#wade wilson x logan howlett smut
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wedding ring
origins!husban!logan x origins!wade x wife!reader
a/n : I don't know what came over me to write this, I have no excuse I'm just horny.
wc : 3k
NSFW , PORN WITH (LITTLE) PLOT , WADE IS A HORNY SHIT , MOMMY & DADDY KINK , GENERAL WADE⢠BEHAVIOUR sub!origins!wade wilson . dom!origins!logan . dom!reader
synopsis : wade has always been a kinky little shit, it seems that title is well-deserved when he starts to fantasize about squeezing himself into a married couple old enough to be his parents.
If someone in the team were to ask Wade why he looked as if he hadn't slept in a decade, he'd say he was up practising his katana skills.
When in reality, he had spent the whole night groaning and moaning against his pillow while rubbing himself raw to the thought of you and Logan.
What was so special about you two, you may ask? You were married and were old enough to be his parents.
It was absolutely not his fault. You two had no right to come into the X-Team, looking so fucking hot and expect him not to get hard.
You couldn't just walk around the place with Logan's strong arm around your waist and expect him not to stare. You couldn't just hum in acknolovedgment everytime Logan leant into your ear to rumble something that the merc couldn't quite catch and expect him not to grow desperate.
He was a walking mess. Day and night his thoughts were consumed by you and Logan, Logan and you, and what you could do to him. He couldn't help it, he'd blame the undiagnosed ADHD anyday for titty-flashing him with so many dirty scenarios anytime you walked past.
,,
Logan and you had been through a lot of shit togheter.
You had met sometime between the 1880's and the 1900's, both mutants and escaping from someone who was trying to do you harm. Both with the weight of taken lives over your shoulders, both with spilled blood on your hands. Both with the promise of living far too long.
And, cliche-y enough, you both had fallen in love. After uniting forces as acquintances, then growing as close as long-life friends, and then falling into the claws of love, you two had gotten married.
Happyly married, always attached to the hip, gold wedding wands on your ring fingers. Always watching out for the other.
And when William Stryker offered you both a place in a 'special opperations' team called X-Team, you both agreed âhappy to help a causeâ.
What you didn't expect, though, was Wade Wilson turning into another shit you had to go through togheter.
The mercenary seemed to never know when to shut his mouth, or how to read social cues, he just simply had a mouth too big for his own good. Hence why the nickname merc with a mouth was born amidst the members of the team.
He was a young man in his 20's, a cocky asshole and a total flirt that talked big game. He liked to show off during missions, pulling stunts, to impress Logan or you was another question that didn't have an answer yet.
You and your husband just knew the kid seemed to have the hots for one of you. Which made Logan boil with possesiveness because you were his damn wife, his and his only âpossesiveness that in turn only made Wade all the more horny.
It wasn't until today's mission that you realized that the mercenary didn't have the hots for just one of you, but for both.
After trying to break in a building to stop some drug dealers, the team had split up and âironically enoughâ left you three to flee from more guards than you could fight. And now, ironically enough again, you three were hidding in a really small supply closet.
You hadn't intended for it to end up this way, but your husband was with his broad back against the wall and with a pupil-blown Wade completely sandwiched between you two.
Wade was totally trying to keep his cool, desperately keeping up his usual cocky fachade, but his gut felt so damn coiled at having his ass pressed against Logan's crotch and his chest in level with yours.
"How did they notice us?!?" you asked your husband in a low breath, completely ignoring the merc between you.
Logan growled slightly, his nose twitching when a strangely strong scent wafted into his nostrils, shaking his head slightly as he tried to peek out from the small gap in the door. "dunno, doll, but I guess they didn't see us come here"
As you kept talking with your husband in hushed breaths, Wade was starting to feel his brain turning to damn mush as he was trapped between you two. He couldn't help it, your body warmth was sweeping into his bones from back and front âmelting himâ.
And then, suddenly he heard your voices stopping. Looking up with his half-glassy eyes, he was met by a quirked eyebrow and a deep scowl from Logan.
"are you damn horny right now, mouth?" Logan pretty much growled. His voice rumbling in his chest as he looked down at the young man between you two.
Wade blinked, realizing he had been so aroused âand locked up in his dirty fantasiesâ that he had pretty much started to leak in his pants.
"ohw, c'mon, what'd you expect?" the merc breathed out under your questioning gaze. "I've got my hot ass against someone's big dick and my face is smushed against this massive titties and jesus fucking christâ"
His words died down in a choked way when Logan's hand flied up to his throath, wrapping around it without issue âdamn big hands the Canadian hadâ and squeezing. Choking a wheezed noise out of his mouth.
"shut your damn mouth if ya wanna keep your throath, bub" Logan growled in the merc's ear, his voice almost like the roar of a lion with how much red he was seeing.
You were just staring at the way Wade's eyes seemed to roll into the back of his head, thighs twitching before shamelessly parting âas if he wanted someone's hand between themâ. The mercenary seemed to really be horny for you two.
"really, Wade?" you purred, voice low, as you stared at the young man âletting your husband do the job of shutting him up. "going after a married couple like this? didn't think you'd fall that low.."
Wade struggled to breathe through his nose with Logan's tight grip around his throath, but he spoke nonetheless. "aughnâ you two are fucking god- relax the grip old man literally bisexual culture-"
His gasped words only made the growl bubbling up in Logan's throath grow louder. You saw the veins in your husband's arm bulging as he squeezed around Wade's throath again, watching the way the merc choked on his spit âsaliva slobbering down the corner of his lips.
You reached out your own hand and placed it atop of Logan's, as if methaporically holding your husband's hand while he choked Wade.
"fucking god you two are really feeding my mommy and daddy issues right now y'kno-oh-owwâ"
Wade's spech got cut off my another series of squeezes around his throath, making the mercenary cough and choke on his spit as his head fell forwards against your chest.
"watch your damn mouth, mouth"
"ngh-ah- unluckily for you I've got a thing for being put in my place by dominant, sexy, grown-ups. Big ones with hugeâ"
His voice died in his own throath when two, huge and thick, fingers were proding at his mouth. Sneaking past his lips and stuffing him full, his eyes rolled back, knees almost buckling underneath him when the meaty taste of sweat invaded his mouth.
"shut it, bub"
"hmn-nhgh"
"you managed to shut him up" you low whistled at your husband, impressed by how quickly and efficiently the merc had shut up. Now busy with nibbling at the fingers inside of his mouth.
"easy peasy" Logan huffed with a slight roll of his eyes. "don't know how long it'll last, though, just look at how damn much the kid's leaking"
Wade whined around Logan's fingers at the way you two were speaking as if he wasn't there, thighs trying to close when he felt your eyes going down and settling on the obvious tent in his pants âand the wet spot.
"so horny" you hummed, more to yourself than anything, before looking back at his face. "what does this mean, baby?" you purred as you pointed to the gold ring on your finger with a neutral look on your face âas if he wasn't coming undone before your eyes. "I don't think you're that dumb yet. C'mon, what does this, right here, mean, Wade?"
Wade struggled to swallow the spit pooling in his mouth around Logan's fingers, body almost tumbling forward when the Canadian ripped his fingers off of his mouth so suddenly.
"I- aughn- Iâ" he stumbled over his words, swallowing again, as his hazy eyes looked up at you. "that's a daddy and mommy ring" he wheezed out, a little "ah-ah!" escaping his lips when Logan grabbed his hair from the back âforcing him to behaveâ. "means- angh means that you're married. And old enough to be my grand-parents-"
"That's right, bub" Logan growled, leaning in close to whisper in Wade's ear. "We're a married couple and you're nothing but a pest."
"now, now, darling" you hummed lovingly as you looked at your husband, who was still grabbing Wade by his hair. "don't be so mean.. It turns him on"
That last was a low drawl, before your hand was cuping Wade's cheek and making sure the cold metal of the gold wedding ring you wore was against the merc's skin. "We've lived through wars, honey, you're a literal baby compared to us" you added, voice low and degradatory.
Wade shuddered as the cold metal of your wedding ring pressed against his skin, his eyes looking up at you with a mixture of desire and submission.
"I'm a- nnnng baby" he repeated, almost breathless. "Logan and you are old. So old."
Logan leaned in closer, his hand still clamped around Wade's hair. "Old enough to be your parents" he repeated, his voice dark and gravely. His teeth almost gracing Wade's ear. "Old enough that you shouldn't be interested in us, bub."
"Please, I- I- ahhhhnn I promise I'm good, I promise I'm good, I- I can be good."
It was funny, really, to see such a cocky and show-off of a man being this needy and whiny between you two. But what could you say, it was the Howlett effect.
You slowly slipped your gold wedding band out of your ring finger, right infront of Wade's eyes âwatching the way he almost busted on the spot just from the sight aloneâ.
"this is what'chu want, ain't it honey?" you teased the mercenary trembling and whining between you. "you want this pretty ring on your finger too, don't ya? you wanna be the throphy toy to a hot, married couple old enough to be your parents, don't you, sweetheart?"
You held the wedding ring infront of Wade's face as one of your hands started to rub his arm âslowly going down to his handâ. Wade was shaking, he didn't even know how he hadn't cum untouched yet with how tight and hot his gut felt. All of his muscles coiled.
Wade looked like he was about two seconds away from spontaneously combusting right there in the small supply closet.
"Please" he breathed out, his voice strained and his eyes fixed on the ring in your hand. "Please, I- I want to be- nngah, I want it. I- I'll be good, I- aaahhhnn"
"Are you?" Logan asked, using the grip on Wade's hip to pull him closer against him. "Are you going to behave for us?"
After a series of jerky and rapid nods coming from the drooling mercenary trembling between you, "good fucking boy, there you go" your voice was low and syrupy, as you grabbed Wade's twitching hand and slowly âalmost sensuallyâ slipped the cold golden wand on his finger.
It looked as if he was going to combust just from having the ring on his finger, from the implications of having a wedding ring from a married couple on his finger.
Maybe you'd find an explanation for the creamy wet spot between Wade's legs and the way he was wearing your wedding ring when you meet the team in a few minutes. Or maybe you won't, who knows.
#softie's works#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett smut#logan howlett x fem reader#logan howlett headcanons#origins wolverine#origins wolverine x reader#origins wolverine smut#origins logan howlett x reader#origins logan howlett#origins logan howlett smut#origins wade wilson#origins wade wilson x reader#origins wade wilson x fem reader#origins wolverine x deadpool#origins logan howlett x wade wilson#wade wilson x logan howlett#logan howlett x wade wilson#wade wilson x logan howlett smut#logan howlett x wade wilson smut#poolverine#poolverine smut#poolverine x reader#deadclaws#deadclaws smut#deadclaws x reader#sub wade wilson#sub wade wilson x reader#sub deadpool
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Wade is all of us
#wade wilson#deadpool#wolverine#deadpool & wolverine#marvel deadpool#deadpool 3#wolverine & deadpool#deadpool x wolverine#wolverine x deadpool#marvel#mcu#xmen#x-men#marvel gifs#marveledit#marveledits#marvelgif#mcugif#mcu gifs#xmen gifs#xmenedit#marvel wolverine#xmen wolverine#logan howlett#wolverineedit#loganhowlettedit#avengers#mcuedit#wolverine smut
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His little kitty ears đĽ˛đââŹ
#deadpool#deadpool 3#deadpool movie#wade wilson#hugh jackman#hugh#wolverine#the wolverine#x men#xmen fanart#x men comics#xmen 2000#x2#logan howlett#howlette#Logan#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool x wolverine#dogpool#ryan reynolds#kitty#wolverine smut#wolverine x reader#wolverine appreciation#appreciate it#appreciation post#smut#hugh jackman x reader#hugh jackman wolverine#hugh jackman icons
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literally the realest thing iâve seen today
#ă deadpool ă#ă wolverine ă#deadpool 3#deadpool#deadpool and wolverine#hugh jackman#ryan reynolds#letterboxd#deadpool movie#deadpool vs wolverine#deadpool x reader#wade wilson x reader#wade wilson#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett#wolverine smut#wolverine#marvel#mcu#marvel cinematic universe#marvel jesus#messy icons#icons#deadpool x wolverine#wolverine x reader#xmen#ryan reynolds icons#deadpool spoilers#deadpool marvel#deadpool mcu
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Tag Team (Deadpool/Wolverine)
Description: Wade is distracted during a mission so afterwards all 3 of them fuck in the Honda.
Warning: Smut
Word Count: 1,773k
Request:
IM OBSESSED WITH WADE AND LOGAN AS A TEAM... May I request a smut where both of them fuck fem!Reader?
Idk reader could also be a hero and it happens during a mission, I trust your writing!!!
Wade had been distracted the entire mission. It was to the point that Logan was getting annoyed with him even more than usual. Y/N had no clue what they were fighting about but was also annoyed with both of them. âCan you guys shut the fuck up?â She growled at them. They both stopped arguing and looked at her, âCan you stop being so hot?â Wade asked. She rolled her eyes and put her finger to her mouth to shush him. âYes mommy.â Logan looked at him with disgust.
Wade was a kinky son of a bitch but Logan never got used to it. They were trying to kill bad guys but Wade was about to ruin it. Y/N had been so into the mission she had failed to see both of them checking her out. She did have blood all over her but what was new? Wade and Logan both had it bad for the girl but Y/N was oblivious. Before Wade could say anything else the bad guys appeared and they had to kill.
Y/N shot at them, never missing. Logan clawed them up and managed to get more blood on them than before. Wade? Well he was still distracted and barely did anything, âWHAT THE FUCK, WADE?â Y/N yelled at him. She pulled him right out of his dirty thoughts. âY/N and I just did all the work.â Logan added. âWell my bad that I canât stop thinking about taking you both to a whole new world of pleasure.â Y/N stared at him with a blank look.
She was really tired of him acting like this, especially on a mission. âWell next time donât come.â She said and walked away from him. Logan followed but not before growling at him. âOh come on! You guys act like this isnât hot as fuck.â He whined, catching up to them. âWhatâs hot about killing people, Wade?â âEVERYTHING!!â Y/N sighed and stopped walking. âWade, Iâm very flattered but now is not the time.â She said to him. âWait so thereâs a time?â He asked. She sighed and started walking again.Â
The Honda Odyssey was the only âbedâ that they had which sucked ass but it had to work. They all reeked of blood and guts but Wade couldnât stop thinking about fucking Y/N in it. âSo about earlier, is now the time?â He asked. Logan rolled his eyes and Y/N sighed. She sat up in the backseat and stared at him.
He was still wearing his mask and Logan took his off. âWade, donât you wanna fuck in a bed?â She asked, looking around the car. âHoney, I would fuck you in a volcano.â Yeah cuz that was a turn on. She looked at Logan, âWhat about you?â She asked him. He opened his eyes to look at her, âI wouldnât fuck you in a volcano but this is all we have.â She laughed at his words and put her weapons on the floor.
âAlright guys. Letâs have some fun.â Wade was out of the car and to the backseat before she could finish her sentence. Logan got on the other side of her and she looked between them, âIâm not sure how this will wo-â Both of them attached their mouths to her neck. She gasped at the sudden action of them and she never noticed that Wade lifted his mask. Their lips moved sloppily on her neck, leaving marks. She gripped both of their necks and pulled them closer. They both placed a hand on her upper thigh and she leaned back against the seat, taking them with her.
Her eyes were closed as they marked her neck until she had purple spots. Logan moved down to her cleavage and Wadeâs hand brushed against her pussy. She gasped at the feeling of both of them. Logan kissed and sucked the top of boob while Wade managed to get his fingers in her body suit to her bare pussy, âHoly shit.â She breathed out and he chuckled. âYa like that princess?â Wade asked as his fingers rubbed her clit.
She was soaked and had been for a few hours now. Logan moved from her tit to the floor and spread her legs. âMove your fingers you Merc.â Logan said to Wade. Wade whined but did anyway so Logan could feast on her pussy. âTake this off.â He demanded her. She undid her body suit and Logan helped her get it off until she was fully naked in nothing but gloves and her boots. Logan chuckled as he looked at her wet pussy.
He sniffed her and sighed, âFuck darling you smell delicious.â He told her and licked up her clit. She threw her head back and moaned. Wade watched as Logan ate her out and got even harder. He looked at Y/N who had her eyes closed and her breathing was harder. He leaned back too and turned her head towards him and kissed her. She weakly kissed back and moaned into his mouth. Logan was eating her out like an animal eating its first meal.
It was everything. Her hands gripped his hair making him moan into her pussy. The vibration made her whine and Wade stuck his tongue in her mouth. She let his tongue explore her mouth and Loganâs explored her pussy. Her hips bucked into his mouth and she shuddered at how close she was, âIâm gonna cum!â She whined into the kiss. âCum on his beautiful face.â Wade told her and that did it. She fucked her hips up into his face and came all over. Wade praised her as she rode her sweet orgasm.
Logan flattened his tongue as she did all the work until the pleasure was gone. He pulled away from her pussy and smirked at her. She loved the sight of him covered in her cum. Wade did as well, âDamn wish that was me.â Logan got back onto the seat next to her and kissed her, giving her a taste. She moaned into his mouth. âFuck thatâs so hot.â Wade said. Y/N pulled away from the kiss and moved to kiss Wade giving him a taste as well. While they were kissing she took his mask off and threw it on the ground. Wade was never insecure around them.
They made him feel loved. She broke the kiss and moved in between his legs. He looked down in shock as she pulled out his dick. âKiss.â She told them and without protest they did. She smirked as she watched for a second before running her pretty fingers over Wadeâs cock. He gasped into the kiss. She wrapped her hand around him and jerked him off a few times before taking him into her mouth. Her mouth was the best thing to fuck.
It was wet and warm and felt so good. She placed her hands on his thighs and gave him the best blow job of his life. Wade was the loudest one out of the three of them. He fucked up into her mouth as the car rocked. The windows steamed up as they kissed and she gave him the best blow job ever. âFuck. Your mouth is amazing, baby.â He moaned.
Logan watched as his dick went in and out of her mouth. Sure her mouth was good but her pussy was even better. Logan and Wade stopped kissing once Wade got really close. He threw his head back and cried out as he came in her throat. She pulled off of him and pulled Logan down for a kiss. She let Wadeâs cum travel into Loganâs mouth and he swallowed. Wade gasped as he had never seen anything like that before.
Y/N smirked at him and got back in between them. âSo I want all or nothing. You both have to be inside of me at the same time.â She says and they both nod before getting naked. She got on the center console of the car and they both managed to get their dicks in her at the same time. Their car was small but it managed to work. Y/N gasped at both of them penetrating her at the same time. Logan tried to let her adjust to the size but Wade didnât care and started thrusting.
Her moans were loud inside the car and it felt very hot. Her jaw was dropped and her bloody hair was wet with sweat as well. Wade laid his head on the head of the carseat and groaned out. Logan who had more stanamia than both of them was fucking her fast and hard. Wade tried to keep up but it felt better this way.
âShit you both are so fucking good.â She whined as one dick would hit her spot and then the other would right after. âYouâre one to talk princess, your pussy is so perfect.â Wade groaned. Her moans turned to screams as she started thrusting back on them. The perfect rhythm began and all 3 of them were making loud noises. The heat of the car made things more intense.
Loganâs hand that was gripping one side of her hip was squeezing to the point of bruises. Y/N wished more than anything that she could see how fucked out they both looked but that was the con with doggy style. Especially in a small car. Wade groaned as he felt her pussy squeeze them, âFuck princess, Iâm about to cum.â He announced.
Y/N smirked before moaning as she squeezed them tighter cuz a loud moan to release from Logan. He barely moaned but when he did it was amazing and hot. âFuck sweetheart, If you do that again Iâm gonna cum too.â âThatâs the plan.â She whimpered and squeezed them. âWhere do ya want it, pretty girl?â âInside of me. Both of you.â She cried as she too felt closer to the edge.
Wade groaned loudly as he came hard inside of her pretty pussy. Logan was a few seconds later and stilled behind her as he came. Y/N helped them ride it out as she came next screaming their names. The car smelled of sweat and sex as they both pulled out of her. Wade collapsed back against the seat and sighed, âMan I do love a good tag team after a crazy mission.â He said. Logan glared at him, âYou didnât even help.â Y/N turned around to look at the two. âBoys donât start.â She warned and got in the middle of them. âMaybe if you guys are good we can go for round 2.â She smirked and brought them both in for a kiss.
#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool 3#deadpool#deadpool smut#deadpool x reader#ryan reynolds#wolverine#wolverine xmen#wolverine smut#wolverine x reader#logan howlett#logan howlett smut#logan howlett imagine#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#wade wilson#wade wilson x reader#wade wilson imagine#x men#mcu#marvel#marvel imagine#marvel x reader
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âepiphanyâ | 21k
worst!logan howlett x f!reader
SUMMARY: Superheroes and mutants werenât enough. Noâthe universe had to throw in soulmates who share scars. Fantastic, right? Except yours had vanished, only to mysteriously reappear with the arrival of a new face: the âWorstâ Logan Howlett, fresh from another earth.
OR What happens when a hopeless romantic crosses paths with the ultimate soulmate skeptic?
WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ strangers to lovers. drinking. cursing. slow burn. angst. pining. mentions of alcohol. fluff. reflecting on the art of writing/poems/books. dual POV. takes place after the events of âdeadpool & wolverineâ. TW: multiple descriptions of scars. worst/variant!logan. implied age gap (readerâs in her late 20s). theyâre both touch starved. wadeâs everyoneâs friend. miscommunication/misunderstandings. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering, grinding. some slight hair pulling. unprotected p in v, creampie. sex with feelings.
A/N: HOPELESS ROMANTICS RISE! here we go again with another long ass fic. this is a soulmates AU in which you get your soulmateâs scars. if you feel triggered by this topic, please refrain from reading. i had a lot of fun writing this even though it took me a while to get it done. thanks to @lubdubology for being my beta and allowing me to share my work with you. and also thanks to @brushworth for giving me the chance to write this. having said this, enjoy the story! iâd love to know your thoughts on it <3
Love giveth and love taketh away.
To this day, itâs still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.
If it werenât for love, you wouldnât be here. No one would, actually. Human beings are the result of billions of people who loved each other just enoughâor at least long enough to bring life into the world.
But isnât it in the name of love that people act in bad faith? Why would something so pure be used in vain?
You donât get it, but as the years go by, you slowly come to terms with the idea that perhaps you never will. Not because there isnât a reason, but because youâre in love with the idea of love.
How could you not be? Itâs on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees youâtruly sees your longing for itâit flees, and you struggle to keep up.
Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.
It had always been a relentless race, your only worry being to catch it before time ran out. But with each day that passed, the finish line only stretched further and further away. Now, they all blur together, to the point where you live and breathe on autopilot.Â
In a Jane Austen novel, youâd be considered a lone woman. That character whoâs nice, and kind, and loved by some, but not in the way she yearns for. Every time sheâs mentioned, you go âOh, the poor girl,â until the slow realization dawns.
In reality, sheâs you, and itâs you who you feel sorry for, not a fictional character. You.
All in all, love giveth. And love also taketh away.Â
Love maketh you miserable.
Soulmatesâa nine-letter word that holds so much meaning.
Itâs one of those words that you learn early in your life, one you hear at home or on the TV. Your parents never fail to mention it if given the chance. The first time youâre introduced to the topic is at school when you're older, a bit more self-conscious, and no longer preoccupied with picking your nose.
âEverybody has a soulmate. And no,â your teacher had added after a pause, already anticipating the inevitable questions from any curious 10-year-old, âthere isnât such a thing as not having one. We all do. You just have to search for them.â
Back then, that had been your favorite gameâalways keeping an eye open, scanning the crowd more than once in new places. You knew for sure that more than one person probably thought youâd strained your neck from all the times you glanced over your shoulder.
It must be pretty obvious now, the fact that youâreâwell, alone. Saying âwithout a companionâ sounds quite outdated. They canât see through you, but something in the way you walk or speak must give it away.Â
Or is it the fact that you always ask for a table for one?
âAre you expecting someone else?â A waitress approaches you, her tone gentle as she makes sure youâre on your own. A small notebook dangles from her slender fingers, and your eyes catch the name stitched onto her apron: Emily.
The response you give her is on the verge of sounding automatic, robotic even, like one of those prerecorded messages busy people leave on their phones. âNo. Just me.â
She nods, and you feel the sympathy in her gaze. Youâve mastered the art of recognizing that lookâthe one hovering between concern and pity.
Of course, people rarely voice it, but theyâll never know their eyes sometimes say more than they think.
As she jots down your order, youâre met with the ring on her left hand. Very pretty, very shiny. Very expensive as well. Your attention must linger on it a little too long, because she catches you staring, making you feel exposed.
Emilyâyou decide to call her that way from now on, because once you know her name, it feels odd to address her as the waitressâoffers you a shy smile.
âIâm getting married next month,â she blurts out, happiness radiating from her pores. Her eyes glint like two lanterns in a starless night. She also looks younger than you, and the abrupt silence forces you to pinch your wrist, a reminder of the fact that this is a conversation, and not just something you're overhearing.
âCongratulations,â you manage to reply, returning the smile. If she saw how your expression faltered the second she walked away, you wonder if sheâd still think you were so amiable.
Sometimes, your façade slipsâyou canât help it. Thatâs what the âhopelessâ in âhopeless romanticâ stands for.
Some minutes later, she comes back with your coffee, and you catch another glimpse of the ring as it twinkles in front of you. Envy doesnât suit you, so you shift your focus.
Taking out your laptop, you scroll through the latest headlines. This is your attempt at acting more like an adult and less like a girl in her mid-twenties who has no clue what sheâs doing.
One article stands out from the rest: Hollywood Actress Divorces Loving Husband of 25 Years to Pursue Presumed Soulmate. âI saw his scars and knew he was the one.â
Interesting. You canât help but feel sorry for the displaced husband, though.
