soft spot melts away as soon as Wade sprawls across the front seat to set his head in Logan’s lap.

His leg jerks. Wade’s head bounces but remains firmly on Logan’s thigh. “What the fuck are you doin’, you want us to get in an accident?”

“No, I rolled true neutral. So obviously, I’m introducing you to the idea that I could give you road head. But I’m not pushing you strongly either way.”

Logan grits his teeth.

With barely-contained force, he shoves Wade’s head off of his lap and pulls the car off to the side of the road. Pines as far as the eye can see. He pulls the keys out of the ignition.

“Get outta the car.”

Wade pouts. “But daddy, I can’t. You tied me up.”

Logan watches as he tries to slide the handcuffs back onto himself. He grabs Wade by the front of his costume and spits in his face.

“You,” Logan hisses, “are bein’ fuckin’ ridiculous. Over here actin’ like this is a fuckin’ porno every chance you get cause you think that’s gonna make you feel better about your girl fuckin’ leaving. I am not your personal fuckin’ attention fountain, or your daddy, or whatever the fuck you think this is. Get out of the car.”

He throws Wade into the passenger’s side door.

Logan shoves the keys into his pockets as he walks away. He doesn’t look back. A few moments later, he hears the crunch of Wade’s boots against the pine needles. Without a word, he follows Logan.

“Oh,” Wade pipes up after they’ve walked a few hundred feet in silence. “This is like a game. We’re going to roleplay Twilight: New Moon? You know, in this universe there’s this weird tangential link between 9/11 and — “

“Shut up.”

Wade does. Logan takes a deep breath before he turns around.

There had been a lot of people in Logan’s life that he’d wanted to help only to completely and utterly fail. He remembers how proud he’d felt when he’d first heard Wade mention his ten people, that’s it. Logan had mattered. He had changed something for the better.

Wade stands in front of him, this ball of self-destruction, compulsively pushing and pulling the people around him with his stupid jokes, and Logan can’t help but feel as if he’s failed yet again.

“If I need to beat the fucking horny out of you before you can have a conversation like an adult, fine.”

Wade tilts his head. “Who’s saying I won’t beat the horny out of you first?”

“I’m not fuckin’ horny, Wade.”

The tension escalates. Logan swallows.

“That half-chub I sniffed earlier begs to differ.” Logan says nothing, jaw clenched. “How about this: winner gets to do whatever the fuck they want to the loser.”

Logan snorts. “Okay, bub.”

Wade taps his finger on his chin. He arches his back, teasing. “Just no teeth when I shove my cock in your mouth, okay? That’s no way to win a fight.”

He wags a chastising finger at Logan. It looks ridiculous. Logan desperately wishes he wasn’t into it.

“Don’t feel like that really even needed to be said.” Logan’s eyes flicker down to Wade’s belt. No idea when he had retrieved it from the back seat. “No guns.”

Wade throws his hands up dramatically. “What the fuck, come on!”

“This ain’t bumfuck nowhere. Unless you want the fuckin’ cops called, no guns.” Logan smirks. “As if they’re gonna do you any goddamn good.”

“Fine.” Wade squints. He pulls each gun out of its holster, releases the magazines onto the ground with a dull little thud, and tosses them off to the side. “No guns.”

Logan’s claws extend with a satisfying snikt.

“And my mask doesn’t come off.”

Quietly, Logan scoffs. “Whatever.”

#still no guro sorry #next scene #i like it when logan has trauma!#poolverine #deadclaws #i think that is the other ship tag #which i accept but i am putting it on the record that those are both horrendous #my general concept for this rn is that we are going to have a series of increasingly fucked-up sex scenes #eventually followed by extremely normal sex #will see how it pans out idk am mostly just having a good time playing with the these fucked up guys

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