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Logan Howlett Smut - Blog Posts
It’s becoming a beach episode situation…..will post later
MINORS DNI
NOTES: fuck me Logan PLEASE. As always, I need him, so! Very short as always
WARNINGS: car sex, nicknames, Logan knows who you are before the deed but you don’t, getting folded in half by Logan (hope ur flexible), porn (technically) no plot?
Dofp!Logan is coming to find you the second he gets to his young selfs body. Okay, maybe not the second, he does still have to get Charles and Hank, but there’s a day in between events, where nothing happens and he’s not needed for the sake of the universe and he takes it. And when Charles and Hank ask where he’s going, he just tells them he has someone he needs to see.
Honestly it’s a little too easy to find you. And it’s just as easy to get you all folded up in the back of the Buick, his cock sheathed inside you with your heels scraping the roof, head nearly hitting the car window with each thrust. He was always too good at getting you right where he wanted. You didn’t even know each other yet, no, you and Logan don’t meet for at least five more years, but you’re younger and just a bit sluttier and you’re not exactly banging your hands on his chest after he asks to take you out back after an hour of laying it on heavy at the bar you were working at.
“Look at you, baby, so fucking pretty—mmph—and all for me, isn’t that right?” You nod quickly, skin sheening with sweat, clawing at his shoulders while you’re absolutely gushing around his cock. You might have been embarrassed putting out so easily if every word coming out of his mouth didn’t send a warm tingle down to your cunt.
Your ankles bob on either side of his head where he’s got his eyes craned down to look at where he’s pushing in and out of you, like he’s mesmerized. He pulls out half way, then pushes in half way, just to fuck with you—at least that’s what you think. You have no idea how much he’s savoring the sight of your pussy wrapping around him, how twitchy and pretty she is. He laughs when you writhe and buck beaneath him, but he’s got your hips pinned down to the seat, and god this guy is fucking strong. He growls—fucking growls—when he finally bottoms out, and he looks at you like he could absolutely eat you alive, “So perfect for me, just wanna feel good don’t you, sweetheart?”
It’s hard to answer, especially since he’s sinking over you now, bringing your legs with him, ankles on his shoulders while he’s leaning over you driving even deeper than before. The tinge of pain of being nearly entirely folded in half is lost in every thrust that knock’s repeatedly into the soft spongy spot inside you. His breath fans over your face, and you think he might kiss you but he just looks at you, and then turns his head to kiss the side of your ankle, “Sorry sweetheart,” he groans, “If I kiss you—mmh—there’s no way in hell I’m leaving ya.”
You think to ask what he means, but then he’s got a thumb on your clit and his cock is shoving impossibly deeper, and every one of your thoughts is immediately leaving your pretty little head.
MINORS DNI
NOTES: fuck me Logan PLEASE. As always, I need him, so! Very short as always
WARNINGS: car sex, nicknames, Logan knows who you are before the deed but you don’t, getting folded in half by Logan (hope ur flexible), porn (technically) no plot?
Dofp!Logan is coming to find you the second he gets to his young selfs body. Okay, maybe not the second, he does still have to get Charles and Hank, but there’s a day in between events, where nothing happens and he’s not needed for the sake of the universe and he takes it. And when Charles and Hank ask where he’s going, he just tells them he has someone he needs to see.
Honestly it’s a little too easy to find you. And it’s just as easy to get you all folded up in the back of the Buick, his cock sheathed inside you with your heels scraping the roof, head nearly hitting the car window with each thrust. He was always too good at getting you right where he wanted. You didn’t even know each other yet, no, you and Logan don’t meet for at least five more years, but you’re younger and just a bit sluttier and you’re not exactly banging your hands on his chest after he asks to take you out back after an hour of laying it on heavy at the bar you were working at.
“Look at you, baby, so fucking pretty—mmph—and all for me, isn’t that right?” You nod quickly, skin sheening with sweat, clawing at his shoulders while you’re absolutely gushing around his cock. You might have been embarrassed putting out so easily if every word coming out of his mouth didn’t send a warm tingle down to your cunt.