âGood for you,â you mutter under your breath, clicking the link to read more. Thereâs a picture of the actress and her new boyfriend that makes you stop dead in your tracks: theyâre smiling at each other, their faces close, noses almost touching, while they show off their matching scarsâthe unmistakable sign that theyâre, in fact, soulmates.
Soulmates, superheroes, mutants. It all sounds like a whole lot, doesnât it? Overwhelming, to say the least. One thingâs for sureâyouâll never get bored in this world.
But, hey! Donât forget that there are multiple universes out there. Maybe in one of them, youâre not this pathetic.
Why are you being so hard on yourself? Thatâs not even the point. Shaking your head, you keep glancing at their scarsâtheyâre identical, perfect mirrors of one another. The kind of scars that only two destined souls share.
Their happiness is evident, tangible. You can feel it by just eyeing the image. Itâs a bitter sensation that metamorphoses into a warmth, which heavily spreads through your chest, filling up every empty space it finds.Â
To say you understand that feeling would be a downright lie. And you may be many things, but a pathological liar is not one of them.
As if on cue, you duck your head, rolling up the sleeves of your jacket. You do the same with your shirt, foolishly hoping to find something other than smooth, unmarked skin.
No scars. No marks. No sign of a soulmate, of a lover. In the world you inhabitâthis universe full of the most inexplicable thingsâyouâre alone.Â
Without a second thought, you pack your things, shoving them rapidly into your bag. The cafe feels too little and too large all at once, the walls closing on you.
The rest of the customers are looking at you. Fuck, they already noticed itâyou canât escape it.
Have they? Do you think they see you like you see yourself? The lone woman who writes poems for an addressee who will never read them?
In silence, you hand Emily the money for your coffee. You fear that if you open your mouth, a cry will come out, and thatâs the last thing you need today. She gives you that look againâpity laced with sorrow, the one you despise. It burns.
At that moment, a man walks in, passing right by you. You see his face, his green eyes, and the way his lips curl into a grin as he greets Emily.
The scar on her forehead, which you'd missed before, mirrors the one on his.
They are soulmates.Â
Itâs on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is.
She wishes you a nice morning as you leave the cafe. Little does she know youâll spend the rest of the day locked in your apartment, mourning someone you never even met.
Until the day you lost them, you wore your scars with pride.
They were scattered across your stomach, back, chest, and even your legs and arms. Some were shallow, others deep. It never occurred to youâthe thought that they belonged in the shadows, hidden.
Everyone has them, you thought as you stood in front of the mirror, running your fingers along their jagged paths. I just seem to have more than most people.
Over the years, you might have changed your hairstyle or the way you dressed, but your scars never didâtheyâd always been there, and they were yours.
Partly yours, of course, since you knew they belonged to your soulmate as well.
The older you grew, the more you realized having a good memory was both a gift and a curse. You still remembered that moment so vividlyâwhen you found out that somebody out there was meant for you and only you.
A point of no return, thatâs what itâd been. From that day on, not a single one went by without you imagining the first encounter with your Prince Charming.Â
In the meantime, you dated. A few boyfriends came and went during and after high school, mostly as practice for the real thing, youâd told yourself.
God, you were determined to know everything. To be the best girlfriend ever, so that when you finally met him, heâd be over the moon.
At the age of seventeen, it sounded like a brilliant plan.
You never knew how, but your life became that meantime. All your friends began to find their soulmates: in the supermarket, while traveling, at the goddamn doctorâs office.
Everybody was fulfilling the purpose youâd been taught humans were made forâeveryone but you.
The scars multiplied, yet he was nowhere to be seen, remaining out of reach. Your soulmateâs whereabouts were a mystery. What the hell does he do in his free time? was something you used to often ponder. Is he suffering? Does he need help?
âBe patient, give it some time. The less you seek, the more youâll find,â your mother would say, trying to sound encouraging. Although she was trying to do her best, that phrase alone had the power to make you go nuts.
Be patient? Waiting was all youâd been doing. What was so wrong with you that he seemed to be hiding from you? You didnât want to wait any longer, noâyou wanted to find him. If it meant traveling to Italy like your cousin had to meet her husband, then so fucking be it.
Many nights, sleep eluded you. Lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, youâd imagine what life with him would be like. What he would look like. You were certain that no matter his appearance, youâd think he was beautiful.
Wasnât that the whole point of soulmatesâthat the bond you two shared transcended physical attraction?
Nevertheless, you secretly wished heâd have brown hair. He didnât need to know, but you had a weakness for brunettes.
On the night of your twenty-second birthday, you were getting ready for the big event when every trace of your scars disappeared.
The bathroom mirror was fogged from the showerâs stream, and as you wiped it clean with the palm of your hand, the image you saw reflected on the glass made your stomach do a flip.
There were no scars. No marks. Nothing. At first, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on youâit couldnât be. Scars didnât just vanish. It was impossible.
But as you lowered your gaze, tracing your limbs again and again, the truth hit you. The marks you knew by heart, the ones that reminded you, Heâs out there, somewhere, were gone.
You felt it deep in your chest, too. Every sound seemed louder and clearer: the blood rushing through your veins, each shaky breath you took. Where are they? Your fingers dug into your flesh, intending to ground yourself.
Is he⌠dead? It was the only reasonable explanation, the rule youâd known all along. Youâd read it countless times, memorizing the principles about scars.
The scream that tore from your throat brought your mother running upstairs, and she entered the bathroom with a horrified expression on her face.
âWhatâs wrong? Are you hurt?â she asked, but your mind was already far away. Your whole body shuddered in her arms, a sob slipping past your lips as you crumbled to the floor, desperately hoping it was all a nightmare. âIt must be a mistake, honey. Iâm sure heâs okay.â
But heâs not, you wanted to tell her. The words, however, never formedâonly a broken whimper escaped your lips. Isnât that what we were taught? Our scars belong to our soulmates; they bind us to them in a way that simple words canât explain.
It goes deeper than the skin. It delves into our bodies, our minds, reaching into the very essence of who we are. What was once his is also mine, but theyâre gone.
Heâs gone. He must be, because otherwise, how would you explain this void?
When oneâs soulmate passes away, that person will notice the disappearance of their scars. The physical marks that once symbolized their connection fade, leaving no trace. This absence is accompanied by a distinct, unsettling sensationâan awareness of loss that goes beyond the physical, signaling the end of the bond.
A part of you died with him that day.
The first time you exchanged words with Wade Wilson, you thought he was a total dick.
It wasnât as if you didnât know himânot when he was so infamous for that mouth of his. Deadpool: the self-proclaimed superhero with a vocabulary that was 90% profanity, who made cracking jokes while fighting the bad guys look easy.
Super funny? Sure. But not exactly your cup of tea when all you wanted was to crawl into bed and forget the world existed.
He was apparently long retired from superheroing. No one had seen that red, sex-toy-looking suit in ages, which was why you were only mildly surprised as you spotted him hauling boxes into your building on a Tuesday afternoon.
It was late, and you werenât in the mood for small talk. Heâd been there barely a week, yet somehow, heâd already managed to fuck things up.Â
You let out a deep sigh, rubbing the crease between your brows. âLook, Wallyââ
âItâs pronounced Wade,â he corrected you, trying to edge his face further into the gap between the door and its frame, though you didnât let your guard down. âYouâre pretty rude, you know that?â
âIâve been up for twenty-four hours, and I need to sleep,â you groaned, trying to push him away with one hand. Technically, he wasnât even asking for something that complicatedâhe wanted to use your microwave to heat his dinner, since his had decided to stop working out of the blue.
The thing was that youâd had the kind of week that felt like a one-way trip to hell, an important detail he wasnât aware of. âGo ask someone else. I canât do charity tonight.â
âYouâre the only one who answered,â he said, pressing his palms together in a pleading gesture, his lips curling into a heartbreaking pout. âPlease, my lovely neighbor, whose name I donât know. You wouldnât want me to starve to death, would you?
âI thought you couldnât die.â You raised an eyebrow, half-interested.
Wadeâs arms dropped to his sides, his eyes drifting downward. âAnd I thought kindness wasnât extinct, but here we are.â He spun on his heel, acting defeated and dragging his feet like a scolded puppy. âCanât believe this is what the worldâs come to. Iâm sure the Bible says something about treating others how youâd want to be treated.â
Why. Just⌠why? Some cosmic, divine force from beyond might have been testing you that night.
âWait,â you croaked just as he was about to step into his apartmentâwhich was literally three meters from yours. His face lit up, expecting you to continue, and you moved aside slightly, signaling him in. âFive minutes and youâre out, okay? I really need to get some rest.â
The rest was history. Wade was just standing there, mesmerized by your microwave as if heâd never seen one before.
You could only hear the faint buzzing sound of the gadget, punctuated by the rhythmic drumming of his fingers on the counter. He was humming a tune while shaking his head to the beat.
You tried to focus, replaying the guided meditation you sometimes followed to sleep in your mind.
Allow yourself to feel the stillness of this moment. Notice your breath slowing as your body begins to calm. Be the observer of your breath, flowing in and out naturally, as your lungsâ
Yeah, it wasnât working.
âPlease, stop it,â you eventually told Wade, whose gaze shifted from the microwave to you, brows furrowed.
âAnd whyâs that?â
âThey say itâs bad for your eyes,â you explained, recalling a half-forgotten news report youâd heard on the TV. Whether it was a myth or not, youâd never know. âI believe itâs because of the radiation exposure.â
Leaning back on the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest. âAt this point, I think Iâm safe. You, on the other hand⌠maybe not so much,â he nearly whispered that last part, and your desire to strangle him grew stronger.
Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.
He jerked his thumb toward the pile of papers and books you had on your kitchen table. âSo, youâre a writer?âÂ
âEditor, in reality,â you snapped, your eyelids twitching as you watched him leaf through your stuff. âWade, donât touch my things.â
âSorry, canât help myself. Iâm very curious.â Flashing you a quick grin, he opened your notebook, squinting his eyes as he went through the pages. âBut you write too, huh? Iâm discovering plenty of material here.â
The bastard. âGive. It. Back,â you snarled, lunging at him and trying to snatch the notebook from his hands, but he was faster, raising it out of reach. âI hope your food explodes in that microwave, asshole.â
âOh, right. I forgot about it,â he snorted, tossing the notebook onto the couch and retrieving his dinner instead. You stared at him in disbelief, opening your mouth to scold him, but nothing came out. Then, there he was, standing in front of you with his plate and a fork.
Wait. Was that your fork?
âItâs hot, Iâll give you that.â He blew on his food to cool it down, and as he glanced up, he was met with your murderous glare. âWhoa. Want some? You couldâve just asked me. No need to get so angry.â
Calling it a desire to kill him wouldâve been an understatement. And the worst part? He couldnât die. âYouâve got what you needed. Now, can you leave?â
âHow longâs it been since you talked to another human being?â
You blinked, feeling the sudden urge to look around, half expecting a hidden camera. âWhy do you always answer with another question?â
âAll Iâm saying is Iâve been meaning to talk to you for days now, but youâre practically living the hermit life,â he said between bites of chicken, excusing himself briefly to chew. âThat robe youâre wearing? Itâs had the same stain on it since I moved in. Also, your doormatâs buried under a mountain of newspapers, so either you really love trees, or youâve been avoiding any sort of social interaction.â
If he had been wrong, you wouldâve felt much better. But he⌠wasnât, and it sucked.
âI feel like I should be scared,â you mumbled after a long stretch of silence, your eyes going round.
Wade did no more than laugh at your troubled expression. âScared of me? Thatâs cute. Iâm a nice guy, sweet pea. Persistent, sure, but Iâve got a knack for getting under peopleâs skin,â he said, grinning through a mouthful of foodâwhich, for the sake of your sanity, you chose to ignore.
After he had finished eating, he let the fork fall into the sink, the metal striking against the surface with a piercing echo, making you jump. He stretched his arms with a satisfied yawn, and he seemed determined to leave you alone. âWell, Iâve done my good deed for the day.â
âWhat do you mean?â you asked, following his movements as he ambled toward the door. âAre you telling me your microwave does work?â
âOh, youâre a smart one, arenât you?â Wade patted your head, ruffling your hair like you were a puppy who had just learned a new trick. âGood night, peanut.â
From that moment on, the two of you became inseparable. Your personalities clicked in a way youâd never experienced before with any other friend. Wade was loyal to a fault, and he treated you like the little sister he had never had.Â
Most importantly, he didnât pity youâhe saw you for who you were, not just someone marked by a lost soulmate. You never told him how much that meant to you, but deep down, you were grateful.
Which brings you to the present day. Youâve been friends with him for over a year, and heâs taken every chance to introduce you to his âweird but lovableâ (his words, not yours) group of friends.
âCheck your social anxiety at the door, thank you,â heâd tell you every time he hosted a get-together and you were invited.
Somehow, you had managed to bond with themâespecially Althea, his elderly roommate, who occasionally forgets who you are despite living next door.
âRemind me of your name again, sweetie? All this disco dust must be affecting my memory,â sheâd ask, leaning in close so youâd practically have to shout it into her ear. Then sheâd nod, smirking knowingly. âAh, yes. I thought so. Just making sure.â
Sheâs quite the character. A real sweetheart if you leave aside the number of times sheâs offered you more types of drugs than you knew existed.
Tonight, youâre throwing Wade a surprise birthday party. Among all the party tasks, youâve handled the decorations and the cake. The roomâs a riot of color, with balloons floating lazily from the ceiling and a cascade of streamers draping over the furniture.
Guests start arriving, greeting you warmly, a feeling you once thought impossible. Theyâre Wadeâs friends, sure, but on some level, you like to think theyâre your friends now too: Vanessa, Dopinder, Buck, Shatterstar, Colossus, Negasonic Teenage Warhead, and Yukio.
As you hear footsteps approaching the door, Wadeâs voice filters through the hallway. Panicking, you whirl around to the group. âHeâs here! Everyone shut up!â you whisper urgently, turning off the lights and pressing your back flat against the wall next to the door.
Seconds later, the sound of keys jingling fills the air as both Wade and Peter step into the apartment.
You flip the lights back on just as Dopinder pops his much-anticipated party popper. âSurprise!â you all scream in unison, and Wadeâs face splits into a grin, unsure of whom to hug first.
âYou guys are lucky Iâm not armed,â he quips, slinging an arm around Dopinderâs shoulders. âSix years ago, youâd all be dead!â
And you giggle, because⌠well, what else are you supposed to do?
As you expected, the night unfolds smoothly. Youâre having fun, engaging in conversations despite yesterdayâs emotional meltdown at the cafe. Itâll be okayâit always is. The food is amazing, the company even better. You remind yourself that romantic love isnât the only kind that mattersâthatâs what friends are for, after all, to teach you that lesson.
The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses, creating a lively symphony that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Yukio calls your name, waving her head in front of your eyes, trying to snap you out of your thoughts. âEverything okay?â she wonders, concern flickering in her voice.
âYeah, Iâm fine,â you reply, tightening your grip on your beer bottle. âJust thinking, thatâs all.â
You all gather around the cake when Wadeâs about to blow the candles. You know heâs preparing himself for a speech. âAnother year of spinning around the moon, huh?â
âSun, you dumbass,â Al corrects him, and you have to bite your lip to keep your laughter to yourself.
âOkay, flat-earther,â Wade shoots back, giving her a playful side-eye. âAnyway, where was I? Oh, rightâI canât thank you all enough for being here. These past few years have been... well, rough on me, to say the least,â he says, glancing down at the cake with a small, crooked smile. âBut Iâm happy now. Weâve got each otherâs back, like a team!â
âLike The Avengers, you mean?â Dopinder pipes up, eyes sparkling with excitement. Thereâs a moment of silence in which you swear youâd be able to hear a hairpin drop.
Itâs still a sensitive topic.
âNext time, give me a trigger warning before you mention them,â Wade mutters in a hushed tone, and Dopinder shrinks sheepishly. âI guess what I wanted to tell you wasâŚâ he trails off, his palm covering the place where his heart is, âthat I'm glad youâre all here. Being surrounded by the people I love most is the best birthday gift ever.â
His words stir something inside you. Vanessa gently nudges his arm, smiling up at him. âWhy donât you make your wish?â
Wade dramatically drops to his knees in front of the cake, eyes fluttering shut before blowing out the candles, whistles and cheers erupting all around.
Just then, you hear the unmistakable sound of the doorbell ringing through the air. You exchange a curious glance with Wade, raising your eyebrows. âThatâs weird. Want me to get it?â
âNah, I got it,â he says, excusing himself to answer the door. He slips outside, shutting it behind him, and everything returns to normal. For a while, you assume heâs chatting with someone who dropped by to say hiâbut that doesnât really make sense.
âDonât you think itâs weird that heâs been out there so long?â Vanessa inquires, her worry starting to creep in.
âIâll go check on him,â you tell her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before heading to the door.
But when you open it, thereâs no Wade in sight. Just⌠his toupeeâor âhair systemâ as he insists on calling it, lying on the floor.
Kneeling down, you gingerly pick it up, a strange sensation settling in your chest.
Where the hell did he go?
After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.
Completely out of character, right? He thought so too. The number of times he'd stepped foot inside a church could be counted on one hand, so why would a man like him resort to religion?
In the past, he had been told he was part of Godâs plan, but somewhere along the way, he felt like he had become Godâs mistake.
After living a life plagued with loss and constantly in hiding, he wasnât shocked that his self-worth was in the gutter.
Things only spiraled after letting everyone down, especially after that particular day when things took a turn for the worse. He had prayed, asking God to make him forget.
When that didnât work, he just drank harder and smoked more. But not even drowning in alcohol and clouds of nicotine could put an end to his strugglesâhe was condemned to suffer.
In spite of everyoneâs wishes, heâs still going strong, stuck with no defined purpose. Itâs almost impossible not to fall into a routine that seeks to numb him, to put him under anesthesiaâwaking up after passing out who-knows-where, finding the nearest bar, sinking into whiskey and the haze of ashtrays.
Then he does it all over again, a never-ending cycle. His self-destructive habits donât lead him to oblivion; instead, they intensify every sensation, making each memory and emotion painfully vivid.Â
Day after day, he convinces himself heâs got it under control. Logan may be tough as fuck, and he may heal faster than anyone else, but his pride is in pieces.
No amount of strength or supernatural abilities can stop the decay he feels inside, the slow rot creeping deeper within him the longer he remains trapped in this life.
He slams the empty glass onto the counter with a heavy thud, tapping two fingers against it. âAgain,â he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
The bartender looks at him like he's the reincarnation of all things vile. âI told youâyouâre not welcome here. Youâre not welcome anywhere. Now get the fuck out of my bar.â
Oh, yes. Music to his ears. If he had a nickel for every time he heard that, heâd be rich. âJust give me one more drink and then Iâll leave.â
âThatâs not how it works,â the bartender replies, and Logan knows heâs screwed. Another public establishment heâs been banned fromâfucking perfect.
Will there ever be a day where heâs not treated like garbage?
âIt does now,â an unknown voice joins the conversation, and Logan glances to his side, arching a brow. The masked man doesnât let his stare falter. âLeave the bottle.â
âDo I know you, bub?âÂ
âYou donât, but I know you.â
This serves as evidence of how pliant heâs become. Years ago, he wouldâve already wiped the floor with this guy. They didnât call him Logan âshort fuseâ Howlett for nothing. But now? He just canât bring himself to do it.
âEverybody does. Iâm theââ
Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.
ââWolverine.â Once he finishes the sentence, his words taste bitter. Perhaps itâs the venom on his tongue, or maybe itâs just the alcohol from yesterday kicking him again. Either way, both hit hard.
âYes, you are,â the stranger says, continuing to stare at him, as if Loganâs worth the effort. âAnd Iâm going to need you to come with me. Right now.â
Logan holds his breath. The worst part of it all is that his dayâs just getting started. He has no clue who this guy is or why heâs claiming to need him.
But heâs got the wrong manâLogan doesnât know him, and he sure as hell doesnât have anything good to offer.
Or so he believed five minutes ago. Life seems to have its own way of surprising him.
Knowing heâll regret it later, he closes his fingers around the whiskey bottle, chugging the liquor until darkness takes over his senses.
Nighty-night, Logan.
I'm aware that you're not mine, and nor will you ever be.
Iâve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out
where this need to call you mine stems from.Â
You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed
in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.
Iâm aware that you're not mine
because I haven't bought you yet;
I hold no claim over you,
nor can I control who touches you and who doesn't.
I want you to be mine,
but no amount of money would buy your soul.
You're beyond reachâsomeone has already marked you.
Iâm aware that youâre not mine,Â
and I guess maybe thatâs how life is meant to be.
âBullshit,â you mutter softly into the quiet of your apartment, where the only sound is the echo of your own voice.
Chewing the end of your pen, your eyes narrow as they skim over the poem youâd written over a month ago.
Since then, youâve been working on refining the details, but something is missingâthat you can feel. The flow is awkward, the choice of words stiff. Itâs like a puzzle that doesnât quite fit together.Â
You take a long sip from your coffee, tucking both knees up onto the chair you're sitting in. 7:30 a.m., and already, your mind is spinning, diving headfirst into a poem when countless other things are demanding your attentionâlike, a hundred things, really.
Right now, cracking this piece feels more important than any other task on your list.
Who do you write to? That part is easyâyour soulmate. That deceased, probably buried, long-gone soulmate of yours.
It shouldnât be funny, but thereâs an absurdity to it.
Without warning, a memory slips into your thoughtsâone girl you used to work with once advising you to change the subject of your writing.
âYou should go for some self-love crap. People usually eat that up,â she said, not even bothering to look up from her nails, red polish smeared over the edges.
Her fingers were a mess, coated in that fiery hue, but she didnât seem to care as she tapped your notebook with her lacquered index finger. âThis is repetitive. Keep writing about the same thing, and people will get bored of you.â
âI havenât published them yet,â you answered, your voice coming out more high-pitched than usual, betraying the doubt you intended to suppress. Her blue eyes flicked up, studying your face as you slid the now red-stained notebook back into your bag, away from her careless, messy fingers. âI thought⌠I thought we were supposed to write about what we feel passionate about.â
That managed to catch her attention. Passionate. She let out a laughâsharp and cold, like something straight out of a villainâs script in a childrenâs movie. It grated against your ears.
âSweetie, you call that passionate?â She waved her hand dismissively, standing up from the table.
Taller, older, and more secureâjust the fact that she gave you her time shouldâve made you feel grateful. âNot to be a bitch, but what you showed me is kind of depressing.âÂ
Kind of depressing. From that moment on, you kind of hated her. Small victories, thoughâthe agency fired her a year later. You like to think you kind of won that battle.
Still, she mightâve been right about one thing: your writing does fall into patterns. Itâs predictable, to say the leastâthe rhythm, the themes. Even the metaphors you include can be found in several of your poems.
Are you⌠lazy? Has someone revealed the way to break out of it? If there is, you figure you're fine without it.
You donât want to write the kind of articles sheâd churn out about the latest trends or the five best positions to get pregnant faster. Nor do you want to pick apart celebrities' lives for a flashy headline.
What you do want is to write about love. Real love. Even if you are not the most qualified person to do it. Even if nobody wants to read the words from someone who has never experienced it in the flesh.
And youâll get thereâhow? Youâre still figuring that out.
As long as you live and breathe, love will remain in your thoughts, haunting youâespecially with your muse being the fleeting dream of a soulmate you never got to meet in the first place.
But itâs time to start your dayâthe real one. The one where you have to step outside the safety of your four walls and deal with reality.
The to-do list assembles in your mind: groceries, that book youâve been meaning to pick up, emails you need to answer.
You let your mind take over, guiding you through the motions without a second thought. As you head back to your room, you get rid of the comfortable robe you love so much.
Next, your shirt comes off, tossed carelessly onto the bed. Just as you're about to step out of your pajama pants, you notice them.
The scars.
Theyâre not the same, not the faded lines etched into your skin that you could see every night behind your eyelids. New marks glow against your flesh, each one a map of something you donât yet understand, standing out like new brushstrokes on an old canvas.
You canât help but freeze, your breath faltering for a moment, and you nearly trip over yourself. Kicking your pants to the side, you stare down at your hips, thighs, the hollow of your ribcage.Â
Tentatively, you press your fingers into the lines, expecting them to fade, to disappear under your touch like some peculiar illusion.
But they donât. They remain. You can feel the raised edges, the subtle roughness, the heat beneath your touch.
These scars are different from the ones you had before. Under no circumstances are they the faint memories you once carried. Noâthese are fresh and vibrant. Marks that shouldnât exist, the stories theyâve witnessed unfamiliar to you.
Within seconds, youâre sobbing, and you blink through the wetness clouding your vision, wiping your tears of disbelief (and maybe hope?) away with the back of your hand.
Nothing changes. Theyâre still there.
You've never heard of scars returning like this. It goes against everything in the manual on your shelf. Scars vanish when a soulmate dies, but they donât come back. Not like this. And they certainly donât change.Â
Barely able to stand without stumbling, you scramble to your phone. The first person you call is your mom, your fingers shaking as you press the buttons. She screams into the phone, and all you can do is laugh through the tears.
What doesnât sit right with her is the change in the scars. She mentions something about reaching out to a specialist, insisting that your case is rareâone in a million.
Almost immediately, you think of Wade, knowing heâd want to hear this. God, heâd be ecstatic. Before you even realize it, youâre standing in front of his door, finger hovering over the bell.
Thatâs when the realization hits you: heâs been gone for nearly three days, off doing whatever it is he does.
Ringing the bell, a smile tugs at your lips. News like these are meant to be shared.
âAlthea, itâs me!â you call out, hoping sheâll hear you. You press your forehead against the door, fidgeting with your fingers. âI have something to tell you.â
Logan has had better days. Days that didnât involve escaping The Void, fighting a hundred Wades, or saving an earth that wasnât even his to begin with.
You know, normal daysâof being sneered at while drinking to forget and, fuck, how many hours has he been sober? It feels like an eternity.
