#wolverine x you
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danidrabbles · 2 days ago
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Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader
Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).
Word count: 16.6k
Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.
Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!
Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.
If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.
THE LOOKOUT
With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this. 
Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.
It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.
During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.
Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.
Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.
Today you want it to be your last time here. 
You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.
The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–
“Hey, stop!”
A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.
“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind. 
After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor. 
You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset. 
But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.
“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.
“You know–” he begins.
“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”
“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”
Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–
“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”
“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.
“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.
The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”
“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”
Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”
He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”
There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.
“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”
To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.
Understanding.
It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff. 
The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.
You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.
“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”
“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.
He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”
– – – – –
Logan.
That’s his name. 
It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.
Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.
Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same. 
Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”
Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”
He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,
“Quit pitying me, Logan.”
“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”
You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”
Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”
Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?” 
He hums.
“And how does that work?”
“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.” 
The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–
“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.
“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”
“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”
“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”
Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.
“I should head home,” you say, standing again.
Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”
“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”
“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”
“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”
He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.
THE CRAVING
New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.
You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.
There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it. 
It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.
The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.
After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy. 
When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.
It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?” 
Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand. 
“First time’s on the house.”
You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.
A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.
“She isn’t interested, pal.” 
It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–
“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 
Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.
“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”
Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”
“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”
“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.
“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.
Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving.”
“And then what, huh?”
“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”
“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”
“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”
It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.
“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.
“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.
Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”
He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle. 
You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far… 
Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–
“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.
Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”
– – – – –
When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–
“Mornin’, sunshine.”
The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air. 
“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”
“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.
“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”
“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.
“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.
Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.
“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.
You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”
“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.
“What–”
“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”
“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 
You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.
“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”
You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk. 
There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.
“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”
The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.
“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”
“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door. 
He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.
THE PUZZLE
It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this. 
Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you. 
So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.
Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better. 
Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.
“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.
He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”
It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.
“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.
“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment. 
Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang. 
“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”
He nods in acknowledgement.
“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”
Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.
“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”
“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”
– – – – –
You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.
“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.
“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”
You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.
“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”
“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little. 
“You’re a quick study.”
Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”
With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”
To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”
“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”
You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,
“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”
The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”
Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”
“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”
Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat– 
It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…
There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here. 
There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.
“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.
“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”
“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”
At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”
You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.
“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.
“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”
“You can pay next time.” 
When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.
– – – – –
You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.
THE PANTRY
“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.
“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.
“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.
You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.
It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared. 
There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.
Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.
“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.
“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”
There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.
You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.
An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.
The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.
Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–
You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.
Fuck.
Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”
Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.
“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.” 
Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.
“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”
You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.
“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”
“It caught you off guard, it happens–”
“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”
Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.
It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.
“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”
“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”
“What if it wasn’t enough?”
“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”
Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are. 
“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”
Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”
– – – – –
Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway. 
It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition. 
“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile. 
You respond in kind. 
When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.
A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.
THE MEETING
April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.
With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.
Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed –  like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.
You’d answered without saying a word.
“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.
“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.
“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”
You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”
It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago. 
“Sounds to me like now might be good.”
“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination. 
“Logan?”
“Still here.”
“Thank you for calling.”
“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”
The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.
The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day. 
Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week. 
“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”
You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...
But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support. 
That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters. 
Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front. 
The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.
“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”
It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand. 
“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.
The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.
“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts. 
It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.
“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–” 
He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after. 
“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.” 
You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.
“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”
A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.
Your palms hurt after.
– – – – –
“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.
The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.
Logan scoffs in reply. 
“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”
You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.
It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.” 
“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.
“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”
Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”
“Maybe next time.”
During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.
“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”
Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”
“You went there on your side?”
He hums.
“By yourself?”
He hums again.
“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead. 
“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”
It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely. 
The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,
“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”
His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.” 
“Can you do it?”
“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”
It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”
“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”
“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”
“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”
“Definitely,” you reply.
“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”
You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”
“I like it when I drink it with you.”
It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”
“See you.” 
He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.
THE SUMMER
Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.
You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.
It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.
It’s way better than champagne.
– – – – –
You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place… 
The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.
“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”
“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”
Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room. 
“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”
Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”
“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.
“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.
Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.
Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”
“Wade,” Logan warns.
Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.
You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”
“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”
“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”
It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.
– – – – –
Apartments look weird with nothing in them.
It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.
“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.
You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.
It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.
Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.
It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.
“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”
– – – – –
“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.
Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare. 
Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.
“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”
You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan. 
Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”
You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze. 
“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.” 
You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”
– – – – –
“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.
“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.
“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.
“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”
You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”
“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”
THE PARTY
“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.
“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.
“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”
You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”
“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”
“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”
When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”
A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”
“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”
“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.
“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.
“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.
“Yeah,” you smile.
“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”
You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”
The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.
“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.
Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 
“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”
“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”
– – – – –
The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips. 
While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.
It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.
For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.
Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–
“Do you dance?”
You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 
“Logan,” you breathe. 
It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.
It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.
You like him.
All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”
You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 
Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–
“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.
Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”
“Bye, Logan.”
THE TABLE
Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.
Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…
…broad, handsome.
Shit.
Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.
But he might.
Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.
But it would change everyth– 
Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 
friends. 
You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.
The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.
“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.
It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.
The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.
“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 
“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”
“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.
“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”
“Then what the fuck was that all about?”
The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.
“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.
You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”
The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”
His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 
Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 
Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 
Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”
“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”
“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”
“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.
Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.
“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”
He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”
The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him. 
His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.
Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own. 
“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”
It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit. 
“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.
“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.
“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”
All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down. 
The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.
“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine. 
Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.
The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. 
Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…
“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 
It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt. 
He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.
“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.
“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.
Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. 
With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.
“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”
“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”
“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 
If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.
He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.
“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin. 
It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.
He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”
The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.
“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.
You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.
“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”
He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.
“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.  
“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.
“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”
The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–
With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 
“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.
With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.
The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 
Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple. 
You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall. 
Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies. 
“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”
You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”
He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 
The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.
It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 
Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...
It’ll be a long night.
THE PEARL
It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed. 
Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.
In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.
“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”
The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.
“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.
“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”
She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”
“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.
A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.
It takes a lot of string indeed.
Sometimes even interdimensional string.
– – – – –
(THE END)
If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.
And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂
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logansbaby · 2 days ago
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so basically……. need him to fuck my mouth til im crying <3
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mrshowlettsgarden · 2 days ago
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Prompt number 7 with Logan 🫢
─➭ a/n: ooo, this is a good pick! I also apologize for the week delay; work was kicking my ass. but thank you for the request. I hope you enjoy; this is a long one - kaya <3 (prompt list)
We're Just Friends? - Logan Howlett: the one when you realized it meant more to him that you assumed
─➭ pairing: Logan Howlett x professor!fem!reader
─➭ prompt #7: "Why did you leave me like that back there?" "Because." "Because, what?" "Because your dumbass can't figure out how much it hurts me when you say that we're "just friends."
─➭ content warning: hurt/comfort, miscommunication, friends to lover's trope, suggestive in the end
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It’s Charles' birthday party tonight that Jean and Storm decided to throw for him at the mansion. All the adults were to attend the black-tie shindig along with invited colleagues and so on. 
You were excited to have something to dress up for and eat some fancy food unlike the brute man pouting as he leans against your bathroom door. 
“I put on the suit that should be enough,” Logan sasses to you, “I ain’t putting on the damn bowtie.”
You roll your eyes as you put the cap back on your lipstick with an aggressive sigh, “Don’t be such a diva, Logan. Wear the bowtie.”
You get goosebumps seeing the dirtiest look he’s ever given to you through the mirror. You’re also fighting for your life to not break out into a fit of laughs. “The fuck did you call me?” he snaps. 
You couldn’t hold the laugh any longer and it slips from your lips as the dirty look turns into a pout on his face. Ignoring his question, you walk towards him and grab the bowtie from his hand. Logan has to fight to keep a straight face as your pretty self, inches closer with another step. If he could, he’d pull you in by the waist and take your lipstick off with a kiss. 
“It’s for one night. One night only,” you say with pleading eyes, “And women love a bowtie on a man so who knows who you might pull into your bed tonight,” you joke with a smile and wiggling eyebrows. 
Logan’s jaw clenches at your words. The only woman he wants to pull tonight is you but he doesn’t think you’d like that, so he shakes the thought away even though it hurts to do so.
You on the other hand wanted to slap yourself in the face for saying that because you just hurt your own feelings. You really don’t want to see Logan and a woman - who isn’t you - clinging to his arm at the end of tonight. Maybe you said that as foreshadowing to help prepare you for the moment that will eventually happen. But you ignore the pang in your heart. 
Logan scoffs aggressively as he takes the bowtie back from you and begins tying it himself while looking at the mirror, “Yeah, because that’s the goal I had for myself leading up to tonight,” he says sarcastically while you give him a look of smugness as you watch him finish the tie. 
“You look good though,” you say with a small smile as you adjust the tie a little bit. 
Logan looks back down to you with a tight-lipped smile. “You look good too, darlin,” he says back in a gentle tone.
And good is an understatement when it comes to you because you look so goddamn breathtaking. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you before today and now he thinks his greatest battle is to not admire you in your dress tonight. 
A black form-fitting dress is criminal to wear in front of him because this is his first time seeing the shape of your body and it makes him want to see more for his eyes only. Your heels give you extra height, but you still can’t reach up to him and he finds it endearing. 
Why do you have to be so beautiful…
You see him in a daze as he looks at you and you almost think it’s longing. But that's just a wish you have. “Logan? Are you still there?’ you say with a wave to bring him back down to earth. 
Logan smiles as he nods, “Where else would I be, huh?” he asks. 
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The party started hours ago and it’s still growing strong. 
Everyone is laughing, mingling, and dancing the night away. You say it's almost peaceful seeing everyone letting loose from the stress that has been filling up their lives. Everyone, including yourself, needed this. Everyone except Logan.
Such a party pooper… 
You walk up to him as he takes a swig of his drink. He looks up at you with a questioning look, expecting you to say whatever it is that’s on your mind. 
“I don’t think I’ve seen you get up once other than for a drink,” you say knowingly.
Logan sighs, “At least, I got up instead waving down one of the servers.”
You groan at his words before walking around the table and pulling him up by his arm. “At least be polite and make your rounds to everyone,” you complain, “Then you can sit back down.”
Logan almost laughs at your miserable attempt to get him out of the comfort of his seat. But to save you from the embarrassment of falling on your ass, he sighs and gets up. “Only if you stay with me. We’re both suffering together,” he says almost pridefully as he moves your hand to wrap around his arm. 
Your face turns into a heater feeling his muscles along the expanse of his arms. You could only imagine how safe you’d feel having both arms wrapped around your body securely. At least you can bask in the moment a little longer before it gets taken away.
You stay on Logan’s arm as you both say your hellos and how are you’s. You can’t deny that it feels good to have him this close to you. And he can’t deny how comforting it is to be under your touch. He hasn't felt this relaxed in years. The more time he spends having you hold onto him like this only hurts him a lot more. Because the moment gets taken away every single time, he hears you say “we’re just friends” in nearly every conversation. 
“Oh no! We just came here as friends!”
“You’re too funny! We’re just friends.”
And he swore he heard somebody comment about how he’s like a fucking brother to you??
Now that one really started to boil his blood. 
Yes, you are friends. Best friends if anything but it will never hurt less to hear you say those three words. Those words are like that one annoying tune that is stuck on replay all night. Every person or group of people you both have gone up to have made comments or asked questions if you guys came to the party together. And just like the first time you were asked up till the last time, you were way too quick to shoot them down with “we're just friends”. 
After all the last couple of years since he’s been around you hopelessly thinking you’d catch onto his longing stares, lingering touches, and being by your side during missions, he thought eventually you’ll get the hint. Tonight is showing him that you won’t ever reciprocate his feelings back. He’s been shot, stabbed and you can name the rest, but this emotional pain is burning at him from the inside and out. He’s starting not to be able to take your stinging words any longer. 
Finally, all the rounds were made when you both made your way to Jean and Storm sitting at one of the tables. “I didn’t think you were actually able to get him out of that chair, Y/n,” Jean laughs.
“You made him into a social butterfly,” Storm snickers as Logan pulls out one of the chairs for you.  
You giggle at their comments while Logan scoffed out a “whatever” and looked away from you three as he took a seat. He can feel his hurt turning to anger right now and he’s trying really hard not to show it. He gently removes your arm from his as he waves a server down for a drink. Sensing something is off you’re about to ask him if he’s okay, but Storm beats you from talking. 
“You guys looked good out there though. Like a cute married couple,” she smiles as Jean nodded in agreement.
If only they and Logan knew how much you don’t oppose the idea of being married to him, but you could only laugh it off. That’s what you’ve been doing nearly all night as you and Logan made the rounds. You don’t think you’ve ever sounded like a broken record player having to repeat that you guys are purely platonic. You were just hoping that Logan wouldn’t start causing a scene when you heard him nearly growl every time you started talking. He seemed so tense too, more than usual but you thought it was because you were dragging him around to talk to people he wasn’t interested in. 
Which is why you would turn down the comments about you and Logan dating because you didn’t think that he’d enjoy that type of conversation about you but boy, were you so wrong. 
“Please, don’t make me repeat it again,” you playfully groan out with a laugh, “I don’t know how much I can take having to explain that I won’t ever see Logan that way-”
SLAM!!
You and the girls jump from the startling sound of Logan slamming his drink on the table then watch him storming off his chair and into the mansion. Stunned by his actions you look down at the glass and see that it had cracked from the force then look back at him walking away. You go after Logan without thinking, “I’ll go check on him,” you say as you speed off your chair in worried haste. 
Where did that come from? And why is he walking away so fast? He’s already made it inside the house in less than thirty seconds. Your feet hurt enough already from the heels, but you caught up to him as he was about to make his way upstairs.
“Logan!” you call as you pick up your pace a little more, but he ignores you, “Ugh! Logan!”
“What?” he snapped at you with a venomous tone.
You nearly cower at his nasty attitude towards you. He’s never talked to you like that before and you begin to feel uneasy about being the target of his rage. "What’s wrong? Why did you leave like that?” you ask as you follow him up the stairs. You're only two steps behind him.
“Because.” he continues walking with bigger strides.
“Because??” you repeat. You’re starting to get irritated with his attitude, “Because, what? Logan would you please slow dow-”
“Because I can’t fucking stand that your dumbass can't figure out how much it hurts me when you say that we're "just friends!!” he yells as he turns around to give you his full rage.
You stood there frozen and stunned by his words and also at the fact that he yelled at you louder this time too. You feel yourself start to shrink from his voice. You couldn’t think to get a word in before he interrupted you once more.
“How much longer should I have to deal with the fact that you only see me as your friend and nothing more, Y/n! You’re walkin’ around telling people down there that I’m only your friend and you were just telling Storm and Jean that you won’t ever see me more than that!” he shouts at you with a face full of hurt and anger, “Why haven’t you realized that I love you. That I’ve been in love with you. Y/n!”
Your heart stopped for a second hearing him say that. There are too many whirlwinds of emotions going on right now. It’s hard for you to fully grasp the fact that he just confessed to you. Logan Howlett confessed to you. Looking at him you realize that maybe he’s also realizing that he confessed too with how his eyes widened. 
You both stand there on the staircase in ear piercing silence as Logan pants from his rage. He rips his eyes off of you as he runs a hand down his face in stress. He looks so hurt right now. Your eyes are beginning to tear up from being the reason why he’s so hurt. But he needs to know that you feel the same way. 
After a minute of silence and trying to find your words, you softly but hesitantly speak up. “Logan…,” you shakingly call his name as you step forward. You’re about to reach for his hand but he steps back away from you.
“No,” he interrupted you while shaking his head. He doesn’t want to hear your rejection right now. He’s so angry at himself for letting his feelings for you drag on for this long. And he confessed to you in a way he never imagined he would. “Just forget I said anything. I’m done.”
Done…?
With that he storms off again much faster than before up to his room. Leaving you behind to swallow his words more. He loves you. How could that be? You swore he felt the complete opposite after all this time. He said he was done too. Done with you? 
While his words were finally settling in, you didn’t realize the tears had fallen down your cheeks. He loves you and then tells you he’s done. After all this time you thought he couldn’t see you that way, especially when he first arrived, he had a thing for Jean. But now, after his days of visiting you in the greenhouse, waiting for you in the hallway to get coffee in the mornings, and so much more… You’ve blind to his advancements. Even the way he talks to you is different from how he usually is and you didn’t realize that till he started yelling at you five minutes ago. 
You let out a shaky sigh to stop the sobs from slipping. 
God, you feel so stupid. 
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It’s been a couple weeks since the party and the last time you saw, let alone talked to Logan. 
You’ve never felt so lonely in the greenhouse by yourself and not having him there listening to you rant about whatever plant or lecture you need to get off your chest. You miss feeling his presence around you - the smell of his cigar, his teasing, his oddly comforting words that he held only for you… You miss him so much, but he wants nothing to do with you anymore.
The morning after the party you waited for him in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, but he never came. You tried knocking on his door a couple times after that when you wouldn’t see him but no answer. You knew he was in there counting from the energy you feel from the plant you jokingly gave him as a present, but you didn’t want to push him more. You also never failed to notice the way he would avoid you around the mansion. While the home was huge, you still saw him from a far and he’d walk away after your first glance in his direction. 
So, you gave him what he wanted. Space. 
And here you are sitting on one of the lounge chairs in the greenhouse at two in the morning. You couldn’t sleep or you haven’t been able to sleep without hearing Logan’s loud voice repeating his words in your head. The only thing that’s soothing you is the soft sound of the fountain that you’re sitting in front of. You stare at the lily pads floating in the water as you keep blinking back to that night Logan confessed. Would you call it a confession if he did it angrily? If he only would’ve stayed for thirty seconds longer, he would know that you love him too. 
Logan was sitting in the kitchen nursing on a bottle of soda since the damn house doesn’t have any beer or form of alcohol. God, he could use several of them right now to get what happened out of his head. He let his hurt turn into anger when he yelled out his love for you. He’s never felt so embarrassed doing that especially after seeing the look of shock and hurt on your face too. 
He just couldn’t stop the wave of emotions leaving his mouth in the form of words. He needed to get it off his chest after the number of times he was friend-zoned by you in one night. After he ditched you on the stairs to go into his room, he’ll admit that he felt a little lighter knowing that he finally told you how he feels but the weight came back when he started avoiding you. 
With how hard you were trying to get him to talk to you it just made him feel worse. Yes, he’s choosing to avoid you, but it doesn’t hurt him any less. He’d do anything to talk to you again, but he thinks nothing will be the same anymore, hence the reason for avoiding you. Again, he’s also embarrassed for throwing a tantrum on the stairs as he angrily declared his love for you. 
He still can’t believe he did that…
Logan frustratingly sighs as he chugs the rest of his drink as he gets up from his sitting. Maybe a walk will help. He needs to shake his feelings off and deal with the fact that he can’t come back from his confession. 
He zips his jacket up from the chill of the night as he steps out into the backyard and begins his walk. 
Nothing is heard other than silence as he furthers into the yard. He begins to get lost in thought as you come back into his mind. The way you looked scared from his rising voice to the sudden look of surprise when he said he loved you. Fuck, he still loves you despite the fact he hasn’t seen much of you the last two weeks. He misses you a lot.
“Damnit,” he mutters under his breath as he irritatedly kicks a pinecone out of his way.
 Logan continues to walk with no destination until he suddenly stops in his tracks to see the lights on in the greenhouse. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion because he knows how late it is and he knows you’re in there by yourself. But why are you in there and how long have you been in there? He ponders for a bit as he stares at the warm lights illuminating the glass walls. 
He stands there for a minute or two longer then makes his way to the double doors of the greenhouse. Usually when he or anyone walks up, you’d feel their presence and have the plants open the doors, but nothing happens. He looks around at the plants that surround the door to see if any of them move. But nothing, they’re still. He doesn’t sense any danger, but something is definitely off. 
He opens the doors without thinking and walks inside to find you. 
It’s eerily quiet inside as he walks around. He sniffs the air to smell for you and walks over to one of the fountains to where it leads to you. Your head is peeking out from the other side of the lounge chair, but you still haven't moved. He carefully walks around to find you curled up against the armrest sleeping. You look cozy and at peace if he wouldn’t have noticed the dry tear marks along your cheeks. 
His face turns into a look of regret instantly. Avoiding you was just him hurting both of your feelings with no end goal behind it. He was beginning to feel stupid and childish about this whole ordeal. How he feels about you shouldn’t be the end of the bond that you guys already had with each other. 
Besides tear marks, Logan also noticed the bags under your eyes as he kneeled down to be face to face with you. He sighs softly and brings the back of his hand to gently wipe the tear marks off your face. Your cheeks feel cold to the touch. You should be asleep in the comfort of your bed right now where it's warmer. So, Logan sucks up his feelings to wake you up.
The hand that was on your cheek moves down to your arm and starts to soothingly rub your arm up and down. “Y/n,” he whispers, “Wake up.”