Your ankles bob on either side of his head where he’s got his eyes craned down to look at where he’s pushing in and out of you, like he’s mesmerized. He pulls out half way, then pushes in half way, just to fuck with you—at least that’s what you think. You have no idea how much he’s savoring the sight of your pussy wrapping around him, how twitchy and pretty she is. He laughs when you writhe and buck beaneath him, but he’s got your hips pinned down to the seat, and god this guy is fucking strong. He growls—fucking growls—when he finally bottoms out, and he looks at you like he could absolutely eat you alive, “So perfect for me, just wanna feel good don’t you, sweetheart?”
It’s hard to answer, especially since he’s sinking over you now, bringing your legs with him, ankles on his shoulders while he’s leaning over you driving even deeper than before. The tinge of pain of being nearly entirely folded in half is lost in every thrust that knock’s repeatedly into the soft spongy spot inside you. His breath fans over your face, and you think he might kiss you but he just looks at you, and then turns his head to kiss the side of your ankle, “Sorry sweetheart,” he groans, “If I kiss you—mmh—there’s no way in hell I’m leaving ya.”
You think to ask what he means, but then he’s got a thumb on your clit and his cock is shoving impossibly deeper, and every one of your thoughts is immediately leaving your pretty little head.
PLEAASSEE WRITE FOR LOGAN MORE U AINT EVER MISS 🗣️🗣️🗣️
𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐱
⬩ pairing(s) logan "wolverine" howlett x mutant!female!reader
⬩ warning(s) language, sparring/fighting, a little bit of plot, a super teeny tiny bit of angst, smut, dirty talking, masturbation (mentioned), competency!kink (aka logan liking someone that can beat him in a fight), penetrative sex (p in v), bodily fluids (mentioned), rough(ish) sex, no pussy eating but logan is still a munch, no protection (wrap irl pls), yearning!logan, hold the moan vibes, female anatomy/pronouns are used. minors dni/+18!
⬩ author's note imposter syndrome set in but we're posting anyway because the love for logan is real! not sure how i did with his character but it's okay because this is fiction :) dedicating this to @joannasteez @rae-gar-targaryen @heavenbarnes @kyletogaz and anyone else who needs logan howlett as badly as i do. reader's powers are sort of explained but pretty vague so you can imagine whatever you want outside of what's mentioned in the fic. more logan coming soon and i hope you enjoy <3
⬩ word count 3.9k
Six months. Six months ago you’d started as the new counselor. Six months, and Logan can’t get you out of his head.
Extraordinary was the word the Headmaster had used. Logan thought it was just Charles being Charles when he’d introduced you as such, though he soon finds his boss was correct. Understating, even.
The realization comes on your sixth day of employment. Ororo, Logan’s usual training partner and woman who could double as Mother Nature, was a few hours east with Jean and Scott. This left Logan to skip for the day and settle for a good run instead. Well, that was his plan until he catches you on your way to the gym.
He doesn’t mean to stare but fuck. The leggings you’re sporting could bring even the strongest mutants to tears. In his haze, the man forgets that you can spot him and probably already have as he attempts to follow you. You’re hearing is as good as his, if not better, and your super acute senses are just that–super and acute. Hell, you’re ability to feel what others have to search hard for is one of the reasons Charles hired you in the first place.
Logan knows he’s caught when you’re already laughing quietly to yourself upon his entry to the gym. The room would be empty if not for the two of you and he couldn’t feel luckier.
“Just wanted to make sure you got to where you were going.” It’s a lie and a bad one, but your ass in those pants has his head too fogged to think of anything better. “Easy to get lost in this place. Lotta rooms.”
You hum at Logan’s words, already knowing that he knows you aren’t buying it. “I appreciate that. Had a couple hours free, so I thought I’d check this place out. Gotta keep up with the rest of you guys, somehow.”
Logan’s eyebrows accidentally raise, and you tilt your head at him.
“Why the face?”
Shit. Shaking his head, Logan comes to join you where you stand on the large sparring mat in the middle of the room. Soon enough, he gives in. No point in lying if he’s already fibbed once.
“...just didn’t think a school counselor would be into that kinda thing.”
“And what makes you say that?”
Logan huffs out something similar to a laugh, as your rebuttal came quicker than he was expecting. He can see the gears in your head working and the smile threatening to break out, but it can’t be for what he’s thinking, right?
“I just–”
Only the two words slip from his lips before you charge in his direction. He catches on fast enough to counter the leg you try and slip around his, but can’t catch himself when you shove him into the mat from behind.