When the adrenaline wears off and the heroism fades, heâs back to being just Logan again. If he had a watch, heâd probably tap the glass and fake impatience to Wade, pretending heâs got somewhere else to be.
He should leave. Thatâs his first impulse: to escape before itâs too late, but a question arises in his mind: does he truly want to?
Wade watches as Logan rises to his feet, planning to walk away. Pretty stupid, Logan thinks, considering he knows no one else in this universeâapart from the scarred man heâs become friends with against his will.
âLogan!â Wade yells his name, his voice light but firm enough to halt him in his tracks. Logan turns to face him, greeted by Wadeâs familiar, infuriating smile.
It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.
Nothingâs holding him back, so why not accept it? The odds of being the target of hateful glares are lower here, and thatâs reason enough for Logan to give a small tilt of his head and return to the bench where Wade remains seated.
âWeâre gonna be roommates!â the latter exclaims, a wide grin stretching across his face as they head toward the building. âCan you imagine all the fun weâll have?â
Logan presses his lips into a thin line. âLooking forward to it,â he murmurs, a small glimmer of sarcasm slipping into his tone, although Wade takes his words at face value.
âMe too, roomie. Me too.â
âLetâs not use that word.â
Wade holds the door open for Logan with an exaggerated bow. âWhy not? Itâs the truth. We can even share my bed if thatâsââ
The sound of Loganâs claws succeeds in silencing him. Wade recoils and covers his crotch, no doubt remembering past close calls.
âYou know what? You can have the bed. Iâll take the couch. No problem.â
Was moving in with Wade the worst idea heâs had in a while? Absolutely. The reason? Althea, the elderly woman he lives with, isnât answering the door, and he doesnât have his keys.
Logan covers his eyes with a hand, silently questioning all of his life choices. And itâs only been ten minutes.
âThis doesnât happen often,â Wade reassures him, rubbing his neck.
âHard to believe,â Logan mutters, some unknown muscle in his jaw beginning to ache from how hard heâs gritting his teeth. âYou just leave the house without your fucking keys?â
Wade huffs, jutting out a hip in mock offense. âThose TVA guys didnât exactly send a âWeâre here to ruin your dayâ memo. I was ambushed, okay?â he retorts, keeping a finger glued to the doorbell, its shrill ring gnawing at Loganâs already thin patience. âAl, I swear to God, Iâm replacing your blood pressure pills with laxatives if you donât wake up!â
âHow old is she?â Logan asks, searching for anything to keep him from snapping the other manâs neck. Peaceful thoughts.
âCompared to you, sheâs basically a newborn,â Wade replies, rocking back and forth on his heels. Heâs having the time of his lifeâmeanwhile, Loganâs self-control is reaching its limit.
His claws twitch in his knuckles. Heâs had enough, and with a jerk of his left hand, they gleam as they slide out, ready to break the damn door.Â
But then Wade jumps in front of him.
âWhoa, whoa, whoa. Easy there, buddy! Iâm not letting you turn my door into a strainer.â
âMove,â Logan barks, not an ounce of friendliness in his tone. His stare is flat, unfazed.
âIâd rather not. You canât just go around breaking peopleâs doors, man. Not cool,â Wade blurts quickly, placing both hands on Loganâs chest, pushing him away. âHow about I ask my neighbor, huh? I gave her a spare set of keys for situations like these.â
âI thought you said this didnât happen often.â
âWell, lifeâs full of disappointments.â
Before Logan can answer back, Wade rushes to the door next to his, slamming his fist on it like a madman, his finger hammering the doorbell simultaneously.
The devilâs orchestraâa symphony straight from hell.
Logan grabs Wadeâs wrist before he can knock again, hissing: âHave some manners, will you?âÂ
Wade tries to shake his arm free from Loganâs tight grip. âSheâs in there. I know it,â he replies in the same tone, but now he uses his other hand to ring the doorbell with greater feeling.
After a pause, he stamps his foot on the floor, throwing his head back. âCome on! Is this how you treat me after being away? Shame on you, Missy!â
This neighbor must be very patient, Logan thinks, to keep up with a guy like Wade without often seeing red.
As the door finally swings open, his grip on Wade loosens, and his hand falls limply to his side.
âWhat⌠the fuck?â
The sound of your voiceâsoft, slightly groggy from sleepâpulls his attention away from the door incident. His gaze is fixed entirely on youâyou look as if youâve just rolled out of bed, which makes sense since itâs still early.
Back in The Void, Wade had rambled on about all his friends, you included. Logan recalls how he had described you: a book editor who lived on her own and loved reading. You were youngerâbut then again, who wasnât younger than him?
The picture Wade had shown him, with you standing in the background, hadnât done you justice. He had found you attractive then, but seeing you in person?
Youâre⌠far more than he expected.
More beautiful, for starters.
Fuck. Why is he even thinking about that? He mustâve been staring at you for quite a whileâyou glance at him like a startled lamb, clearly feeling self-conscious under his unwavering stare.
âMay I know,â you start, tightening your robe, âwhy you were banging on my door like that? I thought I was getting robbed for a minute.â You direct your question at Wade, avoiding Loganâs presence, which makes something tighten in his chest.
He finds the way you stifle a yawn endearing, though.
Okay, thatâs enough, he tells his mind. Let it go.
Wade steps in first, dropping his mask on the nearest surface. âHello, my dear. Oh, yes, Iâm fine. Just a few scratches. No, I wasnât partyingâI was kidnapped. Thanks for asking.â
You draw in a long breath, rubbing your eyes to wake up once and for all, and then you proceed to gesture for Logan to enter. Even now, you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. âDo youâwould you like to come in?â
Not only are you pretty, but also polite. He nods, muttering a gruff: âYeah, thank you.â
As he walks past you, your shoulders brush briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through him. A tingling sensation on the verge of being electrifying that has him knitting his brows.
His gaze finds yours, searching your expression to see if you felt it too. But you look away, closing the door to go after Wade.
Great. You must think heâs a weirdo.Â
âIâm always up for company, but why so early?â you ask your friend, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. âAnd are you going to tell me what happened the other day? You left without saying anything.â
Wade hops onto a stool at the kitchen counter, swinging his legs like a child. âYou know Al. When it comes to sleeping, sheâs like a much older version of Sleeping Beauty,â he replies with a grin, snatching the mug you were about to use for your morning coffee. âThanks, youâre such a doll.â
âThat wasâmine,â you sigh, hitting him in the thigh, and Wade winces with a fake whine. âI donât think Iâve missed you that much. Go back to being missing in action,â you say, grabbing another mug and filling it before raising it toward Logan. âCoffee?â
Logan hesitates. Youâre treating him like youâve known him for years, not minutes. âIâm⌠good.â
âYou sure? I made it fresh, just before you guys arrived.â
âDonât worry, Iâmââ
âI love the chemistry here,â Wade interrupts your conversation, drawing your attention back to him, âbut you still got the keys I gave you, right?â
You roll your eyes, blowing on your steamy coffee before answering. âI do, but I want answers first. And I want them now.â
Twenty minutes and a rambling, half-coherent story later, your drink has gone cold, and Loganâs patience is wearing thin⌠again.
Will he survive sleeping under the same roof as Wade? Stay tuned for more.
âAnd then I told Paradox âHe has risen, babygirlâââ
âI think youâre being too specific,â Logan interjects, noting how youâre staring into space with wide eyes. âShe seems confused.â
âI am,â you admit, rubbing your temples. He doesnât blame you: Wadeâs a terrible storyteller. You offer him a weak smile as you turn to him. âSo⌠youâre from another universe.â
âLast time I checked.â His back collapses against the couch, groaning softly. He sits beside you, and the way your eyes sweep over him, taking in his disheveled and sweaty appearance, doesnât go unnoticed by him.
âAnd how is it? I mean, do you haveââ
âIâm public enemy number one.â
Too harsh, idiot.
âOh. Thatâs⌠good to know.â
Wade says your name, and you look to your right, lifting your brows. âDo you mind if I grab the keys myself? I need a shower. Iâve been marinating in sweat and blood for way too long.â
You grimace, pointing toward your room. âTop drawer of my nightstand.â
With that, he embarks on a quest to find them, leaving Logan alone with you. Silence stretches between you two.
He doesnât know what to say, or if he should even say anything. Casual conversation isnât his forte.
âYou and WadeâŚ?â
Letting out a giggle, you lean back on the couch. âGod, no. Weâre just friends,â you explain, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. For a fleeting moment, your eyes bore into his, and then you return to burning holes in the floor. âIâm single. Havenât found my soulmate yet.â
Itâs his turn to chuckle nowâa dark, humorless sound rumbling in his chest. You chew on a cuticle, Loganâs gesture igniting a sense of curiosity in you.
âWhat?â you ask him, puzzled.
âDo you really believe in that? Soulmates who share scars?â If he were to think carefully, heâd watch his tone. Itâs too late, anywayâyou straighten your posture, your face contorting with each passing second. âI can tell you do.â
âAnd I can tell you donât.â
âWhy would I? Those are lies,â he retorts, the corners of his mouth turning upward.
His opinion is anything but objective, totally biased, given that every time he dove into loveâs arms, he was met with the crude reality: not everyoneâs meant to be loved, himself included.
The look you give him is enough to wipe the smirk off his face.Â
âSoulmates exist, Logan. We all have one.â Thereâs a certainty in your tone, marked by the subtle way in which you say his name, that he finds alluring. He shouldnât, especially when you seem angry above all.Â
âAnd where is yours, then?â
He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your expression becomes inscrutable. You could be either disappointed, frustrated, or even exasperatedâsad, perhaps?
Logan feels as though a weight has settled on his shoulders just from staring into your eyes.
You strike back with silence. Plain, pure, dreadful silence that has him wondering if heâs breathing properly.
At long last, Wade comes back from his expedition, keys dangling from his fingers. âIt was quite the treasure hunt, you know? Youâve got a lot of garbage in there.â He sticks his face between Loganâs and yours when you don't answer him. âGuys, is there something wrong? Are you doing a staring contest? If so, can I join?â
âI need to start getting ready for work,â you announce, standing up from the couch. Logan mimics you, and you open the door, your fingers curling around the knob. âYou should get going. And Wade,â you pause, acknowledging only him, âI need to talk to you later. In private.â
Without Logan. Thatâs what you wanted to say but didnât.
âSure, my queen. I live to serve,â Wade says in rejoinder, and he kisses your forehead briefly, which forces Logan to avert his gaze the whole time his lips are on you, feeling uncomfortable watching. âTake care, alright?âÂ
You give Wade a small nod, waiting until heâs outside your apartment to glance at Logan.
âGoodbye,â you croak, and he knows he should say something, that heâ
The door almost closes on his nose.
Had he been an asshole? He was merely expressing his thoughts. The idea of soulmates didnât sit well with him.
Once settled into Wadeâs apartment, Logan steps into the shower, water rinsing off his body. Yet he finds himself unable to stop thinking about you.
The disappointment in your eyes when he asked about your soulmate.
The coldness in your tone at the end, so different from the warmth you initially offered.
He feels drawn to you, as if some sort of invisible string is tying the two of you. Were it possible, he would use his own claws to cut it, but he canât discern where it begins or ends. Instead, he prefers to blame his touch-starved state for this reaction.Â
Heâs already hating this earth. So much for a man whose skin refuses to scar.
And where is yours, then?
His words shouldnât have stung the way they did. All the charmâthe gruff exterior, the mysterious personalityâhad vanished.
The guy from another universe, with the claws, the healing abilities, and the raspy voice, is a moron.
A ridiculously good-looking moron? Yes, but a moron nonetheless.
There is something about him you canât quite place. A chill creeps down your spine as you replay the instant your eyes first locked. Your body had reacted in ways it never had before, drawn to him like metal to a magnet.
Why? Youâd seen handsome men before, even been with some. Yet, youâve never felt thisâthis gravitational pull, this inexplicable pull to invade someoneâs personal space.
How would your soulmate feel if he saw you like this, lusting after another man?
You shudder at the thought. This isnât like you. You pride yourself on loyaltyâperhaps a little too much. You donât read two books at the same time, and youâve been buying the same brand of shampoo for the past five years.
So why now? Why him? It feels like a betrayal of your own mind, your conscience turned against you.
Let things stay as they areâitâs safer that way. You donât want to know the reason behind this forceful need.
After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, heâll stay holed up in Wadeâs apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? Youâll forget about him. Easy-peasy.
That afternoon, as you take a nap on the couch, he invades your dreams. Itâs not even a wet dream, but heâs there, staking a claim on a part of you he has no right to.
You wake up with your hand clutching your chest, a frustrated punch landing on the nearest cushion.
The next day, you drop by Wadeâs place for a quick visit, your eyes darting around the room every few seconds, half-expecting Logan to appear out of nowhere.
âI told you, heâs sleeping. That guyâs got a fucked up sleep schedule,â Wade says, urging you to take a seat beside him at the table. âWhy donât you wanna see him?â
Because heâs messing with your sanity. Your brain cells are practically disintegrating at the mere thought of breathing the same air as him.
âI justâI need to tell you something.â
âAre you pregnant?â
âWhat? Wade, no! Youâve been gone for three daysâpregnancies take months.â
âIâd make an amazing uncle, though.â He grabs your hand between his, his eyes sparkling with mischief. âBabies are so adorable at thatââ
âMy scars are back,â you cut him off, putting an end to his nonsense. Pulling the neck of your sweater to the side, you show him the thin lines etched into your collarbone. âBut they are different this time.â
âDifferent? You mean they changed?â His disbelief is clear as he reaches for your arm, frowning while he inspects more of your scars. Wadeâs jaw slackens, color draining out of his face. âFuck. Fuck!â
âFuck?â
âYeah, fuck!â His strong arms envelop you, and you lean into the embrace, resting your cheek against his shoulder. âIs this good news? Are we happy? Does this mean I have a shot at becoming an uncle after all?â
You laugh a little at his eagerness, rubbing gentle circles into his back. âI am happy. I justâI donât know what these changes mean yet.â
Althea steps out of the bathroom, her cane tapping the floor in rhythmic beats. âI already told you what they mean.â
Wade pulls away from you, glaring at her. âYou meddler! Havenât we talked about not eavesdropping? Hasnât life taught you anything after all these decades?â
âUpside of being blind: Iâve never seen this motherfucker in Crocs,â she says, pointing her cane at you, though you know her aim is Wade. âDownside of being blind: I hear everything in this apartment. And you, kid, have a new soulmate.â
âI know what we talked about the other day, but... it doesnât make sense, Al. You only get one soulmate,â you protest, feeling the tension grow as you pace around the table. âWhy canât it just be simple? My friends are getting engaged, years are flying by, and Iâm still out here chasing this⌠this idiot who no one can even find!â
Thatâs when Logan appears, emerging from his room, holding several empty beer cans. He rolls his eyes and walks straight into the kitchen. âGreat. Who else is coming tonight?â
Wade smirks, clapping a hand on Loganâs shoulder as he looks at you. âSweetie, Loganâs going through his second puberty at the ripe old age of two hundred. The pediatrician said itâs just hormones, nothing to worry about. Excuse his shitty attitude.â
With a low groan, Logan shrugs off Wadeâs hand, scowling. If anything, the younger manâs grin just grows bigger. âWolvie, I gotta admit that whole âDonât fall in love with me or Iâll break your heartâ personality shouldnât turn me on, but here we are.â
You decide to take that as your cue to leave. You grab your bag, muttering a quick goodbye to Althea as you head for the door.
But Logan calls after you. âCan we talk?â
You freeze, your back to him. âHow much did you hear?â you ask, not daringânot being ableâto meet his gaze.
âAll of it,â he admits after a beat, and you curse under your breath. âBut it doesnâtâHey!â He follows you into the hallway. âIâm talking to you!â
âNo, youâre not.â You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking as you try to unlock your door. âLeave me alone.â
âI wonât,â he mumbles behind you, his voice softer now. âCome on. Donât be so harsh.â
âI canât believe you,â you whisper, finally finding the right key and jiggling it into the lock. The door swings open, and you step into the safety of your apartment. But when you try to close it, Loganâs foot wedges into the gap, blocking it. âGet out.â
He doesnât budge. âNo.â
âLogan, Iâm not in the mood.â
âWell, me neither. But I owe you an apology.â
You wonder if he realizes the hold he has on you. No matter how hard you try to mask it, the unbearable pounding of your heart betrays you.
Scanning his features, you trace the rugged contours of his face with your eyes, lingering on the lines on his foreheadâthe aftermath of what it looks like a life lived through bitterness and pain.
âCan I come in?â he insists, his tone on the verge of sounding pleading.
You hesitate. The sensible part of you screams to send him away. Thinking that avoiding him would be as easy as stealing candy from a baby is a long-forgotten idea now: youâd been naĂŻve to even consider it possible.
Heâs going to find a way to sneak into your space, your homeâand youâll let him in. Youâll grant him a chance to cross a boundary that shouldâve been already drawn.
It feels like youâre fifteen again, infatuated with the guy you know you shouldnât get close to. Paul from high school wasnât your soulmate back thenâLogan isnât now.
The smart thing would be to take a step back, accept his apology, and ask him to leave. Thatâs how you preserve what little remains of your sanity and protect your heart, which is already hanging by a thread.
But God, it feels so good to be near him.
You step aside. He walks in. Something tells you this wonât be the last time.
âIâm waiting.â You stay near the counter, pressing your back against it, and keeping your distance. Logan sits awkwardly on the edge of your couch, unsure of where to begin.
âLook, about what I said yesterdayâŚI didnât mean it. Iâm sorry.â He sounds sincere, earnest. âI didnât know you believed in soulmates.â
âItâs not a matter of believing in them or not, Logan. My soulmate is out thereâyours too.â
Your words coax a grin from him, and he shakes his head. âI guess weâll never see eye to eye on that.â In a fluid motion, he crosses the room, and you find his unexpected proximity a bit exasperating. âDo you forgive me?â
âIâll think about it.â
âGive me a break, darlinâ. Iâm trying my best.â
âWell, you were an asshole.â
âYes.â
âThe first time we exchanged words.â
âAlso yes.â
âAnd now youâre apologizing.â
âPositive. I just did.â
Itâs not that youâre easyâitâs Loganâs persuasive allure that gets to you.
âWhat else can I do to win your forgiveness?â he wonders aloud, his syrupy voice making you tighten your grip on the counter.
An idea sparks in your mind. You move toward the pile of books next to the TV, eyeing the titles, until one catches your attention: your copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte BrontĂŤ, one of the first novels youâd read when you were younger.
Itâs adorned with colorful post-its, and the pages, sort of rough to the touch, are marked with handwritten notes in the margins.
âHow do you feel about reading?â
âNot my strongest suit,â he answers, arching a brow as he takes in your enthusiasm. âWhatâs going on in that head of yours?â
âYou want me to believe youâre sorry for what you said? Then read this,â you say, wiggling the book in front of him, âand we can start over.â
âWhat is it about? Let me guess: love and soulmates. Did I get it right?â he asks, playfulness lacing his tone. His breath hitches as you press the book against his chest, silently urging him to take it. His pinky grazes your hand, feeling your skin and sending a jolt through you.
Logan watches you with half-lidded eyes, and it takes every ounce of willpower to tear yourself away from him and his maddening touch.
You clear your throat. âOpen it to page one hundred fifty-three.â
âDo youâyou remember specific pages?â
âAnd read whatâs underlined in black,â you murmur, eyes fluttering closed for an instant. âPlease.â
Logan must mutter something along the lines of âYouâve got to be kidding meâ before searching for it. Itâs only then that he begins to recite the passage:
He is not to them what he is to me. He is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine; â I am sure he is â I feel akin to him â I understand the language of his countenance and movements; though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. Did I say, a few days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receive my salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any other light than a paymaster? Blasphemy against nature! Every good, true, vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively round him. I know I must conceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must remember that he cannot care much for me. For when I say that I am of his kind, I do not mean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean only that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must, then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered: â and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.
Youâve chosen a damn good page.
Logan looks up from the book, his mouth slightly parted, as if heâs about to speak. You interject before he can find the words.
âYouâve got a week to read it.â
âHow long is it again?â
âFour hundred pages.â
He surrenders, sighing in defeat. âYouâre killing me here, yâknow?â
âWrite an opinion essay if possible.â
Right there, Logan offers you a mock laugh. âHaha. Thatâs so funny.â
âIt is for me,â you talk back, unable to hide your smile from him, and soon he mirrors your expression.Â
As Logan steps toward the door, he hesitates and glances back. âWeâre all good then?â
Leaning against the doorframe, you raise your chin defiantly. âWeâll be when you finish the book.â
What he says next has your stomach turning into knots. âYouâre trouble.â His tone shiftsâno longer teasing, but grounded in truth. Gone are the jokes; he seems to mean every word.
For the rest of the night, one line from the book doesnât stop echoing in your mindâthe line about soulmates: I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him.Â
Youâre trouble for him, and heâs trouble for you. You hope he knows it too.
He thought that not seeing you for a week would snuff out his feelings. That by next Wednesday, every thought tied to your name, every urge to uncover the last of your secrets, would be extinguished.
That's what time usually did: it diminished dangerous desires that couldn't afford to be voiced, and buried those longings that had no place in the light of day.
Logan now figures heâs been underestimating the spell you cast on him with just a few glances and the intensity of your eyes. Heâs seen you animated, angryâboth defiant and vulnerable.
Each of your gestures feels like a memory he canât quite place.
The way you laugh, the right corner of your mouth lifting just slightly higher than the leftâhe swears it isnât the first time he's seen a smile brighter than the sun.
Still, he convinces himself itâs all in his head. He must be the one losing his mind, the years finally catching up to him. Itâs the only reasonable explanation for the thoughts that consume his every waking moment.
Heâs wrongâyouâre right. Heâs seeing things where there are noneâyouâre simply too kind.
Too kind. Too young. Too damn clever for your own good, with your books and that sharp mind of yours. He wonders how you see yourself.
Do you like the reflection in the mirror? Are you content with the way your life has turned out?
Do you, too, lie awake at night, the bed stretching endlessly, aching for a touch that never comes?
The walls in this place are paper-thin. When darkness falls, and the moon rises, the big, scary Wolverine canât close his eyes.
Instead, he listens.
Some nights, you play the same movie on repeatâa romantic comedy that lasts exactly one hundred and twenty minutes. For two hours straight, heâs privy to your laughter, your commentary at the characters on the screen.
He hears you cry when the lead couple drifts apart after a terrible argument, but they always find their way back to each other, and you watch every second until the credits roll.
None of the other films you pick ever ends in heartbreak, he realizes. They all have happy endingsâthe kind you wish for yourself.
One way or another, there must be a way to get you out of his system. He knows, without a doubt, that you wouldnât want him. Heâs not your soulmate, and itâs clear that finding that person has become the center of your existence.
Logan canât allow himself to be the moron who derails your purpose.
Sure, heâs done bad things, but he likes to believe that at least a part of himâsome small fractionâhasnât been lost yet. That thereâs a piece of him that can be saved, which is the reason why he stayed here: to be a better man than the one he was in his universe.
But itâs hard. Harder still because itâs you who disrupts his quest for redemption. How is he supposed to go on with his life when every thought circles back to you? The idea of holding you, kissing youâsleeping beside you haunts him.
And so the images blur, new dreams twisting with his usual nightmares.
Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.
One afternoon, while deliberately steering clear of Jane Eyre, he reluctantly turns to Wade in search of answers. âTell me more about her.â
Wade, lounging on the couch, stops scrolling on his phone and drops it onto his chest, drawing his eyebrows together.
âHer? Who do you mean?â His tone oozes with feigned innocence, barely containing a shit-eating grin when Logan grits out your name, his tone rough, almost pained. âOh, Romeo. Youâve got it bad.â
Intending to maintain some semblance of control, Logan strides into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the last bottle of whiskey. As he tips it, only a few drops fall into the glass.
âNo, I donât,â he says, extending his arm and holding the bottle up. âWeâre out of whiskey.â
âYou keep saying we, but youâre the only alcoholic in this apartment.â Wade kicks off his shoes, propping his feet on the coffee table. âSo, why the sudden interest in the lady? She getting through that tough exterior of yours? Iâll give her points for that.â
âAnd you wonder why I donât talk to you.â
âI saw the book,â the younger man replies, lacing his fingers behind his head, watching as Logan rummages through the fridge with increasing frustration. âYou never told me you were into classics. If Iâd known, Iâd have gotten you a copy of Pride and Prejudice.â
âShut your mouth.â
âIâm sorry, werenât you the one who came to me, looking for the essential oil of truth?â
The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable, mood-killing.
âSee what I just did there?â he adds, and Logan feels forced to shake his head from side to side, appearing conflicted. Wade lets out a low huff. âThat was Virginia Woolf. Add her to your reading list.â
âHas anyone ever told you how obnoxious you are?â
âMore times than I can count. Iâm just not everyoneâs cup of coffee.â
âTea, Wade. Not everyoneâs cup of tea.â
âWhatever.â Wade simpers, as though Loganâs correction is the punchline to a joke only he gets. He sets his palms flat on the table, looming closer with a mischievous glint in his eyes. âSo, what would you like to know about my dear friend?â
Logan hesitates, the weight of his question heavy on his tongue. âWhatâs the deal with her scars?â
The air shifts. Wadeâs playful expression fades and he tilts his head, his tone turning serious. âI donât think itâs my story to tell,â he begins, gaze dropping to the floor. âBut she lost them years ago. She was living a normal life, and one day, they were justâgone, like they were never there. It broke her. We didnât know each other back then, but youâve seen her.â
Wadeâs eyes flick back up, while Logan stands there, tongue-tied. âYou even know the kind of books she readsânothing can shake that belief in real love, in soulmates being destined. Imagine how she mustâve felt when she found out her presumed soulmate was dead⌠without a single warning.â
From what he had heard, that sense of loss was impossible to put into words. Those whoâd gone through it described the experience as if half of youâyour body, your soul, your very essenceâwas being ripped away.