You barely stir and it makes him want to laugh because you're such a heavy sleeper. So, he moves you a bit more and your eyebrows begin to furrow in irritation. For once you were sleeping somewhat well and you’re being woken up. You hear Logan’s voice, but you think it's just a dream until you hear him clearer the more you wake up. 
“Logan?’ you murmured as your eyes began to open.
“Yeah, darlin’, it’s me,” he whispers back to you, “Let's get you back to bed.”
You lock eyes with his soft gaze, and you’ve never felt more relieved to see and feel him this close to him. You sit up instantly, “Hi…” you say to him.
He smiles softly a stary strand of hair away from your face, “Hey… You shouldn’t be sleeping here alone, you know.”
You nodded as you rub the sleepiness away from your eyes as you look away from him. “I haven’t been able to sleep,” you said. Logan hums in response and silence settles for a moment between you two. You bite your bottom lip nervously as you start to think of what to say but you cower from the thought thinking that he won’t listen to you like before. You move your eyes to look at him, but you realize that he was still looking at you.
Logan couldn’t take his eyes off of you since he found you asleep. It feels like he hasn’t seen you for months to almost a lifetime. If you only knew how much you have molded yourself into his mind since day one. He sees how nervous you are right now from the way you’re looking back at him. He’s about to apologize for his outburst but you beat him to it. 
“I love you, Logan.”
Wait what?
A look of shock was thrown onto his face, but you interrupted him again. “I-If you would have stayed longer, I would’ve had the chance to say it back to you,” you stammer softly, “And I’m so sorry for hurting your feelings during the party. I swear, I-I thought that I was saving you from the conversations that I had dragged you to. I’m so sorry.”
You feel the tears fall again with how fast your eyes are building them up. You missed him too much and he needs to know this time that you've always felt the same way. You’re about to continue apologizing but Logan cups one of your cheeks with his warm hand. You feel his thumb wipe a tear and it makes you hold his hand with yours while you nuzzle your cheek further into his touch. 
"I missed you, Logan...," you shakingly sigh out.
"I missed you too, darlin'"
Relieved tears fell while Logan came closer to rest his forehead against yours. You feel so comforted to have him this close again. You run your hand up his chest to lure him closer. 
“I’m sorry too,” he sighs under your touch, “I was mad at myself and took it out on you. I didn’t mean to scare you either. I…I love you so much.”
You feel his lips brush so lightly against yours, it makes you pull away slightly to look back at him again. You don't think words can describe how much you need him impossibly close to you right now, it's making you needy for him. Your eyes move down to his lips then back up to his hazel ones.
“Kiss me, Lo-”
You didn’t have to finish the damn sentence because his lips met yours in an instant. Like hell he was going to walk away again now. A warm feeling blossoms in your chest as he pulls you closer to him with both of his arms around you to make you wrap your legs around his waist. Logan nearly groans, feeling you pressed against his body. The smell of the soft eucalyptus scent of your conditioner was making him dizzy but only made him crave for you more. 
You feel him pull you toward him more before getting up from his kneeled position near fluently with you in his arms. You gasped out a laugh at his brute strength and he smirked smugly.
“Show off…,” you say blissfully.
Logan chuckles as goes back in for another kiss, “You’ll learn to love it, sweetheart.”
You smile as you shyly bite your lips hearing him call you that. You couldn’t help yourself and went in for another kiss. Your bodies heatedly pressed together as you cupped both sides of his cheeks making him part his lips just enough for you to slip your tongue inside his mouth. Logan didn’t stop himself from sinking into your embrace despite holding you in his arms. 
You both lose your thoughts, getting lost into the comfort of the kiss. It felt so natural to have each other this close and it makes you wonder why it took so long for you both to get to this moment. And neither of you were planning on stopping it. You want more of him and he wants more of you. The ache you feel in your core is calling for more of his touch. 
You force yourself to pull away and you feel him chase after your lips. “Fuck, baby. Why’da stop?’ you can hear how desperate he is for you right now and it and it makes you smile.
“Take me to bed Lo…,” you whisper against his lips, “I need to feel more of you.”
You didn’t have to tell him twice because he instantly tossed you over his shoulder making you squeal out a laugh.
“Let’s go then, pretty girl.”
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jackmanwife · 2 days ago
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You picked at the food on your plate with your fork, something your father cooked up a couple times a week—a pile of mashed potatoes that had long since gone cold, some roasted asparagus you hardly touched, and a piece of chicken that tasted bland after the first few bites. You weren’t even hungry, really—just wanted to get dinner over with.
Your father was going on about one of his favorite old stories—something about a fishing trip he’d taken a few summers ago, the same trip he brought up every chance he got. He told it the exact same way, too: the “massive fish” that got away to the epic battle with his fishing line. You nodded along and gave him the occasional “oh, really?” like the good daughter you were. Your mind, however, wasn’t on fishing—or the food.
You took a sip of water, looked down at your plate, then glanced up at the man sitting in front of you. There he was, Logan—and fuck, did he look good. He was patiently listening to your father, sometimes letting out a chuckle, drinking a little bit of beer from the bottle next to his plate—barely touched, too. You can tell he was just as bored as you were. Only difference was, he wore it better.
Then it came to you. You didn’t have to sit here quietly, bored out of your mind. Not when he was right there, so close, looking so put-together. No, you wanted to fuck with him a little, have some fun.
You took a quick look at your father, making sure he was still caught up in his stupid story, and after what felt like hours, he was. Good. You slipped off one shoe under the table, feeling the cool floor against your bare foot before reaching out, letting your toes brush Logan’s jeans—feather-light. Just a little something to get his attention without making it too obvious.
You stared at your plate, even though a smile tried to pull at the corner of your mouth. After a few seconds, you looked up at Logan, expecting him to be looking at you, too, but he wasn’t. He just continued to drink his beer, talk to your father, take a small bite of food from his plate. He wasn’t doing anything. Why wasn’t he doing anything?
Okay, maybe he didn’t really feel it. Beneath the table, you pressed your foot a little higher, up along his calf. Still, nothing. Logan barely blinked, even, he just leaned back with a small smile on his face as he listened to your father, bringing his bottle back to his mouth for another drink. Fine. You slid your foot higher, pressing along his thigh, harder this time. There was no way he wasn’t feeling this. And yet—he just went on, acting like he hadn’t noticed a thing, even though you knew he did.
But then, just when you were about to drop your foot, Logan casually reached under the table, catching your ankle in his hand. The move was so sudden you almost choked on the food you were keeping in your mouth. His fingers tightened around your ankle, holding you in place. Your hand tightened around your fork, trying to pull your foot back, but he wouldn’t let go. He made it clear that he was aware of your little game—and that he was going to win it.
You yanked your foot back hard enough to slip out of Logan’s grip, causing the table to shake. Your father paused mid-sentence, looking over at you.
“Oh, um—I think I’m full,” you forced a small laugh out, pushing your chair out from under the table as you got up.
Logan finally looked over at you, lips curling in the slightest smirk. You knew that look. “Leaving so soon, sweetheart?” He nodded toward your half-full plate, “Barely touched the food on your plate.”
Jesus Christ, was he going to be the death of you.
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mcrdvcks · 1 day ago
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i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1900 - with you i'm free
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chapter summary: Logan meets you again in a small town in Pennsylvania. Only this time, you are married to another man, but your marriage is far from perfect.
word count: 11.4k+
pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader
notes: this is a bit darker than the other chapters, past and future, so this'll probably be a 'one off'. please read the tags! the domestic violence isn't described too heavily, but there are still some descriptions and scenes involving it. you've been warned!
warnings/tags: angst, mentions of brushing hair, outdated mindsets on women, domestic violence, bruises, cheating, blood, character death
series masterlist - chapter 2 → chapter 4
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Logan found himself in a small town in Pennsylvania 20 years later. Victor was doing who knows what, he wasn’t sure if he even cared, so he was alone, once again.
Coal mining was the primary job in this town, so he found himself doing just that. After work, the guys would go to a nearby bar and get drunk, go back home, and repeat it all over again.
This was his second week here, and the guys finally learned that he only came along to do one thing- drink.
You walked into the dimly lit bar, the smell of tobacco and cheap liquor hanging heavy in the air. The men, mostly miners from the town, were crowded around tables, drinking and laughing loudly after a long day of work. The sound of clinking glasses and rough voices filled the room, but your eyes were drawn to the man sitting at the bar, quiet and distant.
He didn’t look like the others—he wasn’t laughing, wasn’t part of the group. He just sat there, nursing a glass of whiskey, his dark eyes focused on the amber liquid as if it held answers to questions he wasn’t ready to ask. Something about him felt familiar, though you couldn’t place why.
You hadn’t intended to come inside. George was already drunk somewhere in the back, and you knew what that would mean when he got home. But something pulled you toward the bar, toward him. You made your way over, hesitating for just a moment before slipping onto the stool beside him.
“You new in town?” you asked, your voice soft but cutting through the noise around you.
The man didn’t look at you right away, but his hand tightened slightly around the glass. His jaw clenched, as if the sound of your voice had struck something deep inside him. Slowly, he turned his head, and when his eyes met yours, the world seemed to tilt for a moment.
It was like a punch to the gut, a shock that ran through both of you, though you couldn’t understand why. You had never met him before, but his eyes... those eyes. Dark, haunted, and yet filled with something familiar, something you couldn’t explain.
Logan stared at you, his mind racing. It couldn’t be. But it was. You were here, sitting right next to him, alive. Different, yet the same. His chest tightened, the memories flooding back—your face, your smile, your laugh. The way you had slipped away from him, twice now.
He hadn’t expected to see you again. Not after the last time. But here you were, as real as the glass in his hand.
“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rougher than he intended. “Just passing through.”
You tilted your head slightly, curious about the stranger beside you. “Passing through? Not many people come here unless they’re looking to stay a while.”
Logan’s eyes flicked to you again, lingering this time. It was you, all right. Same voice, same damn spark. He could feel his heart pounding, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he should just get up and walk away. He didn’t know if he could handle this—losing you again.
“I’m not lookin’ to stay,” he said, taking a long sip of his drink, hoping it would calm the storm inside him.
You smiled faintly, noticing how closed-off he seemed. “Seems like you’re fitting in already, though,” you joked, nodding toward the men in the back. “That’s my husband back there, George. One of the miners.”
Logan’s jaw tightened at the word ‘husband,’ though he didn’t know why it hit him so hard. Of course, you’d have a life. It was always like this. But that didn’t make it any easier.
“Is that right?” he replied, not really asking. He glanced toward the group of men, catching sight of George, loud and drunk, waving his glass around like he owned the place. A man like that didn’t deserve you. But Logan stayed silent.
“Yeah,” you said softly, looking down at your hands. “He’s… something.”
There was a heaviness in your voice, something that told Logan more than your words ever could. He recognized that tone—the one you used when you were trying to hide the truth, trying to make things seem better than they were.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Logan just stared at his drink, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do now. You were married. You had a life. He didn’t belong here. But he couldn’t just walk away. Not again.
“Y/N.” The sound of your name from his lips was barely a whisper, but it felt like it echoed through the bar. Your head snapped up, eyes wide.
“How… how do you know my name?” you asked, frowning in confusion. He hadn’t asked, and you hadn’t introduced yourself.
Logan cursed inwardly, realizing his slip. He hadn’t meant to say it, but your name had come so naturally, like it always did. “I, uh… heard someone call you that when I came in,” he lied, quickly looking away. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”
You blinked, but before you could question him further, George’s booming voice interrupted.
“Y/N!” he shouted, stumbling toward you. “What’re you doin’ at the bar? Get over here!”
You flinched slightly, your body tensing at the sound of his voice. Logan noticed immediately, his eyes darkening as he glanced between you and the drunk man. He didn’t like the way George looked at you, the way he called for you like he owned you.
“I should go,” you muttered, standing up quickly, the warmth between you and Logan fading as you stepped away. “It was nice meeting you…?”
“Logan,” he said, his voice low. “Name’s Logan.”
You smiled faintly again, nodding. “Logan. Well, take care.”
He watched you walk away, his chest tight with a mix of emotions he couldn’t put into words. This wasn’t fair. Not to him, not to you. But life had never been fair, had it?
As George draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into the group with a roughness that made Logan’s blood boil, he clenched his fists under the bar. He wanted to stand up, walk over there, and tear that man’s arm off. But he stayed where he was, the ring in his pocket feeling heavier than ever. The ring he never got to give you.
You were gone again, and Logan was left with the bitter taste of whiskey and the familiar ache of loss.
---
George never really allowed you to do much, he wanted you to be the ‘perfect wife’ and the ‘perfect mother’, but he always said that last part to you with such hatred.
Some nights, while you silently cried yourself to sleep, you wondered if you were broken, and that maybe you deserved it. Not ever getting pregnant, having an abusive husband- not that it was rare, most of the guys’ wives went through the same things too.
One day, you were out doing errands, getting some things to make George his favorite dinner in hopes you wouldn’t end up with another bruise on your wrist like yesterday, when you saw him. Logan, from a few nights ago.
He was smoking a cigar against a brick building; he should be at work with the rest of the men.
You paused, your breath catching for a moment as you saw him. Logan. He looked out of place, leaning against the wall like he didn’t belong in this time or this town. His eyes, sharp even from a distance, locked onto yours the second you stepped out of the store. It was like he knew you’d be there, as if he had been waiting.
You hesitated, then made your way toward him, the worn handle of the basket digging into your palm as you gripped it tightly.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” you asked softly, your voice carrying just enough over the sound of the bustling street.
Logan took a long drag from the cigar, his eyes narrowing slightly, and shrugged. “Took a break. Figured I needed some air.”
You shifted awkwardly, glancing around before lowering your voice. “If George finds out you’re not working…”
He scoffed, the sound rough, almost amused. “George ain’t my boss.”
His words hung in the air, and you knew he was right. George might run things at home, but out here, Logan didn’t answer to anyone. You, on the other hand… your life was different.
Logan’s eyes flicked down to your wrist, where the bruise from yesterday’s outburst was still visible, even though you’d tried to hide it with long sleeves. His expression darkened instantly, the casual air gone in an instant.
“He do that?” His voice was low, almost a growl.
You swallowed, tugging the sleeve down further. “It’s nothing,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. “I just—George gets frustrated sometimes.”
Logan pushed off the wall, stepping closer, the smell of smoke and leather surrounding you. He was close now, too close, and you felt your heart quicken—not in fear, but in something else entirely.
“Frustrated?” Logan repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. “That what you call it?”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really. What were you supposed to say? That it was normal? That the other wives had it worse? The words died in your throat, and instead, you turned your head, focusing on the basket in your hand. “I should get going.”
But Logan didn’t move, didn’t let you slip away that easily. “You don’t have to put up with that, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice softer now. His hand brushed your arm, barely a touch, but you felt it. Felt it everywhere.
Your breath hitched, and you looked up at him, finding those dark, intense eyes watching you closely. “I… I should get home,” you said again, but the words lacked conviction this time.
Logan didn’t argue, but the look on his face told you that he wasn’t letting this go. “I’ll walk with you,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.
You didn’t protest as he fell into step beside you. The two of you walked in silence for a while, your steps in sync, even though neither of you said a word. It was like that night in the bar—the unspoken connection, the weight of something you couldn’t quite name hanging between you. But this time, there was no crowd, no drunken laughter. Just you and him, and the quiet tension that seemed to grow with every step.
When you reached the edge of your street, you stopped. “You don’t have to walk me the whole way,” you murmured, glancing toward your house, where George’s silhouette was already moving around inside.
Logan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked at you, his gaze lingering on the bruise again before his eyes met yours. “You ever need someone to talk to,” he said quietly, “you know where to find me.”
Your heart clenched at the offer, at the way he said it like he meant it. You nodded, unsure of what else to do, and turned to leave.
But as you stepped away, his hand brushed yours again, just for a second. It was fleeting, but it sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder that there was something here—something neither of you fully understood but couldn’t deny.
You walked inside, feeling his presence behind you even after the door closed, knowing that things had just shifted, that something had begun. And it scared you. Not because of George, not because of what it might mean if you were caught—but because of how much you wanted it. How much you wanted him.
---
Over the next few days, Logan stayed close. You saw him more often—sometimes at the store, sometimes on the street—but always watching, always aware. He didn’t push, didn’t say much. But his presence was a constant, a quiet offer of protection that you hadn’t asked for but found yourself relying on.
It was late one evening when it finally happened. George had been out drinking again, and when he came home, it was worse than usual. You flinched as his hand caught your wrist, yanking you toward him as he slurred something about dinner not being ready on time.
You would’ve left the house if you could, but you couldn’t. Not when George was glaring at you like that, his drunken eyes wild with the sort of rage that had become all too familiar. You knew exactly what was going to happen tonight. It wasn’t new—this quiet dread that wrapped itself around your throat, choking off your breath. Running had never worked before, and by now, you had learned there was no use in trying.
George's grip on your wrist tightened painfully as he muttered something under his breath. The way he yanked you close made your heart race, not out of fear, but from the exhaustion of enduring it. He wasn’t done with his tirade—his words slurred together, complaining about dinner, the house, everything. It didn’t matter. Nothing you did ever seemed to be enough.
As his fist balled around the fabric of your dress, you stared blankly at the floor, your mind drifting elsewhere, anywhere but here. To the street outside, to the market, to Logan. The quiet man who’d appeared in your life without explanation. You didn’t know why, but when you thought of him, you felt something different—something dangerous but soothing all the same. A flicker of rebellion, of hope, that you hadn’t felt in so long.
George shoved you toward the kitchen table, grumbling about the cold food, about you being lazy, about anything he could think of. You stumbled, catching yourself on the edge of the table, but didn’t say a word. You never did, not when it got like this.
But Logan… he had noticed. He had noticed the bruises, the way you flinched when someone raised their voice, the way you avoided eye contact. He wasn’t like the other men in town. He wasn’t one to turn a blind eye. You remembered his intense gaze lingering on your wrist, the bruise that you couldn’t quite hide. You remembered the way he had spoken to you softly, almost like he cared.
That thought gave you strength now, as George barked another order, telling you to clean up the dishes. Your body moved mechanically, but your mind stayed somewhere else. You could almost feel Logan’s hand brushing against yours again, the briefest touch when he’d walked you home the other night. It had been so subtle, but it had sent a jolt through you—a reminder that there were still things you could feel, still things you could want.
The night dragged on, just as it always did, but when George finally passed out in his chair, snoring heavily, you slipped outside. The cool night air hit your skin, and for a moment, you just stood there, breathing it in. You weren’t going far. Just a few minutes of peace. Just enough to remind yourself that you were still alive.
You walked slowly down the empty street, your eyes scanning the shadows. You didn’t mean to, but your feet led you toward the alley where Logan had been smoking that day. It was a habit now, searching for him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.
And then, there he was. Leaning against the same wall, his broad figure half-hidden by the dim light of the streetlamp. His cigar glowed faintly in the dark, and as soon as he saw you, he straightened, eyes narrowing with concern.
“Y/N,” Logan said softly, stepping toward you. His voice was rough but gentle in the stillness of the night. “What’re you doin’ out here?”
You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. Your throat felt tight, and your chest ached with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t. Instead, you just walked closer, until you were standing right in front of him, your head tipped back slightly to meet his gaze.
Logan’s eyes flickered over your face, taking in every detail—the bruise that had started to fade but was still visible on your wrist, the exhaustion that weighed down your every movement. He didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t need to. He knew.
Without a word, Logan reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck in a way that was more comforting than anything you’d felt in years. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into him. Just for a moment.
“Y/N, you don’t have to stay there,” he murmured, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Not with him.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, the truth of his words cutting deeper than anything else. You didn’t want to stay, you didn’t. But leaving wasn’t as easy as it sounded. George was… dangerous. You didn’t know what he would do if you tried to leave him. And besides, where would you even go? You had nothing. No money, no family. Just an empty house that felt more like a prison with every passing day.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your own admission.
Logan’s grip tightened slightly, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. He wanted to help, wanted to tear you away from that life, but he was fighting something inside himself too.
“You always got me,” Logan said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “Always.”
The words hung in the air between you, heavy and full of meaning. You didn’t know what to say. The part of you that was practical screamed that you couldn’t rely on him, that you shouldn’t get attached. But the other part, the part that had been buried deep beneath years of heartache, wanted to believe him. Wanted to fall into him, to take whatever comfort he could offer.
Before you could stop yourself, you reached up, your hand trembling slightly as you rested it on his chest. You felt his heart beating under your palm, steady and strong. Logan’s breath hitched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. He never did.
“Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet street. “I don’t know what to do.”
He let out a slow breath, his forehead resting against yours now, his warm breath mingling with yours. His free hand came up, his thumb brushing your cheek softly, tracing the path of an unshed tear.
“You don’t have to decide tonight,” he said gently, his lips so close to yours that it took everything in you not to close the distance. “But whatever you decide… I’m not lettin’ you go through this alone. Not again.”
Your heart ached at his words—his promise. The unspoken connection between you felt stronger than ever, and before you knew it, you were closing that distance, your lips brushing against his in a hesitant, tender kiss.
Logan froze for half a second, but then his arms were around you, pulling you closer as if he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than he could remember. His lips were rough, but his kiss was gentle, full of restraint. You could feel the years of longing behind it, the pain of lifetimes lived and lost, but also the desire—the need that neither of you could ignore any longer.