Logan crashes to his hands and knees, stunned. He whips his head to you from his place on the ground, face reading what the fuck? The way you stand over him with a pleased look doesn’t give him a chance to be angry, however. In a matter of a few short seconds, the man’s shaking with an unexpected round of laughter.
“Well, fuck,” he exhales, finally standing with an impressed grin. “That’s one way to prove a guy wrong.”
Your shrug is interrupted by a pouncing Logan, who carries out the move you tried to execute to near perfection, causing your back to hit the mat with a short thud. When you blink yourself back to reality, you’re met with him dangling over you. Not that you really got any chance, but it’s his turn to gloat.
“Gotta sweep both legs, not just swipe at one.”
You roll your eyes, taking the outstretched hand he offers to help you up. Logan sniffs at the flame that shoots through his hand.
That’s how the next hour goes. One of you attacks, the other counters. Never with any true malice behind any of your intentions, but that’s not to say either of you don’t try to knock the wind out of each other once or twice. All of it is in good fun, concluding with the both of you panting atop the mat with matching grins.
“You’re good… and fast,” Logan sighs after catching his breath. “Where’d you learn how to fight like that?”
“...where we all did; surviving in a world that doesn’t like us very much.”
When you don’t tell him any more than that, he leaves it alone. You’ll tell him one day. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. He’s the last person to push someone back into memories they’ve obviously tried to forget.
This world is shitty enough. He’s searched enough to know there’s no sense in dipping behind locked doors.
“Same time tomorrow? Assuming Charles doesn’t need someone to save the world.”
Another laugh twitches Logan’s upper body as he peeks over at you. Your skin is damp after all your skillful offense and better defense. His eyes snake down your entire frame and linger for who knows how long. Lower lip sucking into his mouth, he has to flick his gaze back toward the ceiling before his dick can harden any further.
“Sounds like a plan,” Logan replies, hoping you can’t hear the wobble in his voice. You leave him a few minutes later with an aching member he hides all the way back to his room.
This becomes the routine. Once a week, the two of you meet in the gym, spar, and he runs back to his shower to pump one out over your competence. If the count he’s been keeping is right, you’ve got a slight edge on the matches–a fact he’d be surprised with if he didn’t already know the reason behind it.
You’re impossibly enthralling, even more so when you fight, and it really starts fucking with him the better he gets to know you. Like he said before, you’re fast. It keeps him on his toes, on and off the mat. What move will you counter with next? What story do you have for him today? What panties do you wear to keep those leggings so smooth?
Months pass and it gets harder to hide. Logan waits a little longer to push you off when you end up on top of him. His hands linger a little more when he’s pinning you to the mat with a victorious smirk. He stands a little closer when listens to you speak, your voice becoming a siren’s song that invades his mind into the hours past sundown.
Tonight is all the same, and as usual, a soda in the kitchen at midnight does nothing to help his attempts to sleep.
What that man would do for a cold beer.
He sits by himself at the counter, rubbing his eyes in half annoyance, half worked up. You had sparred with the man five days ago, and he’s still stuck on the move that made him tap out. Something with your thighs wrapped around his neck and squeezing until he smacks the mat. That evening, he rushed through dinner to finish grading exams before fucking one of his pillows for half the night.
Logan’s thrusted out of his daydream at the distant sound of footsteps, recognizing them instantly. He leaves his stool with an embarrassing swiftness but is able to collect himself as he travels through the mansion. The sound of your calming pitters is followed by Logan with ease, and the man finds his prize in record time.
“So it’s not just the kids that don’t get enough rest around here.”
God, it takes everything within Logan not to smile smugly at the way you pause and spin. Finally, you’re the one caught off guard for a change. It’s nice, the way you hide your squirm with a clearing of your throat and a tiny grin. You had to have heard him coming, so why the nerves?
“Hard thing to do when the mind’s always on.” The words come with a shrug that causes the straps of your loose tank to slip off one of your shoulders. Logan swallows at the sight of the skin, sucking in a quiet breath to keep an embarrassing noise from slipping from his lips. What would you think if he’d told you he’d dream about kissing that very spot? Inhaling against and sucking on it after at whatever time of day you’ll allow in whatever room you wish.