The pain was excruciating, and the only way to survive it was by means of tolerating itâno remedy, just the endurance to outlast the agony.
It wasnât just a momentary hurt. It was the kind of torment that lingered, making you question who you were and what little remained of you.
You and Logan had more in common than heâs willing to admit.
âSheâs a good person,â he mutters absent-mindedly, his thumb grazing the cover of the book. He had carried it everywhere for a week now, without even cracking it open.
âOh, you dirty pigâŚâ Wade whispers, his eyes lighting up as if a lightbulb suddenly went off in his mind. âNow I get it. You wanna know her. Like, really know her!â
âI donâtââ
âYour sex life is none of my business. Iâm all up for you putting your mutant dick to work, otherwise itâs just wasted potential. But itâs my friend weâre talking about.â
Loganâs jaw tightens, and he snaps. âDrop the speech, alright? Iâm not trying to get into her pants. I just want to be nice. Thatâs all.â
âNice, huh? Whatâs your version of nice? Starting a two-person book club?â Wade stifles a laugh, pressing a finger to Loganâs chest. âLook, if you want to sleep with her, and the feelingâs mutual, then go for it. Just tell me thisâhow longâs it been since you visited Pussy Village? Was it before or after the Big Bang?â
Things are never truly serious with Wade Wilson. âIâm not answering that.â
Wade raises both hands in surrender, still chuckling. âFine, fine. But if youâre really interested, just be clear about it. She doesnât need a half-assed situationship.â
By now, itâs like a mantra he repeats again and again, hoping that eventually both Wade and he will start to believe it. âI donât want to have sex with her.â
As he heads back to his (now Wadeâs old) room, Wade adds, âIâm sure sheâd appreciate it if you underlined some quotes you like.â
Much to his dismay, thatâs exactly what Logan does.
His handwriting isnât the most legible, but he tries his best, leaving notes in the margins of some pages, such as:
I hate this John kid.
Her aunt is a cunt.
This is too cheesy.
Mr. Rochesterâs married?
St. Johnâwhat a prick.
He finishes the book at 7 a.m. A long-ass bookâjust for you. While getting ready for work, Wade calls him an unemployed fucker, and Logan knows nothing better than to shoot back a similar insult, stretching his arms as the first rays of sunlight creep through the curtains.
Wade was right about something, even if Logan himself doesnât wish to admit it: heâs behaving like a teenagerâstaying up until dawn, practically chained to the bed without daring to go out. Falling for a girl he didnât know a week ago.
Learning to control his impulses has been a hard task, especially with his temperament. Over the years, Logan thought heâd mastered the art of self-restraint, long past the point where his body moved without his mindâs permission.
As his feet carry him down the hall toward your apartment, he recognizes how wrong he is.
This is a terrible idea, he thinks. And yet, his fist knocks on the wood. Three times.
Fuck.
The door opens just a crack. You peek out, your face barely visible, eyes puffy from sleep. âLogan?â
His name isnât a fancy one. Itâs pretty normal, pretty standard. There must be a thousand other guys named like himâyet itâs only when you say it, your voice turning it into something rare and unique, that it feels different, like itâs only his.
The tone you use with him isnât the one heâs used to: Logan, youâre a disappointment. Logan, how dare you turn your back on your friends? Logan, theyâre all dead. Logan, itâs your fault.
Yours is inviting, and warm, and new. He likes new.
âI just finished it,â he answers, holding up the book, mindful not to grip it too tight as not to crumple the pages.
You scratch the back of your head, blinking at him. âYou just finished it⌠at 7 a.m.?
Yeah, it sounds stupid now that you say it out loud, but itâs true. Hoping his reaction is enough to explain what he canât put into words, he gives you a slow nod.
This time, you donât wait for him to say more. âCome in?â
Yes, this is what heâs been looking forward all week. This moment, this interaction.
This Come in. This Yes, thank you. Youâre so kind.
His quiet acceptance of your invitation, the unpronounced thought of I donât deserve this, but I canât back off now, because how could I ever say no to you?
He follows you into the kitchen as you move to make tea. âWant some?â you ask, but he declines the offer. If he were to drink anything right now, it would be something much stronger, not tea, despite the early hour. âYouâre here to talk about the book?â
âWell, you told me I could come back after reading it.â
âI did,â you say, a small smile tugging at your lips as you hide it behind your mug. âI just wasnât expecting you to be so punctual.â
You donât need to know that heâs been counting down the seconds, marking each minute in his mind since the last time he saw you. Thatâs a detail heâll keep to himself. âItâs a good story.â
âTell me about it.â You smile even wider, and he takes a moment to absorb the details of your faceâthe crinkles by your eyes, the way your nose scrunches when youâre amused. âI lent you my most precious book. Fell in love with it years ago.â
âI can see why you liked it,â he explains, flipping through the pages to find the one he marked. âAll the romance and the yearningââ
âHey, itâs also good for other reasons,â you try to defend yourself, but any other argument dies on your lips when he finds the passage he was looking for and begins to read aloud.
âI sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now,â he recites, his voice lower, almost reverent, as he looks up from the page to meet your gaze. âIt is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.â
You seem startled by the sharp sound of him closing the book. Heâs sort of breathless, and from where he stands, he can tell you are too. âThatâs one of my favorite passages.â
âI canât blame you for believing in soulmates if this is the kind of thing you read growing up,â he teases, handing the book back to you.
Though a part of him almost wishes he didnât have toâso that it would still be a reason, a tether, pulling him back to you again and again.
Grinning, you take it, your eyes remaining trained on his. âI happen to notice it hasnât changed your perspective on soulmates.â
âItâll take more than a book.â
âThis is, in my opinion, one of the best love stories ever written. How else will I convince you?â
âWhy do you feel like you need to convince me?â He takes a step forwardâyou take a step back. âWhy canât it be the other way around? I might end up being the one who convinces you.â
âYou could never,â you respond, clasping your hands behind your back. âIt would be like convincing me the sky is green instead of blue.â
Logan retreats slightly. âDonât you get tired?â
âOf what?â
âOf waiting. Of always being on the lookout.â
You donât react badly to his question. Youâre not even shaken, not fazed in the slightest. âWhen I meet him, Iâll know all the waiting was worth it.â
âAnd in the meantime?â Logan inquires, pressing himself further into your intimacy, edging closer as if testing the boundaries youâre willing to cross. His words are a subtle request for more, for answers. âWhat will you do until you find him?â
If you ever do, he thinks, but itâs left unsaid, lingering in his thoughts. Heâs getting better at not saying the things that sit heavy in his chest without thinking.
âI think you misunderstand, Logan.â You study him through your lashes, and he feels heâs become the keeper of your most sacred secrets. âItâs not about waiting as if my lifeâs on pause. Iâve been with other people. But in the end, I want to choose him.â
That casual admission strikes him like a wave of cold water. A flicker of jealousy burns at the edges of his composure, though he tries to smother it.
Iâve been with other people, you say, your tone so nonchalant, and yet the mental images that flood his mind are anything but comfortable.
He imagines someone else standing in your kitchen. Perhaps in five minutes, there will be another man knocking on your door, here to discuss a book, and it wonât be him.
Perhaps this isnât rare for youâall this come in, grab something to drink, letâs talk when youâre done reading.
Perhaps heâs not as important as you make him feel.
His thoughts spiral until your voice pulls him back from the brink.
âDonât you understand how beautiful it is?â Thereâs a dazzling glint in your expression, a light in your eyes that makes him ache. âOutside of these four walls, thereâs a person whoâs waiting to meet me, in the same way I expect to meet him. I canât grant myself the choice not to believe in something like this.â
Far from easing the martyr in his mind, this conversation only deepens his internal struggle. The questions overlap each other: what happens if you never find him? Would you ever consider settling for somebody else?
He rephrases that last oneâwould you ever consider being with him?
âHeâs a lucky guy,â Logan murmurs, and just like that, he feels himself slipping deeper, falling into the rabbit hole with you guiding him through the madness.
For a moment, he can pretendâpretend that matching scars and bonds that defy the rules of his principles make sense.
Maybe, just for you, heâll allow himself to believe it.
Your eyes soften with sudden emotion, glistening with the beginnings of tears. He feels the primal urge to reach out, to cup your cheek, to be there when the first tear falls. âYou think so?â you ask, your voice fragile.
I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now.
âOf course I do,â he replies, his tone quiet but laden with a strange, undeniable truth.
It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.
Whatever this is between youâitâs messed up. Heâs messed up. And you⌠youâre just as tangled in this chaos for indulging it, for looking at him in that way that calls out to him.
The more time he spends with you, the less he feels like himself. Everything heâs done latelyâreading that damn book, standing in your apartment at 7 a.m.ânone of it feels like something heâd do.
Itâs not just his mind youâre messing with: itâs his very sense of self.
Loganâs smart mouth had always been a liability, getting him into trouble either by saying too much or by choosing the wrong words. Bad things had always followed in the wake of his tongue.
Somehow, when it comes to you, heâs the most careful heâs ever been. He doesnât want to upset you, nor does he want to be the cause of any sorrow that might affect your heart.
When the two of you stand at the threshold once more, just as you have other times before, you softly say: âI feel like Iâm experiencing a dĂŠjĂ vu.â
He laughs, because it sounds ridiculous. âCare to explain why?â
âYou come, we talk, you leave.â You lean against the wall, your hand ghosting over the handle. âBut you never stay that long.â
Thereâs no mistaking the layered meaning in your words. You, who work with language and its peculiarities for a living, never speak by chanceâevery phrase, every pause, carries an assigned weight. The double meaning in your statement doesnât escape either of you.
Youâre a natural at this madness, diving headfirst into it. You must be losing it, too, because your actions donât match what you said before.
Slowly, his fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the perfect excuse to feel your skin, to close the distance without saying what he actually wants.
They say food and shelter are the basic human needs, but Logan chooses to believe they forgot to include the longing to reach out and just feel you.
âI canât stay,â he finally responds to your earlier comment, his hand still lingering against your skin.
His strengthâthe only thing saving him from completely giving inâhelps him pull himself away.
Before the impulse to kiss you becomes too overwhelming to resist, Logan leaves.
Some time later, youâre making lunch, music playing softly in the background at the same time the cityâs distinct noise finds a way to break through your tranquility.
You rely greatly on the knowledge that youâre good at multitaskingânow more than ever, with a book in one hand and the other stirring the pasta on the stove.
The warmth from the pot rises around you, but you trust yourself not to be careless. Not to be stupid enough to burn yourself with the boiling water.
This time, you miscalculate. Not only do you dip the wooden spoon into the pot, but your fingertips too.
Though it only lasts a second, and the voice in your head instantly screams Hot! Hot! Hot!, the shock makes you drop the book to the floor. You yank your hand back, racing to the sink to run it under cold water.
âFuck,â you grumble, watching the skin redden in protest. âLesson learned: no more multitasking.â
The funny thing is, just a door away, Loganâs watching a movie with Wade when he feels a sting in the tips of his fingers.
Itâs barely there, practically faint, but he looks down, inspecting his hand like it doesnât belong to his own body. His skin briefly flushes with irritation before returning to its normal state.
Wade notices his distraction. âHey, you okay?â
Logan pays no mind to it. âSure. Just felt something strange.â
Is it still called avoiding if youâre both doing it? Youâd like to think so.
For the sake of clarity, letâs say youâve been actively avoiding Logan, but truth be toldâheâs been avoiding you too. That last encounter in your apartment didnât help matters at all.
If anything, it made everything worse.
Youâve been down this road before, knowing men like him too well: theyâre everywhere, until theyâre not.
One day, they vanish without a trace, leaving you staring at the empty space they used to occupy, asking yourself âWhat happened to my Prince Charming in disguise?â
They disappear as though they never existed, and not even the best detective can track them down.
So far, your avoidance strategy has worked wonders. Maybe itâs for the best. Heâs a distractionâan undeniably attractive one, the kind anyone would want to trip over.
Yet you miss him, which is dumb: why are you missing someone you were never supposed to care about in the first place?
You return home after a long trip to the grocery store, arms laden with bags. Itâs the kind of errand that exhausts you, though you keep telling yourself itâs better than thinking about him.
As you struggle to get through the building's exit, you resign yourself to the fact that itâll take several trips to bring everything up to your apartment.
Then the elevator doors slide open, and you drop everything to the floor.
You shouldâve known better than to assume victory so soon. After days of successfully avoiding him, there he is.
And of course, itâs when you look your worstâtired from running around, weighed down by groceries, barely holding it together.
âHey,â he greets you, standing just outside the elevator, like heâs not sure if he should step inside or stay where he is. Heâs dressed in a red-and-black flannel shirt, layered over a white vest, a leather jacket tossed over his shoulders, and a pair of jeans that seem made for him.
He looks... ridiculously good.
âHi,â you manage to answer after a beat, scrambling to collect the bags youâd dropped. âJustâgive me a second.â
âLet me help you,â Logan says, ducking down to gather the groceries, but you pull them away.
âIâve got it. Are you going out? On a date, maybe?â You nod toward his clothes, trying to keep things light, teasing even.
Glancing down at himself, a crease appears between his brows, and in one swoop, he gathers all the bags with a single hand. âIâm supposed to meet Wade at a bar, but heâll survive without me.â
âLogan, you donâtââ
But heâs already moving, one hand tugging you out of the elevator, the other gesturing toward your apartment.
âNot up for debate,â he mutters. Then, without waiting for permission, he holds out his hand. âKeys.â
Sighing, you dig into your pocket and drop them into his open palm. He unlocks the door with practiced ease, stepping inside and placing the bags on your kitchen counter.
As he starts to unpack them, you stop him. âYou really donât need to do that.â
That seems to catch his attention. He pauses, turning toward you with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the counter.
His unrelenting stare sizes you up, and he cocks his head to the side. âHavenât seen you in a while.â
He thinks heâs so discreet, so smooth. âWell, Iâve been busy,â you explain, fiddling with the frayed edge of your sweater, tugging at it like it might unravel your nerves.
You hear him click his tongue. âBeen busy too.â His words hang in the air, thickening the atmosphere. Your body tenses, and you stare at his shoes, untilâ âSweetheart,â he calls you softly, and your eyes snap shut for a moment, your chin almost pressing against your chest. âMy eyes are up here.â
A quick flutter of your lashes brings you back to him, and your chest tightens with the effort it takes to look into his eyes. âDonât you have somewhere to be?â you ask, praying heâll let this go.
You watch as his mouth twitches with something halfway between a smile and a smirk. âYou already want me to leave?â
âIf you have plans, then yeah.â
He huffs out a laugh, inhaling a shallow breath like youâve missed something obvious. âWade can wait. Heâll be fine.â His expression shifts, and the playful tone in his voice falls away, replaced by something more raw. âYouâve been avoiding me.â
You canât help but snort. âOh, please. Like you havenât been doing the same.â You walk over to the couch, feeling your legs wobble beneath you. You collapse into one corner, hoping the distance will help you breathe.
Like a shadow, Logan follows after you, sitting far too close. His legs splay wide, so wide theyâre almost grazing yours.
âAt least I have a reason for it. What about you?â His hand reaches out, fingers closing around yours in a grip thatâs both firm and gentle, enhancing your anxiety. Your throat tightens, the room shrinking around you. âI need you to tell me Iâm not crazy,â he says, his voice rough and low. âI need you to tell me you feel it too.â
Panic flares in your chest, and you scramble for time. âI donât know what youâre talking about,â you mutter, but your voice cracks, the uncertainty leaking through the cracks in your bravado.
He doesnât buy your acting. âYou do. We canât keep playing dumb. Youâre gonna make me lose my fuckinâ mind one of these days.â
Itâs not just his wordsâitâs the way he stands so close, heat radiating from his body, the roughness of his hand gripping yours like heâs terrified youâll slip away.
The intensity of it all weighs on you in ways you canât even begin to describe, leaving you breathless, caught between denial and desire.
âLogan, this isnâtââ
âWhat? Okay?â Thereâs a glimpse of mirthlessness in his tone as he speaks, his forehead furrowing. âI canât stay away from you, donât you see it? It feels too good to be wrong,â he utters, inching forward. You know you should take a step back, tell him to stop. Nothing good can come from this. âIt takes two to feel these things. It canât be just me.â
âThat doesnât mean we have to give in.â Blood pounds in your ears, your pulse racing as your heart hammers unpleasantly. Little shivers of ice run through your spine, and yet, your stomach burns with desire.
More than ever, you feel yourself slipping, your sanity at risk.
Logan runs his eyes up and down your face, agitated, almost going cross-eyed. âEarlier you asked if I was going on a date. Would you like that? Me being with other people? Kissing another woman?â His hot breath caresses your cheek, and you avert your gaze momentarily. âAnswer me.â
Donât do it. For the love of God, donât. âI canâtâI donâtââ
âCome on, baby.â
âI donât want you to be with other people,â you mumble, your lips almost grazing his, and thatâs all he needs to grip your chin and pull you into a kiss.
His mouth moves hungrily over yours, pushing you back until the armrest digs into your lower back. A choked whimper gets lost in your throat, and you bring him closer by grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket, your chest pressing against his.
Logan bites down on your lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and the moan you let out reverberates in the apartment.
âThis is what you were hiding from me?â he rasps, his forehead bumping against yours. âThese sweet sounds you make?â
You end up perched in his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips. Heâs hard beneath you, and as you shift, your center makes contact with his erection through the layers of fabric.
Both of you sigh into each otherâs mouths, your hips moving on their own accord, rocking slightly against his clothed cock. He hooks one of his arms around your waist, guiding your movements.
Everything seems to fall into place. Outside your window, birds chirp. The world feels lighter, like a better place. The beast inside you quiets, and for once, your mind is blissfully blank.
Logic? Error 404ânot found.
You tug at his hair, and Logan growls, breaking the kiss. âDo that again.â He jerks under your touch, bucking up into you. Encouraged, you pull his hair again, fingers wrapping around a strand at the nape of his neck, and youâre rewarded with a deep groan.
Heâs dizzy for it, but youâre no better, not when he trails his kisses down your neck, his mouth latching onto your skin, tasting the sweat and salt.
âI canât control myself around you,â he murmurs, groping your tits, and you wail, the ache between your legs becoming intolerable. His hands slip under your sweater, caressing the scars on your back.
Thatâs when recognition settles over you.
What are you doing? And why are you doing it?
He ceases sucking your flesh when you go rigid on top of him. Pecking your lips once again, Loganâs hands cradle your face, his thumbs rubbing circles on your cheeks. âWhatâs wrong?â
You donât understand how he does it, how he can remain so calm. Doesnât he realize the gravity of this? âWe have to stop.â
âWhy?â
âDonât ask me something you already know the answer to.â
His arms drop to his sides, releasing you from his hold. You push yourself off him, away from the couch, putting as much distance between you as you can.
Pressing your palms to your eyes, you shake your head. âGod, Iâm stupid. This is stupid.â
Your reaction seems to get on his nerves, his frustration somehow increasing. Logan stands, towering over you. âWas it stupid when you were dry humping me?â
âFuck you, Logan.â
âIâm not the bad guy here. You kissed me back.â He doesnât let up, trailing behind you as you try to escape. âYou want me as much as I want you.â
âWill you stop saying that?â you bark, throwing your arms in the air. Your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. âYeah, we like each other. So? Does that make it right? How can you just ignore how wrong this is?â
His expression hardens, anger flashing in his eyes. âForget your idea of what's good and bad. You're just upset you can't control what you feel.â
âHeâs closer than ever.â
Logan gawks at you, his voice bitter as he goes on with his rambling. âThat fucker again? Donât you ever get tired of talking about someone who you donât even know? Because youâre certainly wearing me out.â
âYou wish you were him, donât you?â You jab your finger into his chest, feeling his heartbeat, a flutter you choose to ignore. âYou want to be my soulmate.â
âDamn right I do,â he practically spits his words, narrowing his eyes at you. âBut Iâm not him.â
âNo. Youâre not.â
Everything seems to fall out of place. Outside your window, birds donât chirpâthey scream for mercy. The world doesnât feel lighter, but heavier. The beast inside you roars back to life, restless and louder than ever, while your mind spins in chaos.
âWe shouldnât see each other anymore.â Your voice pierces through the thick silence in the room, and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat.
âIf thatâs what you want,â he replies, his jaw clenched tight, irritation radiating off him in waves.
âItâs what we both need.â
âSpeak for yourself. I donât have a soulmate.â His tone is biting, but you donât miss the undercurrent of longing in his words. âBut if in any other universe I do, I hope itâs you.â
Your hand turns the knob, and then heâs halfway out the door, sparing you one last glance before he turns his back to you.
No more visits. No more books. No more bruising kisses that leave you questioning your mere existence.
Let things stay as they areâitâs safer that way. You donât want to know the reason behind this forceful need.
After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, heâll stay holed up in Wadeâs apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? Youâll forget about him. Easy-peasy.
It didnât go well in the end.
You remember your first heartbreakâseventeen, fresh out of high school. One of your hands clutched a million dreams, and the other, a pillow soaked with your tears.
Your mother remained by your side, caressing your back, attempting to soothe the sobs that racked your body. She murmured that itâd pass, that you wouldnât feel like this forever. You believed her then, and trusted that things would eventually be okay.
Almost ten years later, another heartbreak shouldnât come as a surprise. By now, you thought you wouldâve developed the tools to survive it. You should be able to piece yourself back together by instinct.
But life, as it turns out, has a peculiar way of catching you off guard.
Whether itâs pent-up horniness, touch-starvation, or genuine affectionâit doesn't change the fact that your pseudo-relationship with Logan fell apart.
Though youâre not the one whoâs suffering the most. Neither is Logan.
Wade, the third party in this tangled mess, has somehow taken it the hardest.
âI feel like a child of divorce,â he says, his head resting on your lap, eyes distant as they fixate on the peeling wallpaper. âYou need to do something about that.â
âIâll take care of it next month.â
Heâs supposed to be the one supporting you, but it feels like the roles are reversedâyouâre comforting him, letting him vent.
âMy two favorite people now canât even be in the same room. What are we gonna do for Christmas? New Year's Eve?â Straightening up, he grabs the nearest cushion and buries his face into it to muffle a defeated scream. âDamn it, Cupid! You had one job!â
All in all, Wadeâs emotionally unavailable at the moment, grieving your separation from Logan as if it were his own loss, too caught up in his melodrama to be of any real help.
Meanwhile, you fill your days with work, books, anything to keep your mind occupied.
You go to bed too late, you wake up too early. Sleep too little, cry too much.
One thing stays constantâyou and Logan donât talk. Stolen glances in the hallway, awkward elevator ridesâthose are the only remnants of whatever you once were. Back to being strangers again.Â
Well, not really. Strangers donât know the route to your mouth the way he does.
The ache lingers every day. Missing him when youâre awake is a common occurrence. At night, as you toss and turn beneath the sheets, he stars in your dreams. You canât recall the last time he wasnât lodged in your thoughts.Â
Where there used to be ideas, creativity, and plots worth scribbling down, thereâs now only Loganâa man destined to problematize your stay on earth.
That fucker again? Donât you ever get tired of talking about someone who you donât even know? Because youâre certainly wearing me out.
And yet, despite all of it, you continue to prioritize someone else. Someone who isnât even here. Clung to the idea of a soulmate, you chose him over Logan.
What did he expect? For you to abandon your principles, your belief in destiny? Itâs who you are. Nearly thirty years of life guided by one belief canât just be discarded like trash.
You liked to separate things into categories: good and bad, right and wrong. A simple method to structure everything, to make sense of your world, and it has worked most of the time.
But now? The limits of those sacred categories look blurred. Your judgment feels unreliable, and you wonder if the choices youâve made lately have been the correct ones.
Each of your decisions seems to be leading you further down a path you canât recognize.Â
Whatâs the goal? Finding your soulmate, the voice in your head mockingly answers for the hundredth time, rolling its imaginary eyes. And where is he?
Youâve shut Logan out, a man whoâs made it clear he has feelings for you, for this elusive person. Isnât it time he steps into the light at long last?
This is what you fear the most: loneliness.
You donât want to be the lone woman who sits by herself in a cafe, drawing pity from waitresses who discuss her solitude. By no means do you wish to be that friend who dispenses wise dating advice, but goes home to an empty bed. You refuse to become the godmother whose hand no one holds when her time comes.
No, this canât be all fate has to offer to you. There must be more. If your life were a book, youâd be flipping through the pages to the last chapter, desperate to see how it ends.
Or, better yet, youâd grab a pen and rewrite it yourself. What kind of ending youâll haveâyouâre not so sure about that.
Itâs Sunday, one of those endless weekends where the only way to survive is by rearranging your entire apartment. You could manage it alone, but help would be niceâWadeâs help, to be more precise, would be perfect for this kind of task, and you find yourself knocking on his door.Â
No answer. Deciding to dial his number to see if heâs fallen asleep, you try calling him, waiting through the rings until he finally picks up. âHey.â
Except itâs not Wadeâs voice that answers. âIâm sorry, who is this?â
The door swings open, and Logan appears right behind it, holding Wadeâs phone to his ear.
He narrows his eyes, leaning against the frame, a single eyebrow lifted in curiosity. âHow sad. You donât remember what I sound like.â
You feel foolish for still being on the call, so you lock your phone, ending it. âWhereâs Wade?â you ask, frowning as you hold your breath, your voice sharper than intended.
âOut and about. Didnât tell me where he was going,â Logan replies, glaring at you as he raises the phone to your face. âHe left without this.â
Abort mission! Nodding in agreement, you begin to step back. âGreat, Iâll look for him later.â
Youâre close to being locked up once again in the safety of your apartment when you hear him: âYou need anything?â
Itâs the most heâs said to you in weeks. You hesitate, keeping your back turned. âIâm moving some heavy stuff around. Thought I could use the help.â
âI could do it.â
No. Not really. Heâs doing that thing againâoffering help when you know you shouldnât accept it. You shake your head.