When you finally pulled back, breathless and trembling, Logan’s eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice ragged, his forehead still resting against yours. “This ain’t right. You’re… you’re married.”
“I know,” you said, your voice barely more than a breath. “But I… I don’t care anymore.”
Logan’s grip on you tightened for a moment, like he was trying to fight it, but then he cursed softly under his breath and kissed you again, this time with more desperation, more need. His hands tangled in your hair, his lips claiming yours in a way that made it clear this wasn’t something either of you could stop now.
And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to.
---
The next few days blurred together, a dangerous mix of stolen moments and whispered promises. Logan was always there, watching over you, his touch lingering on your skin long after you parted. You knew it was wrong, knew that it would only lead to more heartache, but you couldn’t stop. He had become your anchor, your escape from a life you couldn’t bear anymore.
It wasn’t long before you were meeting him after dark, slipping out of the house when George was too drunk to notice. The kisses became longer, the touches more urgent.
Soon, it wasn’t just nights you were seeing him. It was after George left for work, during Logan’s lunch breaks, or anytime he could sneak away from the mine. You’d meet in the same alley, or sometimes he’d find you waiting in a small park just outside town. The secrecy of it all—the sneaking around, the stolen moments—it was reckless, but neither of you could stop.
Logan wasn’t the kind of man who talked much, but the way he looked at you, the way he held you—like you were the only thing keeping him grounded—it said enough. His hands were always gentle, so different from George’s, even though you could feel the strength behind them. That raw, unyielding strength that was so uniquely his.
One afternoon, Logan met you in the small clearing just past the main street. It was a rare moment when George was working late, giving you a little more time than usual. You leaned against the large oak tree, your back pressed into the rough bark, and waited. It wasn’t long before Logan’s figure appeared in the distance, his broad shoulders tense, eyes scanning the area out of habit.
As soon as he spotted you, his shoulders seemed to relax, and he made his way over, his footsteps heavy but quiet in the dirt. When he got close enough, you smiled softly, your fingers fiddling with the fabric of your dress, a nervous habit you’d picked up over the last few weeks.
“Thought I’d lost you for a minute there,” you teased, keeping your voice light, though there was a real fear under the surface. Every time you saw him, there was a tiny part of you that worried it might be the last.
Logan gave a half-smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not that easy to lose me, Y/N.”
You looked up at him, trying to read what was going on in his head. He seemed… tense, more so than usual. You could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
“You alright?” you asked, your voice softening as you stepped closer, close enough to touch him, but not quite daring to yet.
Logan’s gaze flickered down to you, and for a moment, you saw something in his eyes—something old, something heavy. But he shook his head, as if brushing it off, and reached out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, though you could tell he wasn’t. He was never fine.
You reached out, resting your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart under your palm. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Logan.”
He stared at you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you, before he finally spoke. “It’s just… this,” he said, his voice low, almost pained. “I don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”
You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m already hurt,” you whispered, and for the first time, you felt the full weight of those words. The bruises, the fear, the nights spent lying awake, wondering if George would snap—it had become your normal, and you hated it.
Logan’s expression didn’t change much, but his jaw clenched, a flicker of something dark flashing behind his eyes. He stood still, his hands loose at his sides, and for a second you thought maybe you’d gone too far—that maybe admitting this would scare him away, make him walk off into the night and leave you standing there alone.
But he didn’t. He never did.
Logan exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound quiet but loaded with restrained anger, like a simmering fire just barely held in check. His hand—rough and warm—reached out to settle on your arm, fingers curling gently around your elbow. It was a simple touch, but it grounded you in a way that nothing else did.
“I’ll handle it,” Logan said, voice low, rough. His words were more than a statement—they were a promise, weighted with meaning you couldn’t quite untangle.
Your heart skipped at the way he said it, quiet but firm, like the solution was already decided, and there was no point in questioning it.
“You can’t,” you whispered, not because you didn’t believe him, but because you knew how dangerous George could be. And if Logan went to him—if George found out about the two of you…
Logan’s thumb brushed once along your forearm, slow and deliberate. “I’ve handled worse,” he muttered, gaze never leaving yours. There was a sharpness in his eyes now, something fierce. You didn’t know what he’d been through in his life—just that it was far more than you could imagine.
A part of you wanted to tell him not to get involved, but the other part—the part of you that had been breaking under George’s hand for years—wanted to let Logan do exactly what he was offering.
You bit your lip. “If he finds out…” You trailed off, but Logan understood. Of course he did.
He stepped in closer, so close that the rough wool of his shirt brushed against your dress. His hand shifted from your arm to the back of your neck, his fingers resting there firmly, possessively, but with the same strange tenderness he always showed you. “I won’t let him hurt you again,” Logan murmured, voice steady.
You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him so badly. And when you looked into his eyes—dark and steady and filled with something raw and unyielding—you thought maybe you could.
Your hand rested flat against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the worn fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat strong beneath your palm, steady and unrelenting.
“He won’t stop, Logan.” Your voice cracked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “He’ll just—he’ll come after me, after us.”
Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Let him try,” he said, the words edged with a quiet menace that sent a chill down your spine.
It should have scared you, the way he said it—like violence was something inevitable, something he didn’t shy away from. But instead, it made you feel… safe. Safer than you’d felt in years.
The night air around you was cool, but standing this close to Logan, you felt none of it. His hand slipped from your neck down to the small of your back, his touch warm and steady through the fabric of your dress.
“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, but even as you said it, you didn’t move away.
Logan’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “I ain’t gonna pretend this is right,” he said, voice rough but quiet. “But I ain’t gonna pretend I don’t want you, either.”
His words hit you hard, sinking deep into your chest. You hadn’t realized how starved you were—how badly you needed someone to see you, to want you. And Logan… he saw everything. The bruises, the fear, the exhaustion. And still, he looked at you like you were worth something.
You swallowed thickly. “What happens if he finds out?”
Logan’s expression darkened. “He won’t.”
The finality in his tone left no room for doubt, and for a moment, all the fear that had been building inside you loosened, just enough to let you breathe.
Without thinking, you reached up, fingertips brushing along the edge of his jaw, feeling the rough scrape of stubble beneath your touch. Logan’s eyes closed briefly, like the small touch was something he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time. When his eyes opened again, they were darker, filled with a need that mirrored your own.
He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
His lips found yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate, like a man starved for something he couldn’t name. His hand cupped the back of your head, holding you to him as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
You melted into him, the fear and exhaustion slipping away, at least for now. His kiss was everything—an escape, a promise, a lifeline.
When you finally pulled back, breathless and trembling, Logan rested his forehead against yours. His hand lingered on your waist, as if letting go wasn’t an option.
“Just say the word, Y/N,” Logan whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Say the word, and we’ll leave. Tonight.”
Your heart ached at the offer—at the thought of running away with him, leaving everything behind. But it wasn’t that simple, and you both knew it.
“I can’t,” you whispered, hating yourself for the truth of it.
Logan’s grip on you tightened briefly, as if trying to hold onto something he couldn’t keep. But when he spoke again, his voice was steady.
“Then I’ll stay,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “Until you can.”
You closed your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. For the first time in years, you felt like you weren’t alone.
And that—just that—was enough to keep you going. For now.
---
One of the local churches was having a retreat set up for the women in town. Clara had been talking your ear off about it at Sunday church, spouting how excited she was to get out of the house.
You listened half-heartedly, but really you were thinking about what a perfect excuse it was to flip this into a lie for George.
You told Logan you couldn’t run away with him, but that didn’t include spending these few days with him, maybe off somewhere in a nearby town.
Most of the women in town were very religious, and at times you felt like an outsider. You didn’t believe like they did, but you kept up a perfect front to make them believe you felt the same way.
“Maybe we’ll have another sewing circle this time. Whaddya think?” Clara asked, a wide grin splitting her face as she held her hat against the October breeze.
You gave a noncommittal hum, tugging the sleeves of your dress down to cover the faint bruises on your wrists. “Maybe,” you murmured, though your thoughts were far from sewing circles and prayer sessions.
The retreat was perfect. It would get you out of George’s reach—at least for a couple of days—and give you the time you so desperately craved. More than anything, it meant time with Logan.
Clara didn’t seem to notice your distraction. “It’s always good to get away, you know? Some of these girls say the Holy Spirit really speaks to ‘em up there.” She gave you a knowing look. “Sometimes, you just gotta leave it all behind for a bit.”
You forced a smile. "Maybe that's what I need."
Clara squeezed your arm, oblivious to how you tensed. “See? That’s the spirit! Now you just gotta convince your husband.”
You swallowed thickly. George wouldn’t care about a church retreat if it kept up appearances. He didn’t pay much mind to you unless you were standing in his way—or if dinner wasn’t on time. A couple of days without you underfoot? He’d probably welcome the peace.
Later that night, after George had his fill of supper and slumped into his chair with a bottle, you tested the waters.
“You remember Clara?” you asked, keeping your tone light. “She mentioned a church retreat this weekend. Thought I’d go.”
George barely glanced up. “What for?”
“Some of the other women are going too.” You folded your hands together tightly, hiding your nervous fidgeting. “It’s just a few days. They’ll be praying and sewing... nothing much.”
George grunted, shifting in his chair. “You ain’t skippin' out on Sunday dinner.”
You bit your lip, nodding quickly. “No. I’ll be back before then.”
He waved you off with a lazy flick of his hand. “Fine. Just be sure you ain’t runnin' off to waste money.”
Relief washed over you so fast your knees felt weak. You ducked your head, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you,” before slipping into the next room. It had been easier than you expected—maybe too easy. But you weren’t about to second-guess it.
---
The next day, you told Logan.
You found him where you always did—leaning against the brick wall near the alley, a cigar pinched between his teeth. He straightened the second he saw you, his sharp gaze sweeping over you like it always did, searching for signs of hurt.
“I told George I’m going to the church retreat,” you said quietly, stepping close enough that the warmth of him reached you. “It’s this weekend. I’ll have a couple of days...” You let the words hang between you, heart pounding as you waited for him to understand what you were really saying.
Logan’s jaw ticked, his expression hard to read. “You sure?” His voice was low, the sound of it like gravel underfoot.
You gave a small nod. “It’s the only way I can get away.”
He exhaled through his nose, looking past you for a second before his eyes settled back on yours. “Where’s the retreat supposed to be?”
“About an hour north,” you said. “But... I’m not going there.”
Logan’s lips twitched, something almost like a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That right?”
“Yeah.” Your voice wavered slightly, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “I wanna be with you, Logan. Just for a couple of days. Somewhere... away from here.”
The smirk faded, replaced by something heavier, something that settled deep in his eyes. “You know what you're askin’, darlin’?”
You nodded. “I know.”
He didn’t move for a long moment, just stood there watching you with those steady, knowing eyes. Then, with a slow exhale, he reached for you—his hand slipping under your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His thumb brushed along your jaw, and the touch made your breath catch.
“Where do you wanna go?” Logan asked, his voice rough but gentle.
“Anywhere.” The word slipped out before you could stop it, and you hated how desperate it sounded. “Just... not here.”
Logan gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Alright,” he muttered, the barest flicker of emotion crossing his face. “Meet me at the train station Friday night. I’ll take care of the rest.”
---
Friday came quicker than you expected.
The afternoon dragged, tension curling in your stomach as you packed a small bag. You kept everything simple—a couple of plain dresses, your brush, and the few coins you’d stashed away in a tin under the floorboards. You told yourself it wasn’t permanent. You’d be back in a few days, and everything would go back to how it was.
At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.
When the sun began to set, you told George you were leaving. He didn’t even look up from his whiskey. “Just don’t come back actin' all high and holy,” he muttered.
You gave a quick nod, your heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.
---
The train station was quiet when you arrived, your breath fogging in the cold night air. You spotted Logan almost immediately, standing near the platform with his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. He wore the same tired expression he always did, but when his eyes found yours, something softened in his gaze.
“You made it,” he murmured, stepping closer. His hand found yours, rough fingers wrapping around yours like they belonged there.
“Yeah,” you whispered, squeezing his hand.
Logan gave a small nod toward the waiting train. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.”
You boarded without hesitation, the door clicking shut behind you as the train rumbled to life beneath your feet. Logan led you to a quiet corner of the car, his hand never leaving yours.
As the train pulled away from the station, you glanced out the window. The town grew smaller, the lights fading into the distance until there was nothing but the dark, open night stretching out ahead of you.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe.
Logan’s arm slipped around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side. His warmth bled into you, steady and unyielding, and for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.
“You alright?” Logan asked quietly, his lips brushing against the top of your head.
You nodded, leaning into him. “Yeah. I am.”
Logan didn’t say anything for a moment, but you could feel the tension in his body slowly ease as you settled against him. His arm was solid and steady around you, a quiet strength that made you feel secure. The train rocked beneath you, the rhythmic clattering on the tracks filling the silence. You closed your eyes, letting the sound and the warmth of Logan's presence wash over you.
For the first time in what felt like years, you could relax—if only for a little while.
"You got enough for a few days?" Logan asked, his voice gruff but soft, as if he was trying not to push too much too soon.
You nodded, pulling your small bag closer to you. "Yeah. Just the basics."
Logan gave a small grunt of approval. "We'll stop by a place I know, out of the way. You’ll be safe there."
"Safe..." The word hung in the air between you, heavier than you meant it to be. It felt like a luxury you hadn't been allowed for a long time, and the thought of it made your chest tighten.
Logan’s thumb stroked absently along your arm, a small gesture that grounded you. He didn’t press you for more, didn’t ask questions you weren’t ready to answer. That was the thing about Logan—he didn’t pry, didn’t demand anything from you. He just was. It was one of the reasons you felt drawn to him, why you kept finding yourself in his orbit.
But there was still so much you didn’t know about him. He’d never mentioned a family, never talked about where he’d come from or how he ended up here. There was a deep well of mystery around Logan, and sometimes you could feel it, the weight of something unspoken between the two of you. But you didn’t push him for answers either.
You shifted slightly, resting your head against his shoulder, the scent of cigar smoke and pine surrounding you. “Where are we going?”
"There's a place, up in the hills," Logan said quietly. "A cabin. No one's been there in a while. We'll be alone."
Alone. Just the two of you. The thought sent a ripple of excitement and fear through you, your heart skipping a beat. The idea of leaving everything behind—even if just for a few days—felt like a risk. But wasn’t that what you wanted? A break from George, from the town, from the suffocating weight of a life you never really chose.
“You sure about this?” Logan asked, his voice low, almost hesitant. “About… us?”
His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your decision settle in your chest. It wasn’t just about getting away anymore. It was about choosing him, even if it was only for a little while. A choice that could never be undone.
“I’m sure,” you whispered, lifting your head to look at him. His eyes met yours, dark and searching, like he was looking for any hint of doubt.
Logan’s expression softened, just a fraction, and he gave a slow nod. “Alright.”
The train continued its steady rhythm, carrying you further away from the life you knew and into something unknown. You couldn’t think about what would come after—about George, about the retreat, about the women who would notice your absence. All you could think about was Logan, and the way his hand held yours, like he didn’t want to let go.
---
The cabin was quiet, nestled deep in the woods where no one could find you. Logan hadn’t been lying when he said it was out of the way. You hadn’t passed another soul on the journey here, and the solitude felt like a blanket wrapping around you, warm and comforting.
Logan pushed the door open, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. The inside was simple—rough wooden furniture, a stone fireplace, and a bed in the corner, covered in a faded quilt. It wasn’t much, but it felt safe, isolated from the rest of the world.
“You can get some rest,” Logan said, setting your bag down near the bed. “Fireplace works, and there’s wood out back if it gets cold.”
You nodded, glancing around the room before your eyes settled on him. “Thank you.”
Logan’s gaze flickered, something unreadable passing across his face before he nodded. “Don’t gotta thank me.”
There was a silence between you, not uncomfortable but full of things unsaid. You wanted to ask him more—about why he was helping you, about what he really wanted from all this—but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you stepped closer, your hand brushing against his arm.
“Logan…” you started, unsure of where you were going with it.
He turned to face you fully, his eyes locked on yours. “Yeah?”
You hesitated, then closed the distance between you, your hands reaching up to rest on his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart under your palms, the warmth of his skin through his shirt.
“I just… I needed to be with you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
Logan’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “You got me,” he murmured, his voice rough but sincere. “For as long as you need.”
Your breath hitched, and before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. It wasn’t soft or tentative like you thought it might be—it was hungry, desperate, like you’d been holding back for too long.
Logan’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and the world outside the cabin seemed to disappear. There was no George, no town, no expectations. Just you and Logan, and the fire that burned between you.
---
Later, as the fire crackled in the hearth and the two of you lay tangled in each other’s arms, you stared up at the ceiling, your mind racing with everything that had happened.
Logan’s hand trailed idly along your arm, his fingers brushing over the faint bruises you’d tried so hard to hide. His touch was gentle, but you could feel the tension in him, the quiet anger simmering beneath the surface.
“I’ll kill him,” Logan muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “If he ever touches you again.”
You tensed, your breath catching in your throat. “Logan—”
“I mean it,” he growled, his grip on you tightening slightly. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
You turned to face him, your hand resting on his chest. “It’s not that simple…”
Logan’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something raw and painful in his gaze, something you couldn’t quite understand. But then he shook his head, exhaling slowly. “I just don’t wanna lose you. Not again.”
His words sent a chill down your spine, but before you could ask what he meant, Logan leaned down and kissed you again, silencing your questions.
The kiss was rough, full of unspoken things—promises, regrets, desires that neither of you could fully articulate. His lips moved against yours like they were trying to drown out the past, to focus only on the here and now. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers digging into his skin, wanting to hold on to this moment for as long as possible.
For now, you didn’t want to think about George. You didn’t want to think about the bruises you were hiding, the lies you had to keep telling to survive. You wanted to focus on Logan—the way his body pressed against yours, the warmth of his breath, the way he made you feel alive.
When you finally broke apart, your breathing heavy, Logan stayed close, his forehead resting against yours. His hand brushed your cheek, and for a moment, the roughness of him softened, like he was letting his guard down.
"You should rest," he murmured, his voice low, but there was a strain in it, like he was trying to hold something back.
You shook your head slightly. "I don’t want to rest. I want to stay here with you."
Logan’s eyes searched yours, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. He lifted his hand, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your skin for just a second longer than necessary.
“You know this can’t last,” he said quietly, the weight of the truth settling between you both.
You nodded, the ache in your chest growing. “I know.”
You had always known it couldn’t last. This was just a moment stolen from the real world—a fantasy that couldn’t survive the harshness of the life waiting for you back home. But that didn’t stop you from wanting it. It didn’t stop you from wanting him.
Logan’s hand found yours again, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that felt almost protective. He hadn’t let go since you’d arrived at the cabin, as if he feared you might slip away if he did.
“I wish it could be different,” you whispered, staring down at your intertwined hands.
Logan was silent for a long time before he spoke. “Me too.”
The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with warmth, but there was still a chill in the air, an unspoken tension lingering between the two of you. You could feel it in the way Logan’s thumb stroked absentmindedly across your knuckles, like he was trying to ground himself—trying to ground you.
“Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice softer now. “Helping me, I mean.”
Logan’s gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, his jaw clenching slightly. When he looked back at you, his eyes were hard to read. “Because you deserve better than him.”
It wasn’t a full answer, but it was the closest he’d come to telling you why. You weren’t sure if he was holding something back or if he just didn’t know how to say it. Logan wasn’t the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and you’d never pushed him for more than he was willing to give.
You nodded, accepting his answer for now. “Thank you.”
Logan’s eyes softened at your words, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You don’t gotta thank me, Y/N.”
You closed your eyes, letting yourself lean into him. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to just be. No pretending, no worrying about what came next. Just this—just him.
---
The morning light filtered through the small windows of the cabin, casting a soft glow on the wooden floor. You woke to the sound of birds chirping outside and the comforting warmth of Logan’s body beside you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to stay like this, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this peaceful.
Logan stirred beneath you, his arm tightening around your waist as he woke. His eyes flickered open, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable.
“Mornin’,” he murmured, his voice still gravelly with sleep.
You smiled, the corners of your lips tugging up. “Morning.”
Logan gave a quiet grunt in response, shifting slightly beneath you. His hand was still draped over your waist, his fingers rough but warm against your skin. He looked at you through half-lidded eyes, his expression unreadable in the soft morning light, like he was trying to figure out if this moment was real.
“You sleep alright?” he asked, his voice still gravelly with sleep.
You nodded, brushing your fingers absently along his collarbone. “Better than I have in a long time.”
Logan gave a small hum, his thumb tracing circles on your hip. For a moment, the two of you just stayed like that—your body curled into his, the outside world forgotten.
It felt fragile, like if you moved too quickly or said the wrong thing, it might all shatter.
“Gotta admit,” you murmured, “it feels strange waking up like this.”
“Yeah?” Logan's lips twitched, just barely. “Strange good, or strange bad?”
A soft laugh slipped out of you. “Good,” you whispered. “Strange in a good way.”