“And the mind’s a hard thing to turn off for people like us.” Logan eases to you, even steps echoing in the otherwise empty hallway. With a tilted head and barely-hooded eyes, the man’s growing somewhat drunk just off the smell of you. The thought of a good drink is somewhere else. It’s long gone as he breathes in your scent as deep as he can before continuing. “What’s keeping you up tonight?”
Logan waits patiently while you think. The subtle tick of your eyes to the right as you rack your brain is almost as stunning as when you glance back at him before dragging your gaze down to the crotch of his jeans.
“You don’t really sleep in those, do you?”
You haven’t moved your eyes. Why haven’t you moved your eyes?
Logan huffs out of astonishment more than anything, cocking one of his hips to the side. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before having to bite the same spot to keep his chuckle down.
“My, uh,” he grins a little. “My jeans are why you can’t sleep?
Logan swallows when you finally look back at his face. You stare something wrong into his soul, something he feels in the smallest divots of his otherworldly joints, in the very meaning of his existence. He doesn’t realize he’s drifted even closer until the heat of you raises the hairs on the back of his neck. The mutant stares at you, into you, a slight sway leaning his body to hang even closer to yours.
“It’s… what’s under them that has me wandering the halls.”
Logan’s insides jump and twitch and flail as he processes your words. His mouth grows to feel extremely dry, and it seems impossible to say anything back. Somewhere deep down, he eventually finds it.
“Are we finally gonna do this?” Logan’s question hits out hard in the dimness of the hallway. Almost as powerful as the beats his heart pounds, a thudding ardor pulsing right alongside the blood pumping all the way down to his cock. He doesn’t hesitate in the gliding of a tender palm along your sides, hands settling to grip against your waist. He dips his fingertips, pressing into what he desperately wishes was your skin instead of the soft fabric of your shirt. “You finally gonna let me show you what I think about every time you walk into the fuckin’ room? Every time you knock me into that mat?”
There’s a vibration coming off your skin now, one that Logan feels rattle against his bones as your lips part in a slow grin. It doesn’t take more than a nod and soft yes from you to force a low growl from Logan’s throat. He almost sounds it again when you pull away to gather his hand into yours.
Logan studies you the entire journey to your room. It’s the furthest down the hall of all the instructors’ quarters, giving him ample time to dance lingering, heated looks at the way you move; it’s with such grace and attention, though the man knows you give it none. It’s just who you are, the slick moves and cunning ways that have him entranced.
The air inside your room is thick with want. A quiet clunk sounds when Logan shuts the door, his back resting against the wood in a slight lean.
“Nice place,” Logan comments quietly. It looks as put together as he thought it would. Tidy but lived in, and touches of you all over. You accept the compliment with a few strides to where Logan stands, and he welcomes the arms you snake around his neck with an embrace of his own.
“Can I kiss you?”
His badly stoked yearning makes the seconds it takes for you to bob your head seem like an eternity. The time it takes to kiss you, however, is second to none. Your faces sink together, tongues too impatient to wait before they meld together in a deep kiss. A moan slips from you, Logan drinking it with a groan of his own.
Logan drags his lips from yours, allowing you to breathe but only for a moment as he trails kisses down your jawline. His world glows golden when he finally makes it to your shoulder. The spot he’s wanted to feel against his lips oh so badly. He nips at and moans lowly against it, raising a round of goosebumps he can feel erupt across you. He’s doing that. He’s the one causing you to shiver like this, and it’s going to drive him crazy.
Logan snogs you the entire way to your bed, pushing you onto the mattress with a gentle flop.
“Off,” he commands, ripping off his tank in the blink of an eye before rushing to unbuckle his belt. “All of it.”
The two of you move quickly, ripping off shirts and slipping off bottoms in a single move. Your desperation forbids any kind of teasing, the two of you completely naked when Logan clambers on top of you. His cock noticeably twitches when it brushes against the skin of your stomach, but Logan’s too busy being slack-jawed as he stares down at you.
He could sob at your tits, and his hand has to tweak one of your nipples on its way down to your soaking lips. Right now, Logan doesn’t focus on taking his time, and you don’t let him. The man dives right in, incapable of waiting when such a ravishing meal like this is laid out like this before him.
A finger glides up your slit and just outside your entrance, collecting your already gathering wetness.