âItâs not necessary,â you say, forcing a casual tone.
âDoesnât have to mean anything,â he retorts, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as they draw closer. With each passing second, your options shrink, leaving you no room for retreat. âDonât worry. I wonât try to kiss you again if thatâs whatâs got you all worked up.â
âIâm not worked up,â you hiss, and he sidesteps you easily, his arm nudging yours.
The electricity is still there, undeniable, but neither of you has the courage to acknowledge it, acting as though itâs an ordinary occurrence.
His eyes roam the room, like heâs forgotten what your apartment looked like. He pauses by the bookshelf, his fingers gliding over the spine of Jane Eyre, and a low whistle escapes him as he slips it back into place.Â
You, frozen at the threshold, feel your irritation simmering just beneath the surface, and the urge to hide in your bedroom only becomes stronger.
After this, youâll have to burn your favorite book. What a pity.
âWhat do you want me to do?â he asks, hooking his fingers into the loops of his jeans, his posture both confident and annoyingly relaxed.
Thereâs a challenge in his tone, and he acts as if youâre the one who pulled him into this situationâlike he didnât worm his way in here.
You gesture toward the couch. âCan you put it by the window?â
He sets to work, moving the smaller pieces of furniture aside to make space for the couch. Under no circumstances are you going to just stand there and watch him sweat.
Instead, you busy yourself with the long-forgotten glasses and cups gathering dust in one of the kitchen cabinets, each one glinting with past disappointments.
Wetting a towel, you start by wiping the rims. The air feels heavily charged with uneasiness, but you're relieved that for once, you can breathe without feeling like youâre on the brink of a heart attack.
You can already imagine Wadeâs face when you tell himâ
âSo,â Loganâs voice cuts through the silence, startling you, âhowâs the search going? Got any luck?â
His words have the desired effect on you, and the glass slips from your grasp, shattering against the floor in a crash that mirrors the jump of your heart. You curse under your breath, stepping back from the mess, taking in the shards sprawled around your shoes.
âBe careful,â he says from the other side of the room, still dragging the furniture into place, and you scrutinize him over your shoulder, your brows knitted.
âI donât need your advice,â you murmur through gritted teeth as you crouch to pick up the larger shards. His attention returns to the couch, but you guess heâs not technically thinking how nice of a person you are.
As you kneel, your hands tremble slightly, and you wonder when that started. You fumble for a larger shard of glass, bracing your hand against the floor for balance, unaware of the smaller piece lying dangerously close to your fingers.
The sting comes fast, slicing through the skin of your pinky. You flinch, raising your hand, and Logan, hearing the faint wince, abandons his task and crosses the room to you.
"I donât need your advice," he echoes, mocking your tone as he squats beside you, his hand closing around yours to inspect the wound. "Youâre bleeding."
âBrilliant observation, Sherlock. I hadnât noticedââ The words die in your throat, your eyes widening as you take a closer look at his hand. âWait, why are you bleeding?â
He snorts, diverting his attention to his own hand. âWhat do you mean Iâmââ Whatever it is he intended to shoot back remains unsaid as both of you stare down at the small cut in his pinky.
Driven by instinct, you place your hands side by side, your finger grazing his. The cuts are identical: same place, same width, same depth. The only difference is his vanishes within seconds, leaving only a few droplets of crimson blood as evidence.
Logan couldnât have cut himself. He was nowhere near the glass. âAre youâŚ?â You swallow thickly, trying to string together a coherent thought, dizziness making its triumphant appearance. âAre you thinking what Iâm thinking?â
âYes.â
âAnd what is thatââ
âI need a drink.â
âCan you stop acting like a dick for one second?â You peer into his glossy eyes, watching him try to avoid your gaze, though he canât seem to resist. âPlease, Logan. Look at me.â
When he does, his mouth parts as if to speak, then closes again. âI donât understand. I thought I didnât have a soulmate.â His gruff tone slows even further, like he's straining to push the words from his lungs. âI thoughtâI thought I was alone.â
It explains so much: how your scars had reappeared once he and Wade returned from The Void.Â
The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.
The dread that washed over you each time he walked away.
The dreams that plagued your nights, and the tightness in your chest these past few weeks that made you wonder if you could ever coexist in the same space as him without breaking apart.
All those times you felt he was getting closer werenât just a figment of your imaginationâhe was, in fact, right there.
But he wasnât just anyoneâit was him. Logan is your soulmate. You two are meant to be together. How long would it take for you to truly believe it? Until it no longer sounded like something too good to be true?
Without uttering a sound, Logan gazes at you, silently pleading to see them. To see your scars. You extend your arm, and with a gentle motion, he rolls up the sleeve of your shirt, revealing the marks etched into your skin.
He runs his fingers along the lines, trying to understand the bond you now shareâboth his and yours.
In a sense, youâre his. You carry his scars, the physical manifestation of the life he has lived. Even though he may not bear any of his own, you do, and thatâs more than enough.
He belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.
âThere are more,â you tell him. your voice barely above a whisper. He stands, offering you his hand, and you take it, rising to your feet. Logan inches closer, his mouth hovering just above yours, his large hand coming up to cup your cheek.
The look he gives you is one reserved for those he loves, a look filled with such warmth and affection that it almost feels dreamlike.
âDo you want me to see them?â he inquires, and all he needs is a nod from you to gently tug your shirt up your chest and over your head.
He lets out a dry chuckle when you attempt to tame your hair, the effort proving to be in vain. The clock on the wall seems to pause its ticking the moment his fingers begin to trail each of the scars that captures his gaze.
You canât even begin to fathom what thoughts might be swirling in his mind, but if the flicker of lust and desire you catch in his expression is anything to go by, youâre not so worried.
Loganâs touch carries an unexpected softness, a tenderness you never imagined a man like him could possess.
Deep down, you wish he understood that these scars donât hurt, that they never have. âIâm okay,â you reassure him, prompting him to explore more of your skin, to claim you as his.
âDo you⌠like them?â he asks without meeting your eyes.
Do you like my scars? is the real question hidden underneath.
Do you like me? is the one he canât bring himself to pronounce.
âTheyâre yours. I could never not like them.âÂ
Before you stands a man you once believed was meant to be your burden, your trial. Logan had been the earthquake sent to test your endurance, to see how much you could withstand before surrendering and waving the white flag.
The same fingers that once imprinted his mark on you now linger on the strap of your bra, waiting for you to decide whether to let him go further or stop.
Desire has a limit before it overwhelms. Thereâs only so much need a person can contain before it spills over, uncontrollable and raw.
This game, one you never learned how to play, feels as foreign to him as it does to youâneither of you knows the rules.
âCan I see more?â Heâs still talking about the scars, still fumbling with the strap, and you nod, your eyelids growing droopier as you take his free hand and direct it to the front of your jeans.
He catches the hint, undoing the button with ease, allowing you to shed the last layers of restraint.
Bare, moments away from being completely naked, standing in stark contrast to Logan, who remains fully clothed, your stomach does a flip as he rubs his thumb along the sides of your underwear.
Leaning your forehead against his shoulder, you stifle a sigh when he splays his hand across your lower back, pulling you closer.
His rough grip tightens on your ass, testing the feel of you, while your breathing becomes shallow, erratic.
âWhat is it, honey?â He slides his fingers your stomach, just below your belly button, brushing a small scar in there. âWant me to touch you?â
âYes,â you croak, the plea slipping out involuntarily, throwing your arms around his neck. He buries his face against your jaw, his lips parting against your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck.
You tilt your head back, exposing more of your throat to him, breathless as you whisper: âIâve waited so long.â
He moves toward the couch, and you follow, trying to anticipate what heâs got planned for you. âI know, baby. I know. Youâve waited long enough.â Guiding your body down, he has you lying horizontally on the sofa. He unhooks your bra, kneading your breasts with both hands, eliciting a ragged gasp from you. âBut Iâm here now. You donât have to wait any longer,â he huffs by your ear, rolling your nipples between his fingers, his breath mingling with yours, each exhale warm and inviting. âGonna let me make you feel good? Show you how much Iâve been thinkinâ about you?â
Instead of answering with real words, you surge forward, crashing your lips against with his, reveling in the way he cages you with his biceps, locking you up in a prison of desire from which you never wish to break free. He tries not to settle his full weight on top of you, attentive not to crush you.
As he nips at the column of your throat, you squirm beneath him, canting your hips up to seek the friction you crave.
He presses his knee against your center and you push back, grinding against him with an animalistic urgency.
You canât recall ever feeling this desperate, this overwhelmed by a man. But then again, heâs unlike any other youâve encountered in your array of momentary hookups.
His kisses grow even more insistent as breathy moans roll off to your tongue, merging with the occasional creak of the couch beneath your movements.
Logan spreads your thighs wider, sinking to his knees on the floor to tug your lower half forward until your ass is almost hanging in the air. He places your thighs on his shoulders, supporting you as he leans in to pepper your soft flesh with kisses.
One can be certain that heâs marking your inner thighs with a hickey or two, the scratch of his beard feeling magnificent against your sensitive skin, and you can hardly bring yourself to think about the potential burn heâll leave behind. Logan inhales your scent, the tip of his nose dangerously close to your cunt, and you tangle a hand in his hair as he continues to test your patience.
âEager?â he wonders aloud, looking at you through his lashes. While maintaining eye contact, he presses a kiss to your clit through the fabric of your panties.
He does it again, and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, his fingers deftly pulling your underwear down your legs.
The first drag of his tongue along your folds has you scrunching your eyebrows in pleasure, tightening your grip on his hair. Logan moans against you, the sound muffled as he dips the tip of his tongue into your entrance, lapping at your arousal with an insatiable hunger.
The way you purr his nameâa soft caress, a pat on his back that says Yeah, youâre doing fineâonly spurs him on, infusing every one of his ministrations with fervor.
His longing for you radiates in the intensity of his touch, sending shivers through you, making you writhe because of his hands alone.
Your core throbs. Your skin prickles with electricity. Your legs quake on either side of his face. Heâs hungry and youâre his feast. Heâs parched and youâre the last bottle of water in an arid world.
Logan eats you out like this will be the only time heâll have the privilegeâeach movement calculated, pushing all the right buttons, pulling out every trick he knows to make you think No, it doesnât get any better than this. This is as much as one can get.
Then his fingers join the symphony of pleasure, pumping in and out of you as he keeps flicking your clit with expert precision, and your back arches from the couch, following his pace with your hips. He pushes back, you push forwardâhe pushes forward, you push back.
Who is enjoying this more: him or you?
His pointed tongue teases your bud, matched with the persistent hammering of his fingers plunged into your wet heat. The combination has you coming on his mouth, falling over the precipice while you struggle to keep yourself together.
Your walls flutter around his digits, and your cries fuse with his groans, both overshadowed by his insatiable desire to savor until the last drop of your release.
Shockwaves ripple through your body and you prop your weight on your arms to capture his lips in a fervent kiss, your eyes rolling rolling back in ecstasy as you taste yourself, a mix of sour and sweet.
In a frenzy, he sheds his clothes, practically tearing them away, and you wrap your hand around his length, stroking him in time with your kisses. Logan pulls back, panting against you, and you steal a glance at him.
Your gaze travels down to his hard cock, the tip a furious red, and he seizes your wrist.
âWhy donât you kiss it better?â he rasps, his voice dropping an octave. In this moment, youâre taken aback by his beauty, and the urge to express it rises within you.
âYouâre so beautiful,â you murmur against his thigh, showering his skin with heated kisses. You stare in disbelief at the trail of hair leading to his girth, mouth watering at the sight.
A kiss on the tip, followed by a broad lick along a prominent veinâLoganâs grip on the armrest tightens, his knuckles turning white. âSo perfect.â
âShut up,â he retorts breathlessly, but you revel in the strangled noise that escapes him as you take him deeper, his head disappearing between your lips. His palm rests on your nape, anchoring you in place. âGoddammit. The fuckinââmouth you have on you.â
You try to take him in further once youâre feeling more confident, while Logan fights with all his might against the need to thrust his hips up into your warmth. He canât stay still, grunting and smothering you with lavish praise that heightens your arousal, slick pouring out of you in waves.
âPretty thing you are. Donât even know how to function around you. You got me allâfuck, actinâ all stupid.â
At one point, he tells you to stop, because he doesnât want to come just yet. You know what comes next as he rubs his cock along your folds, blending your wetness with his precum.
Itâs sloppy, and dirty, and messyâand God, do you love it.
He sinks into you and the world collides in a way you never expected. Everything you thought you knew falls apart, leaving you stranded in unfamiliar territory.
You canât comprehend how youâve spent so many years without him. Without this.
Your lips find his, and he swallows every sound he punches out of your lungs. His thrusts grow harder and faster as you adjust to his size, how big he feels inside you.
He digs his fingers into the globes of your ass, yanking you towards his shaft every time he fucks into you. You feel the brush of his balls against your skin, the way his muscles flex beneath your touch.
To this day, itâs still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.
You come to understand it fully as his eyes flicker to yours, checking for any signs of discomfort in your features.
You understand why people write books and songs about love when he breathes your name in the shell of your ear, chanting how good youâre taking him, how tight and wet you are for him.
You understand the place love occupies in your life as the sound of your bodies slapping together creates a melody which has never been played before.
You understand why youâve searched for this your entire life, lifting every carpet in hopes of uncovering the love youâve pined for.
In the past, it had always felt like a raceâfinding your soulmate before the clock struck twelve. Now that you have him, you wonder what the future holds for you, how this connection will evolve.
For now, you can allow yourself the possibility of relishing the drag of his cock in your interior. His pace doesnât falter for a secondâsomething about mutants and their non-stop stamina, no doubt. He shoves a hand between your sweaty bodies, rubbing circles on your already swollen bud.
Each time he fills you to the brim, you have to ground yourself, resisting the pull of an altered reality.
âSo full,â you blurt out, mewling with a specially hard thrust, a chocked sob lodged in your throat. âPlease, stay.â
It could mean many things: Please, keep fucking me. Please, donât leave after this. Please, remain by my side form this moment onward, because I donât know how to go on with my life now that Iâve experienced this closeness.
Whatever meaning he ascribes to your words is of little importance. He tightens his arms around you, kissing you deeply, tongue and teeth clashing as they compete to see who wins the battle. âNever. Iâm never lettinâ you go, yâhear me?â
Heat pools in your lower back, a coiling tension radiating through your limbs. âYouâre mine, princess. Canât afford to lose you now that I found you. Gonna remind you every day.â
His rambling pushes you over the edge, your dripping cunt spasming around him as you reach your climax, moaning his name against his shoulder. You cling to him, convulsing beneath his body, and he grinds his hips into yours, his chest rumbling as he growls.
âInside,â you mumble, extending your hand to press it to his waist. âNeed you inside me. Please, I want it so bad.â
Logan stutters against you, his forehead falling against your collarbone as he finishes with one powerful thrust, his cock pulsing warm ropes of come within your cunt. You clench around him, whining as he prolongs both your pleasure and his, milking the last drop of his seed. His voice is a constant murmur, filling every space in the room until he slumps against you.
Night has fallen. The cut on your pinky no longer stings. Your scars, after all, are still there, nestled against Loganâs unmarked skin. You caress his back, sighing contentedly as a wave of peace washes over you.
Youâve never felt this relaxed.
Logan grasps your chin and tilts it up, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. âHey,â he mutters, his gaze roaming all over your face.
You cup his cheek, his rough stubble grazing your palm. âHey, stranger. Long time no see.â
A genuine laugh pierces through the silence. the kind he rarely allows himself. Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes, his brow furrowing as he glances at you with love.
Loveâhadnât you pondered its existence for so long? Your fuel for living, the muse behind your best poems, a recurring motif in your fantasies.
Love now has Loganâs name written in ink, no longer a blank canvas awaiting its unknown owner. Noâitâs all his now.
Youâd do it all over again if it meant ending up like this, tangled and intertwined, with the promise of a future together. He has many stories to shareâabout his past universe, about himself. You have secrets to unveil, too. Thereâs so much you both have yet to discover about each other.
But time isnât up. This isnât a race, you remind yourself: things are just getting started.
Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees youâtruly sees your longing for itâit flees, and you struggle to keep up. Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.
Finally, youâve wrapped love around your finger.
dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3
#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#wolverine#wolverine x you#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett xmen#logan howlett fic#logan howlett smut#logan howlett fanfiction#logan james howlett#james howlett#wolverine angst#wolverine fic#wolverine fanfiction#deadpool and wolverine#wade wilson#logan x reader#logan x you#logan xmen#wolverine xmen#wolverine x y/n#the worst logan x reader#the worst wolverine#worst wolverine#logan howlett x f!reader#james logan howlett#deadpool 3#the wolverine x reader
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Oooohh i have a request!:
Playing ânever have i everâ or something like that with logan and wade (maybe along the lines of a boring friday night with nothing else to do) and you admit to never having an orgasm by anyone but yourself
Flash forward youâre in loganâs arms and wade is eating the fuck out of your pussy, and then they switch đđ
iâve written something similar two the second part here, but i love the never have i ever idea! // divider from @strangergraphics
boredom isnât something heroes are used to. thereâs always something happening somewhere, someone needing to be saved. but tonight, everything is quiet. the three of you were suspicious at first, but you checked every police scanner, news outlet, and all of your contacts and came up with nothing. the bad guys had decided to take an evening off, and now you were stuck with nothing to do.
you, wade, and logan all sit around in the living room with bottles of beer. you and wade stare at the mindless gameshow on tv while logan rests his eyes. youâre definitely bored, but wade is restless. itâs like heâs itching for something to do, like his body is physically unable to handle the inactivity.
âwhy donât we play a game?â wade asks, startling logan awake.
the two of you look over at wade. âwhat kind of game?â you ask.
âi donât know, ânever have i ever?ââ
logan rolls his eyes, then shuts them again. heâll deny any âold manâ comments, but he really is one. you elbow logan in the side and he opens them again.
âcome on, itâll be fun,â wade pleads.
âitâs not like we have anything better to do,â you say to logan. reluctantly, he agrees.
you reposition yourselves in the living room. you sit on the couch, leaned against the arm with your feet in loganâs lap, who sits on the other end. wade sits on the floor by the coffee table, his beer on the table without a coaster next to him.
âthis is your game, wilson. you start,â logan says before taking a sip of his beer.
âno, donât drink! you only drink if youâve done the thing i say,â wade scoffs. how can logan be so old and still know nothing about fun? âokay, okay. never have i ever⌠gotten arrested.â
you furrow your eyebrows at him while logan takes a drink. youâre almost certainly wade has been arrested before. âi donât think youâre playing this game right,â you say. âyou have to say things youâve never done.â
wade scoffs. âi havenât been arrested, thank you very much. all the cops whoâve tried have mysteriously ended up with broken noses.â
you roll your eyes at him. âmy turn now? never have i ever⌠cheated on a partner.â
both of them take drinks, wade with more shame than logan. ugh, men.
then itâs loganâs turn. ânever have i ever worn a dress.â
you figure itâs targeted at you, just because loganâs a dick, but to your surprise, wade drinks too. logan raises his eyebrow at him, silently urging him to elaborate.
âyou wish you saw that, huh, peanut?â he taunts instead. logan makes a face at that.
âiâm thankinâ god i didnât have to.â
you play a couple more rounds, all three of you exchanging stories and sipping from your bottles. it takes a lot to get them drunk, but youâre starting to feel it. thereâs a collection of empty bottles, mostly beer, but halfway through the game, wade decided to up the ante with some liquor.
itâs wadeâs turn again and he says, ânever have i ever been with two guys at once.â
he means it as a joke. he doesnât expect anyone to drink. thereâs no way logan would do something like that, and youâre too innocent. thatâs why his eyes practically pop out of his head when you throw back the shot.
the game turned sexual a few rounds ago, but it was pretty mild stuff. talk about doing stuff in public, kinks, freaky shit like that. nothing as interesting as this.
both wade and logan turn their full attention to you, eager to hear this story.
âwhat?â you play dumb.
âtwo guys at once?â wade asks. you shrug.
âit wasnât anything.â
ânah,â logan says, sounding interested for the first time all game. âyou gotta tell us.â
you sigh. âit was a while ago. i met this couple at a bar and they said they were looking for a third. i had nothing better to do and they were both hot, soâŚâ you trail off, shrugging again.
âgive us the gory details. howâd you do it? daisy chain?eiffel tower? double cowgirl? triple spooning? come on, tell us,â wade rambles.
âyouâre a fucking perv,â you tell him and he doesnât deny it. âit was just normal dp.â
logan raises an eyebow. âthat stands for double penetration,â wade tells him.
âi know that. iâm just wondering how you took it all,â logan says.
youâre used to this kind of talk from wade. the man thinks with his dick so much that you question if he even has a brain. youâre not, however, used to this from logan. heâs no prude, but he usually doesnât participate in these kinds of conversations with wade.
âmustâve been a tight fit,â logan adds on.
you look between the men and their interested faces. youâre still pretty bored, the game having grown stale a while ago, and now youâre a tipsy. you want something exciting and right now, youâre feeling bold enough to persue it.
âdo you wanna see?â you ask them.
wade and logan share a glance, but it only takes a second before theyâre replying âyesâ in unison.
#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#wade wilson#wade wilson x reader#wolverine x reader#wolverine#deadpool#deadpool x reader#wade wilson smut#wade wilson fanfic#wade wilson fanfiction#logan howlett smut#logan howlett fanfiction#logan howlett fanfic#wolverine fanfiction#wolverine smut#wolverine fanfic#wolverine x deadpool#deadpool fanfic#deadpool fanfiction#deadpool smut#deadpool x wolverine#deadpool & wolverine#deadpool x reader x wolverine
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iâm begging you for some nsfw hcs with wade & logan
i NEED more info about jealous sex with them specifically
please and thank you đđ
Jealousy Sex - Logan Howlett & Wade Wilson
Pairing: Logan Howlett x reader (no pronouns are used but has a pussy) x Wade Wilson
Genre: smut/nsfw
CW: poly! relationship, jealousy, possession, scent kink/scenting, taunting & humiliation, oral, double penetration, unprotected sex, creampie, AFTERCARE
omg of course!! the two of them being jealous over you would be such a handful >~< id love to write a full length of this sometime too!! thank you for the request lovely đ
these two are such a handful when theyâre jealous
Logan has no patience for other men getting in your personal space
if some other guy is talking to you too long or starting to get a little too close
he comes and stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your neck
heâll make a big show of it too, sucking at your skin and breathing in your scent
âdâya smell that? hm?â
you scrunch your eyebrows together, wondering whatâs about to come
âthatâs my scent. mine. all fuckinâ over ya.â
heâs dragging you upstairs to the nearest locked bedroom before you can even react
sex with him while heâs jealous can go either way depending on just how riled up he is
sometimes itâs deep and intimate, going until youâve forgotten the rest of the world
or itâs rough and hard and biting, until your head is spinning and his name is the only thing you can remember
heâll have you face down in the pillows, his grip on your hips so tight you swear heâs using his claws
his cock bullies so deep inside of you that tears form in your eyes and you have to wind your hands into the sheets to keep from screaming
and once you throw Wade into the mixâŚ
Wade does NOT get jealous easily & even if he does, he just jokes it off
it would take a lot to get him going & god help you if he does
heâll swoop in when someoneâs hitting on you and press himself in real close
not nearly as showy as Logan but heâll make real good eye contact with them and call them out for it
âi know i knowâ heâll kiss the side of your head. âso fuckable, right?â
heâll have you propped on the counter of the nearest bathroom, his face stuffed between your legs in an instant
heâs holding your legs open with ease & relentlessly licking your poor, overstimulated clit
every time you try to shuffle away or close your legs heâs pushing them further apart
âahahah, not yet baby. if you can still move then I havenât done my job right.â
when theyâre together & jealous?? youâre not leaving that room for hours and theyâre going to fucking ruin you
theyâll have you whining and overstimulated long before either of them slip inside of you
they take turns over who gets to eat you out, the other holding your legs open and mumbling a tantalizing mix of praise and degradation in your ears
theyâre both dirty talk kings
by the time Logan slips his cock through your folds, your legs are already shaking
youâre moaning so damn loud that Wade has to shove his cock in your mouth to keep the people at the party from hearing
the two of them can go for hours thanks to their regeneration and if you think youâre getting out anytime before thatâŚ
once youâre nice and fucked out in Loganâs arms, Wadeâs sliding his cock inside of you and then theyâre both fucking you
they get SO caught up in the moment trying to one up each other tooâthe only thing they can agree upon is that youâre theirs
when the night is over, youâll be stuffed to the brim with cum and half-conscious, fucked out on the bed
theyâll clean you up nice and good though
Wade is the best ever at aftercare, heâll always have water and a warm cloth for you (or in this case, a tshirt he stole from the closet)
meanwhile Logan will massage your aching muscles and shaking limbs, kissing your feverish skin
masterlist | marvel masterlist
if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! i appreciate every like, comment & reblog i receive ^^
#deadpool#Wolverine#deadpool and Wolverine#Deadpool x reader#deadpool x you#wolverine x reader#wolverine x you#Wade Wilson x reader#wade Wilson x you#Wade Wilson#logan Howlett x reader#logan Howlett x you#logan Howlett#deadpool Headcanons#Wolverine Headcanons#Wolverine smut#deadpool smut#logan Howlett Headcanons#Wade Wilson Headcanons
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All of You, All of Me [Logan Howlett]
Summary: In a world of black and white, the only person who could bring colour to your life is the last one who'd want to.
Warnings: au where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate, fem!reader, slow burn, angst, running away from feelings, pining, grovelinggg WC: 14.2k - MASTERLIST - A/N: help i'm sorry i didn't mean for it to get this long, but this fic is my baby
----
You've always cherished the idea of having a soulmateâsomeone who would love you unconditionally, waiting just for you as you them. The thought of finding that perfect match, the one who complements you in every way, is something youâve always dreamed of.Â
But as you get older, the hope you carry seems to dwindle more and more each year. Everyone around you has found their other half, reveling in the newfound ability to see colours in all their glory, and soaking up every moment of shared affection.