He held your gaze, something flickering in his eyes—something like relief. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the same quiet intensity you’d come to expect from him. Logan wasn’t a man who wasted words, and that suited you just fine.
The clock on the mantle ticked steadily, marking the minutes passing in this stolen moment. You let out a soft breath and rested your chin on his chest, tracing invisible patterns on his skin with your fingertip.
“What time do you think it is?” you asked, though you didn’t really care about the answer.
Logan turned his head slightly toward the window, where the early morning sun was just beginning to peek through the trees. “Still early.”
“Good.” You nestled closer, unwilling to let the morning slip away just yet.
He didn’t say anything for a while, just ran his hand up and down your back in slow, lazy strokes. The motion was soothing—so different from anything you’d known in your marriage. With George, everything felt like an obligation, a duty. With Logan... it felt like choice.
Logan’s breath stirred your hair as he spoke again, his voice low. “You thinkin' about goin' back?”
The question hit you like a stone dropped into still water, the ripples spreading out in every direction.
You hesitated, your fingers stilling against his chest. “I don’t know.”
Logan’s jaw flexed, and you could feel the tension creep back into him. “If you don’t want to... you don’t gotta.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Logan gave a quiet grunt, his hand still resting against your back, though his grip tightened slightly. “It could be.”
You shook your head. “He’s my husband, Logan.”
Logan exhaled hard through his nose, and you felt the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “That don’t mean you owe him anything.”
The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, and it tugged at something deep inside you—something that made you want to stay, to never go back to the life you’d left behind.
But it wasn’t that easy. It never was.
“I have to,” you whispered. “At least for now.”
Logan was silent for a long time, his hand resting heavily on your back. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, almost reluctant. “You know where to find me if things get bad.”
It wasn’t a promise, not exactly—but it felt like one.
“I know,” you murmured, brushing a soft kiss against his shoulder.
Logan’s hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your skin. “You got somethin’ to say, darlin’, just say it.”
You closed your eyes, trying to find the words. “I just... I don’t want this to end.”
The admission hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. Logan’s grip on you tightened, his expression darkening.
“It won’t,” he said quietly, and there was a fierceness in his voice that made your heart skip a beat. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time, you let yourself believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.
You pressed your forehead against his, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Promise?”
Logan’s breath was warm against your skin. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, Y/N. Not this time.”
Something about the way he said it—like there was more weight behind those words than you could fully understand—made your chest ache. But you didn’t push for more.
Instead, you kissed him.
It was slow this time, tender in a way that made your heart twist painfully in your chest. Logan kissed you back just as softly, his hands cradling you like you were something precious.
And for a little while longer, you let yourself believe in the possibility of happiness.
---
The days you spent at the cabin away from everything with Logan were the closest you think you’d ever get to heaven.
But of course, it had to come to an end. Logan walked you back to your house, keeping to the shadows where the trees thickened along the road. Luckily, George wasn’t home yet, but you knew he’d be back soon. On Sundays, the men from the mines always went to the bar after church, spending what little money they had on whiskey before heading home for dinner.
Logan stopped a few steps short of the porch, his expression unreadable. His heavy boots crunched against the dirt, and he tilted his head, listening for signs of anyone nearby. It was quiet—just the soft rustling of the wind through the trees and the distant caw of a crow.
“Looks clear,” he muttered, glancing toward the road. Then his eyes were back on you—sharp, like he was committing every detail of this moment to memory.
You stood there, one hand gripping the hem of your plain cotton dress, the other clutching the shawl draped over your shoulders. It was getting colder, October creeping in around the edges.
Logan’s jaw tightened, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. He shifted his weight, arms folding across his chest. “You sure you’re good?” His voice was low, rough as gravel.
“I’ll be fine,” you whispered, but the words felt thin, like paper stretched too tight.
His eyes flicked over your face, lingering on the bruise near your jaw that hadn’t quite faded. You saw it—the way his knuckles twitched like he wanted to tear something apart, or maybe someone. But Logan knew better than to push this conversation again. You’d had it more times than either of you cared to count.
“I mean it, Y/N,” he said, quieter this time, but no less serious. “If things get—”
“I know.” You cut him off gently, giving a small nod. “I know where to find you.”
Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue. The porch steps creaked under your weight as you climbed them slowly, heart heavy in your chest. You reached for the door, but before your fingers touched the worn wood, you felt his hand wrap gently around your wrist.
You turned, meeting his gaze.
“You ain’t alone in this,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist. It was the kind of touch that made your knees weak—steady, solid, full of unspoken promises.
“I know,” you whispered, holding his gaze a second longer than you should have. Then you pulled your hand free, feeling the cold settle in the space where his warmth had been.
The door clicked quietly behind you, sealing you inside.
---
It was well into the afternoon by the time George came home. You’d set the table with what little you had—a pot of boiled potatoes, bread that was more crust than loaf, and a pan of cold pork you’d managed to stretch out since Friday.
George slammed the door behind him, the stench of sweat and beer clinging to his clothes. He tossed his flat cap onto the chair and grunted as he sat down heavily at the table.
“Where’s the roast?” he asked, eyeing the measly spread with disapproval.
“There wasn’t any.” You kept your voice even, steady, though your hands trembled slightly as you placed the food in front of him.
George gave you a hard look, his lip curling in disgust. “Useless,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear.
You clenched your jaw, swallowing the sharp retort that burned on your tongue. Fighting him would only make it worse.
He ate in silence, the scrape of his knife against the plate the only sound in the small kitchen. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed his chair back with a loud scrape.
“Goin’ to bed,” he grumbled, already halfway out of the room before you could respond.
The knot in your stomach tightened, but you stayed still, standing in the middle of the kitchen long after the sound of his boots thudding down the hallway faded.
It was always like this. A dull, suffocating ache—day after day, night after night. And the worst part? You weren’t sure if you had the strength to keep pretending.
---
It was well past midnight when you slipped out the back door. The cold bit at your skin, and you pulled your shawl tighter around your shoulders as you made your way down the dirt path leading into the woods. The moon hung low in the sky, casting silver light across the clearing where Logan was waiting, his broad frame leaning against a tree trunk.
He looked up as you approached, his keen eyes catching the moonlight.
“Figured you’d come.” There was no smugness in his tone—just quiet understanding, like he’d known all along that you wouldn’t be able to stay away.
You stopped a few feet from him, your breath clouding in the crisp night air. “I couldn’t do it,” you admitted, your voice small.
Logan pushed off the tree and closed the distance between you in two strides. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, firm and grounding. “You ain’t gotta explain.”
You looked up at him, heart aching with everything you wanted to say but couldn’t. Instead, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his chest.
His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. You felt the steady rise and fall of his breath, the quiet strength in the way he held you—like he’d fight the whole world just to keep you safe.
“I missed you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
Logan’s grip tightened. “I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The night stretched on around you, silent and still, as Logan’s hands roamed up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes.
“You stayin’ tonight?” he asked quietly, his breath warm against your hair.
You nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Just tonight.”
Logan didn’t argue. He never did.
He took your hand, lacing his rough fingers through yours, and led you deeper into the woods—away from the house, away from the life you were supposed to live.
And for one stolen night, you let yourself believe it was enough.
---
When you got home later that night, around 3 in the morning, everything looked normal. The lights in the house were all off, and it was quiet.
You hung your shawl on the hook by the door when you heard the clink of a bottle. Your heart sank. George was awake.
The small kitchen was dim, the only light coming from the dying embers of the fire. George sat slouched at the table, a nearly empty whiskey bottle in his hand. His eyes were dark, glazed over with drunken fury. You could tell by the set of his jaw, by the way his knuckles gripped the bottle too tight, that this wasn’t going to end well.
“Where’ve you been?” His voice was low, but there was an edge to it. His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood, his steps heavy as he moved toward you.
“I went to clear my head,” you said softly, keeping your voice calm, steady, though your heart pounded in your chest. “The air helps me sleep.”
George narrowed his eyes. “That so? 'Cause Johnny’s wife told me somethin' different. Said she didn’t see you at the church retreat.”
You froze. You had been at the retreat—briefly—but it was a cover for your meeting with Logan, and Johnny’s wife must’ve been one of the few people you didn’t see. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words stuck in your throat.
“I was there,” you managed, though you knew it wouldn’t matter.
George took another step toward you, his voice rising. “Don’t lie to me!” His breath stank of alcohol as he spat the words at you, the anger radiating off him like heat. “What were you really doin’, Y/N? Who were you with?”
Your stomach twisted in fear as his hand shot out, grabbing your arm hard enough to make you wince. “George, please—” you started, but he cut you off.
“I know you weren’t there. Where the hell were you?” He shook you, his grip tightening painfully around your arm.
You winced, biting back a cry. “I told you, I was there.”
But George wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes flicked to the door, then back to you, and a dangerous look settled across his face. “You been sneakin’ around on me, haven’t you?” His voice was low, deadly now. He released your arm with a shove, sending you stumbling back a step. “You think I’m stupid?”
“George, I’m not sneaking around,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm even though your pulse was racing. “I just needed some air. I—”
His hand moved faster than you expected, backhanding you hard across the face. Pain exploded through your cheek, and you stumbled, clutching the side of your face as tears sprang to your eyes.
“You think I don’t know?” George hissed, his face twisted with fury. “You’ve been leavin’ me here, goin’ off, God knows where. You ain’t foolin’ me, Y/N.”
You took a shaky breath, tasting blood where your teeth had cut your lip. “George, please—”
But he was already moving, crossing the small kitchen in two heavy steps. You saw the glint of metal before he pulled the shotgun from the corner near the door. Panic seized you.
“George, no—” Your voice broke as you held up your hands, trying to back away, but there was nowhere to go. The small kitchen felt like a cage, the walls closing in around you.
George leveled the shotgun at you, his hands shaking slightly but his eyes wild with rage. “You think you can just leave? You think you can just run off whenever you please?”
You felt like you were drowning, your heart pounding so hard in your chest it hurt. “I wasn’t leaving,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wasn’t—George, please, put the gun down.”
“Shut up!” he snarled, taking a step toward you. “You’re lyin’! You’ve always been lyin’, and I’m done with it.”
You were shaking, trying to think of something, anything that would get through to him. “I’m your wife,” you said quietly, desperately. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you. I—”
But the words didn’t matter. Nothing you said would stop this. You could see it in his eyes—the cold, determined look of a man who had already made up his mind.
For a moment, everything felt frozen. The ticking of the old clock on the wall, the crackling of the dying fire—it all seemed too loud, too slow. George’s finger twitched on the trigger.
And then, in an instant, the world shattered.
The shotgun blast was deafening, the sound tearing through the small kitchen like thunder. You didn’t even feel the impact at first—just a sharp, searing pain that spread through your chest, knocking the air from your lungs.
You stumbled, your legs giving out beneath you as you hit the floor hard, the cold tiles pressing against your cheek. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, blood pooling around you.
The room swam, your vision dimming as you tried to focus, but all you could see was the dark shape of George standing over you, the shotgun still smoking in his hands.
---
Logan heard the shot before he smelled the blood.
His body reacted instinctively, his enhanced senses kicking into overdrive. He’d been lying awake, his thoughts consumed by you, when the sound echoed through the still night. There was no mistaking it.
His heart lurched in his chest, and without thinking, Logan bolted to his feet, running toward your house, his mind racing with fear. He knew. He knew it was you.
The smell of gunpowder hung thick in the air as he neared the house. Logan’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the door slightly ajar, the soft light spilling out into the dark.
He pushed the door open, his claws already unsheathed.
The sight that greeted him froze him in place.
You were lying on the floor, a pool of blood spreading out around you, your breaths coming in shallow, painful gasps. And standing over you, his face twisted with something like confusion, was George.
Logan’s vision blurred with red.
He didn’t think—he just moved. In a blur, he was on George, his claws slashing through the air. There was a sickening crunch as the bone tore through flesh and bone, and then George was on the ground, lifeless.
Logan didn’t care. His only focus was you.
He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering over your body, desperate to stop the bleeding, but there was too much. The wound was too deep. “Y/N,” he whispered, his voice rough, desperate. “Stay with me.”
Your eyes fluttered open, but it was hard to focus. Everything felt distant, like you were floating just out of reach of the world. You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Blood bubbled at your lips.
Logan’s face hovered above yours, his expression shattered. “Please, darlin’, hold on. Just hold on.”
You coughed, the pain in your chest unbearable, and for a brief moment, your eyes met his. The world was fading fast now, slipping away like sand through your fingers.
“Logan...” you managed, your voice barely a whisper.
His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears you didn’t even realize had fallen. “I’m here,” he choked out. “I’m here.”
You smiled weakly, even as the darkness closed in around you. “I… I love you.”
Logan’s breath hitched, his grip on you tightening like he could somehow hold you to this world. But you knew, just as he did, that this was the end.
“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
Your chest ached, not just from the pain but from the weight of those words—the weight of knowing this was goodbye.
And then, everything went still.
You felt Logan’s hand in yours, the warmth of his touch lingering even as the world around you faded into darkness.
You weren’t afraid. Not anymore.
You were free.
Logan knelt there, holding you long after the last breath left your body, his heart breaking all over again.
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in this chapter logan is 68 years old and reader is around 21-24 years old.
just a reminder that going forward there is going to be an age gap between the two since logan obviously keeps getting older.
222 notes · View notes
birdyshewrote · 3 days ago
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“Birthday Girl”
Wolverine x Female!Reader
written by birdy
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Wade Wilson throws you a rink-a-dink birthday party every year, and this year is no exception. But this time, you have a new guest.. and he’s been watching you for a while.
Notes- hi. ive never written a fic before EVER, so pls be nice. this is mainly for me to be able to get my thoughts out of my head because I’ve been thinking about this man for way too long. happy birthday bitches 🫶
WARNINGS/TAGS: smut- 18+ Logan Howlett x Female!Reader, Logan calls reader “Kid”, light smoking and alcohol consumption, Wade being a menace
——————————————————————————
You had caught glances of him a few times in the hall. The scent of smoke, leather and alcohol that belonged to only him drifted in the air behind him for a few seconds even after he had walked into the apartment room across from yours. There had been a few times where you stepped into the elevator and musky cigar smoke had filled the small space. You didn’t complain though, secretly savoring the intoxicating smell, taking more, quicker breaths than you needed too. You couldn’t deny the knot it put in your stomach and the weakness it put in your legs before stepping out of the elevator, down the hall and into your own room.
Eventually, you were tired of the mystery. Two weeks into the seemingly one sided tension, you trapped your long time friend and even longer time across-the-hall neighbor, Wade Wilson, into the elevator with you. Ever since the stranger had moved in with Wade, he had stopped inviting you over. Your birthday was coming up, and so was your annual not-so-surprised birthday party. Once the elevator doors closed, you started,
“Hey, who’s your new roomie?”
Wade scoffed, putting a hand across his heart on his chest, the other gripping a full black trash bag that smelt of blood and for some reason bubblegum scented air fresheners. “THATS how I am greeted nowadays? No, ‘Hello Wade’, ‘Looking good Wade’, ‘Here’s that five bucks I owe you Wade,’
You roll your eyes, putting a hand on your hip stepping away from him. “Okay, first of all, I do not owe you five bucks. You OFFERED to pay for the funeral arrangements after you killed my fish-“
“He looked hungry, who knew fish could be over fed?” He interrupted.
“I told you before I left!” You argue back. “I was only gone two days and you-“ You rub your forehead and shake your head, frustrated. “Whatever. Not relevant. Hello Wade, you do look good.” You say, defeated.
Wade giggly adjusted his weight to his heels, to his tippy-toes, then back to his heels again “Thank you.” He said, satisfied, and turned back to the doors.
“You didn’t answer my question. Your roommate? Who is he?” You ask again as the elevator dings and the doors creakily open.
He raised an eyebrow, looking at you sideways as the two of you walked down the small lobby. “Uhm, news flash doll face, Blind Al is not new. She’s an OG. Been here a while, silly.”
“Not Al.” Talking to Wade was like trying to a horse with dementia. “You know, ‘Mr Tall and Handsome,’ always sulking, ‘I don’t care about no smoking rules.”
Wade throws his head back, “Ooohhhh, you mean Peanut. What about him?”
“No introduction?” You ask confused, watching Wade as he carried his trash down the hall, holding the entrance door open for you.
“Well, I don’t know. I guess Iuh… I forgot.” He stuttered as he led you down the wet alleyway, towards the dumpsters.
“Last month you called me into your room to show me your new toothbrush. You have a new roommate and you just, ‘forget’ to introduce us?”
Wade shrugs, shifting the thin, plastic bag straps in his hand uncomfortably as he walked.
The truth was, Wade did not forget. The truth was, in fact, that one of the first things Wade had done was mention your existence to Logan before he was even fully settled in the apartment.
“I think you two would hit it off, hardcore. And I mean, HARD.” Wade had said.
“Absolutely not.” Logan grumbled, immediately shutting him down, not even looking up from the blow-up mattress he was unrolling in the living room.
Wade sat on the couch arm rest, looking down at the burly man. “Come on Wolvie, let a girl heal your cold, withered heart. You’re a tough, ‘don’t get too close’ typa guy, she’s an ‘I can fix him’ type of girl, I personally think it’s a perfect match.”
“Shut the fuck up. I’m telling you to drop it.” He snapped, glaring up at Wade. “I don’t need you playing Cupid here, you hear me? I swear to God, if I hear you that you’ve even said my name to anyone I’ll get the fuck out of here and never look back. I don’t need to be getting mixed up in any of that shit right now.”
Maybe years ago Logan would have been a flirt, he wasn’t new to women or relationships, but he had been through too much. He had lost too much. He’d never admit it, but the truth was, the infamous Wolverine was scared. Scared of intimacy, scared of getting attached, scared of loss, scared of you. Still, this didn’t change the fact that he had been secretly watching you leave your apartment through the safety of the peephole of his own door. And yeah, maybe if you weren’t so loud coming out of your apartment he wouldn’t know your schedule within a week. Like what time you wake up to leave for work or school, or what time you come home. What days you take your trash out or do your laundry. And when he found one of your sweaters lying around the apartment when he first moved in, what should he have done with it? He was holding onto it for safe keeping. And yeah, he knew it was yours, but only because your sugary perfume clouded his nostrils and made his head feel fuzzy. It was so recognizable, he knew immediately the sweater was yours. Maybe if you wouldn’t drown yourself in the body mist he wouldn’t instinctively know when you were just in the hall, he told himself. It wasn’t his fault he had animalistic smelling.
He couldn’t, however, find an excuse for how he’d hesitate in front of his door, watching for the elevator to stop at your shared floor, wait for the doors to open and inhale the scent of your panties from down the hall once you saw him, then he’d unlock his door and rush in quickly. Sometimes if he was unlucky he’d steal a glance of your full body out of the corner of his eye.
None of this meant anything though. He could contain the animalistic urges he had towards you. Especially when he caught a glimpse of your thigh when you knelt to pick up a dropped grocery. He could handle himself when he heard your thick, sweet laugh through walls when watching a show or movie. But at the same time, what harm would it cause if he touched himself while inhaling the scent of your hair, sweat and perfume through your abandoned sweater late at night? And keeping it locked away in a locked dresser wasn’t creepy, it was just there until you asked Wade to look around for it.
He could handle himself from a distance. He knew this. He knew his limits.
He had been woken up from the couch after a long afternoon of drinking and despair by a loud “SURPRISE!” followed by laughter and clapping. He did not know there was a party going on, let alone a party for you. He was completely blindsided when you were standing within ten feet of him, in his living area, talking to Al and Wade and the others, laughing that sweet laugh
Shit..
Where could he escape? The front door was no longer an option, everyone was clustered in front. Maybe he could make a run for it through the bedroom and out the window? Or maybe take his chances down the escape ladder through the-
“Sleeping beauty has awaken!”
Shit.
Before you could blink, Wade was pulling you through the small cluster of friends to the couch, where a very confused, very hung over, very huge piece of man stood like a deer in headlights. This was your first time seeing him up close, and shit was he alluring. His hair was untamed and messy from his interrupted sleep, his thick brows furrowed. Frown lines prominent as his large muscles twitched under his shirt-
“Hey, his eyes are up there you horn dog.” Wade publicly snapped you back into reality. Immediately flustered, you began trying to save the situation that was doomed from the start.
“I wasn’t looking at- I wasn’t even doing anything, Wade!”
“It’s okay, I know you weren’t. He’s just a moron.” He put an understanding hand up as he spoke. Fuck his voice was so deep and low, almost a growl. It felt rich and threw shivers straight to the back of your throat and straight into the dark jeans you wore. You swallowed. Hard.
After an awkward greeting, Wade had basically pushed a drink into both of your hands and left you to fend for yourself. Logan took a seat on the couch, the worn furniture dipping under his weight. He was clearly uncomfortable. He kept his eyes low, rarely meeting yours. He threw his arm over the head of the couch, spreading his knees. He pulled out a cigar and gestured to it. You couldn’t tell if he was offering you one or asking if you’d mind if he smoked, you shook your head no to both. You politely sat next to him, pulling your legs under yourself next to him.
Unfortunately, this man was not the easiest to speak to.