“This all for me?” A gasp spills from you, right into Logan’s mouth. He breathes it down without hesitation, pressing his lips into yours as he slides the drenched pads of his fingers up and down your puffing clit. Your legs try to clench together as the sudden spark that zaps through you, but Logan easily parts them with a single swipe of his knee, keeping you pressed open for him with a little tsk.
All you can do is squeak out a small ahs, a pair of thick fingers rubbing you roughly, while Logan relishes the way your head throws back, mouth parting. Your hand finds its way to his chest, where you clutch his forearm, and squirm underneath him. Another smirk darkens Logan’s face when your writhes forge into determined grinds against his working digits, and he makes sure to burn the image of this into his very core.
“That’s it,” he breathes out. “Use me, baby. Don’t fuckin’ stop ‘til your pussy creams all over my hand.”
Logan could burst at how you do exactly what he said to; you use the fuck out of the hand he has clamped against you, whining and jerking, pussy leaking a devastating amount of your juices out to coat his fingers. He talks you through when your first orgasm ricochets through your body, jolting your limbs and wrenching ill-restrained wails from your lips. Instead of stopping, he hurries to kiss you when you release a particularly loud sound at the overwhelming sensation. Telling you how good you’re being for him. Coming for him so well. You cling to him your entire way down, kissing at his lips and chin lazily as he holds you.
He waits until you return with a heavy breath before removing his hand. You tense at the removal, your shivers quickly decaying when he returns the warmth in the form of his member nudging back against your slit.
The head of his cock presses into you at an infuriating speed, but Logan can’t go any faster. Your center is a mess of wet and clings around Logan with a tautness that makes him pause halfway inside of you. He needs a second, or he’ll cum. Flood you before he gets a chance to feel you come around him first.
A lengthy oh draws from Logan, ending with a punched-out fuck only when his entire cock is entirely submerged inside your hole. He gives you both a moment to adjust, twining an arm under you to press a hand to your back while the other palms itself on your cheek. He clutches you close, testing a few deep strokes that he finds are the right move when you choke out a perfect whine.
Logan’s pace grows gradually, always angling his hips according to whatever makes you clench around him the most. You’re lucky your bed is bolted to the floor when Logan starts bucking with a new snap to his hips, a slick layer of cream appearing and glazing the cock that slips in and out of you.
“Fuckin’ take me,” he heaves above you, just over the slaps of his sopping thrusts. Every grind buries himself deep into your heat, Logan losing himself in the feeling. At this moment, it’s all he’s ever wanted–to rail you until neither of you can’t think straight. Logan’s already there, unable to form a single coherent thought that doesn’t revolve around you. He fucks you well, ignoring the way the muscles in his ass burn nicely every time he plunges himself into you.
Logan can see you staring back up at him, and he’s sure he looks something pitiful. He can feel his eyes trying not to roll back in his head when your body bounces back upwards to meet his thrust. The hair that usually sits perfectly on his forehead sticks to his skin now, and he’s sure that his face is stuck in an expression of pure, fucked out rapture.
“God, you’ve got a pussy on you, dont’cha? Fucking incredible,” Logan murmurs, the fat head of his dribbling cock spearing you open.
A little grin teases at your lips, taking just enough time to catch Logan off guard for you to use your legs to keep him from moving after his next sink inside of you.
“Oh, fuck,” the man shudders, eyes fluttering shut when you kiss him again. His world spins at your rolling over, head hitting the sheets at the way you stuff yourself full of him. Forcing his eyes open, Logan nearly closes them again. The sight and rush of you starting a leisurely rock is enough to inch him closer than he’s ready for.
“Shit, wait.” Even with the hand he squeezes strongly on the cheek of your ass, you keep steady in your grind. “Fucking wait.”
A low, forcing growl thunders through his voice, and he whips forward into a sitting position at a speed that has you seizing to grab at his shoulder. His grip finds the back of your neck, interrupting your gasp to yank your face just inches apart from his.
Your noses brush, eyes studying each other in a thick silence. Unable to help himself, Logan drags you into a long kiss. It steals whatever air is left in your legs, and doesn’t stop when he rolls his cock into you with a bite to your lip. It’s when you match his movements that the hand on your neck moves to the small of your back, helping you along.