Everyone, except for you.
Your world remains a stark, colourless void, as if the universe is deliberately withholding the one thing you desire most.
And to make matters worse, despite not finding your soulmate, you are unequivocally, irrevocably in love with someone who has.
Logan Howlett.
You canât remember a time where you didnât feel anything toward him. His rugged, lone-wolf demeanor snuck its way deep into the crevices of your heart, and made itself a home there.
You and him formed an unlikely friendship, formed through the desire to fight back against all the people whoâve wronged mutants. Over the years, you had accepted the fact that while he wasnât yours, at least you were alone together. Well, until she came.
Jean Grey.
She was strong, charming, and everything you felt you werenât. It was no wonder her and Logan were meant to be togetherâthe stoic, brooding mutant and his graceful, strong-willed counterpart.Â
You remember the day it happened so vividly, itâs almost like you were the one who found their life partner. You and him had been walking around the mansion, when Charles had called you into his office to meet someone new. One look at their faces when they made eye contact and you knew youâd lost him.
It pained you to see them all over each other, all the time. Your once-regular walks in the garden became rare, then vanished entirely. On missions, he no longer looked out for you; his attention was consumed by protecting her. And as much as it hurt, you couldnât deny they seemed perfect for each otherâjust as soulmates should be. You had no right to feel jealous.
Then, just as quickly as she had entered his life, she left it.Â
The Pheonix was too strong, ripping her apart from the inside out. The pained scream he let out as not only his heart died, but as the world around him faded back into black and white, was forever ingrained into your memory.Â
Logan was never the same after that.
 â
You trudge down the familiar halls of the mansion, your feet heavy with the weight of the day. Itâs been long, filled with training sessions, team meetings, and a lot of paperwork. All you want to do is retreat to your room, lose yourself in a book, or maybe just sleep until the ache in your chest dulls.
As you walk, you hear faint commotion down the hallwayâa low murmur of voices and the occasional clatter of something being moved. But you pay it no mind, too lost in your thoughts to care. Another mission, another discussion, another moment where you arenât needed. Itâs all so routine now.
Lost in your reverie, you donât notice the figure walking toward you until itâs too late. You collide with a solid chest, the impact jolting you back to reality.
âOh, sorryââ you begin, stepping back, but the words die on your lips as you look up.
Itâs Logan.
Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, shock rippling through your body as you process his presence. And for a moment, neither of you speak. You just stand there, taking him inâthe man who was once your closest friend, the man who was torn apart by grief and loss. His clothes are rumpled, his skin rougher than you remember, like heâs been through hell and back.Â
You hadnât seem him in a long time. After the devastation, he stopped talking to everyone. He holed himself up in his room for days at a time, only coming out in the dead of night to eat. Either that, or he was away on a missionâanything to stay distracted.Â
But now, looking at him, thereâs something different off. Something you canât quite place your finger on. Did he always look like that? Maybe itâs the way the light above is reflecting off of him. Or maybe itâsâoh.
Looking around in surprise, you watch as the usually dark, stoic walls explode into a deep, rich shade. The carpet below youâno longer a mural of greyâradiates colors you canât name. Your hands, his eyes, his hair-
You want to open your mouth and say something, anything, to the man who has caused your world to shift on its axis, but heâs already turned, walking away from you.
âGive me a fuckinâ break.â
----
Brown. Loganâs hair is brown.
After Logan leaves you paralyzed in the hallway, you run to your room, find the book on colors you had stashed in your bedside table, and throw open the cover. In it is a diagram that displays every known colour and their names. You learn that your favorite pair of pants are maroon, your bedsheets are navy green, and the X-Men suits are bright yellow and blue.
You stare at the page, each word blurring as your mind tries to process the impossible. Loganâs hair is brown. The thought keeps repeating in your head like a mantra, over and over again, until it becomes a steady thrum, drowning out everything else.
Brown.
You sit back on your bed, letting the book slip from your hands, the pages crumpling as it hits the floor.
Why him? Why me? Why now?
You begin to fidget, the adrenaline of the prior moment causing your heart to flail in your chest like crazy. You canât stay here, you think to yourself. The idea of locked in your room with only your thoughts for company does not sound appealing. You need air, something to ground you, something to clear the haze clouding your head. Without thinking, you jump out of bed and find yourself heading up to the roof, the one place where you can breathe without feeling like the walls of the mansion closing in on you.
The trip up the stairs feels longer than ever before, each step heavy under the weight of your mind. Itâs like every thought adds ten pounds. When you open the door, the cool night air hits you like a welcomed slap to the face, and you exhale deeply.
Walking to the edge, you lean against the railing. Youâre in a daze - wondering if you made up the entire thing in your head. The only proof that you haven't, and that Logan being your soulmate is real, is the colours that coat the mansionâs grounds. The moonlight bathes everything in what you now know as a soft, silver glow, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking out into the distance.
It doesnât make sense, and the more you try to wrap your head around it, the more tangled your thoughts become. You donât want to face the possibility of what it could mean, but you canât just brush it aside either. It has quite literally changed your entire life.Â
You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to quiet your racing mind. But when you open them again, you freeze.
Logan is standing at the other end of the roof, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the sky. He hasnât noticed you yet, and for a split second, you consider turning back, retreating before he sees you. It would be a wise idea - he didnât want to talk to you then, and he probably doesnât want to talk to you now. But, it an act that can only be seen as your own body betraying you, you take a step forward.Â
The sudden movement catches his attention, and his head snaps in your direction, his eyes locking onto yours.Â
âWhy are you here?â he asks accusingly.
You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. Seeing him out here was the last thing you had expected, and now that heâs in front of you, you are at a loss of words.
Loganâs eyes narrow, and he pushes off the wall, walking toward you. âYou shouldnât be here.â
âI needed air,â you manage to say, swallowing the lump in your throat. âI just needed to clear my head.â
âWell, find somewhere else to do it,â he snaps, âI donât want company.â
âLogan, Iââ
âDonât,â he interrupts, not even bothering to hear you out. âDonât start. I know what youâre gonna say, and I donât want to hear it.â
You blink, taken aback, and hurt at his coldness. âWhat are you talking about?â
He lets out a low, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. âYou think I donât know whatâs going on? God, I⌠this is all so fucking stupid.â
Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. âI wasnâtââ
âEnough!â he barks, his voice echoing in the night. âIâm not interested, alright? Whatever it is you think is happening between us, itâs not real. Itâs just some stupid trick of the universe, and Iâm not playing along.â
His words hit you like a physical blow - like youâve just been shot at right in the heart - and you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. âI donât understand. I didnât mean for any of thisââ
âYeah, well, neither did I,â he snaps at you, âAnd Iâm not gonna sit here and pretend like thereâs something here,â he gestures between you two, âwhen there isnât. Youâre not mine, and Iâm sure as hell not yours.â
The finality in his tone leaves you breathless, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. You have nothing to say back, heâs not giving you any slack. The reality of his rejection sinks in with a brutal, crushing weight, you have to put in effort to not stumble over.Â
After a long moment, you finally collect yourself. Then, âOkay,â you whisper. âI understand.â
Loganâs expression doesnât soften; if anything, it grows colder, more distant.
âGood. Then stay away from me.â
You nod, eyes filling with tears. You quickly turn your face away, not wanting him to see just how much heâs hurt you.
âIâm sorry,â you murmur, barely audible. âI didnât mean to make things worse for you.â
He doesnât respond, doesnât even acknowledge your apology. He just turns away, his back to you, effectively shutting you out.
You stand there for a long moment, watching him walk away for the second time that night. The colours that seemed so vibrant, so full of life just a moment ago, now feel like a cruel reminder of everything you could never have.
â
When you eventually return to your room, all you can do is lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling as your encounter with Logan on the roof replays in your mind on an endless loop, each harsh word heâd thrown at you cutting deeper than the last. Itâs causes pain unlike anything youâve ever felt before, pain that seems to have no end, no respite.
If he doesnât want you in his life, youâll accept that. You have to - itâs not like you have a choice. Soulmates are a two-way street. Â
You canât force him to feel something he doesnât, canât make him see you in a way he clearly never will. And you understand, donât you? You canât even imagine how difficult this would be for him. Losing your soulmate, and then the universe saying Fuck You and giving you another?Â
Youâll never ever forget how wrecked he was when Jean died. How her death shattered him into pieces so small you werenâtânoâyouâre still not sure heâll ever be whole again.Â
And youâwhere do you stand in the grand scheme of things? Just as the unfortunate recipient of a bond that neither of you asked for? Are you even allowed to be upset about this?
â
Waking up the next morning, you honestly wish you hadnât. You knew you werenât on good terms with Logan after his little rooftop showcase of emotions, but nothing could have prepared you for the way he starts to treat you.
His face is stuck in a perpetual scowl when youâre in his vicinity. Heâs leaving every room the moment you enter, refusing to look at you, speak to you, or acknowledge your presence in any way. Itâs as if youâve become invisible, a ghost haunting the same halls you once shared with him. Thereâs only one thing you two seem to wordlessly agree on: donât tell anyone.Â
Each day following becomes a struggle, an unbearable test of your strength as you try to make it through without breaking. You begin to avoid Logan as much as he avoids you, but the mansion is only so big, and there are always moments when you catch sight of him in the distance, his broad shoulders hunched, his brooding face glaring daggers in your direction.Â
It hurts you every time, an unending torture that leaves you stumbling. Still, you bite your tongue and keep moving, pretending you donât care.
But you do care. You care more than you want to admit, more than you think is possible. Because despite everythingâdespite the rejection, the coldness, the angerâyou still love him.Â
And thatâs the cruelest twist of all.
So you endure it, day after day, week after week, month after month. Letting it tear you apart piece by piece, because what else can you do? You carry this burden alone, just as youâve carried your feelings for him all these years. And maybe one day, the pain will fade, the bond will weaken, and youâll be able to move on.
â
The only person you tell is Charles.
âWhatâs on your mind, my child?â he asks one day, while youâre sweeping the dust in his office.Â
You hesitate, your gaze dropping to your hands as you focus on cleaning. You know heâs just asking out of courtesy, and that he could easily crawl into your mind and figure it out himself. He probably wouldnât even need to put in that much effort, given how loud your thoughts are. But still, you donât yield to his probing.
âNothing, really,â you mutter, forcing a small smile that doesnât reach your eyes. âJust⌠tired, I guess.â
Charles watches you carefully, his eyes full of the warmth and compassion he always has, but this time, it makes you feel uncomfortable. Like he can see right through the facade youâre trying so hard to maintain, which you have no doubt, he does.Â
âIâm here to help, whatever the burden.â
You want to groan. Itâs not like heâs doing it on purpose but damn does it feel like heâs trying to guilt you into confessing that you just recently had your heart shattered.Â
âI know, Professor. But⌠itâs nothing you need to worry about.â
âYou forget, I worry about all of you,â he replies gently. âItâs in my nature.â
The chuckle that crawls out your throat is nothing short of bitter. âItâs just⌠complicated.â
âComplicated doesnât mean you have to face it alone.â
You bite your lip, trying to keep the emotions at bay. Do you really want to explain to him the insurmountable suffering youâre in, the rejection you faced from the one person who is supposed to be your soulmate? How can you tell him that the bond the universe forged is the very thing tearing you apart?
âItâs just⌠I donât know how to make sense of it, Professor,â you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. âEverythingâs so⌠wrong.â
He leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. âWrong how?â
Knowing that youâre teetering into confession territory, you hesitate, needing time to collect your thoughts.Â
âLogan⌠he⌠we⌠Itâs not supposed to be like this, is it?â you eventually get out. Not your best work, but you know heâd get the gist.Â
Understanding dawns in Charlesâs eyes, and you can see the sympathy there, the quiet acceptance of the truth youâre struggling to voice. âThe bond you share⌠itâs more than you expected, isnât it?â
You nod, feeling the tears well up again. âBut he doesnât want it. He doesnât want me.â
The professor sighs softly, and he looks at you like youâre a lost puppy. âLogan has been through so much, more than most could bear. His heart has been wounded in ways that are difficult to heal, and itâs not surprising that he would resist this new connection.â
âSo why me?â you ask. âWhy bind me to someone who will never love me?â
Leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully, he says, âI wish I had an answer for you, my dear. The universe works in mysterious ways, ways that often defy our understanding. But I do know this: the bond you share is there for a reason. Whether itâs meant to bring you closer or to teach you something important⌠that remains to be seen.â
âIt feels like a punishment,â you whisper, the tears finally spilling over. As much as you hate being put on the hot seat, you can admit that it feels good talking to someone about it. âEvery day, it hurts more. And he wonât even look at me. I donât know how to make it stop.â
âThe heartache youâre feeling is profound, but you must understand that itâs not your fault. Loganâs reaction isnât a reflection of your worth, but of his own pain and fear.â
He reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your own before continuing.
âTo love, even when itâs not returned, takes incredible courage. But you must also take care of yourself. Give Logan the space he needs, and in the meantime, allow yourself the grace to heal.â
So you do. In the days that follow your conversation with Charles, you make a promise to yourselfâto try, really try, to focus on your own life, to reclaim the parts of yourself that have been overshadowed by the pain of this unrequited love.
The colours are still there, vivid and vibrant, and though they sometimes feel like a bittersweet reminder of what could never be, you find moments where they bring you joy. You marvel at the deep blue of the sky, the rich greens of the trees, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves and paints the world in golden hues. Itâs like seeing the world anew, and in those moments, you allow yourself to feel happiness.
Moreover, you busy yourself, volunteering for every assignment that comes your way. The adrenaline, the focus, the purposeâthey all help to drown out the pain, even if only temporarily. And when you return from each mission, tired but satisfied, you feel a little more like yourself again.
The mansion, too, becomes less of a prison and more of a home once more. You start spending more time with the others, rejoining them for meals, for training sessions, for movie nights.Â
You laugh with Rogue, spar with Scott, and even find yourself engaging in playful banter with Remy. Itâs not perfect, and there are still moments where you catch yourself faltering, when the weight of everything threatens to pull you under, but those moments are becoming fewer and farther between.
Youâre healing, slowly but surely, and with each passing day, you feel a little stronger, a little more in control of your lifeâof your emotions.Â
But then there are the times when you cross paths with Logan, and those moments are the hardest.
One evening, after returning from a particularly grueling mission, you find yourself heading toward the kitchen, your mind on the sandwich you plan to make. The place is quiet, most of the team out on various assignments, or finishing up on some work, and you relish the peace as you walk down the corridor.
However, just as you reach the kitchen door and push it open, you find Logan standing there, preparing to exit the room at the exact same moment. Your heart lurches, and you stop dead in your tracks, almost like a deer caught in headlights.Â
His gaze meets yours, and all you can see is his impassive, stoic expression. He steps back, giving you space to enter, but the tension between you is palpable.
âSorry,â you mumble, stepping to the side, trying to make yourself as small as possible.
Logan doesnât say anything, barely noddingâif you could even it thatâ before brushing past you, his shoulder grazing yours. The brief contact sends a jolt through your system, and you have to force yourself to stay still and not physically react.Â
Once he leaves, you let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing from the encounter. Itâs been so long since youâve been this close to himâso long since youâve seen the deep brown of his hair that you love so much. You hate this.Â
Why does he have no reaction to at all? Why is it only you who seems to care?Â
Because you are the only one who does care.
You move into the kitchen, still intent on eating, but itâs a challenge. Your hands are trembling.
â
It all comes to a head one night during dinner. In this rare occasion, both you and Logan are in the same room. Youâre supposed to be celebrating Rogue and Gambitâs anniversary, and even though you insisted that they share this special moment together alone, they didnât take no for an answer.Â
Thatâs how you find yourself, sitting at the grand dining table with all your friends, and Logan.Â
Heâs across from you. Just your luck.
He refuses to spare you a single glance, his eyes staying busy the whole night. And while itâs been months and months of this, you have never gotten used to it. Still, you canât help but sneak a few looks at that chocolate-coloured hair. Brown.Â
Everything seems to be going smoothly, the food is delicious and the dessert even better, but when Gambit presents Rogue with a giant painting, thatâs when you slip up.Â
âI love how you blended the red with the blue!â You compliment, loving the way he managed to create the perfect contrast between shades. Youâre too caught up in staring at the artwork to realize the table as gone deathly quiet, all eyes on you.
Rogue's expression is one of gentle confusion, her head tilted slightly as she tries to make sense of your words. âDarling, I thought you couldnât see colour?â
In any other situation, youâre sure the team would have laughed at how comically large your eyes got, and how all the blood draining from your face makes you look like a gaping fish, but in this moment, nothing is funny. You can feel Loganâs eyes on you, and when you finally muster the courage to glance at him, you see that his all-too familiar glare youâve been subject to for the last half-year. It makes your heart thud painfully in your chest
âIâŚâ you begin, but you falter. Your mind is going through a thousand thoughts per minute, searching for an excuse you can use to deflect, to pretend it was just a mistake, but the silence is too heavy, too demanding.
Rogueâs confusion deepens, her gaze flickering between you and Logan, who is now staring at you with an expression thatâs impossible to read. She starts to say something, but Remy gently places a hand on her arm, shaking his head slightly as if to tell her to let you speak.Â
Loganâs gaze stays locked on you for a moment longer. Then, without a word, he pushes his chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. The sound echoes in the silence, and before you can react, he stands up and walks out of the room, his movements stiff, almost mechanical.
The door closes behind him with a quiet click, and the tension in the room thickens. You feel a rush of embarrassment flood through you, your heart sinking as the reality of what just happened crashes over you.Â
You lower your head, your eyes stinging with tears that you fight desperately to hold back. But itâs no use. The emotions youâve been trying to keep buried for so long bubble to the surface, and before you can stop yourself, the tears start to fall.Â
âI think I need a moment,â you manage to whisper, your voice trembling as you stand up from the table. Without waiting for a response, you hastily excuse yourself and head for the door, not before mumbling a quick apology to the couple in which you were there for.
Soon you find yourself outside in the gardens, the nightly breeze hitting your face as you make your way to a secluded bench. You canât even appreciate the beauty in what you see, because all you feel is the overwhelming sense of failure and sadness that threatens to swallow you whole.
Sitting down heavily on the bench, you bury your face in your hands and let go. The sobs come hard and fast, each one ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. Youâre heartbroken and angry and absolutely over it, but at the same time you feel like a massive asshole because who are you to be upset with a man whoâs mourning the loss of a soulmate?Â
Itâs not fair.
You donât know how long you sit there, lost in your grief, but eventually, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, wiping at your eyes, and see Scott walking toward you.
âMind if I join you?â he asks gently.
You shake your head, unable to find your voice, and Scott sits down beside you on the bench.Â
âIâm sorry,â you croak, âI didnât mean to ruin the night.â
Scott clicks his tongue in disagreement, his gaze focused on the gardens ahead. âYou didnât ruin anything. Itâs clear youâve been carrying this burden for a long time. Itâs no wonder it slipped out tonight.â
âSo everyone knows now?â you ask. He nods.
âIt wasnât hard to put two and two together,â he concludes, and you groan, bringing your hands to your face.
âI just⌠I didnât want anyone to know. I didnât want to be pitied.â
âPity isnât what anyone feels right now,â Scott says softly. âWeâre worried about you. Youâve been hurting, and we didnât see it. Thatâs on us.â
âItâs not your fault,â you bring your hands down from your face. âIâve been trying to deal with it on my own. I thought I could handle it, but⌠clearly I was wrongâ
With a serious expression, Scott turns to look at you. âI know what youâre going through, more than you might realize.â
You glance at him, surprised by his words. âYou do?â
He nods, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. âI was in love with Jean, remember? When her and Logan found out they were soulmates⌠it tore me apart. I didnât think Iâd ever be able to move on, and for a long time, I couldnât.â
The mention of Jeanâs name brings a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, but thereâs also a strange comfort in knowing that Scott understands your pain. âHow did you⌠how did you get through it?â
He sighs, âIt wasnât easy. It took a long time, and I had to accept it.â
You wipe at your eyes again, sniffling as you try to compose yourself. âIâve been thinking about leaving for a while. Taking a longer mission, just to get away for a bit. Maybe then I can figure out how to move on.â
He is quiet for a moment, considering your words. âIf thatâs what you need to do, I understand,â he says, âsometimes, a change of scenery can help. Though I think you should try to talk to Logan again.â
Letting out a bitter laugh, you shake your head. âI donât know if heâll even listen to me. Heâs made it pretty clear how he feels.â
âHeâs hurting too,â He decides, âHeâs not handling it well, but that doesnât mean he doesnât care. You both need closure, and running away wonât give you that.â
âWhat if it just makes things worse?â
âIt might.â Scott places a comforting hand on your shoulder. âBut it might also give you both the chance to start healing. You deserve that chance.â
You nod slowly, letting the weight of his words sink in. âIâll⌠Iâll think about it.â
âTake the time you need,â he says. âWeâre all here for you.â
âThanks, Scott. That means a lot.â You offer him a small, grateful smile.
With a final nod, he turns and walks back toward the mansion, leaving you once again alone in the quiet of the gardens. You take a deep breath, the idea of leaving still tugs at you, but now, thereâs also the thought of confronting Loganâof finding some kind of closure, whatever that might mean.
You really donât want to do it, and youâre pretty sure itâs just going to end the same way it did last time - with him shutting you out. But Scottâs words echo in your mind, reminding you that healing often requires confrontation, not avoidance.
Goddamn it.
You huff as you stand up from where youâre seated. You canât keep running from this, canât keep letting him run from this. You need to talk to Logan, to lay everything out on the table, even if it tears you apart in the process.
Your anxiety builds with each step as you approach his room, and you pause outside his door, your heart pounding so loudly youâre sure he could hear it if he was listening. This is it. Thereâs no turning back now. With a shaky breath, you finally raise your hand and knock.Â
Thereâs a long, agonizing pause, making you strain to hear any movement on the other side. For a second, the silence causes you think he might not answer, that he might just ignore you like heâs done so many times before. But then, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching the door. Your heart catches in your throat as it slowly opens, revealing Logan standing there, his expression hard and unreadable.
The moment he realizes itâs you, his eyes darken, and he immediately moves to close the door, shutting you out yet again. However, youâre not letting him get away that easily. Before the door can fully close, you stick your foot out, blocking it with more force than you intended.
âCâmon, Logan,â you press. âYou know we need to talk.â
He freezes, his grip on the door tightening until his knuckles turn white. His jaw clenches and unclenches, nostrils flaring. He still doesnât look at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if he can will you away if he tries hard enough. But he doesnât push the door shut either. The room is thick with suspense, both of you standing there in a silent standoff.
Finally, with a low growl of frustration, Logan steps back, opening the door just a smidge wider, barely enough for you to squeeze through. Itâs a reluctant invitation, but itâs all you need.
âFine,â he mutters, his voice rough, edged with irritation. âTalk.â
You step into the room, and he closes the door behind you, lingering close to it, as if heâs ready to bolt at any second. You feel vulnerable and exposed. Itâs suddenly hard to gather your thoughts when heâs standing so close, when the heat of his presence and the distance heâs placed between is right in your face.
âWhy did you come?â Logan questions. He still refuses to look directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder.
âBecause we canât keep pretending this isnât happening,â you reply, âWe need to talk about whatâs going on between us.â
His jaw tightens further, and his teeth grind with barely contained frustration. He finally looks at you, his eyes hard and defensive. âThereâs nothing to say,â he says bitterly. âI told you how I feel. I thought that was enough.â
âItâs not enough!â you shoot back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. âYou think you can just push me away, pretend like this bond doesnât exist, and thatâs supposed to solve everything? It doesnât work like that, Logan.â
He flinches slightly at your words, but his keeps his expression hard. âWell what do you want me to say?â he demands, his voice rising. âThat Iâm sorry? That I didnât mean to hurt you? Because I am, and I didnât. But that doesnât change the fact that I canât be what you want me to be.â
His words hurt.Â
âI know you told me how you feel,â you start, âbut youâve never let me tell you how I feel. Youâve never given me the chance to say that itâs been tearing me apart.â
A flash of guilt. âI didnât think⌠I didnât think you needed to say it. I already knew.â
âThat isnât fair,â you argue.
âYou donât understand,â he counters, âI lost Jean. I loved her, and when she died, it broke something in me. And now⌠now Iâm supposed to just⌠move on? With you? Itâs not that simple.â
âI never asked you to love me, Logan,â you say, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. âI never pushed for anything more than friendshipâitâs not like you gave me the chance! Youâve been shutting me out, ignoring me, making me feel like Iâm nothing more than a burden, like I donât even matter!â
You can see that the pain in your voice hitting him hard, but he doesnât apologize. Instead, he looks away, his expression conflicted. âIâm trying to protect you,â he mutters, the words sounding hollow even to him
âProtect me?â you echo incredulously. âAll youâre doing is make me feel like shit. Like Iâm worthless. I canât even be your friend, to help you through this.â
You pause. âYou expect us all to know how youâre feeling, but you canât even communicate it.â
Logan winces, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, filled with a torment youâve never seen before. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words seem to get caught in his throat. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.
âI canât be what you want me to be,â he admits, his tone filled with a deep, aching sadness. âI donât know how to let you in. Without her, I feel like⌠I canât let anyone in.â
Your eyes soften a fraction his confession, but thereâs also a deep frustration that burns inside you, a frustration born of months of pain and rejection.Â
âYou havenât even tried,â you say softly with a quiet resignation, âYou havenât even tried to let me in, to see what we could have been, even if it was just as friends.â
What follows is a long, nagging silence. You let it linger, giving Logan the chance he needs to think of something to say. But thereâs no answer, no promise that things will change, and then you realize, with a sinking feeling, that heâs not going to take that step, too broken to try.
Thatâs when it really hits you.Â
Whatever you were fighting for, was a losing battle from the start.Â
You give up.