“So, Logan. You’re new.” You fidget with the cup in your hands.
He lets out a low “Mhm” while taking a puff, then lets smoke pool out of his mouth and drizzle out of his nose, before speaking again. “Yeah. Don’t really know how I ended up here. Just, kind of did.”
You nod, looking around the room. 2016-2018 pop hits played on the pink Hello-Kitty speaker Wade had bought for himself, now sitting on the kitchen table next to the drinks. Various characters lounged around the apartment chatting and eating pizza and drinking.
“Seen you around, y’know.”
You turn to face him again.
“Oh?” You ask, sipping your drink.
He nods in return. “If you need help bringing groceries up to your room or somethin’, you can just let me know. Heard you drop a few things before.” His top lip twitches just the slightest in what you assume is his version of a smile. He puts the cigar back into his mouth and chews.
You furrow your brows at the sarcastic banter. “Oh yeah? Didn’t know I had a stalker.” You bite back, smiling while doing so.
“Not stalking you, kid. Just minding my own business and getting interrupted every two seconds by my noisy neighbor.”
After this, the two of you spoke more fluid. Relating in Wade’s schemes and circumstances became a common interest. You felt yourself becoming more and more comfortable with the man’s presence. After your second drink, your leg rested against the rough denim of his thick thigh. He said nothing about it, so you continued to speak to him. You were unaware of what he was thinking or feeling.
He was freaking the fuck out. Especially when you asked him to go outside with him to get some air. He agreed, and the two of you slipped out of your own party. The night was dark as you walked through the city-lit pathway to the side of the building. Logan watches you and takes another puff of his cigar as you stretch in the open air. You sigh, relieved to be out of the stuffy room.
You could feel his eyes on you. The heat and heaviness of his lingering eyesight, watching your every move as if you were his prey. It made you nervous. It made you intrigued. You wanted to be in his sight, and he wanted to keep watching you.
“You shouldn’t smoke so much, shit’s awful for you you know.” You say, leaning on the brick building next to the tall, muscular figure.
He gives you a slow, sharp smirk in return, his canines showing through resting on the cigar.
Your heart begins to thump and he looks deep into your eyes, like he sees through you.
You let out a shaky exhale as your smile fades and take a step closer to him. He takes the cigar out of his mouth and looks down at you, shaking his head.
“You don’t want this, kid.”
You pause, trying to read his face in the dim lighting. “I do, and I think you do too.” You speak low and soft, like if you’re too sudden with your movements he’ll get startled and dash away. You slowly raise a hand and rest it on his hard, warm chest. You feel it rise and lower, he’s heaving now.
You bring your face up, closer to his. He doesn’t move, so you whisper into his own lips, “Logan, it’s okay.”
The light encouragement is what he needed. He looks down at your parted lips, pushes the lit cigar into the brick wall next to you, putting it out and dropping it, before muttering back,
“Well, you are the birthday girl.”
He leans down to give you what you’ve been asking him for, and what he’s been yearning for. He kisses you, slow and respectful at first, stepping in front of you. He puts his large, rough hand in between your head and the jagged building, protecting you as he pushes you against the wall. You bring a soft hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down farther into your space. He tastes like alcohol and smoke, and you couldn’t get enough. The kiss gets sloppier as you welcome his tongue into your mouth. You look at his face through squinted eyes, only to see his brows furrowed in deep concentration and self-discipline as to not overstep. You shut your eyes again as you grab his other hand, dragging it to your waist. He lets out a soft, low groan in response to the contact of your skin. Your waist feels so soft and warm is his heavy grip. He softly paws at your side, then up your loose shirt. He pauses underneath your bra, and you arch your back in response.
He breaks away, a trail of saliva connecting the two of you momentarily before breaking. “This okay? You’re sure? I can touch you like this?” He’s almost pleading, even with all of the consent in your body. He looks down at you, eyes half lidded.
“Yes, Logan. Stop asking me.”
He nods, smiling slightly, and slowly shifts his long, thick fingers underneath the garment, and towards your chest. He brings his mouth to yours again, greedily taking and lapping at your mouth. The scent of your arousal intoxicates to him. You clench your legs together, to which Logan uses his thick, sturdy knee to break you open and apart. You feel exposed to him now, resting on his knee. The rough denim rubbing sends jolts to your throbbing core. The kissing is wet, his stubble rubs against your lips as he gently bites your tongue with his canines. His hand gently gropes your breast, while pushing his knee against your dampening soft area. He brings his calloused hand down back to your waist, slowly guiding your hips to rock against his knee. He uses his other hand against your head to gently grip your hair and push your head closer against his mouth.
Logan didn’t get you a birthday present, but he was definitely making up for it.
217 notes · View notes
anundyingfidelity · 2 days ago
Text
HAPPY MISTAKE — Logan Howlett
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Summary: Not ever, through all the years of your life, you found someone like Logan. Since he arrived at the school, something brought you together like a magnet. Sadly, not everything came out as you wished it would be. Time is not gentle with mutants, and you try so hard to show him your unconditional love before everything is over, but can you finally accept your feelings for each other? Or yours and Logan's tumultuous relationship through the years.
(PART ONE → PART TWO) | GEN MASTERLIST!
Pairing: Logan x mutant!female!reader.
Word count: 9.6k.
Warnings: slow burn, breaking up(?)/making up, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut and unprotected everything, language, character death, time travel, Logan hurting reader unintentionally, wounds and blood. Logan being a whore for both Jean Grey and the reader. Reader has slow aging as Logan and looks around mid 30s in my head. Anthropology teacher!reader. Reader can manipulate light (just like Starlight from The Boys). This takes place between different movies from the franchise, from X-Men 1 to DoFP, so spoilers of the movies ahead.
Notes: Long time no write. Life is horrible but somehow I managed to get this in like two months. I love Logan so fucking much now you don't have an idea. This was also written with Happy Mistake by Lady Gaga in mind. If you'd like to be tagged in the second part let me know or let me know your thoughts on this, it's very much appreciated! I suffered a lot writing it .
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𝒊𝒇 𝒊 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒙 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊'𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆.
2000
“Need any help?”
Logan stopped on his tracks from wandering around the cozy, yet strange place he woke up in. Turning on his feet, he saw your figure standing in the middle of the hallway. He said nothing, but you approached him as you had known him for a very long time.
“I assume you’re the new guy-”
“Where is she?” Logan abruptly interrupted once you stood inches away from him.
“Rogue? She’s fine. And you need to take a little rest.”
“I don’t need medical attention,” he said, looking around to search for a nearby exit. Before he walked away you took his arm in a soft grip.
He was, as much as you could tell, surprised by your boldness. You gave him no time to process his next movements once you talked again, your voice firm and welcoming in a way he had never felt before.
“Please, you need to meet Professor Xavier,” you said. “At least before you go. It’s totally fine if you wanna leave, I don’t recommend it though, but we can offer you a safe place here. We are just like you.”
Logan’s hardened expression relaxed for a moment, sensing no threat coming from you. All he saw in your eyes wasn’t pity, nor anger at him being kind of an asshole at first. It was just authority, the good kind where he also had something to say and decide about.
“Whatcha say, Logan?”
He was so immersed in his thoughts before you called his name, thinking it sounded beautiful falling off your lips. You gave him a half smile as he took in each detail of your face, as if he was memorizing every part of it.
It was the first time someone had been nice to him and it felt strangely good.
For some reason, it felt very good coming from you.
Logan just found out from the Professor’s mouth the mansion was a school for mutants. Gifted people, he called them. After learning another powerful mutant was behind him and Rogue, he had no other choice but accept the shelter. He didn’t like the other guys better, playing the teacher with a bunch of teenagers with special or cursed abilities. But besides Storm and Jean, you were the person who had welcomed him the most, even showing him the place and the room he would stay in.
One late night, you sat at the dining table together. Logan was silently drinking a beer outside school hours so the kids wouldn’t see him, and you, reading a bunch of papers from your students that you were missing. He realized how hard you worked, how you would praise your students, how you talked to them outside classes, being the one to actually convince Rogue to enroll in the school. Immediately, he knew you were really something, having much more in common than he thought. And you, living for so long, being both a mutant and a lady for sure had a hard life through time.
“What you teach again?” he suddenly asked, breaking the comfortable silence you shared.
“Anthropology,” you answered, giving him a short glance. “I took this at college a long time ago, and I’ve been alive long enough to know a thing or two,” you explained, putting away a paper after putting an A+ on it proudly. “It’s important to understand ourselves, humankind and mutants… It’s a diverse world and there are lots of cultures, languages and societies we don’t get to know, but it’s beautiful. I think I like to celebrate what makes us unique. I've had the chance to study some of them around the world since I had the time, y’know, and it’s truly amazing. It’s a shame we have to fight between us to make us heard when we could just be kind and empathetic to each other… Sorry, you didn’t ask but, y’know, anyway.”
You shook your head with a curve on your lips, going back to the next paper. Logan had taken the sparks in your eyes as you talked. He half smiled to himself once you buried yourself in your papers again, thinking you sounded just like Professor Xavier. No wonder why he took you in. Probably, if things were different for him, he would’ve found something that could light his face with so much passion just like you did.
“Been alive for almost two hundred years,” Logan said and you looked up to him. “We might have things about the past to share,” he drank from his beer. It was your turn to smile back at him.
“Yeah, well, I’ve lived both horrible but nice things. Couldn’t read or do math without being called a witch,” you chuckled to yourself, but hiding on the inside the awful experiences you had to endure. “Someday, we could go out and grab a coffee or something,” you said with a playful smile.
A light chuckle left your lips, but you and him knew it wasn’t just a joke.
He joined you with a warm smile that lit up his face before disappearing from his lips. “Of course. Count me in.”
The sun was shining bright and the weather was great that morning. Some of the students were in the yard playing, having some quality time, and others simply just left to go to the town. It was a good weekend before the next semester started, and it was better now knowing Magneto had been taken to prison after his failed attempt to use Rogue for his plans.
Sipping on your coffee, you saw the students outside. Laughing, running, having a good breakfast picnic. It felt heartwarming just taking this sight, wishing it would always be like this. Your mindful peace was interrupted when Logan entered the kitchen to have a coffee on his own. Visibly, you tensed just a little when he approached you and sat right in front of you at the dining table. The caffeine was not helping at all, you thought.
“Morning,” he greeted you, noticing something was off on you, but hoping it would pass. Maybe you already knew.
“Morning…” your voice came out as a whisper. “How you feeling?”
“Better. What about you?”
You gave a small nod. “Good, thanks for asking.”
A silence fell upon you. Not like the ones you used to share in lonely nights where you prepared your classes and Logan just sat down calmly because he couldn’t sleep. This time it was different. Words won’t come out of your mouth to ask what was really bothering you. You had grown up to like Logan and enjoy his company, but he had a lot of walls upon him, protecting himself of the world and people around him.
However, you understood why he did it. You both have been alive longer than anyone else. You saw people you love dearly dead, being killed because of your flaws. And you really connected to his idea of protecting people by leaving their side. It was better being away. That was until Professor Xavier recruited you. Here, you had a purpose and you helped young people to become the best versions of themselves. You wished Logan could do the same, stay and see he was more of what he thought of himself, but it wouldn’t happen. Right? He had things to sort out on his own.
“Are you leaving soon?”
When you asked the question, Logan knew you had heard something from the Professor. He gave you a nod.
“I need to reconnect with who I was,” he simply answered.
“Right… Wish you all the best there.”
Logan had grown to like you over the past few weeks you shared, exchanging experiences and lessons of life you had taken through the years. For a moment, he looked right into your eyes and smiled. He weirdly smiled, and you could swear he’d miss you too once he is away.
But that warm feeling soon faded away once Jean walked into the kitchen, saying good morning and beaming to the both of you. Logan followed her with his gaze, straightening himself on his seat as she served her own breakfast and an extra plate that you already knew was for Scott. She also began putting fruits and snacks inside a picnic basket while looking all happy and settled, and you knew why Logan had fallen in love with her. It was all over his face.
And you wondered how could he act and talk to you so kindly and sweet, and then look at Jean like that. It was a pain in your heart you tried to dissipate. Everyone knew Jean and Scott were a couple, and the fact that Logan had a not so secret crush on her really played on you. It made you feel like a fool and you had too many heartbreaks and hurted people, putting them in danger due to your mutation, to take initiative and start a relationship - or anything of the sort - again.
Scott made his way inside the kitchen, saying hi to both of you - mostly you. And took the tray with their plates as Jean grabbed the basket, but she let Scott leave the kitchen before.
“Have a good trip, Logan,” she said kindly. “I hope to see you around here soon.”
“Thank you, Jean.”
She smiled one last time before leaving you all alone, Logan following her with his eyes. Just for a second, you wished he could see you like that underneath his facade.
You had packed your stuff later that day, deciding a little air and a change for one night would do no wrong. Just as you were walking to the main door, Rogue was saying her goodbyes to Logan after giving him a small hug without really touching him. It was a cute sight how Rogue was able to step into his cold heart. She said goodbye to you as well before leaving the entrance.
“You’re going away too?” Logan asked, rather surprised as you both walked through the door, the sun hitting your skin as soon as you were out of the mansion. He knew your life was at the school.
“Just for the weekend,” you shrug it off.
Logan gave you a nod with a warm smile. “Then have a good trip and enjoy yourself.”
“Thanks. I hope you find what you’ve been looking for.”
“I hope so too,” Logan answered and before he went to take Scott’s bike, he looked at you hesitantly for a couple of seconds. “We should go out and grab some coffee once I’m back.”
Your lips formed a wide smile. “That sounds really nice.”
For a moment, where time felt like hours and not seconds, you stood right out the door, looking at each other. You wanted him to go first, but he was waiting for you to say something. Probably to ride the bike with him, he could leave you somewhere near your destination and feel you close - just be around you for at least five more minutes. But none of that ever happened.
Instead, you studied his face, looking at his deep eyes, and then his lips - those lips you wanted to kiss so bad before, but never had the courage to do so. You didn’t think further, and if something had taken possession over you, you leaned towards him leaving a short, sweet kiss on the corner of his lips.
“Take care,” you mumbled once you pulled away.
Not waiting for his answer, you turned back, pulling your bag to your side stronger than ever and walked the path to the front gates, feeling his gaze all over you until you left the mansion.
He felt such an idiot for not kissing you properly.
2003
‘I know what I want, but what do you want?’
Mystique’s words echoed through his head. Logan left the tent so long ago he didn’t know what time it was anymore and the situation kept repeating again and again in his mind. The woman had shifted between Jean, Ororo, and you. The one that icked him the most being Rogue once Mystique had taken her figure in. Storm was a good colleague, Jean was a forbidden love, Rogue was like his little sister, someone he would protect as long as he could, and you… you were a different case. When Mystique was about to kiss him wearing your figure, he finally realized he started feeling things he had prohibited himself for a very long time, and he thought he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.
Once or twice you shared experiences about love and partners, but he could tell it hurted you the same way as him. He couldn’t burden breaking your heart, or worse, getting you hurt because of what he was. Logan knew you had the same bad luck in the past, but it didn’t stop any of you to pull towards each other like a magnet.
‘Living for so long does things to you, Logan. I feel we become more aware of what we are.’
Those words you said to him one time remained in his head like a warning, and he took it personally.
Closing his eyes, he leaned against a hard tree trunk some feet away from the tents where the rest of the X-Men rested. He tried to find some peace alone for a few moments when the sounds of steps approaching alerted his senses. Claws out and ready to attack, he spun around the trunk only to stop in a second.
There you were, a bright light emanating from your hand to illuminate your path in the darkness of the woods.
“Logan?”
Quickly, he withdrew his claws and his body relaxed visibly. “Sorry,” he apologized, leaning against the tree one more time.
“Are you okay?” you asked, but you already knew the answer. The exhausted sigh he let out told you everything you needed. You let the soft glow of light floating between you and him, to illuminate both of you under the branches. “You wanna talk?”
He slowly shook his head, mumbling ‘no’. He became startled in the light floating like a firefly, letting his own issues wash away with your sole company. Ironically, everything that was troubling him was you. Softly, you caressed his arm, taking him out of his own thoughts. Your touch didn’t help his poor mind either.
Looking worried about the next mission in Lake Alkali, you feared for him and your team. And your lack of sleep was showing it. But just like Logan, the growing feelings were troubling your head. You had seen him talking with Jean earlier when you landed in the forest - talking too close to your liking once he pulled her for a kiss. But what could you do? Logan was still after Jean even when she had already declined him countless of times, and it didn’t really hurt you. It just felt strange inside. Why would he do that while still being nice to you, quitting being a dick when he wanted because he knew you’d snap back at him. And to be honest, Logan looked as if he liked that about you. But he won’t admit it out loud, and of course, you wouldn’t ask. Men were so damn complicated.
“Well, I only expect things to not get worse…” you finally said in a soft whisper since he wasn’t talking and you stopped your head going further on the matter. And you knew he wouldn’t talk soon either. “And you’re brave for seeking your past.”
Logan locked his eyes with your own, under the soft light. Your tired gaze, your figure, your aura pulling him like he found a treasure in an abandoned cave… He felt so bad for falling for someone like you, who was nothing compared to the crap he was. And then, for the first time in years, he decided to follow his instinct with you.
He leaned towards your figure, his rough hand cupping your cheek gently before pulling you in for a kiss. With a soft sigh you corresponded, your arms around his neck as it turned deeper and harsher. Logan lifted you easily from the ground, your legs tangling around his waist until you felt your back against a rough surface, trapped between the trunk and his body. Soft moans and grunts mingled, your chest pressing against his own, his hips grinding against your crotch. It was obvious you wanted this. Logan desired you so painfully after that day you kissed him goodbye at the mansion, he needed your body and soul. But you had to have answers before giving into the heat of the moment.
Pulling away, you broke the kiss, your forehead resting against his own as you tried to catch your breath. Logan tried to taste you once again, but you placed two of your fingers on his swollen lips.
“Why’d you kiss her?”
He remained silent, brows furrowed and eyes blown in lust. You didn’t make any effort to pull him away. He still had you between his legs, asking a simple question he had no response for.
“We’re adults here, Logan. Just wanna know why before we go further.”
Logan started to remember. He vividly heard Jean and Mystique voicing out and asking the right question.
‘Girls flirt with the bad guy. They take the good guy home.’
‘What do you want?’
“Do you really want me?” he asked in return.
You lifted an eyebrow at his sudden question. “And do you?”
He leaned again for a kiss on your lips, and thankfully for him, you didn’t stop it. But he quickly pulled away and inhaled your sweet scent from the skin on your neck, leaving a path of soft pecks, until he nipped the shell of your ear softly. You shivered under his touch.
“I’d love to have you,” he whispered, softly caressing your cheek with his thumb.
“Come to my tent,” you mumbled. “Sleep with me. But like, seriously, sleep with me ‘cause I’m tired,” you chuckled, hoping to not kill the mood.
Logan smiled for a bit and nodded, pecking your lips one more time before helping you get on your feet on the muddy ground, hands rubbing your sides slowly.
“As long as I have you by my side it’s alright with me.”
Jean’s death was hard to swallow.
For weeks, students and teachers mourned her, and you felt sorry for Scott for losing his soulmate. Logan was not in the best shape either. He didn’t attend her funeral, he never had the guts to stand by her grave either, until now. You stopped right behind him and noticed him sighing, under the afternoon sunset. He was tense because of everything, but when you took his hand out of the pocket of his jacket, he held onto you. Your fingers intertwined together, feeling his life depending solely on you, like a rock he needed to support his whole weight.
The day was about to end, the sun slowly hiding, giving a beautiful painting of orange and purple in the sky. You thought it would soon become an intense thunderstorm due to Ororo’s mourn - something you had gotten used to the last few days.
“She saved us,” Logan barely mumbled, looking intensely at the grave.
You nodded, even if he could not see you. “Can’t blame her, I’d have done the same.”
Those words cause him to look back at you, wishing it’d be a lie. But inside, Logan knew you really had the guts to sacrifice yourself for others. It was something he remembered both of you talking about some time ago. And you would give everything in your hands to save the ones you love.
Quietly, Logan gave a last glance at Jean’s grave, and guided you inside the mansion. Classes barely started again due to the circumstances and a few kids could be seen around the halls. You accompanied him to the doors of his room, noticing you had been holding hands the whole time. Probably no one really cared, they were too busy trying to go through the grief of losing a loved one. Slowly, you broke the gesture, taking your hand away and Logan immediately missed the heat and comfort of your hand.
“Do you need anything?” you asked in a low voice.
Looking at you, Logan reminisced how you kissed in the woods, the need and lust for each other that couldn’t be. He did sleep in your tent that night, in the comfort of your arms, feeling the warmth of your skin. It was, probably, the first time he had a good, peaceful night of sleep in years. No one had brought that up, but he knew something was there. And he needed to act on it before it was too late.
So he brought up his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks lovingly before planting a kiss on your lips, not caring he was standing in the middle of the hallway where anyone could see what was going on. You leaned against his touch, deepening the kiss until you couldn’t catch a breath. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead into yours, taking in the beauty of your bright eyes and swollen lips. Everything wandering his mind, making a path right into his cold heart was right in front of him.