“Attagirl. That’s better,” Logan praises between kisses, your hand sneaking under his arms to hook your grasp onto his wide shoulders. Your mouth slicks and pecks against Logan’s, waist easing into an intoxicating whine up and down his cock. “Fuck me, that’s it.”
Logan follows the words with a more forceful knocking of his cock into you, and he’s starting to lose it again. Before you know it, he’s flipped you onto your back once more, and your head almost hangs off the bed with the angle he’s contorted you both into.
Your bodies jerk and hump together with a new vigor. Logan can feel himself dwindling into nothing but a puddle of pitiful moans, eventually having to bury his mouth into the neck to muffle his strangled sobs. They rip from him anyway, vibrating with each flick of his hips.
All you can do is wrap your legs and take it, hanging on the man who’s got you seeing literal fucking stars.
“Fucking cream my cock, bub.”
You don’t have to tell Logan when you’re close. The harsh pulsing of your pussy around his dick alerts him well enough to rail you deeper. Pulling from your neck, Logan rises to watch as you look up at him, a mixture of lust and a hint of panic in your gaze.
“C-cover my mouth, cover my mouth,” you rush out, Logan barely sealing his hand over your lips before you’re falling apart around him. He fucks into you deep as you start to come, palm doing the bare minimum of dampening the long, loud moan that shreds your throat raw. Your hands don’t know what to do with themselves, clenching Logan then the sheets then Logan again while your body sputters under his with rough shakes.
“Such a good fucking girl,” Logan punctuates with matching thrusts, unable to stop his own wave from catching up with him. The first rope of cum spurts inside you when he bottoms out, the last of your peak squeezing him to a stomach-burning clench of his abs as he comes for you. The only thing that leaves his mouth are a slew of curses, all of them groaned with tightly shut eyes and a damp forehead pressing onto yours.
Logan pumps and pumps, removing his hand from your face to keep him from falling as you milk him into nothing but tiny whimpers and flinching aftershocks.
A hard, warm weight begins to sink against you, Logan’s breathing still shaky when you wrap an arm around his back. His cock remains inside you, twitching every now and again, some of his load seeping out of your still-stuffed center.
He doesn’t say anything for a while. He can’t say anything for a while, body feeling as if he’s floating. He can’t remember feeling this loose and free and adoring. He wants to sleep here. Can he sleep here?
“Can I sleep here?” Logan questions, voice hoarse with exhaustion. He smiles lazily at your answer.
“Only if you kiss me again.”
With the little energy he has left, Logan pulls his face to yours. He opts for your jaw first, kissing his way to your chin before planting a final kiss on your lips. This one is different, more careful than the rest. His eyes barely stay open when he retreats, pleased with the picture of your blissed-out expression.
Logan watches you attentively when he finally decides to pull out, his thumb reaching up to stoke at your cheek.
“Shh, shh,” he coos at your light gasp. “I know.”
“Still so big,” you groan quietly, and he shushes you with a peck to your head this time.
“I know, pretty, I know.”
He huffs when his cock falls all the way out, easing to lay next to you. His chest shines, damp, one of his arms folding behind his head while the other maneuvers you into his side. You give in to sleep fast, a cheek pressed into his built peck, and mouth open with steady puffs of warm air against his skin.
Six days, and he was yours. Six months, and you’re his–something certain when he wakes in the early morning to find you already staring back at him with those charming eyes and knowing twinkle.
© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚
big bad wolf
Logan Howlett x fem!reader
a/n: inspired by the fact that Hugh Jackman thought wolverines were just a type of wolf and no one corrected him. Rusty because I haven’t written smut in a while so you guys aren’t allowed to talk any shit. Plus, I’m too much of a wimp to be like extremely explicit, but these prompts ( one, two, three) together were too good to pass up.
SMUT 18+ (my slight monsterfucker tendencies might shine through in this one)
Summary: Logan's told you a million times not to take the path through the woods. You never listen, of course. Now there's a monster on your tail and you're all alone. (part of my Halloween Palooza)
You never should have taken this path. You knew it was going to happen, Logan had warned you, and you still didn’t listen. Now, you’re in the middle of the woods, completely turned around and on the verge of tears. God, why do you never listen?
You put your groceries down and pull out your phone. Through the thick spread of leaves, you get minimal moonlight. You’re surrounded by shifting shadows and rustling undergrowth. Everywhere you turn is a monster waiting to leap out at you.