This time, it is you who turns your back on him.Â
âGoodbye, Logan. Take care of yourself.â
You donât wait for a response. You donât glance back. You walk out of the room, the door closing softly behind you, and with it, the last remnants of hope you had for something more.
âÂ
You decide to go on the mission.
Itâs nothing complicated. Your task is to survey different regions of Europe, ensuring that there are no burgeoning anti-mutant operations threatening the safety of anyone. The primary goal is gathering information, and quiet observation. No violence, Charles told you in the debrief.Â
The lack of immediate danger doesnât make leaving any easier, though. This is as much about finding yourself as it is about fulfilling your duty.
Rogue and Kitty are with you during your final preparations, helping you pack the essentials and offering support in their own ways. They donât ask many questions, probably sensing that this decision was not just made on a whim. And for that, youâre grateful.
âI still think youâre crazy for going solo,â Rogue says with a half-smile as she zips up your bag. âBut if anyone can handle it, itâs you.â
You manage a small smile in return. âThanks, Rogue. I just need some timeâŚâ
Kitty, whoâs been quietly folding clothes and tucking them into your bag, looks up, seriousness clouding her gaze. âWe get it. Just promise youâll keep in touch, okay? And donât hesitate to call if you need backup.â
âI promise,â you assure.
She hesitates for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small deviceâthe X-Men communicator gadget. She holds it out to you, and you reach your hand out.Â
âHere,â she says softly, pressing the device into your hand. âThis is so you can update us on your whereabouts, your status, or any important mission details. Even if you donât need anything, just⌠let us know youâre okay, alright?â
You look down at the communicator in your hand, and close your fingers around it, nodding as you meet Kittyâs gaze.Â
âAlright, Iâll check in regularly. I wonât leave you guys in the dark.â
Rogue finishes the last bit of organization. âYouâve got this,â she says, âAnd weâve got your back, even from a distance.â You nod, appreciating their support more than you can express.Â
It almost feels like a walk of shameâleaving the mansion. Everyone knows why too, and that makes it a thousand times worse. But you wonât let it get to you. With one last look, you get in your car and begin on the windy path to the airport.Â
â
When you arrive in Europe, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer beauty of the landscape. Each city, each town, has its own unique charm, its own story to tell. The bustling uphill streets of Porto, the serene canals of Venice, the ancient ruins of Athensâthey all offer a distraction from the turmoil inside you.
The only good part about this whole mess is that you can see colour, and truly appreciate the sights before you.
You move from one place to the next, blending in with the crowds, quietly observing, gathering information, and sending brief updates to the team through the communicator Kitty gave you. Every message is short, to the point, just enough to let them know youâre safe and on track. You donât share much beyond the essentials, not wanting to burden them with your personal struggles.
Then, in a small cafĂŠ in Rome, you meet a man named Marco. Heâs a traveler like you, exploring Europe with a curiosity that matches your own. Heâs warm, easygoing, and before long, the two of you strike up a conversation over coffee.
He is charming in a way that makes you feel at ease, his laughter infectious as he shares stories of his travels. You donât tell him much about yourself, keeping the details of your mission and your mutant abilities hidden. To him, youâre just another traveler, searching for somethingâthough he doesnât pry into what that something is.
As the days pass, you and Marco continue to cross paths, and itâs nice to have someone to talk to, someone who doesnât know about your past, about the things youâre running from. With him, you can be anyone, and for the first time in a long while, you start to feel a little lighter. You find yourself laughing more, the weight on your chest lifting a little each day. You donât talk about the mission, and you certainly donât talk about Logan.
One evening, as youâre both sitting on the steps of the Spanish Steps in Rome, watching the sunset, he turns to you with a grin. âSo, where are you off to next?â
You hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much, but then you smile. âIâm heading to Florence. There are some places I need to check out.â
His eyes light up. âFlorence? Iâve been meaning to re-visit. Mind if I tag along?â
A part of you wants to say no, to keep the distance youâve carefully maintained, but another partâthe part thatâs been lonely for so longânods in agreement. âSure, why not?â
â
Back at the mansion, things havenât been as positive. The once lively atmosphere has dimmed, replaced by an uneasy tension that lingers in the halls. The X-Men carry on with their duties, but thereâs a noticeable shiftâa missing piece that everyone feels but no one talks about. Logan, in particular, has become even more withdrawn, if thatâs possible. The man who was once brooding and distant now seems even more so, his mood volatile and unpredictable.
His behavior has become a source of concern for the team. Heâs always been rough around the edges, but now, itâs like the slightest thing can set him off. He snaps at everyone, his temper flaring at the smallest provocation. On missions, heâs reckless, throwing himself into danger without a second thought, as if heâs trying to outrun somethingâor someone.Â
In many evenings, Logan finds himself in the mansionâs gym, trying to work off the restless energy thatâs been plaguing him for months. The room is always empty, save for him, the steady rhythm of his fists pounding against the punching bag being the only sound. Sweat drips down his face, his muscles straining as he channels all his frustration and anger into each punch. Yet, no matter how hard he hits, he canât seem to shake the thoughts of you that have been haunting him.
This night, door to the gym creaks open, and Logan doesnât need to look up to know who it is. He can sense the other manâs presence, feel the weight of his gaze as he steps inside. He doesnât slow his punches, doesnât acknowledge Scottâs presence, but he knows why heâs here. Theyâve had this conversation beforeâor something like itâbut nothingâs changed. Nothingâs gotten better.
Scott watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Heâs been watching Logan spiral for weeks now, but heâs kept his distance, knowing that heâd only be pushed away. But this canât go onâLogan canât keep doing this, canât keep tearing himself apart over something he refuses to confront.
âShe wouldnât want this,â he finally says, voice cutting through the steady thud of Loganâs fists against the bag.
Loganâs movements falter for just a second before he resumes, his jaw tightening. âWho?â he growls, not bothering to turn around. âHer or Jean?â
Scott doesnât flinch at the harshness in the other manâs tone. He steps closer, his eyes steady on their target as he answers, âBoth.â
Finally, Logan stops. His fists still as he leans against the bag, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His shoulders are tense, the weight of Scottâs words pressing down on him like a physical burden. He doesnât want to hear this, doesnât want to be reminded of what heâs lostâof who heâs lost.Â
Taking a step closer, Scottâs voice is firm. âLook, Iâm not a spiritual person. But I also donât think the universe messed up with this.â
Clenching, his fists, Logan knows what the other man is getting at, but he doesnât want to acknowledge it. Doesnât want to think about what could have been, what heâs been too scared to even consider.
âI know you know how I felt about Jean,â Scott says quietly, knowing heâs breaching a sensitive subject. âLosing her⌠it killed me too. And if I had been given a chanceâa real chance to be with her, to make things rightâI would have taken it. No hesitation.â
Loganâs breath hitches at that. The truth is, heâs been runningârunning from you, from the bond you share, from the possibility of something real.Â
âIâm not saying you should chase after her,â he continues. âBut I am saying that you need to stop running from her. The universe doesnât just throw things like this at us for no reason. And you know that.â
The weight of Scottâs words settle over Logan like a shroud. He knows the other man is rightâdeep down, heâs always known. But that doesnât make it any easier. The fear, the guilt, the pain of losing Jeanâitâs all still there, gnawing at him, holding him back.Â
Thereâs something else too, something heâs been trying to ignore but canât any longer: the way he feels about you, the way heâs always felt, even if he couldnât admit it to himself. One of the first thoughtâs that ran through his head when his world re-erupted into colour was that, had this happened before Jean, maybe it could have worked. Maybe he could have been what you wanted, felt something real.
Scott takes a step back, giving Logan the space he needs. âJust think about it,â he says softly. âThink about what you really want. And donât wait until itâs too late to figure it out.â
Logan doesnât respond, but Scott doesnât need him to. Heâs said what he needed to say, and now itâs up to him to decide what comes next. With a final look, Scott turns and leaves the gym, the door closing softly behind him.
The clawed mutant stands there for a long time, his fists still clenched, his mind racing. He knows he canât keep doing thisâcanât keep tearing himself apart over something he canât change, something heâs too afraid to confront.
But change is terrifying, especially when it means facing the truth. The truth that maybe, just maybe, the bond he shares with you is something worth fighting for. Something that Jean wouldnât want him to throw away.
With a deep, shuddering breath, Logan finally lets his fists unclench, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. He doesnât have all the answersâhell, he barely knows where to startâbut he knows one thing for sure: he's canât run away anymore. Not from this, not from you.
â
Youâve now spent days in Florence, wandering through the Uffizi Gallery, marveling at the works of the Renaissance masters, and evenings enjoying the quiet serenity of the Arno River. With you, Marco. Youâve grown to trust him. Heâs never made you uncomfortable, never had any intentions to take advantage of you, and knows all the best restaurants.Â
But thereâs always been a small, nagging doubt that youâve pushed asideâa feeling that something isnât quite right. Youâve ignored it, convincing yourself that youâre just being paranoid after everything youâve been through. After all, he has been nothing but kind, always knowing the right thing to say, always showing up just when you need someone.
It isnât until the two of you are exploring a quieter part of Florence, that the doubt flares into something more. Youâre walking through an old, narrow alleyway, the kind that tourists rarely venture into, when Marco suggests you take a shortcut through a small, unmarked door in the side of a building.
âI found this place the last time I was here,â Marco says, his smile as easy as ever. âItâs a hidden gem, leads right to a beautiful courtyard. Youâll love it.â
You hesitate, something in his toneâor maybe itâs the way his eyes gleam just a little too brightlyâsets off alarm bells in your mind. Youâve come to trust him though, havenât you? Youâve traveled together for weeks, shared countless stories and laughs. Surely, he wouldnât lead you into danger.
Still, as you step through the door, the darkened space beyond immediately feels wrong. The air is colder, damp, and the walls are lined with strange, unidentifiable equipment. You glance back at Marco, and thatâs when you see itâthe change in his expression. The warmth is gone, replaced by something cold and calculating.
Before you can react, you feel a sharp prick in your arm. Your vision blurs, and your body goes numb almost instantly. You stumble back, trying to push away, but your legs give out, and you collapse to the floor.
Marco looms over you, the smile gone from his face, replaced by a look of triumph. âDid you really think I didnât know?â he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. âYouâre a mutant, and you thought you could hide it from me?â
The world around you spins as the drug takes full effect, but you force your mind to stay focused. âWhat⌠why?â you manage to whisper, the betrayal cutting deep.
âWhy?â He laughs, the sound harsh and devoid of any warmth. âBecause mutants like you are worth a fortune. My clients pay top dollar for⌠research subjects. And you, my dear, are about to make me very, very rich.â
You try to move, to fight back, but your body refuses to respond. Panic rises in your chest as he kneels beside you, pulling out a small device that looks like a portable scanner. He runs it over you, and it emits a low hum as it registers your vital signs, confirming what he already knows. Youâre weak.Â
âYou wonât get away with this,â you say.
âOh, but I already have,â he replies with cruel satisfaction. âNo one knows where you are. And even if they did, itâll be too late by the time they find you.â
With the last bit of strength you can muster, you reach into your pocket, fingers trembling as you fumble with the X-Men communicator that Kitty gave you. His attention is momentarily distracted as he prepares a syringe filled with a clear liquid, and you seize the opportunity. You manage to pull out the communicator, your fingers barely able to grip it. Then, with a deep breath, you press the SOS button, the screen flashing to life.
You type in the message as quickly as you can, your vision blurring even more as the drug takes hold.Â
Location: Florence.Â
Message: Help.
Just as you hit send, Marco notices what youâre doing. His eyes widen in anger, and he grabs your wrist, yanking the communicator out of your hand. âYou littleâ!â he snarls, but itâs too late. The message has already been sent.
His face contorts in rage as he slams the gadget against the ground, smashing it to pieces. He glares down at you, his hand tightening painfully around your wrist. âYou think youâre so clever, donât you? But it doesnât matter. Theyâll never get here in time.â
Your strength is nearly gone, the drug pulling you into unconsciousness, but you manage one last defiant look. âYou wonât win,â you whisper with the last of your energy.
Marco releases your wrist with a sneer, standing up and looking down at you with contempt again. âWeâll see about that,â he mutters before turning away, leaving you on the cold, hard floor as darkness overtakes you.Â
You can only hope theyâthat Loganâwill reach you in time.
â
The signal comes through during a meeting. A sudden, loud beep cuts through the room, and everyone freezes, their attention immediately drawn to the source of the sound. To Kittyâs pocket. Itâs the X-Men communicator, the one linked to your device.Â
Loganâs head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he recognizes the tone. Heâs on his feet before anyone else can react, his heart pounding in his chest. âWhat the hell was that?â he demands, his voice tense with urgency.
Kitty quickly pulls it out of her pocket, her eyes widening as she reads the message thatâs flashed across the screen. Her face pales, and she looks up at the others, her voice trembling as she speaks. âItâs from her⌠Florence⌠Help.â
Thereâs a brief pause, maybe a second long in length, and then the room erupts into a flurry of movement.Â
Chairs scrape against the floor as the team rises to their feet, already preparing for action. But Logan is the first to react, his face a mask of fury and determination. âIâm going,â he growls, already heading for the door.
âLogan, wait!â Scott steps forward, blocking Loganâs path with a firm hand on his chest.Â
âGet out of my way, Summers,â He snarls, his voice filled with barely controlled rage. âIâm not waiting around while sheâs in danger.â
âWe canât just rush in without a plan,â Scott insists, trying to keep his own emotions in check. âWe need to know what weâre dealing with.â
Logan shoves the other mutantâs hand away, his eyes blazing with anger. âShe sent an SOS, Scott! She needs help, and weâre wasting time standing here talking about it!â
The rest of the team watches the confrontation with anxious eyes, knowing that things could easily escalate. Loganâs been on edge for weeks, and the urgency of the situationâof youâ has pushed him to the brink.Â
âLogan,â Ororo interjects, âWe understand how you feel, but we need to think this through. If this is a trapââ
âI donât give a damn if itâs a trap!â He snaps, his voice rising. âSheâs part of our team! We canât just leave her there!â
âThatâs not what weâre saying,â Scott tries to reason, but Logan isnât having it.
âThen what the hell are you sayinâ?â He demands, his frustration boiling over. âWhy are we wasting time when we should be getting her out of there?â
Thereâs a brief, uncomfortable silence, and then itâs Rogue who steps forward, conflicted. âLogan⌠what if⌠what if she doesnât want to see you?â
He freezes, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow could. He stares at Rogue, disbelief and anger warring in his eyes. âWhat the fuck are you talking about?â he growls.
Rogue swallows, her eyes filled with worry. âShe left because she needed time, Logan. Because things between you two⌠they werenât good. Maybe sheâmaybe she doesnât want you to be the one to save her.â
Clenching his hands into fists, his body is taut with tension. âFuck that!â he roars with a fierce, protective rage. âSheâs part of our team! She sent that message to us, to the X-Men, because she needs our help. I donât care whatâs happened between us, Iâm not leavinâ her there!â
The room falls silent, the weight of Loganâs words settling over everyone. They know Logan is rightâsheâs part of the team, and they canât leave her behind. But they also know that the situation is more complicated than that.
Scott takes a deep breath, his gaze steady as he looks at Logan. âWeâre not saying we shouldnât go after her, Logan. Weâre saying that you need to be prepared for whatever we might find when we get there. She might be in a bad place, and she might not be ready to face you.â
âI donât care,â he says after a brief pause, his voice quieter now, but no less determined. âIâm going to get her out of there. Whether she wants to see me or not, Iâm not lettinâ her go through this alone.â
Scott studies Logan for a long moment, then finally nods. âAlright. But we do this together, as a team.â
Logan nods, his jaw set in a grim line. âFine. Letâs go.â
â
Your eyes snap open, the dim light of the room piercing your vision. Youâre in a large, abandoned warehouse. Your head feels heavy, like itâs filled with cotton, and thereâs a dull, throbbing pain at the base of your skull. As you try to move, you realize with a jolt of fear that youâre restrained, your arms and legs strapped tightly to a chair. Panic flares in your chest, and you struggle against the bonds, but they donât budge.
And then you see himâMarco, standing a few feet away, watching you with a smirk that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes gleam with satisfaction, and you realize with horror that youâve been caught, trapped in whatever twisted game heâs been playing.
âAh, youâre awake,â he says, voice dripping with mock concern. âI was starting to wonder if Iâd given you too much of the sedative. But it seems youâre tougher than I thought.â
You try to respond, but a gag in your mouth muffles your words, turning them into incoherent sounds. You glare at him your eyes burning with fury.
He only chuckles, clearly amused by your resistance. âOh, donât bother trying to speak. We wouldnât want you calling for help, now would we? Though, I must say, Iâm impressed you managed to send that little SOS before I caught on. Clever, but ultimately futile.â
He steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks you over, his expression turning cold. âYou know, Iâve dealt with a lot of mutants in my time, but thereâs something special about you. Something⌠unique.â He reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. âToo bad your powers wonât do you any good here. The drug I gave you should keep you nice and powerless for the foreseeable future.â
Straining against the bonds, you continue to try to break free, but he drug in your system dulls your abilities, leaving you feeling weak and vulnerable. All you can do is stare at him with hatred as he continues to taunt you.
âSuch fire in your eyes,â Marco murmurs, almost to himself. âItâs a shame youâll never see the light of day again. But donât worryâIâll make sure your abilities are put to good use.â
He lets go of your chin, his hand trailing down to your shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. âNow, letâs see what we can do to make you a little more⌠compliant.â
Just as he reaches into his coat pocket, presumably for another syringe, a sudden, loud crash echoes through the warehouse. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass fills the air, followed by the unmistakable hum of energy blasts and the heavy thud of boots on the concrete floor.
The X-Men have arrived.
Marcoâs eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in anger. He spins around, barking orders at the security guards scattered throughout the warehouse. âStop them! Donât let them get near her!â
The guards rush forward, weapons drawn, but theyâre no match for your friends. The familiar sounds of battle flood your earsâRogueâs powerful punches, Scottâs optic blasts, and Stormâs lightning crackling through the air. You struggle against your restraints again, desperate to free yourself, but itâs no use.Â
Then, you catch a glimpse of Logan. Heâs fighting his way toward you, his claws out, slicing through anyone who gets in his way. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, your eyes meet his, and you can see the raw determination in his gaze. Heâs coming for you.
But just as he takes a step forward, something changes. He hesitates. You canât hear what heâs thinking, but you can see the conflict on his faceâthe way he seems to second-guess himself, the way his steps falter. Your heart sinks as you realize heâs unsure, almost as if he's torn between wanting to save you and fearing that you donât want him to.
In that split second of hesitation, Rogue swoops in, landing beside you with a determined look on her face. She doesnât waste any time, using her strength to tear through the restraints that bind you. âWeâve got you, sugah,â she says, her voice steady and reassuring as she pulls the gag from your mouth. âYouâre safe now.â
You nod, your throat too dry and your body too weak to speak. Your muscles scream in protest as you try to stand, but she quickly wraps an arm around you, helping you to your feet. Youâre shaky, your body still reeling from the effects of the drug, but youâre free. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Logan still standing there, his eyes locked on you, his expression unreadable. He wanted to save you. He wanted to be the one to pull you out of that nightmare, but something held him back.
Rogue helps you toward the exit as the rest of the team continues to subdue the guards and Marco. You lean heavily on her, your legs barely able to support your weight, but you force yourself to keep moving.Â
And when everyone else has back in the jet, hugging you and comforting you, you look over to Logan, who sits far away, on the opposite side, refusing to meet your gaze.Â
â
Returning to the mansion feels like stepping back into a familiar, comforting embrace. You missed the soft, warm bed in your room, the quiet serenity of the gardens, and the comforting presence of your friends. It's been a few days since the whole ordeal in Florence, and the drug has finally worked its way out of your system. Your strength has returned, and physically, you feel like yourself again. The mansion, too, seems unchangedâstill the safe haven youâve always known.
But as the days pass, you begin to notice that while many things have returned to normal, some things have not. Youâve seen most of your friends, their faces lighting up when they see you, their hugs tight and full of relief. There have been quiet conversations and laughter, shared meals in the kitchen, and moments that remind you why this place is home.
Except, thereâs one person you havenât seen. Logan.
His absence is like a shadow that follows you wherever you go. Youâve felt his presence in the mansionâheard his voice in the halls, the sound of his footsteps on the floorboardsâbut heâs kept his distance. He hasnât sought you out, hasnât tried to talk to you, and that stings more than you want to admit.
Youâve tried to stay strong, to remind yourself of the resilience you found during your time away. Youâve reminded yourself over and over that you donât need anyone else to validate your worth, that you can stand on your own. Yet the longer Logan avoids you, the harder it is to hold on to that strength. The old wounds, the ones you thought had begun to heal, start to ache again, and you canât help but wonder if anything has really changed at all.
More often than not, you find yourself retreating to the front lawn. The sun is warm on your skin as you lie down in the grass, a book in hand. The soft rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of life inside the mansion create a peaceful background, and for a moment, you manage to lose yourself in the pages of your book.
Still, even here, in the sanctuary of the garden, the thoughts youâve been trying to push aside keep creeping back in. The memory of Florence, of Loganâs hesitation, lingers like a bitter aftertaste. You replay the moment over and over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand why he stopped, why he didnât come for you.
Youâre so lost in your thoughts that you donât notice the shadow that falls across your page until a deep, familiar voice breaks the silence.
âIâm glad youâre alright.â
The voice startles you, and you jerk slightly, looking up to see Logan standing above you. His expression is guarded, as if heâs not sure how youâll react to his presence. Thereâs a tautness to his posture, a stiffness that you recognize all too well.Â
For a moment, you just stare at him, caught off guard by the suddenness of his appearance. Heâs as rugged and intimidating as ever, but thereâs something different in his eyesâsomething a tad bit softer. You close your book, sitting up slowly as you meet his gaze. The question thatâs been gnawing at you since Florence rises to the surface, and you know you canât keep it inside any longer.
âWhat happened?â you ask, your voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. âIn Florence?â
His jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment, his gaze shifting to the trees in the distance. He doesnât answer immediately, and the silence stretches out between you, thick with unspoken words.Â
You just watch him, waiting for an explanation, but thereâs a part of you thatâs already bracing for disappointment. Youâve been here before, waiting for Logan to decide what happens next, to take the lead. And youâre tired of it. Youâre tired of being the one left in the dark, of being the one who has to wait for him to be ready.
Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the world is pressing down on him. âI⌠I hesitated,â he admits huskily, almost in a growl. âI wanted to save you. Hell, I was going to. But then⌠I didnât know if you wanted me to.â
His confession hangs in the air, and you feel a mix of emotionsâsurprise, confusion, and sadness. You hadnât expected this, hadnât realized that his hesitation was rooted in something so painfully human.
âWhy wouldnât I want you to?â you ask softly, searching his face for answers.
Logan finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes takes your breath away. âBecause of everything thatâs happened between us. Because I pushed you away. I hurt you, and I thought⌠maybe youâd be better off if it wasnât me.â
You shake your head, trying to make sense of his reasoning. âLogan, this canât keep being about what you think is best,â you begin. âAnd itâs not about who saves who. Itâs about being there when it counts. You were there. You came for me.â
He doesnât have a response to that, at least not right away. He looks down at the ground, his fists unclenching, his shoulders slumping even further. Itâs like heâs carrying the weight of everything heâs done, everything heâs failed to do, and itâs crushing him.Â
âIâm sorry,â he finally manages to get out. âFor everything.â
You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.
âI know Iâve messed up,â he continues. âI know I havenât been there for you like I shouldâve. But Iâm here now. And if youâll let me⌠I want to try to make things right.â
You know you should be happyâthis is everything youâve wanted to hear from him for so long. But itâs also too much, too late. The doubt, the pain, it canât just disappear with a snap of your fingers.
âI donât know if Iâm ready for that,â you admit.Â
Thereâs pain on his face. âI get it,â he says, his voice rough but steady. âI know Iâve got a lot to make up for. And I know itâs not going to happen overnight. But Iâm willing to do whatever it takes, if it means I can earn your trust back.â
âI need time. I need time to figure out where I stand, and where you stand with me.â
He nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the ground again. âTake all the time you need,â he says quietly. âIâm not going anywhere.â
âI appreciate that,â With a small nod, you stand up, brushing the grass off your clothes. âI need time,â you repeat, more for your own benefit than his.
âAnd youâve got it,â Logan replies. âAs much as you need.â
â
Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. You focus on yourself, on healing the wounds that were reopened during your conversation with Logan. It feels strange, being the one who needs space, but you know itâs necessary. You find things to take your mind off him: you train more, read more, spend more time with Rogue, Kitty, or Remy. Itâs nice.
But Logan⌠Logan doesnât give up. He knows you need time, and he respects that. He doesnât push, doesnât pressure you to make a decision, but he makes it clear through his actions that he hasnât forgotten about you, and more importantly, that he isnât going anywhere.
It starts with the small thingsâthings so subtle that you almost donât notice at first. You probably wouldnât have suspected anything if you hadnât known the kind of person he is. Heâs nothing if not persistent. He knows you better than you realizeâthe rift he created after Jeanâs death muddling with your memoryâand he uses that knowledge to quietly, almost imperceptibly, work his way back into your life.
In the mornings, you wake up to find your favorite snacks waiting for you in the kitchen, carefully placed where youâd be sure to see them. He never mentions it, never takes credit, but you know itâs him. Itâs in the way he glances at you from the corner of his eye as you take a bite, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never makes a big deal out of itâjust a quiet, unspoken gesture that says, Iâm thinking of you.
Then there are the late-night training sessions. You go down to the Danger Room or the gym, hoping to clear your mind with a bit of solitary exercise, only to find Logan already there. At first, youâre tempted to leave, to find somewhere else to work out, but something in his demeanor stops you. He doesnât approach you, doesnât speak unless you initiate it. Instead, he just⌠exists beside you, his presence steady and reassuring, like a rock in the storm.