“You.”
Knocking Professor Xavier's door, you walked inside as soon as his voice announced to come in. You caught your breath seeing Logan by his desk. He just gave you a quick, accomplice glimpse and left the room, closing the door behind. The exchange of glances wasn’t unnoticed by Charles.
“Here’s the report on my subject for this last semester, Professor,” you announced, leaving the folder on the wooden desk.
“Thank you. How’s Logan doing?” he asked all of a sudden, checking the door the man had crossed just seconds ago.
“Excuse me?”
“Do you believe he is comfortable helping the kids?” the old man asked again. He was seeing right through you, and you kind of hated every time he used to do that to you. Nothing could be hidden from Xavier; definitely you couldn’t hide a single thing for the man who took you in decades ago.
“Why would I know that?”
He shrugged it off. “Well, you seem very close lately.”
Close was not the best word to describe your relationship with Logan. Yet, you were sleeping on his bed just the night before. The trace of his kisses, the burn of his beard on your skin, his teeth biting softly your breasts, his rough hands all over your hips… Every touch he left on your body you could still feel it, and you wanted to think he was not just using you. During the past weeks, you were together. Not quite a relationship-thing was established properly, but it was the closest thing any of you could have as for now.
It was a mixture of grief, pain, and hope that had you both still standing. In the end, you understood what he felt. Being alone and alive for so long and then finding a place where people accepted you for who you were was a whole change, even if some years passed by. Though, the time Logan had been spending at the school was nothing but a blink of an eye compared to his past.
“What happened to our team is still affecting us,” you finally said. “I believe we are good friends, yes, we’ve been supporting each other. And he doesn’t know how to deal with the students yet most of the time, but I try to walk him through it.”
Xavier hummed, smiling at the corner of his lips as he eyed the folder you handed him. “I bet you both do.Thanks for bringing your report on time, as always, and I apologize if I am being intrusive. Just please be careful with the noises both of you make at night, we have kids around here.”
Shit.
You swallowed your pride right there and simply gave a nod, feeling the heat burning up your face.
“Will do, Professor.”
A loud gasp escaped your lips as you held for dear life on his broad shoulders, hips snapping against your own. His pace was reckless, keeping you on the edge of sin. Grunts mixed with sweet moans, skin hitting skin again and again every time you felt his cock inside you. If possible, your nails could have already left visible scars and marks on his back, scratching and bleeding off his skin as he fucked you senseless.
Logan sucked on the bare skin on your neck, inhaling your scent, feeling your walls clenching around his girth, his hands roughly grabbing the sides of your hips as you moaned his name, over and over, under the moonlight. He looked at you intensely with loving eyes when you came underneath him, eyes flashing that familiar bright light every time a powerful orgasm hit your body. The vulnerable sight of your figure shaking, eyes closing slowly and biting your lip to keep the pretty noises low, made him reach the sweetest high.
With a grunt, he leaned to attack your lips in a heated, wet kiss to moan against your mouth. Logan pulled back to press butterfly kisses on your jaw, until he reached your breasts, feeling himself soften inside your wet heat. His hips were still thrusting just enough to fill you up at a gentle rhythm. Marking you his and only his.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled against the sensitive skin of your chest. “Remind me why we’re here again.”
You chuckled softly, fingers tangling on his disheveled hair. You just had prepared a small date night out at the shores of a beautiful lake in the woods. No one could bother you if you were alone, and since your relationship was not so secret anymore, you needed him in a place that wasn’t the school. So here you were, laying on your back, fully naked on the picnic blanket, with the Wolverine between your legs, enjoying the calmness of the water, the green grass, the crickets singing around, and the cold of the night.
“Privacy perhaps?” you whispered as his eyes locked on yours.
Softly you touched his cheek with the palm of your hand and he rolled both of you over, until you laid on top of him, legs straddling his waist and your arms on his shoulders to sit on his lap. Silence took over, his hands soothing your hips and the marks he left on your body from the intense love-making.
“I’m so happy we took a couple of days off…”
You waited for Logan to say something. Anything. You wanted to continue, to tell him how you really felt. Instead, you decided it was better leaving it like this. Logan gave you a nod, pulling you for a short kiss.
“Yeah. Me too.”
He wanted to say it out loud, but was too scared to do so.
2006
After a couple of long years, the school and the team had to learn how to go through the grief and pain Jean left. Logan had a hard time processing it, just like all your teammates, specially Scott, and of course the students. It didn’t stop you from moving on as time went by though, always remembering her for the great person and mind she was. Going forward and keeping fighting is what she would’ve wanted for everyone, even now that a certain cure for mutants was announced to the public.
You tried to continue your life as a professor at the school, training students, leading young people, and you invited and encouraged Logan to do so countless times. Deep inside, you wished it was you the reason why Logan decided to stay and train young mutants - for you to be the answer to his loneliness. That he knew, for once and all, that he was not alone. You got each other, and you could do something about it. Words unspoken said more than anything, at least you thought so.
It was one of those rare nights where you got some time for yourselves, walking around the city after having a nice and calm dinner. Your shoulders brushed against each other while you walked downtown, your hands hiding inside the pockets of your jacket, protecting them from the cold.
There was a lot on your mind lately, thinking about what you two really were. If there was a stronger feeling in between, or if it was solely because he enjoyed your company and that was it. Both had lived enough to know there was a feeling in the middle. It wasn’t just friends with benefits, or co-workers who sleep together three times a week. Something was blooming deep inside you, but you tried to not give it a lot of attention all those years. Still, it felt like it had to be addressed sooner or later, and this could be the time. In the end, you understood each other perfectly. How painful it was, how living longer than anyone was, how you had to leave everything and everyone behind because you were dangerous…
“Have you ever wondered how’d it feel to have a normal life?” your question came out all of the sudden.
“How come?” He looked at you from the corner of his eye.
You didn’t know if his gaze was judging you but you continued anyway.
“Like living a normal amount of years… Not having these things, genes that make us different. Or special…”
Logan suddenly stopped in his tracks and grabbed your arm softly so you could lock eyes together as he asked. “You’re not thinking of getting that damn cure, aren’t you?”
“Of course not!”
“Then why’d you think that?”
“Because I never had anyone in my life, Logan,” you spat, pulling your arm away from his grip. “I’ve been alive for so long but I can’t promise myself a future. A real one. Not anything, it doesn’t matter if I live forever. Every person I loved before perished.”
Those words shook him out of the rough façade showing on his face. Your gaze told a hundred different stories when he studied your face every time. It was like mirroring himself at some point. You were the first person he ever got to know that has lived as long as he has, and maybe it was the sentimentalism, but he tried to push away those wishes of settling down. Of trying to be normal. Because he was not, and maybe, just maybe, you just didn’t accept it like he did. Probably, he was just giving up. But you weren’t, even after hundreds of years of disgrace continuously happening.
“I thought you’d get this, Logan.”
You mumbled, taking him out of his trance.
“Well, I do, in a way,” he said, but sounded more like an excuse for himself.
“Then why don’t you say it?”
“Wha-”
“Just say it,” you repeated and pointed between you and him. “What is this for you? What are we?”
Logan grabbed on your shoulders gently and leaned towards you, stealing a kiss on the sidewalk, a kiss you obliged with a bittersweet feeling for some reason, but then he whispered. “Darling, you’re everything to me now.”
Yet, you smiled and kissed him back, feeling his lips curve against your own. Well, that wasn’t so hard was it?
Needless to say, after the last date, your relationship with Logan had evolved to something more domestic, considering you lived together in your workplace. Affection, holding hands, quick kisses were shared now a little more freely, and you had received a couple of jokes and teases from some students and Storm. But it was fine as long as you had cleared your path with Logan, even if he didn’t act like a partner sometimes.
The certain calmness you felt one day disappeared when Logan and Ororo went to look for Scott, who often had these sad thoughts, and since Jean was his partner, it was thoroughly complicated for him to say the least. When Logan and Ororo came back to the mansion, it was not what you expected to see. Jean was alive and Scott was gone.
It hurted you, knowing first hand that their love wouldn’t be anymore. You met both of them when they were so young, becoming something like their mentor when they used to learn how to control their powers and how to fit in this world that loathed mutants to death. Now, the school was something else. It was a big, special place that was not the same without the brains of Jean, or the enthusiasm and leadership of Scott. Things were different, they had to change because the circumstances told so, and everyone had a difficult time adapting to it. One thing after another left you tired, with no option to run away, even if you wanted to. The complicated circumstances and the relationship you shared with Logan were no help either.
While on your way to check on Jean, who was still under observation after a couple of days, you stopped in your tracks when the heavy door of the med bay slid. Logan, looking all out of his daily self and mad, found you at the entrance, and you felt something different emanating from him.
For what you could see behind him, Jean was still asleep, and the Professor called Logan to come back with a serious voice, but he ignored the older man, instead approaching you.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Logan grasped your arm, his tone lower and deeper than usual.
You quickly pulled off his grip and hissed. “What are you talking about?”
“Jean.”
You felt silent. Of course she was anything he could think of since they found her.
“You knew he was controlling her,” Logan went on and your heart skipped a beat.
The look in your eyes told everything but lies. Logan scoffed and walked away, leaving you standing alone under Professor Xavier’s gaze.
“I’ll talk to him,” you mumbled at your mentor before following Logan, trying to keep his pace until he reached his room.
The whole way you tried to keep it professional, greeting students as normally you would, but when you crossed his door it was impossible to continue with the facade.
“Logan-”
“He’s insane,” he snapped, putting his jacket on and taking his bag out.
“Everything that was done was meant to protect her,” you responded calmly as he placed a handful of clothes inside the bag.
“No, you did it because you are disgusting. I bet this is what should’ve been for me if I refused to cooperate with your circus or something.”
“You don’t know what she is capable of-”
“Yeah, well I don’t wanna hear it anymore. This is so fucked up, even for you,” he continued, bag on his hand taking long strides until you were almost touching noses. 
You scoffed, trying to laugh at the irony. “What does that even mean? Do you know how horrible it is to be controlled by the Phoenix inside her?.”
Logan rolled his eyes, not wanting to hear another poor excuse. You continued anyway, looking straight in his eyes before he could leave you hanging with your own words. Exactly like he used to do every damn time when you had an argument. Today, he wouldn’t run away that fast.
“She could kill you in a second and won’t hesitate. For her, we’re nothing. We’re not rivals, we can’t do shit. The only thing we could do was keep her alter ego somewhere hiding inside her mind, or else we wouldn’t be here arguing about something you never witnessed. Because I did and you don’t wanna see that, trust me,” you spat at him. He breathed rage at your words and you knew that it was getting on his nerves seeing the way his hands turned to fists. “And you think this version of her cares for you? Or that she loves you? Jean is gone now, Logan, fucking get over it.”
With last harsh words, you turned around and left the room, closing the door with a thud. 
Logan breathed out. He wanted to scream, hit something, run away… Anything to let it out. He was a reckless mess but how could he react and accept Charles was playing with Jean’s mind? And you fucking knew all this time and didn’t say anything? Were his feelings dirty on him right now? Probably. Shit, he took years to finally tell you the truth about his love and affection towards you. He spent months trying to find the right words just to say ‘I love you’, and still, it seemed it wasn’t enough. The forbidden love he felt for Jean never disappeared, and he felt guilty for it.
You walked down to the med bay after calming down for a bit. You only needed to check on Jean for a moment and see how she was doing. Years prior, you had witnessed what the Phoenix was capable of, so you didn’t really question Charles’ methods when it came to hide this dangerous side of her inside her mind. You also thought your words might have been a little harsh on Logan, but it was the truth. He didn’t know who the Phoenix was and, if his feelings for Jean resurfaced after believing her being dead, then it wasn’t on you. As much as you loved him, as much as you tried and somehow managed to move on together, he was so easily dragged to her.
The anger you felt before took over you once again, as you found the metal doors of the lab in debris. Quickly, you made your way inside the room and found Jean wasn’t there and that Logan was lying unconscious on the floor. You knelt down by his side, calling him over and over and touching his face and shaking his shoulders until he finally opened his eyes slowly, coming back to reality.
“Logan, what happened?”
“She… she killed Scott. The Phoenix,” he whispered. You could tell he was a little weak and out of breath.
“You’re lucky she just ran away,” you pointed out, helping him to sit down. His eyes were lost in the mess in the room. Tools were destroyed, test tubes broken, crystal was everywhere, and Jean left the reminder of kissing him, yet again, before she escaped. God, he felt so idiotic.
“I’m sorry,” Logan said, looking at you. “Sorry for being a jerk. It’s my fault.”
Taking his cheeks between your hands, you gave him a reassuring look. “We’re gonna find her, okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah, we’ll find her.”
“Come here, we need to alert Charles,” you said, helping him to stand up.
Inside, you knew he wouldn’t really need your help. He was strong and indestructible like the metal on his skull, but he seemed really taken back, and you decided to stay by his side, holding his hand strongly as a way to say sorry as well. It was kind of difficult to see Logan in that state of mind, confused and lost, and you wondered what had happened back there in the lab as you left him in his bedroom, ordering him to rest for a while.
“I’ll be right back,” you assured him with loving eyes.
Logan nodded, following your figure stepping out the room and disappearing in the hallway.
He let out a breath he didn’t know was holding. His mind was having a hard time and his heart felt like breaking, going in two opposite directions, and he hated himself for that. His fate was always the same: losing people he loved and cared for dearly. So seeing Jean back again was as if god or anything up there remembered he existed and brought her back just for him. Or maybe he was just being selfish because he already had you.
You were everything for him. A couple of years might be just a short glimpse for both of you, but he was able to feel peace and calm next to you, and he was sure you did as well. Because some nights, that was all you could talk about. Logan didn’t mind hearing you for hours, it reminded him he was alive. With you, but his stupid instinct had to act.
It was his fault Jean had left. The kiss, the whole act of embracing each other’s bodies for at least two minutes, and then her breakdown, begging for him to kill her… All of that was enough to bring out the beast inside her. And he felt such a jerk now for following his desires. He already had you. Wasn’t that enough?
His thoughts were interrupted once you arrived again, finding him sitting at the end of the bed exactly as you had left him there. Sensing something different on him, you sat down by his side and rubbed his hand gently.
“We might know where she’s going,” you whispered.
“I’ll go,” Logan said before you could finish.
“I’m not sure if I should ask, but are you okay? You could do some rest,” you suggested, since seeing the redhead was clearly getting some kind of reaction from him.
“No, I need to go,” he said. But Logan could read your face perfectly, and he knew you didn’t really like the idea of him leaving the mansion. You turned your eyes, scanning the room and avoiding his gaze.
You had the need to ask what exactly had happened back there with Jean, but you didn’t want to start a fight either. Feeling Logan’s hand on your shoulder, he leaned to kiss your forehead goodbye. Maybe you were the one who should stay, check the kids, the school…
“It’ll be fine,” he mumbled, voice low and deep, as if trying to convince you, but himself as well. You nodded with your arms around his neck, giving him a hug that felt like some sort of apology you weren’t able to say out loud. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”
And how you’d wish things would be fine.
The school has been very quiet lately. Too silent even for his taste. At nights like these, he could still feel the vigor and presence of the students running around, grabbing something to eat, planning to go out for a while... Instead, Logan found himself in a place that was mourning. Grieving the loss of Jean, Scott and Charles.
The feelings inside were complicated. He didn’t really feel the same, and the disgrace and remorse of his actions were growing on him. They were still haunting him; every day, every single night. You knew it too. It was impossible to ignore the nightmares each time he woke up from seeing Jean’s lifeless body fall against his own after he gave what she wished for the most: death.
And then, there was you. He noticed how difficult it was getting for you to sleep. You tried to hide your sorrow into your work, studying even more, keeping yourself busy with the school and not thinking about anything else. Since Charles was gone, Ororo took his place and you were her second hand. But you pushed yourself too hard.
Tonight he found your bedroom empty. He didn’t find you on his either, so he went to the place he knew you would be: your classroom. The door was half opened, the dim light of the lamp on your desk barely illuminated the papers on the surface. He found you deeply concentrated reading on something, hands on the sides of your head hiding your face.
“Hey,” he softly mumbled, stepping inside the empty classroom.
You quickly straightened yourself on the chair, wiping your cheeks and tried to look decent for a moment.
“Hey,” you replied back, low voice.
“Come to bed,” he said, coming to stand before you, his hand on your shoulder comforting and soothing you, making its way to the side of your neck. His big palm on your cheek, caressing the skin stained with your tears as if it was the most delicate thing. He took a look at the mess of papers and old books you loved too much to get rid of, scattered on the wooden surface.
“No, I- I can’t. Need to finish these by tomorrow…”
Logan gave you a nod and a grimace before taking your hand, motioning to come closer. You stood up, knowing he was trying to get you out of the work that was consuming you.
He observed every feature on your face, the sadness in your stare couldn’t be hidden. He just knew you too well, just like the palm of his hand, and he wanted to make you forget. At least for a little. You had taken care of him, helped him with your presence and your unique aura, bringing him comfort and peace to his broken mind. He wanted you to be fine. To feel loved.
Logan leaned just exactly to brush his lips with your own, teasing a kiss that he longed too much, his hands around your waist pulling you towards him.
“Can you just let me take care of you?” 
Swallowing hard the knot on your throat, you curled your lips as much as the grief let you. “Yes,” you nodded.
With this, Logan leaned until your lips connected. Your arms around his neck pulled him as closer as you could get, feeling his chest against your own, his strong hands around your waist, softly touching you above your clothes.
Logan slowly walked you until your back hit the desk, hands roaming on your ass down to your legs, placing you to sit down over the loose pages. It might ruin the work a little, but none of you cared. Everything in your head was him, between your legs, running his wet mouth down your jaw, his stubble burning your skin as you gasped gently. Lying on your back on the desk, he began descending down your breasts, unbuttoning your blouse until he exposed you to the cold of the room.
He stopped right on your trousers, and gave you a quick glance. You were so eager, wet already. He could sense it. Your eyes were glowing and you were already trying to catch your breath by just his kisses and touch.
“You locked the door?” you whispered.
“Damn right I did,” he voiced, hoarse and low voice from just thinking of railing you right there and then.
“Then don’t stop.”
At your command, he unzipped your trousers, letting them fall down along with your heels on the floor. He then leaned to take your lips in a sloppy kiss, more urgent this time of feeling you close. You moaned, nails scratching his skin. His calloused hands explored your bare legs and things, creating friction with his hips with slow, controlled thrusts against your crotch. Logan left a trail of kisses down to your breasts, licking and tasting the saltiness of your body.
You urged him to go down where you ached the most, hand tangling on his hair. His hands grabbed the back of your thighs, spreading to him until his nose was almost buried on your panties, smelling and taking the sweetness of your scent, licking softly with his wet tongue over the fabric. A trail of moans and curses left your lips. He pulled your panties aside before diving in your pussy, licking your folds and teasing your hole with two of his fingers.
“Logan…”
His name repeatedly left your mouth like a plea, his fingers now inside you, stretching your walls for him. The noises grew obscene and nasty as he ate you out like a sweet craving he had been denying himself the pleasure for so long.
He was growing hard just by hearing your whimpers, and he needed you. You always were a fucking longing for him. Your words, your intelligence, your beauty… Everything he needed, you had it. And still, he didn’t have any idea of how such a rational, smart woman like you learned to love him so deeply.
You tugged on his hair, hips thrusting up to meet his growling mouth. You were so close, felt almost there where you wanted, but he pulled away before you finished.
Logan unzipped his jeans leaning back, admiring your blissed out eyes and glistened figure.
“Come here,” you begged in a whisper, tangling your legs around his waist.
He let out a low, dirty chuckle, feeling your hands on his boxers, freeing his erection.
“So fucking eager,” Logan breathed kissing your lips, hands supporting his weight at the sides of your head on the desk.
You tasted yourself within the kiss and you moaned at his words, your hand pumped him just enough to feel his pre cum leaking already, lining his dick with your cunt. Inch by inch, he entered slowly so you could get used to his size. Logan pecked your lips gently, kissing your cheeks and the side of your neck to get into your sensitive skin. You tugged on his white shirt so he could remove it and he ripped your bra apart right after. He loved to feel your chest pressed against his own. You gasped but paid no mind, instead urging him to move inside you.
“Shit, Logan please-”
A particular harsh trust caught your breath on your throat. You held onto dear life with your hands on his shoulders. He pounded into you rock hard and deep. So damn deep the desk was shrieking under, papers fell off and the lamp moved at the same rhythm but you hoped it won’t break.
Logan growled, inhaling your scent and tasting the sweat forming on your collarbone, your breasts bouncing against his chest. He felt your nails trailing down his back, and oh, how he wished he could get damn scars on just by fucking you like this. But the view of you, squirming under him, eyes closed, being a whimpering mess… All because of him. He was so insanely in love with your fucked out expression every time.
Your walls clenched, close to the sweet end. Logan felt himself twitching inside your warm pussy and his thrusts were getting erratic and sloppy. He filled you up, reaching his own climax first, hot white ropes of cum painting your insides. Your pussy milked him all the way as he kept spliting you open until you let yourself go, legs trembling around his waist. 
For a moment, you stayed like this, with him kissing your shoulder and caressing your thigh, taking in the aftermath of your intense lovemaking.
“Thank you…”
Your whisper forced him to look up at you. There it was, that loving, sweet gaze you had reserved just for him.
He nodded, palm on your jaw holding you gently. “Of course…”
For some reason, he wanted to voice out for once those stupid three words.
I love you.
Or at least hoped you would do it first.
The night was cold under the moonlight, almost freezing. He wondered how he got trapped there, between the messy, withered shrubbery, fog, and the trees of a forest he never recalled knowing. He was alert, senses to the limit in case something might attack him. He felt as if he was being watched, but there were no eyes he could find around. He couldn’t see much like that.
But then a voice started to call his name from afar, claws coming out immediately as he sharpened his senses to find the owner. One, two, three times he heard, trying to find the person who was calling but there was only darkness. His heart skipped a beat when someone spoke behind him.
“Logan…”
He turned on his feet and he felt like dying again. “Jean?”
He withdrew his claws back immediately. The redhead smiled, coming closer until she touched his cheek with a soft hand before pulling away. “How are you, Logan?”
“What-”
“Are you happy now?” she asked, beaming brightly as if they were in a casual conversation instead of the darkness of the woods.
His brows furrowed. She couldn’t be real. She wasn’t there with him. Jean was gone, he had killed her because it was what she wanted. It was her way out to get what she needed; it was the key to her freedom…
“What do you mean?”
“With her… Be careful. You could kill her. Just like me,” Jean whispered, tears forming in her eyes.
Logan stepped back, trying to get away. He shook his head in disbelief, not knowing exactly why Jean was saying this to him.
“No… You’re not real…”
“Everything you love is destined to death and chaos, Logan. You shouldn’t be there,” Jean continued, her eyes switching from her usual tone to a deep black. The ground began trembling under their feet with each step of her, wind building up around. Logan felt truly scared, but somehow he couldn’t run, just stand there as she approached. “All she will know is a life of suffering if you stay. She doesn’t need that.”
“Jean-”
“She doesn’t need you!”
“Jean!”
And then it happened so fast. His claws buried on her chest, the Phoenix disappearing and leaving her to die. Jean collapsed against his body and Logan reminisced about the events of that battle, where he had to choose to be selfish or liberate her from her own demons. Logan wasn’t sure why he stabbed her like this. And when he thought Jean was dead in his arms, she started to call his name again. This time, he heard it far away.
Logan.
Logan.
Logan…
Logan!
His eyes went wide open. And there you were, by his side on the bed, calling for him with a pain grimace on your face. His claws buried on your stomach.
“Logan…” you gasped and he pulled the claws out, but you were already bleeding, your nightshirt and the mattress stained.
“Shit, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry- I-”
“It’s okay,” you managed to say as he caressed your cheek before taking you in his arms hurriedly and quickly made the way out of your room through the halls. “The nightmares… I know, Logan…”
“God, I’m so sorry, please forgive me. Hank!” Logan stood outside the scientist’s door. “Hank, I need your help!”
The commotion caused some of the students to peek from their doors, and Logan waited outside what he felt it was forever under the gazes of the teenagers. It wasn’t the first time he had caused the same accident. The door opened, finally revealing a sleepy Hank putting his glasses on.
There was no need to explain what had happened.
“She’ll be stable soon,” Hank informed once he let Logan inside the med bay. “If you hadn’t brought her soon…”
Logan swallowed the knot on his throat, watching your unconscious figure on the stretcher. You already had received blood to cover up what you lost because of the wounds, and Logan’s claws were not minor weapons. His mind was a mess, confusion taking over. He didn’t know how he let this happen. He had nightmares pretty often, yes, but nothing like this.
Maybe Jean was right. Maybe she was trying to warn him about something. Or Jean was just trying to protect you from him. The last one felt more realistic. Logan wouldn’t hurt you, not ever. You talked about how dangerous it was to sleep together not so long ago, but you had insisted on staying. It was the first time something felt so damn real in his dreams and he wished you wouldn’t let him in your room that night…
“She’ll wake up, right?” Logan asked.
“Absolutely,” Hank nodded. “I will need to monitor her vital signs though, hopefully within a day or two she will be normal again… At least she’ll be stable until the wounds heal completely.”
Of course, Logan thought. You didn’t have a healing factor just like him.
“I’ll be right back,” Hank announced before stepping out of the room, leaving Logan alone.
He felt so guilty for doing this to you. For everything. For being the cause of your suffering now. He was a threat and mentally unstable. He was strong thanks to his genes, but he was weak on the inside. He promised countless times to protect you, but he couldn’t avoid hurting you himself. It didn’t matter that it was a very bad dream that felt disgustingly real, he had failed and hurted someone who truly loved. Again.
Taking your hand gently into his, he leaned to plant a kiss on your forehead, wishing it would be just another game from his mind.
But it wasn’t. Now, he had the person he loved the most lying unconscious and hurted because he would let his darkest thoughts consume him.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, watching you sleep peacefully. “I should have said it sooner.”
-
PART TWO
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hyper-fixates · 2 days ago
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let me offer some subtle foreshadowing for this oneshot :)
that headcanon was made to be written for dofp/70s!logan cause those kitty ears do be voluminous, but feel free to insert whichever logan you prefer!
tags/warnings: 18+ — afab!reader (no pronouns/gendered language), oral sex (reader receiving), munch!logan, explicit language, fingering, teasing, use of “baby” once, edging, light biting (let me know if anything was missed!).
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Logan is ever the perfect example of a walking contradiction.
A rough voice but gentle words. A soft touch but purposeful fingers. A guarded nature but a caring heart.
He juxtaposes himself. Every characteristic, every feature, has a partner in crime that shows you his versatility as a person and as something more.
The full, styled tufts of his hair graze the inside of your thighs with every deep lick up your slit.
Your legs rest over his bare shoulders while your heels slide up and down his back in restless pleasure; you have to dispel the tension in your muscles somehow.
“You’re shaking, baby,” Logan mumbles against your clit, readjusting the grip he has wrapped around the tops of your thighs.
He’s got you locked down. His hands slid along your hips and around to the top of each thigh, peeling them apart and keeping you tight against his hungry mouth. You couldn’t move in the slightest even if you tried. And you’ve tried.
A light gasp is ripped from you as his lips catch your clit. “It’s j-just, ah, a lot,” you breathe, eyes fuzzy with bliss.
Everything between Logan’s warm tongue to the ends of his hair brushing up against the tender skin along your thighs has introduced your body to new lengths of perception its never experienced before.
He’s been toying with you for half an hour. Half an hour of fleeting kisses, firm licks, and harsh sucks to your clit with the occasional finger or two pumping slowly inside you to back you away from the edge you’ve been chasing.
He’d take his mouth off of you, slipping his index or middle finger, or both, inside you as a reprieve; it would calm your impending orgasm but still keep you excited enough to soak his fingers for the few minutes he’d be pumping them into you.
You think he’d be able to get off on the sound of your cunt swallowing his fingers alone—a subtle squelching that puts just how desperate you are on display.
Logan pulls away from your pussy, turning to smear wet, messy kisses along the inside of your left thigh—this does nothing to soothe your aching cunt. If anything, it makes it worse. Feeling him right there but not where you want him.
“You want a break?” He asks, still scattering kisses while he loosens his grip on you, rubbing his hands comfortingly around your hips. You grab two of his fingers and squeeze them in your grip lovingly.
You arch into the touch slightly with a protesting groan. You don’t have the energy to lift your head to meet his playful hazel eyes, so you speak to the ceiling. “No—keep going. It hurts,”
Everything is on fire. Everything is throbbing. Your cunt is sore, tired of the teasing, but you want more of it. You want to drip through his sheets, coat his tongue, and feel the tips of his hair caress the sensitive skin inside your thighs.
“Mhm, I know, I know.” He gently nips at the skin adjacent to your cunt along the crevice of your thigh, not trying to break skin or leave a mark.
Your swollen clit gladly welcomes his clever tongue back. He gives three broad strokes before sliding down to your hole, lightly prodding it in quick motions that makes the tip of his nose bump against your clit.
“Ah, fuck. Fuck,” you whine, nearly wanting to start kicking against his back.
He buries his face so deep in you that his hair brushes your thighs with each keen mouthful of your pussy. Up, down, up, down.
You barely hear his moans over your own, but you know they’re there. You can feel them. They travel right through you—they vibrate against your clit—and you start clenching around nothing.
You want to clamp your thighs together, but his strong hands keep you open, and there’s nothing you can do but take it.
It’s a whole different level of euphoria when you aren’t able to control your pleasure. Logan knows that, and he likes to abuse that knowledge.
Your lungs can’t seem to get enough air to make up for how fast Logan’s stealing it from you with every stroke of his tongue.
He wraps his warm lips entirely around your clit, sucking just enough for your muscles to tense as he flicks the bud soothingly with the tip of his tongue.
You’re basically crying out with every exhale, wrapped up in tingling, sharp pleasure that has your lower body burning and every part of your cunt begging for relief.
“Oh, please. Please, please, please,” you chant, sliding a hand through his hair and grabbing a handful to anchor yourself.
He grunts, giving a hard roll of his tongue that has you coming on his sheets.
Thankfully, Logan doesn’t push you any further, even if he likes to most of the time. He gives mercy to your cunt, removing his mouth but letting a curious finger slide along your slit and down to your hole to feel how much cum he’ll get out of you.
He pushes in an inch or so, feeling your walls fluttering and pulsing.
You might be numb down there now. You nor your body acknowledge his wandering finger.
You lay with your eyes closed as you try to control your rapid heartbeat. A careful hand glides up along your side to your chest before stopping at the base of your neck.
You crack your eyes open to see Logan leaning beside you, gaze tracing down your quivering body.
“Nice work,” you say, a satisfied smirk pulling at your lips.
He raises a brow. “You do something long enough…you get good at it.” He shrugs, matching your wicked smirk.
A hundred-something years of experience, you remind yourself.
He lets himself fall on top of you, his damp facial hair chafing against your throat as he presses firm kisses along your jaw in praise.
Two fingers press into your cheek, turning your head towards his. You let your neck roll to the side.
His lips catch your own. You let him work your mouth open, tasting the remnants of your cum as he drags his tongue over yours enthusiastically.
“I’m so fucking hard right now,” he says against your lips, giving you a rather forceful kiss before you have to pull yourself away to laugh.
Logan is someone that will always give you both sides of himself—hard and soft, rough and gentle, stern and loving.
You feel very lucky to get it all.
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purehypnotic · 3 days ago
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˚₊୨୧₊˚𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈˚₊୨୧₊˚
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𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑳𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒂 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆🤎
𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒎𝒂𝒏!𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓
𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐞. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞'𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐤.
𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝.
𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤, 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜��𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.
𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡-𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡. 𝐀𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐛 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥, 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬. 𝐀𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞, 𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐲.
"𝐦𝐦𝐡𝐡," 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.
"𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞?" 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐞𝐝, 𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧, 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭.
𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭. 𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤.
"𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐛," 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤, 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞. "𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞" 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦, "𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐤," 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐮𝐩𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲. 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.
"𝐦𝐡𝐦𝐦" 𝐇𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦.
"𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞?" 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦.
"𝐘/𝐧" 𝐇𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮.
"𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰" 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰.
"𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬" 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.
"𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞," 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞.
𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔
𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝑺𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒆🎀
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loganhowlettshousewife · 14 hours ago
Note
request for a logan x reader where logan comforts the reader after they come home from a mission all bloodied up? i see a lot of reader comforting logan fics but im curious to see how itd be the other way round :)
me? responding to a request like three weeks later? it's more likely than you think. also sorry it's so short. originally it turned into smut but i didn't know if you'd want that given the request was for hurt/comfort. (if you guys want i can publish the alternate smut version of this fic too).
solace
summary: you come home from a mission gone wrong and logan helps you through it.
warnings: death (offscreen), blood, non-sexual intimacy, nudity, reader has hair, pet names (logan canonically calls his love interests "darlin'" and this is me pushing that agenda), english is not my first language so please do not be rude
word count: 1004
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you’re splattered in blood and grime, grey ash streaking your skin from the fire created by a little boy lashing out at the world. he had set his own house on fire, his parents dying in the most brutal of ways, burned alive.
“oh princess, c’mere,” logan pulls you into his arms. you’re in too much shock to argue, letting him manoeuvre you like a doll.
you don’t like going on missions, don’t like hurting people. you’re only ever sent on the easy ones, the non-violent ones, where you try to convince mutant kids to join the school. you’re good at talking to children, at getting them to admit their fears to you, at soothing their worries. but even the easy missions don’t always go well.
charles could sense that this particular child was powerful, and far worse than that, he was angry. he’d lashed out when he’d seen you, screamed in anger when his parents expressed a desire for him to go to xavier’s school, to learn to control himself before he came back home again. his parents were frightened too, scared of what might happen if things continued the way they were.
they’d all died in the explosion of his power.
he was so scared. he never meant to hurt anyone, you could see it in his eyes when the fire continued to burn despite him letting go. it was out of control, no longer a part of him that he could control like an extra limb, but something with a mind of its own.
it reminds you of yourself when you’d first discovered your abilities, scared and alienated from the rest of the world, from the non-mutants around you. you see yourself in every kid you save, and in every kid you lose.
you stay in logan’s arms for a long while, the only sound in the room his steady breathing contrasting with your ragged, choked out sobs. his chest rises steadily against yours, a rhythm that you try to imitate but you can’t, and with every failed inhale you feel your frustration grow, your panic increase.
he picks you up easily, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, clutching onto him so as not to fall. he would never drop you, you know that, but it’s always a slight surprise when you’re not expecting him to lift you from the ground.
he leads you to the bathroom where he helps you strip out of your clothes, so gentle with your shaking form. his hands trace each new sliver of skin revealed to him, keeping a firm pressure on you always, grounding you, reminding you of where you are. not in a burning house watching a child’s corpse go pitch black from the flames, but in the house that logan bought the two of you, not too far from the school but enough to give the two of you privacy.
in the shower, the blood rinses off your skin, pink rivulets swirling down the drain. yet you can still feel it, thick and sticky and warm. you want to scrub at your skin until its red and blistering, until you have to grow a new layer of skin, a fresh one that hasn’t been touched by death.
logan doesn’t let you. he catches your hand and whispers, “let me take care of you, darlin’.”
you lean into his bare chest and he massages shampoo into the roots of your hair, over your scalp until it foams, and then rinses it away. he runs your conditioner - the one he always claims is too expensive and why would you spend so much on hair products - through your hair, tugging gently at the strands when he notices you disappearing into your mind.
afterwards he pats you dry, and kisses every inch of your skin, reverent, on his knees before you. and then he rises to his feet and finally presses his lips to yours, soft and intimate, not rushed or heated, just reassurance that he’s here, he’s got you, and he’s not going anywhere.
“do you want to talk about it?” he asks eventually.
you shake your head, “he was just a kid.”
“i know,” logan says, rubbing his large, rough hands over your arms, up and down, “but it’s not your fault, you know that. you can’t control what other people do. d’you blame storm for what happened?”
“no!” you exclaim, eyes wide at the implication that one of your best friends could have caused the boys death.
“but she was on the mission with you,” logan comments, and you shake your head, “if you don’t blame her, you can’t blame yourself. neither of you knew, you couldn’t’ve stopped it.”
“maybe,” you say. you don’t really believe it, but logan knows it’ll take you time to get back to your usual happy self, and he’s fine with staying by your side, whispering praise and reassurance until you start to believe him again.
afterwards, he puts on your favourite movie. he spends the whole time making fun of the characters and their decisions, grumbling about how movies will base their entire plot progression on actions no real, rational person would ever do, until you giggle wetly and slap him in the arm, telling him to shut up and let you watch the film.
you lean back into the circle of his arms and he holds you tight, occasionally wiping stray tears that run down your cheeks. there’s less tension in your muscles now, but you’re not quite relaxed, so he shuffles the two of you around until he can massage your shoulders and back.
you moan at the feeling, sinking into the sensation of his large hands working at the knots, until you’re putty for him. you feel warm and fuzzy by the time his hands start to stray down, massaging your thighs.
“feelin’ better?” he asks as the end credits roll, pressing a kiss to your hair.
“yeah,” you sigh, “thank you for taking care of me.”
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siddyyyyyyyy · 1 day ago
Text
Desire — I'm Hungry
Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader
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MDNI wc: 0.6 K summary: Logan goes feral for your unique mutations. warnings: smut, no y/n used, riding, praise, subby Logan a/n: something possesed me again. Hope you enjoy!!
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Your pitch-black wings fluttered as you settled on Logan‘s cock, trying to take it all in one go, but he makes sure that you don‘t rush yourself.
With soft pants, you try to calm your breathing but it‘s almost impossible with how his hands keep caressing your feather-filled back, making you even more flustered.
»C‘mon, baby, don‘t rush… I‘ve got ya,« he murmurs against your shoulders, keeping his hands at your back to try and support you more on his lap. With a few final whimpers, you are seated on him fully and still. Logan takes the opportunity to run his hands across your back again, relishing in the soft feathers that run down your spine and muscles.
You always noticed that he seemed to like your mutation the most, always catching him staring across the room or even catch a glimpse of his twitching fingers at his sides, aching to touch you.
So, of course, the moment he gets some alone time with you, he won‘t waste a minute to pounce at you and get his hands all over. Tonight, it seemed like he was extra needy. Logan finally got to tell you about the admiration he holds for your unique features that come from your mutation; a crow hybrid.
A very fascinating thing in Logan‘s mind. And he calls himself a lucky man for having you all for himself. Such rich wings that shine in the sun should be cherished. He tries not to overwhelm himself with your beauty and mysterious looks.
He can‘t help himself whenever his hands land on your wings, gently caressing them while he controls his breathing under you.
Finally, what seemed like an eternity to you, you grind your hips into his own, cock sitting heavily inside of you, throbbing with need. But Logan doesn‘t seem too affected, breathing in your scent from the crook of your neck while he holds onto your hips. A low growl leaves him at the added friction, not quite getting what he needs, but he doesn‘t want to rush you for now.
»Fuck— « you pull your hips up, »ngh— darl‘,« sitting back down with full force. His head falls back, he has to pull himself together so he won‘t hammer his hips into you. Sighing out heavily, he makes sure to watch as you fuck yourself open on him and get a steady rhythm.
Using him as your support, your hands land on Logan‘s broad shoulders, leaning into him so you can properly ride on him. His eyes swell, becoming glazy while he lets you use him as you like. The room starts to fill with heavy pants from the both of you, low groans and slight whimpers. Your rhythm becomes faster with time, making your thighs tremble on his sides.
»Yeah, baby, jus‘ like that...«
Sharp fingernails digging into his scarred skin, making him groan in ecstasy. You near your orgasm, clenching around him as your light eyes find a bright edge to it, almost shining in the dimmed room. Logan catches the glimpse of it, hips bucking into your own unvoluntary.
That was enough to push you over the edge, feathers fluttering subtly as you cry out for him. Praises fall from his lips like a silent prayer, guiding you through the intense shockwave before you calm down. Settling against his shoulder, you hug him around his neck, releasing him from your long nails. Catching your breath, the room settles into a comfortable silence before he speaks up.
»Tired yet?« »Not for long.«
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a/n: Sorry this came out short, I don't usually write for X-Men, but lately..... Anyway, thanks for reading and I apologise for making it short.
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logansbaby · 2 days ago
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i would do anything to have this man in my bed bc not only do i want to hug the man and never let go, but i also have an extreme urge to fuck him silly! need him moaning in my ear while i ride him <3
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mrshowlettsgarden · 1 day ago
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Expressing His Love - Logan Howlett: the one with how he shows his love for you
─➭ pairing: Logan Howlett x wife!reader
─➭ content warning: fluff, logan in love
─➭ take a walk in the greenhouse (master list)
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How does Logan Howlett express his love?
He listens to you rant about the plants you’re currently watering while in the greenhouse. You talk about the plants as if they were human and that some need the care and attentiveness like babies need. 
He stops what he’s doing to acknowledge your presence as you walk into the room. He’d be talking mid-conversation to greet you with the softest look that's ever to come across his face. He would walk over to you and give you a kiss on your cheek. Even passing one another in the hall on your way to class, he’ll give you a quick kiss on the cheek. . 
He holds terms of endearment for you and you only. Calling you: darling, sweetheart, sweets, baby…
He subtly communicates with you without words. He looks for you in crowded rooms and silently asks if you’re okay. Based on the expression of your face he’s either quick to comfort you or gives you a nod of understanding that you’re okay. 
He holds your hands against his chest to make you feel his heartbeat. He loves feeling you run your hands up and down his body as you talk about your day. 
He picks you up by your waist to make you wrap your legs around his torso while he covers your face with light kisses here and there when he comes home. 
He places you on the bathroom sink to brush your teeth or to help him trim his beard. He closes his eyes under your gentle touch as he soothingly rubs circles on your thighs with his thumb. 
He locks you in his arms in the morning to keep you in bed. He loves to hear your laughs as he buries his face into your neck knowing that it tickles you. 