Itâs in these moments that you begin to see a different side of Loganâone thatâs patient, understanding, and perhaps a little unsure of himself. He follows your lead, mirroring your exercises or silently spotting you during weightlifting, always attentive to your needs without ever making you feel pressured or overwhelmed. Heâs just there, offering his support in the quietest, most understated way possible.
And then there are the little surprises in your roomâsmall, thoughtful gestures that you canât help but notice. A favorite book youâd mentioned in passing suddenly appears on your nightstand, its pages pristine and waiting for you to dive into. The time-worn leather straps on your gear are suddenly replaced with new ones that fit perfectly, the stitching unmistakably done by Loganâs hand. Even your plants, the ones youâd worried would wither away while you were on a mission, seem to thrive in your absence, the soil freshly watered and the leaves turned toward the sun.
He never asks for thanks, never draws attention to what heâs doing. Itâs all done quietly, behind the scenes, as if heâs afraid that if you notice too much, you might push him away. But you do notice. How could you not?
At first, you try to ignore it, telling yourself that these gestures donât change anything, that theyâre just a way for Logan to assuage his guilt. You tell yourself that heâs just doing this because he feels bad, because he wants to make up for the past, not because he actually cares. Youâve built walls around your heart for a reason, and youâre not ready to let them down just because heâs being nice.
But over time, those small gestures begin to chip away at those walls, brick by brick. You start to realize that Logan isnât just going through the motionsâheâs really paying attention, noticing the little things that make you who you are. It isnât just about the snacks or the books or the plantsâitâs about the way he remembers the details of your life, the things that matter to you, the things that make you feel seen and understood.
After a particularly long and stressful day, you return to your room exhausted, and all you want is to collapse into bed and forget the world for a while. But when you walk in, you find a small bouquet of wildflowers sitting on your nightstand, the beautiful colors a stark contrast to the dark thoughts that have been swirling in your mind all day. Thereâs no note, no explanationâthere never isâbut you know who left them.
You just stand there, staring at the flowers, your heart squeezing in your chest. Itâs such a simple gesture, and yet it means so much. Youâd forgotten that Logan knew how much you love wildflowersâyouâd mentioned it once, years ago. The way theyâre resilient, thriving even in the harshest conditions, blooming where others wouldnât. Itâs as if heâs telling you that he sees that strength in you, that he admires it.
And itâs then, in the quiet of your room, surrounded by the small, thoughtful gestures that Logan has left behind, that you realize something. This isnât just about making up for the past. Logan is showing you, in the only way he knows how, that he wants this. Wants you.
He's finally picked up the pieces of him that fell apart after Jeanâs death, and he is willing to pick up the pieces of you that fell apart after his rejection.
So, one evening, months after that fateful conversation on the lawn, you find yourself standing in the common room, staring at the fireplace, lost in thought. The mansion is quiet, the rest of the team either out on a mission or asleep. Itâs just you and the flickering flames, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.
But when you hear footsteps behind you, heavy and deliberate, you know instantly who it is. Without turning, you can sense his presence, the way he moves with that quiet confidence, the way the air seems to shift when he is near. Logan has always had a way of grounding you, even when you donât want him to.
He walks up beside you, stopping just short of touching you, his warmth radiating in the small space between your bodies. He doesnât say anything at first, doesnât ask why youâre here or try to force a conversation. He just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets, waiting patiently, giving you the time you need. Itâs something youâve come to appreciate about him in recent monthsâhis newfound ability to just be, without pushing or demanding more than youâre ready to give.
"Iâve been thinking," you say finally, your voice soft, as you continue to gaze into the flames.
"Yeah?" Logan asks, his tone careful, as if heâs afraid of saying the wrong thing.
You turn to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Youâve been⌠different. Doing all these little things⌠I see them, you know."
Loganâs eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long time, you see hope there. "I just wanted you to know that I care. That Iâm sorry," he says, with so much emotion. âYou were never a burden to me.â
You swallow hard. "Itâs hard for me, Logan," you admit, "Iâve been hurt before, and Iâm scared. Scared that if I let myself love you again, youâll just⌠break me."
He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "Iâd never hurt you again," he says, "Iâd rather cut off my own damn hand than hurt you. The past is the past, and you are my future."
Thatâs enough to make your walls crumble completely. You know, deep down, that Logan is telling the truth. That heâs willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.
And in that moment, you realize that maybe, just maybe, youâre ready to let him.
You donât say anything. Instead, you let your actions speak for you. You close the distance between you, standing on your toes as you press your lips to his in a gentle, tentative kiss. Logan freezes for a split second, as if he canât believe this is really happening, but then he kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close, holding you as if he never wants to let go.
The kiss is slow, tender, full of everything that has been building between you for so long. It isnât just a kissâitâs a promise, a commitment to try again, to rebuild what has been broken. When you finally pull back, your breath mingling with his, you rest your head on his shoulder. "Iâm still scared," you whisper.
"I know," Logan replies, his arms tightening around you. "But Iâm here, and Iâm not going anywhere. Weâll take this slow, darlinâ. Whatever you need."
You nod. "Okay."
Logan smiles then, a real, genuine smile that makes your heart flutter in a way it hasnât in years. Itâs a smile full of relief, of gratitude, of loveâa smile that tells you that he understands just how much this moment means, just how much youâre giving him by letting him back into your heart.
â
The time that follows is a slow, steady journey of rebuilding trust. Logan is true to his wordâhe is patient, understanding, and surprisingly tender in ways you hadnât expected. The small gestures continue���coffee waiting for you in the morning, a gentle hand on your back during missions, quiet moments of companionship where no words are needed.
You can feel the doubts youâve been holding onto slowly begin to fade. Each time Logan shows up for you, each time he puts your needs above his own, it chips away at the fear that has kept you guarded for so long. Itâs in the way he listens when you talk, truly listens, as if every word you say matters. Itâs in the way he looks at youânot with the same fury he once had, but with a steady, enduring affection that speaks of something deeper.
With Jean, he loved her because she was his soulmate, she was who the universe destined him to be with. He loved her because thatâs what he thought he had to do.
With you, he has a choice. He doesnât need to acknowledge the bond, but he chooses to. He chooses to everyday and heâll never stop. He loves you because he wants to, not because he has to.
One evening, you find yourself sitting on the mansionâs porch watching the sunset. Logan joins you without a word, sitting close enough that your shoulders brush.Â
âYouâve been quiet today,â he says softly, breaking the comfortable silence.
âIâve just been thinking,â you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. Itâs a simple gesture, but one that speaks volumes about how far youâve come in trusting him again.
ââBout what?â he asks, his voice gentle.
âAbout us,â you say, your voice steady. âAbout how things have changed. How⌠how good theyâve been.â
Loganâs hand finds yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels so natural, so right. âYeah?â
âYeah,â you echo, squeezing his hand. âIâm not scared anymore, Logan. Not like I was.â
He turns to face you, his eyes searching yours. âYou sure?â
You nod, smiling softly. âIâm sure. Youâve shown me that this bond means something to you, that youâre not going to hurt me. And⌠I want this. I want us.â
Loganâs face lights up with so much love, that it takes your breath away. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. âIâm glad, darlinâ. Because I want us too. More than anything.â
â
It isnât long before the rest of the X-Men begin to notice the change in Logan as well. At first, itâs subtleâsmall things like the way he looks at you during briefings, or the way he seems to be more patient, more relaxed when youâre around. But over time, it becomes impossible to ignore.
During a training session in the Danger Room, youâre paired with Logan for a simulated mission. The others watch as Logan moves with you in perfect sync, his focus not just on the mission but on youâmaking sure youâre safe, supporting you when needed, and trusting you completely. Itâs a far cry from the Logan they had seen when he was in mourning, where his moves were rash and careless.
After the session, as you and Logan leave the Danger Room, you catch sight of Ororo and Scott exchanging a look, the kind of look that speaks volumes, full of surprise and a touch of amusement.
âWhat?â you ask, raising an eyebrow as you approach them.
Ororo smiles warmly, a knowing glint in her eyes. âNothing, just⌠noticing how good you two are together.â
Scott nods in agreement, his expression softening as he glances at Logan. âYeah, itâs⌠different, finally seeing him like this. In a good way.â
Logan shrugs, but thereâs no hiding the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. âWhatâre you guys talking about?â
âJust that itâs nice to see you happy, Logan,â Ororo says gently. âReally happy.â
Logan looks at you then, his smile growing as he meets your gaze. âYeah. It is.â
More members of the team begin to notice the change in Logan as time goes on. Rogue, who has always had a soft spot for him, comments on how he seems more at ease, less burdened by the weight of his past. Hank, ever the observer, points out how Loganâs demeanor has shiftedâless brooding, more open. Even Charles, who has seen Logan through his darkest times, pulls you aside one day to express his approval.
âI must say,â Charles says, his tone warm and approving, âI havenât seen Logan like this in a very long time. Whatever you two have managed to sort out, itâs working.â
And it is. Slowly but surely, the wounds that had once held you back have healed. The doubts that had kept you from fully embracing your relationship with Logan have faded, replaced by a deep, abiding love. It isnât just the little gestures anymoreâitâs the way Logan makes you feel seen, heard, and cherished in a way that no one else ever has.
â
âI never thought weâd get here,â you admit one night whilst looking up at the stars.
Logan looks at you, his expression tender. âNeither did I,â he says, his voice full of sincerity. âBut Iâm damn glad we did.â
You smile, leaning into him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. âI love you, Logan. And I trust you. Completely.â
His grip tightens slightly, as if to hold onto the moment, to hold onto you. âI love you too, darlinâ. I never thought Iâd feel this way about someone.â
You know what heâs trying to say. So without thinking, you reach up and cup his face, drawing him closer until your lips are just a breath away from his. âShow me,â you whisper, your voice low and filled with desire.
He doesnât need any more encouragement. He closes the small gap between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that is soft at first, almost tentative, as if heâs savoring the feel of you.Â
You can feel the heat between you building, the kiss growing more fervent as your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt, then into his hair. Brown.Â
His hands slide up your back, one hand tangling in your hair as he angles your head, deepening the kiss further until youâre both breathless.
When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting against each otherâs, youâre both panting, your hearts racing in sync. His eyes are dark with desire, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he holds you close.
âYouâre everything to me,â he murmurs. âI never thought Iâd get my happy ending, but here you are⌠and Iâm never lettinâ you go.â
You smile, feeling the last remnants of pain melt away, replaced by a certainty that this is where youâre meant to be. âAnd Iâm never leaving,â you whisper back, sealing your words with another kiss that quickly reignites the fire between you.
This kiss is hungrier, more urgent, as if you both need to make up for lost time. Loganâs hands roam your body with a possessiveness that sends shivers down your spine, his touch igniting a fire in your core.
That night, you lose yourself in him, in the way he tastes, in the way he makes love to you as if youâre the most precious thing in the world. Because this time, youâre not just in loveâyouâre in love with a man who loves you back, fully and completely.Â
And that makes all the difference.
----
a/n: i love you if you made it this far. please check out my new series The Feeling's Mutual
#deadpool and wolverine#logan howlett fic#the wolverine#wolverine#wolverine angst#logan x reader#logan howlett#james logan howlett#logan howlett imagine#angst#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett angst#deadpool 3#wolverine smut#deadpool#wade wilson#x men#x men movies#logan howlett smut#mcu#marvel#mcu imagine
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LINKS WITH LOGAN HOWLETT and a splash of wade but mostly logan <3
wade and logan sharing you
in the honda odyssey with logan
logan deeeeep inside you
a tape you made with either logan or wade
sending this to logan to tease him while heâs off at work (he will not leave you alone when he gets home)
logan when heâs mad at you
on the couch after watching a movie with logan
riding wade
intimacy with Logan (looks exactly like older logan đââď¸)
t*tty sucking with logan
logan overstimulating you
feel like wade would do this (gun play)
logan fingering you
in the bath with logan
logan fingering you pt2
logan finding your d*ldo
step-dad logan making sure your not too loud
#logan howlett x reader <3#wolverine x reader <3#deadpool x reader <3#wade wilson#logan x reader#logan howlett#wolverine smut#wolverine x reader#deadpool x reader#logan smut
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Deadpool & Wolverine p links!
⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠âĄ
18+ minors do not interact or click the links! Each link contains porn. All links are from twitter, expect for the ones that say otherwise. You must be logged into Twitter for the links to open!
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!
⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠âĄ
â Deadpool
camping with Wade for your anniversary
taking his punishment like a good girl
breeding kink breeding kink breeding kink
taking his big cock deep in your ass
sucking off bigdick!Wade
⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠âĄ
â Wolverine
showing Logan your new pajamas
sweet sensual touches
filling your tummy full of his cock
making Logan breakfast
major size kink + anal
⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠âĄ
â Deadpool & Wolverine
playing with your pussy together
Logan destroying your throat while Wade watches
getting creampies from both your boyfriends (pornhub)
letting off steam with them after a long mission (pornhub)
bi bi bi (xvideos)
⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠âĄ
@starstruckrace @rogueinmymind @clowncummiess @colleenlyn @cherrytalkin @dorkszn @chry54nth3mum @devilslittlehelper @starworldstars @issylovessharks @m00nd0v3 @sometimesminsan @veetallla @justhere2bhur @cliffordclitoriss @gdshtwa @Iqnuskq @missikkj @thegothicblonde @argos-13 @mynamesstevenwithav @the-queen-of-england183 @edszn @marshymallo @bismuthx @merrul @blckbarbiedoll @kanaroli @liltacogurl @moonixlity @gigachadcowboy @cyrenes-world @tuesdayspiice @gmoldenburg @idkbruntte @nobrihere @manglemangos @tobesolovelysstuff @eribeau @figspassionfruits @purplezombiedeer @sad-girl09 @wh0r3f0rmarvel @thesilliestsstuff @darkened-writer @slut4you
#nattiâs 18+#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool x reader#deadpool#wolverine x reader#wolverine#deadpool smut#wolverine smut#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett#wade wilson x reader#wade wilson#marvel#marvel smut#p links
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Okay, now I need something about bf!logan and his girl making a porno (bonus points if wade finds out after the show they put on for him and that man is willing to RISK IT ALL to see that sex tapeđŠđ¤Ł)
cw: porn link; f!reader; smut; consensual filming during sex; slight sexting at the end // divider by @/plutism!
this is definitely the porno they were making <3
logan has you on your knees, your ass dimpling with every one of his greedy caresses, his heavy hand kneading your flesh. youâre whining to be creampiedâto be bredâand logan indulges you with a quiet chuckle because youâre so adorable like this, all needy and demanding, babbling nothing but nonsense because heâs fucked you to the point of incoherence.
you jut out your chin at his croon. he tells you to do it yourself if you really want his cum; says that youâve got to show him how much you need it.
âanâ here i thought i was beinâ a gentleman,â logan says, sighing in that what-can-you-do? tone like he hadnât been fucking you so hard, you were sure that the condom was on the brink of ripping.
you grumble, rolling your eyes even mid-tears, before reaching back to where heâs got his cock rutting along the cleft of your ass. you give it a stroke, giggling breathily to yourself at its sheer girth and weight, before sliding your hand down to the pinched tip and tugging.
logan moans, and it rumbles deep, sending tingles to rise from the tips of your toes to the base of your neck. he sounds just a little too excited, and you wonder how you must look as you reach for the rubber, tugging it off the expanse of his cock. do you look desperate, the camera capturing the way youâre shivering like youâre on cum-withdrawals? or do you look like the brat that you are, whining how sex is not enough until loganâs pumping you full of his sperm?
god, the thought that this moment is being immortalized makes you clench at nothing, your hole puckering as it waits to be filled.
the condom comes off with a pop, the rubber snapping off and into itself. it sounds so lewd and dirty, like the two of you are really starring in a corny porno, and it fills your cheeks with warmth as your need wanes in the face of your shyness.
you fling the condom to the side, before burrowing your face on the pillows, as though that alone can hide the palpable hunger rippling from you. logan laughs at your reaction like heâs not softly humping his cock between your thighs, rutting it along the wet mess heâs made out of your cunt.
âyâready, bub?â logan asks, still giddy with his laugh. you grumble a reply, before jutting your head in a stilted nod.
he taps his weeping cock along your folds, testing, and you shuffle in your impatience. you feel the itch exploding, the need to be stuffed bloating, but logan continues to tease and god, pleasepleasepleaseâ
âiâve got you, darl,â he grunts, then heâs pushing in, steady and filling, and, andâ
the moan thatâs ripped from your throat sounds foreign, like youâre a damn wounded animal. you donât even get to adjust to his widthâpussy lips going taut at his thicknessâbefore loganâs drawing his cock out until all thatâs left is the head. thereâs a bated breath that you two share, leaving you suspended in anticipation, then heâs bullying it back in.
you flop on the bed, all useless now like youâve got your strings cut loose. logan doesnât seem to mind, not with the consistent ringing slaps of his pelvis meeting your ass echoing in your quaint room. god, your brainâs being scrambled right now, youâre sure, because you canât even think of anything but loganâ
loganloganlogan.
youâre already cross-eyed by the time he sprays his first load inside you.
.
wade gets a five second clip from loganâs number. the thumbnail is just a blur of colours and wadeâs interest is piqued because logan rarely reaches out to himâa video is just unthinkable.
he was expecting many thingsâthat the video is the one of deadpool being broadcasted on national television with the words âhero or criminal?â after heâs accidentally set the robberâs van on fire, or that the video is an accidental recording of loganâs butt because that wolverine suit was tight and wade canât even think where logan must keep his phone with him.
but thisâ
wade wasnât expecting this.
it was a video of youâwadeâs not even embarrassed to admit that heâs memorized the way you look from all angles; what? one doesnât get a show of wolverine fucking his girl without gaining a new hyperfixationâreaching for loganâs monster cock. wade breathes in sharply as he watches you reach for the condom before tugging it off with a filthy, filthy pop. the video cuts into a next scene of logan relentlessly fucking you hard; the audio is a mess of squeaks and slaps, but also the wet squelches of loganâs cock fucking in-and-out of your gaping cunt.
two things:
1. thatâs fucking hot.
2. that video has clearly been tampered with; it was edited to show the barest of the highlights.
this was a conscious decision, with deliberate efforts. this was personal.
an invitation.
wade rubs one⌠okay, fine.
wade rubs three out before heâs running back to that apartment heâs daydreamed about. mid-parkour, another notifcation comes in. wade falls, because of course he does, but while he waits for his ankle to mend itself back into its socket, his eyes devour the new message.
> darl wants to know if youâre in.
wade sends a dick pic as a reply.
wade busting a fat nut behind tim hortons because heâs patriotic like that
(ext)
#anon#deadpool and wolverine#logan howlett x reader#wade wilson x reader#wolverine x reader#deadpool x reader#wolverine smut#deadpool smut#ask#suns
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Missing the oversized jacket đĽ˛đ
#deadpool#deadpool 3#deadpool movie#wade wilson#hugh jackman#hugh#wolverine#the wolverine#x men#xmen fanart#x men comics#xmen 2000#x2#logan howlett#howlette#Logan#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool x wolverine#dogpool#ryan reynolds#kitty#wolverine smut#wolverine x reader#wolverine appreciation#appreciate it#appreciation post#smut#hugh jackman x reader#hugh jackman wolverine#hugh jackman icons
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this movie is making me insane
#ă wolverine ă#ă deadpool ă#ă hugh jackman ă#ă ryan reynolds ă#poolverine#deadpool 3#deadpool#deadpool vs wolverine#deadpool and wolverine#ryan reynolds#hugh jackman#hugh jackman smut#wolverine smut#wolverine#wolverine x reader#logan howlett#logan howlett smut#logan howlett x reader#wade wilson#marvel#mcu#marvel cinematic universe#wade wilson x reader#wade wilson smut#wade winston wilson#deadpool movie#i know itâs not how a vent diagram works ok đ
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Sex in the suit (Wolverine)
Description: Y/N wants Logan to fuck her in the Wolverine suit
Warning: Smut, Wade
Word Count: 1,123k
Logan looked so hot in his suit. Y/N couldnât keep her eyes off him. So much so that Wade teases her about it anytime he sees her staring at him. âYa know I donât blame you, Peanut looks hot af in that suit.â Wade says, making Y/N giggle. Logan looks over and sees her giggling. He walks over to them, âYou making my girl laugh?â He asked jokingly. Wade raises his eyebrows under his mask, âListen Friendo you have no reason to be jealous. Little Y/N over here has a mask kink.â Y/Nâs jaw dropped at that and looked over at her friend shocked. Logan didnât really have a reaction which worried her even though they were dating. She looked at him worried but he didnât even look mad or upset. âWow, are you turning her down? Iâll take you up on that, cupcake.â Logan glared at him.Â
âSo the suit turns you on?â He asked them as she ate dinner. She chewed slowly and looked at him. âWrong time to ask, don't ya think?â She asked. He shrugged, âYouâre almost done.â He had a point but she was thinking about food not him fucking her in the suitâŚ.well shit now she was. âBut yeah, especially the mask.â She says. He raises his brows, âreally?â He asked.
She canât think straight when thinking about it. He looked so sexy in it and all she wanted to do was fuck him. She finished her last bite and quickly took the plate from her. She looked at him as he set it on the table. He came over to her and picked her up, making her giggle. âYou keep giggling like that, Iâll fuck you right here on the table babygirl.â He growls. âAs long as you wear the suit I donât care where you fuck me.â She purred. He set her on the counter, âstay right here.â He runs out of the room leaving her in her thoughts. She bit her lip just thinking about what was in store.
She decided to help him out by taking off her sweats leaving her in her shirt and panties. Her panties were lace and yellow fitting the vibe. Her panties were nearly soaked. It wasnât too much longer that he walked in the kitchen in the suit and he had the mask on as well. Her jaw dropped as if it was the first time seeing him in the suit. He walked up to her and she wrapped her legs around him pulling him closer, âYou look so hot baby.â She said and kissed him. The mask made it a little harder but it was still enjoyable. His large hands moved up her thighs to her wet panties.
She gasped in the kiss as he rubbed over her clothed clit. âFuck youâre wet.â He groaned. She moaned and threw her head back. His finger sped up the pace and his other hand gripped her hip hard, probably leaving a mark. She tried to move her hips but he stopped her, making her whine. âRelax baby. I want to fuck you on my cock.â His deep voice said. She whimpered at his words and he stopped rubbing her. He pulled down her panties and threw them somewhere in the kitchen. He picked her up and turned her around so her ass was up in the air.
âThis beautiful ass is just begging for it.â He said, slapping it. She moaned and shook her ass for him. He pulled down his pants and stroked himself a few times before lining up with her wet hole. He rubbed himself against her a few times before sliding in. He was bigger than anyone sheâs had sex with prior but so she still was getting used to his size. It took him a minute to fully be inside of her. Her gasps as she got used to him always got him. Once he was in her, he let her adjust before gripping her hips. His grip was tight as he fucked her back on his cock. He wasnât joking when he said he was gonna fuck her on his cock.
It was long before she was making the loudest noise possible. Luckily Wade wasnât staying over like he usually would so they both could be as loud as they wanted. âFuck Wolvy your dick hits all the right spots.â She whines. Never had she called him that before. But by the speed of him slamming her onto his dick increasing, she knew he liked it. âFuck sweetheart your pussy is so warm and made for me.â He groaned. Her hands had nothing to grip onto, so her fingers dug into the table.
âRight where we eat letting me take you like the dirty whore you are.â She moaned at that and clenched around him. âFuck baby girl if you do that again I might cum.â He moaned. He rarely ever moaned, just grunts and groans so she almost fell over the edge hearing that sound. âIâm close.â She whined and he grunted. His pace was inhuman fast as he had her fucking him and basically rearranging her organs. He twitched inside of her and they both knew that words didnât and couldnât be said. Her eyes rolled back and she nearly screamed his name as she came all over his cock.
He slowed the pace to let her ride out her orgasm. Little breathy moans left her mouth. He picked up the pace again making her whine out of sensitivity. âI know, baby. Daddyâs almost there.â He grunted. His hands squeezed her hips hard and he came inside of her not caring about protection. She gasped feeling his cum fill her up for the first time. He pulled out of her and watched as his cum spilled out of her. He took his hand and swirled her hole and pushed some of it back in her. She whimpered and he chuckled, âBe kinda hot to see you pregnant with my baby.â He said.
âYeah that would be hot, Peanut.â They both turned to see Wade in his Deadpool suit sitting on the window. âWhat the fuck are you doing here?â Logan growled. Y/N hid her body the best that she could from Wade. âRelax. I nearly missed the climax.â Logan growled and stormed up to him after pulling up his pants. âWhy are you mad, Peanut? You at least got some action.â He said in defense. âWade go home.â Y/N whined, annoyed that he saw them like that. âNot the kind of whining I want to hear.â He said and Wolverineâs claws came out. âLeave.â He growled at Wade and he sighed. âFine. But next time invite me will ya?â âWADE!â
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You weren't quite sure how you ended up in this situation. One moment Wade and Logan were stabbing each other in that damn Honda the next thing you knew Logan was pounding into from behind. His hand's clutching your hips tight as Wade thrusted up into your pussy.
Your hands on Wade's chest, mask pulled up so only his lips were shown. "Such a naughty little girl you are with such a sweet little pussy."
Gritting his teeth, Logan tries to not think about Wade fucking you too. He wanted to be the one to get you to hit your orgasm not that little fucker. Pulling his cock out, he then slammed back in causing your body to shift forward. "Shut the fuck up."
Scoffing, Wade let his hand grab your breast as his thumb circle your nipple. "I know what you're trying to do wolfie boy and it's not gonna work! I'm gonna make her cum first."
Resting your head on Wade's chest you could feel your heart slamming in your chest as both men continued to fight with each other, as they continued to fuck you and you knew neither men would let up until one of them would admit defeat.
It was going to be a long night
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