He pulls you by the waist when you walk away from him without giving him a kiss. As soon as you’re close as possible, he cups the back of your head and takes your breath away with a deep kiss.
He spreads his legs open just wide enough to let you sit on one of his thighs while he sits under the stars in the yard. He hums softly at the feeling of your fingers running through the back of his neck and through his hair. 
He whispers that he loves you every time he kisses you.
That’s how Logan Howlett expresses his love. 
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wishful-sinful-9 · 2 days ago
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guys... amnesia trope with Logan???
youre on a mission together and you suffer a blow to the head, and when you wake up you start whining for your boyfriend and everyone's like ???? because you dont have one, then logan walks in and you grab at him.
and and and! what if logan and you just didn't talk, or didn't like each other before this, to make things extra complicated for him when everyone just tells him to go along w it while your memory comes back (they're just enjoying watching you cling to him while he sits there looking pissy – but part of him kinda likes it)
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mcrdvcks · 8 hours ago
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Call It What You Want
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Summary: A single sneeze turns into something more, at least to your husband Logan.
Word Count: 1.9k+
Pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader
Notes: i'm feeling a bit sick and i remember i had written this a while ago so here it is :)
i actually have a few other ideas and short oneshots written in this universe so i might upload some more sporadically
(also thank you for 500 followers! really means a lot to me <3)
Warnings/tags: sickness (sneezing, stuffy nose), reader has powers (sonic screams), pet names (darlin', baby, sweetheart)
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A simple sneeze. That’s how it started.
You and Logan were in your shared bedroom, both at your respective desks, grading papers in silence. The quiet was only interrupted by the occasional sound of paper rustling or the scratch of a pen. It was peaceful, really. Until you sneezed into your elbow, trying not to make a big deal of it.
Logan glanced over, raising an eyebrow but not saying anything at first. You grabbed a tissue and blew your nose, tossing it into the wastebasket nearby.
"That time of year again?" Logan asked, his deep voice cutting through the quiet.
"Maybe," you replied, rubbing your nose. "’m fine."
He let out a low chuckle, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “Yeah, ‘cause you always say you’re fine, then next thing I know you’re curled up under six blankets, complainin’ about not bein’ able to breathe.” He walked over, placing a hand on your shoulder.
"I’m not always like that," you protested, looking up at him with a small smile.
"Sure, princess." Logan smirked, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. “But if you’re gettin’ sick, you should rest. You work too hard.”
"I don’t have time to be sick." You glanced at the pile of essays that still needed grading. “Besides, these students aren’t going to grade themselves.”
"Bet you I could convince Chuck to get a telepath to grade these for ya," Logan teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Now, go lay down.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading through your chest at his concern. "Logan, I’m fine. It’s just a sneeze."
"Uh-huh," he grumbled. “Just a sneeze, until it ain’t.”
"I’ll be fine," you insisted. "Besides, you're not the boss of me."
Logan smirked again, his voice dropping to that low, gruff tone that always made your stomach flip. "Ain’t I though?"
You shot him a playful glare, knowing exactly where this was going. "No, you’re not."
He tilted his head, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Alright, darlin’… but if you start feelin’ worse, you better let me take care of ya. You hear?"
You smiled, unable to help it. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine, tough guy."
He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft kiss before pulling back. "You better be. Ain’t in the mood to deal with a cranky version of you.”
You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Like you’re never cranky.”
“I’m lovable,” he grunted, moving back to his desk. "You, on the other hand…”
“I’m adorable,” you finished for him, a smirk tugging at your lips.
Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”
You turned back to your papers, feeling the slightest tickle in your nose again. "Uh-oh."
"Uh-oh?" Logan repeated, eyeing you cautiously.
And then, you sneezed again—this time louder. The vibration from your powers caused a low hum in the room, the soundwaves vibrating through the air, making the picture frames on the wall tremble slightly.
Logan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "That didn’t sound like just a sneeze, baby."
You winced, looking around at the small vibrations that still lingered in the room. "Oops."
He sighed, walking back over to you. "Come on, Y/N, that’s your body tellin’ you to take a break." He bent down to your level, his face now inches from yours. "Or do I need to carry ya to bed?"
You bit your lip, trying to keep the smirk from your face. "You wouldn’t."
"Wanna test me?" Logan’s voice was low, full of challenge.
You tilted your head, pretending to think about it. "Well, when you put it that way…”
Without another word, Logan scooped you up from your chair, making you let out a surprised laugh. “Logan! Put me down!”
“Nope,” he said, carrying you toward the bed with ease. “You had your chance, sweetheart.”
You kicked your feet lightly in protest but didn’t really try to escape. Being wrapped up in his arms was hardly a punishment. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Yup,” he agreed, laying you down gently on the bed and pulling the covers up over you. “Now, you’re gonna stay right here, and I’m gonna make sure you’re comfortable.”
You crossed your arms, but a smile was already spreading across your face. “You’re overreacting.”
“Am I?” Logan raised an eyebrow, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Remember the last time you got sick? You nearly took out half the mansion with your soundwaves ‘cause you were sneezin’ so much.”
You sighed, relenting. “Okay, maybe a little rest won’t hurt.”
Logan grinned, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Atta girl.”
You settled back into the pillows, the warmth of the blankets and Logan’s presence making you feel more relaxed. “Thanks, Logan,” you said softly.
He gave you a soft smile, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Anytime, darlin’. Now get some rest before you blow up the whole room.”
---
After days of trying to convince Logan, and the others, that it was just allergies, Logan had enough. He had dragged you to Jean after you finished teaching your first class of the day, and after accidentally shattering your computer screen with your sneeze.
Jean was already prepared, a bottle of cough syrup on a nearby medical table. “See? Told you it was a cold,” she said, holding up the bottle like it was proof.
You groaned, slumping in the chair next to her. “It’s just a little cold, Jean. You all act like I’m on my deathbed.”
Logan crossed his arms, standing behind you. “That little cold shattered a computer screen, Y/N. If it wasn’t for your powers, maybe we’d take your word for it, but—” He gestured vaguely with his hand. “We’ve seen what happens.”
Jean smirked at Logan’s comment but quickly turned her attention back to you. “He’s right, you know. We’ve got to be careful with your powers. Your body’s trying to rest, and that includes your control.”
You shot Logan a half-hearted glare. “You dragged me here for this?”
“Yup,” he replied, entirely unbothered. “And now that you’re here, Jean’s gonna make sure you actually take care of yourself.”
Jean held out the bottle of syrup. “Bottoms up.”
You stared at it like it was some sort of punishment. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Logan let out a chuckle, moving to stand beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder. “Come on, princess, just take the damn syrup. The faster you do, the faster we get back to our room.”
With an exaggerated sigh, you took the bottle from Jean’s hand and downed the syrup. The taste made you wince, and you immediately regretted it. “Ugh, that’s awful.”
Jean patted you on the back, her smile widening. “It’ll help, though. Now, you’ll need rest, fluids, and minimal stress. I don’t want to see you teaching for a couple of days, at least.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but Logan cut you off before you could say anything. “You heard the doc, darlin’. No teaching, no grading. Just rest.”
You turned in your seat to look up at him, narrowing your eyes. “It’s just a cold. I’m not dyin’ or anything.”
Logan raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk. "Not dyin’, huh? Try tellin’ that to your computer screen."
You rolled your eyes, leaning back in the chair with a groan. "That was an accident, and you know it."
"Doesn’t matter," he shot back, folding his arms across his chest. “Still proves my point.”
Jean chuckled from where she stood, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Logan’s right, Y/N. Your body’s using up energy to fight this cold, and with your powers, that means less control. It’s not just about you—it's about keeping everyone around you safe.”
You narrowed your eyes at Logan. “You’re really milking this, aren’t you?”
Logan didn’t even try to hide the grin on his face. “Oh yeah. And I’ll keep doin’ it ‘til you get your stubborn ass to bed.”
You huffed, crossing your arms. “I hate when you’re right.”
He chuckled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Get used to it, sweetheart. Happens more often than you’d like.”
Jean smiled warmly at the two of you, shaking her head. “Okay, lovebirds. I’ll give you some privacy while Y/N gets some rest. Logan, make sure she takes it easy.”
Logan nodded as Jean left the room, then turned back to you with a smug look. “So, no more arguments, right?”
You glared at him, but it lacked any real heat. “Fine. But just so you know, when I’m better, I’m gonna remind you of this moment. Payback’s a bitch, Logan.”
He chuckled again, unphased. “I’ll take my chances, darlin’.” Then, without warning, he bent down and scooped you up in his arms again.
"Logan!" You yelped, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Making sure you actually rest," he replied, his voice casual as if carrying you around was the most normal thing in the world. “Figured this way, there’s no chance of you sneakin’ back to your desk.”
You tried to fight back a smile, though it was nearly impossible when you were cradled against him like this. “I wasn’t gonna sneak back.”
“Sure, princess,” he said, clearly not believing you for a second. “But just in case.”
He carried you back to your shared bedroom, gently setting you down on the bed and pulling the covers over you. He gave you a stern look, but there was warmth behind his eyes. "Stay."
You rolled your eyes but couldn���t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You act like I’m a dog.”
"Not a dog,” Logan corrected, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just a stubborn wife who doesn’t know when to quit."
You reached up to swat at his arm playfully. “I’m not that bad.”
He caught your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “You’re worse, but I still love ya.”
Your heart swelled at the soft look in his eyes, and for a moment, you forgot all about your cold. “I love you too,” you murmured.
Logan’s expression softened even further, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Now rest, sweetheart. You need it.”
You sighed, snuggling deeper into the blankets. “Only because you asked so nicely.”
Logan chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead once more. “I’ll take it.”
He stood up, moving toward the door, but you called after him. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
He stopped, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “What, miss me already?”
You rolled your eyes, but your tone softened. “Maybe. Just a little.”
Logan’s smirk turned into a genuine smile as he made his way back to the bed. “Alright, darlin’. I’ll stay.”
He kicked off his boots and slid into bed next to you, pulling you into his arms. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For a moment, the cold, the shattered computer, and everything else melted away. All that mattered was the warmth of his embrace.
"You’re lucky I love you," you mumbled, already feeling yourself start to drift off.
Logan chuckled softly, his hand running through your hair. “Damn right, I am."
As sleep began to claim you, Logan’s steady presence beside you was the last thing you felt, a reminder that no matter how tough things got—or how stubborn you were—he’d always be there, ready to hold you close and make sure you were safe.
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birdyshewrote · 23 hours ago
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“Like an Animal”
Logan Howlett x Female!Reader
written by birdy
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Note- I’m tired of nobody playing into the mutant or animalistic side of him as much as I want them to. pls enjoy u freaks 😇
warnings/tags- 18+, Animal!Logan, he’s nasty, strong language, he eats you out like an animal okay? That’s the whole plot.
PLEASE SEND ME LOGAN IDEAS ! Mean!Logan, Soft!Logan, I like it all. give me ideas. also feedback appreciated !
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Being a mutant leads to heightened senses. You’ve seen this first hand in Logan.
The second you start ovulating, he is all over you. Laying in bed on your phone, he’s watching you from the door way. He’s shirtless, wearing dark blue jeans. His dog tags lay across his broad chest, rising up and down as he breathes.
“Logan? You okay?” You ask, looking up from your phone. He says nothing, instead stepping towards you.. slowly. You frown, sitting up slightly.
“Lo?”
When close enough, he quickly jumps up on the bed, pouncing on you like a cat playing with a mouse.
You wheeze under the sudden weight of his body, all 300 pounds. He pins your arms to your sides using his muscular legs, sticking his face and nose into the deep crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, like he hasn’t been able to take a full breath in years.
“Can smell you..” He groans against your ear.
“Lo!” You exasperate, smiling at the sudden attention. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Could fuckin’ smell you from across the hall.” He smells you again, inhaling your pheromones. He starts smelling all of you in quick, jagged breaths. Your hair, your neck, your chest, your face.
You squirm, his breath tickling your skin. His stubble and facial hair gently scrapes against your soft neck. His own scent was intoxicating, that of leather and cigar smoke. A hint of alcohol lingered on his breath, along with his usual musk and light sweat. You knew there was no chance in getting him off of you unless he wanted to, but you try anyway. You grunt, shaking your shoulders in your best attempt to get the beast of a man off of your body.
He doesn’t budge.
“Where d’you think you’re goin’, girl? Hm?” You feel him smile against your neck as he speaks. “Tryna run away from me?”
The sound of his voice trickles into your ears and sends vibrations to the back of your throat. The warmth and weight of his body mixed with the feeling of his breath and the roughness of his face on your neck makes you weak. You know the power he has over you, and so does he. The familiar throbbing that you know so well rises in your stomach and down into your shorts. You shut your legs and clench your thighs to try and relieve the building tension.
Logan’s head rises up from out of your hair and looks down at your face. He can smell your arousal, and you see it in his eyes. His brows furrow, his breath heavy now, panting. He looks at you hungrily. The look in his eyes is like nothing you’ve seen before, and it makes you nervous, like you’re a piece of meat and he’s a starved animal.
“Logan..” You say cautiously. He scans your face as if he’s trying to regain some control over his own mind, his own movements. “Logan.” You say again, this time more direct. He blinks, his pupils steady again. “What is happening right now with you?”
He looks at your eyes. Then your lips. Then your chest. Then back up to your eyes.
“Need to taste you. Right now.”
Your eyes widen at the sudden bluntness, but you’re quickly distracted by a rough hand gripping the side of your waist. You swallow, inches from his face. You feel his warm, shaky breath on your face as he stares down at you with large, pleading yet demanding eyes.
“Need it now.” He repeats, more frantic this time, like if he doesn’t make a move on you you’ll get away. “Gonna give ya what you need, don’ worry baby, I know what y’need.”
He closes that last inch of space and connects his mouth with yours, kissing you slowly. His breath gets heavier, his nose and face mashing into yours as the kiss gets sloppier and lazier. He indistinctively let’s out faint groans and whines from his chest and back out his throat into your mouth. He’s lapping at your tongue now, like your mouth is the fountain of youth.
He paws at your waist, bringing his huge, veiny hand up your side and under your loose top. He cups a breast in his hand, to which he grabs greedily. He couldn’t get enough of your body, and if you weren’t soaking before, you definitely are now. He bites your bottom lip with his sharp canine, gently at first, but once he starts he couldn’t stop. He bites your tongue a few times, kissing you and pushing his face farther into your space. He quickly pulls his face away from yours, looking down at you with half lidded, crazed eyes. He brushes some hair out of your face with his free hand, looking down at your puffy, wet lips.
“You’re so beautiful, y’know that? So beautiful.” His voice is low, you’re the only one he’s speaking too. The only one that needs to hear his voice. “So beautiful for me, all for me. Right sweetheart?”
You nod, quickly licking your raw lip and swallowing.
He kisses you again. Any politeness is gone now. He moves his mouth from your face to your cheek. He trails sloppy, hot kisses down your jaw to your neck. He bites and licks at the top of your ear, then back down to your collarbone. He moves his body down the bed, gently nipping at your collarbone, leaving red marks that will soon turn to hickeys. He brings his head up to look at his doing, clearly marking his territory. His warm face is back on your chest in a heart beat though, his other hand finding it’s way to your second breast. He focuses on perfecting the marks on your chest for a moment, then looks again. You writher under his touch, moving your legs together. Once he’s satisfied with his markings, he lifts your shirt up, letting it bunch at your neck before gently biting at your nipple, pinching the other with his hand. He licks and licks, tasting your skin and smelling you.
“Lo.” You whine.
You feel him smile against your skin before laying one more kiss on your tit, then sits up. He looks down at you once again. Your chest exposed to him. You’re all blushed and red, bruised, hot and bothered. He did this to you.
“I know, I know Bub. I cant wait either.”
He slides off the side of the furniture, ignoring his own painful erection and kneels on the carpeted floor at the foot of the bed. He grabs your closed thighs, hoists them up and effortlessly pulls you closer to him.
“Take these off for me, Baby.” He hooks a finger under your silk shorts.
You look at him, your face flushed, heart thumping.
He’s too impatient, he can’t wait any longer. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re already goin’ dumb for me. Haven’t even touched you yet.” He teases as he quickly pulls down your shorts to your ankles, tossing them out of sight.
He sighs through his mouth when he sees your leaking panties, all wet and glistening for him.
“Open up.” He sighs, putting his calloused hands on your knees. When you don’t move, he brings a hand to your thigh and pries you open with ease.
“God..” He groans under his breath. Feeling exposed, you try to shut your legs, but he sternly keeps you open for his access. He dips his head below your knees, and without warning inhales with his nose at the top of your clothed slit.
You gasp, embarrassed, and try to push his head away, but to absolutely no avail. Instead, he sticks out his tongue and gently presses it against your clit. Your embarrassment fades as it’s overwhelmed with sudden pleasure. It’s not nearly enough for anything, but at least it’s something. You let out a quick moan, which he pays no attention too. This wasn’t to make you feel good, this was because he needed to taste you.
He licks at you through the thin layer of fabric, holding your thighs down into the mattress with his large hands. He slowly rubs his fingers into your soft skin, soothing you, simply so you’d hopefully stop squirming. His breath is hot against your drenched panties. He grinds his own bulge against the foot of the bed while dragging a finger up your thigh. It travels to the top of your panties, then pulls them down your legs, around your ankles, and forgotten on the floor. He looks at you now, completely exposed to him. Again, you try to avoid his gaze by covering yourself with your hand, but he swats it away.
“Quit.” He snaps, like you’re preventing him from his work.
He brings his middle finger down from your thigh to your slit, just gently tracing it, trying to remember every curve and detail in your delicate space. You look away, shutting your eyes. He slowly slips his finger in, only to the second knuckle. You groan, your back arching to the little contact. He watches you tighten around his digit, your slick acting as natural lubricant. Your juices coating his finger.
“Mm, look at that baby. You’re already doing s’good. Already ready f’me, aren’t you? Such a dirty girl..”
He keeps himself inside of you for a moment, listening to you whine and watching you twitch around his knuckle. He slowly removes himself from your pussy and into his mouth, licking his finger clean, letting none of your arousal go to waste.
When he himself can’t take it anymore, he lowers his head once more in between your legs. He tries to be slow, but can’t stop himself from lapping and lapping at you like a thirsty dog. His licks are undirected, not aiming anywhere specific, just trying to taste as much as you as he possibly can. He moans against your cunt, sending vibrations through your core. He suckles at your pussy, his nose hitting your clit and his facial hair scraping against your folds perfectly. Lapping and lapping and licking and more licking, never once slowing down, never once coming up for air. Instead he breathes through it all, every inhale making him harder and harder in his denim jeans. He licks your entrance. He shoves his hot, wet tongue in and out of you, over and over again.
Once he calms himself down, he directs his licking to your clit, a little more concentrated but still wild. He slowly brings a hand up, holding a finger to your leaking entrance. Barely any pressure is used when his finger easily slips into your pussy, gripping and tightening once more. Once fully adjusted, he slowly pumps in and out of you while wildly lapping at your throbbing clit.
“Logan.” You moan uncontrollably. The noises coming from your mouth are not voluntary. You bring your arms up from your sides and latch onto the black tufts of hair on his head, pulling. He lets out a groan against your cunt when you pull his hair, and this almost sets you over the edge, but not yet.
He inserts a second finger, curling upwards, hitting that sweet spot so perfectly you begin to see stars. Your sweet mouth hangs open and your eyes water, huffing, trying to control your breathing.
“S’good f’me.” He mutters against you. “Doin’ s’good f’me. You gonna cum baby? Gonna make a mess on my face? Hm?”
Your toes begin to curl as Logan keeps your legs open for himself. When he looks up, he locks eyes with you. His eyebrows are furrowed as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, watching your face.
“So good sweetheart, jus’ like that. Justa little bit more baby.”
He shuts up when he notices your legs sputtering, and starts eating you again. He nips at your sensitive bud once or twice, making you jolt in response. His fingers quicken, in and out, in and out. Then, the knot grew tighter and tighter. You tap his head with your hand as a warning, letting out soft “Ah- Ah”s.
You throw your head back and curl your toes tightly. Your eyes roll to the back of you head. Logan continues licking and deeply fingering you through your orgasm, moaning “Mhm, mhm,” against you as light encouragement.
He keeps licking every drop of juices that you’d let out until you’re a twitchy, sputtering mess. He lifts his head from your clit to mutter sweet nothings, slowing his fingers around your sputtering hole.
“Fuck, so fucking beautiful. You know that, baby? Did so good f’me. God.”
He gently pulls his fingers out of you, and slowly closes your legs for you to give them a break from the unnatural pose. He licks his fingers as he climbs into bed. Logan hooks his hands under your arms and quickly pulls you up into his chest. He brushes your hair out of the way and lays gentle kisses on your forehead as he rubs his hand up and down your arm.
“Feel good Kid?” He asks you, to which you nod.
You completely relax into his body as the two of you lay in bed. He reaches over to the nightstand and lights a cigar, taking a quick puff before smiling. He sniffs the top of your head again, covering his nose with your messy hair.
“You smell really good.”
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