When you were little you were petrified of the dark. You hated the shapes you saw lurking within it. You’d outgrown that as an adult, but now, you can barely breathe as your eyes dart all around. The childish fear is returned with a vengeance and you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack.
You flip open your phone, squatting on the ground and trying to conserve your body's warmth. The temperature must have dropped twenty degrees since you left the house. Of course, Logan had told you to bring a jacket too. Did you listen? No.
You were only going out to get some chips and dip, you really didn’t think it would take so long. But then you’d got caught up talking to one of your friends and before you knew it, it was pitch black outside. You should have just called Logan at the store, asked him for a ride. Now, you’re staring down at the flickering screen of your flip phone and about to sob as you see the bars disappearing.
“No fucking service, of course,” you hiss and shove the phone back in your pocket. The battery’s nearly dead anyway. You doubt it would have lasted long enough for a phone call. You run a stressed hand over your face, trying to calm your breathing down.
You’re trying to trick yourself into thinking that everything’s okay. That the shadows are just shadows and you’re scared. Then you hear it.
It’s a low noise, something out of your worst nightmares. There’s an immediate spike of adrenaline as an inhuman growl echoes through the night air. You swear you can feel it inside your chest. It rumbles through the animal, bursts through clenched fangs, and makes the hair on your neck stand on end.
You glance over your shoulder, mouth parted in a silent scream. You don’t see anything, you can’t. You just barely make out the branches shifting nearby before you’re leaping to your feet. You almost call out, see whose there, but that feels like the last move every bimbo makes in a horror movie.
So, you do something arguably worse. You abandon your groceries and purse and bolt. Immediately you can hear its pounding footsteps chasing after you. You do scream now, there’s no point in swallowing it down. It’s like the terror is ripping through you, making you stumble over every branch and rock in your path.
You know it's faster than you. You can hear how easily its keeping up its stride behind you. This feels like a game to it. It's just teasing you, dangling freedom in front of its prey before it closes its drooling maw around your neck.
You trip over an enlarged root and go flying forward. Rocks scrape across your arm and you let out a short shriek of pain. The flesh tears easily on the sharp points and the metallic scent of your blood fills the air. It comes to a sudden stop a few feet away from you. There are no thoughts in your head besides the voice screaming at you to RUN!
It tells you to keep running. If you stop it will catch you and it will kill you. This is no longer a product of your imagination. This is real and it is hungry for you. You scramble to your feet, boots slipping along the muddy forest floor. You dig your fingers into the earth, feel the dirt slide under your nails, and launch yourself forward. You nearly flip your feet over your head but you manage to keep yourself steady.
You can’t hear the steps behind you. The beat of your heart pounds through your head, drives you forward, and discombobulates you all the same. Blood rushes so quickly beneath your skin that you can feel your vessels swelling with the warmth of your terror-fueled adrenaline.
You’ve never felt so inferior before, like a rabbit desperately trying to escape the hungry jaws of a wolf. Your legs are moving faster than they ever have, you’re bounding, racing, leaping through the forest. You move through it like you were born in it, anything to escape whatever was following you.
You no longer remember the way home or what home is. You can only focus on right now. You don’t notice the dark shape running alongside you, or how easily it keeps pace. Not until it’s barreling into your side and you go slamming into the ground again. Your head nearly bounces against a rock but something slides underneath it, stopping the impact at the last second.
Something rough grips at your face. You’re still blind, blood rushing so hard beneath your skin, you’re practically blind with panic. You bite down, taste flesh, and hold on until blood rushes into your mouth. The metallic tang of it is like poison against your tongue but you don’t let go.
“Release!” He orders you like a dog. His voice is so thick with anger and hunger that you barely recognize it. But something clicks in your head and you unlock your jaw from his palm. “The fuck have I told you about taking this path?” Again, his voice is so thick with volatile rage that you barely register it.
“Sorry,” you sob out, shoving at his chest and scrambling to sit up. But he keeps you pinned to the ground, one hand clamped tightly around your neck and the other pushing down against your stomach. You can feel something hard against your thigh but you pay it no mind, still struggling to catch your breath.
You take in deep, heaving, gasps of air and the moon shifts overhead. It gives you just enough light to see Logan clearly now. You nearly choke at the sight of his face. His lips are peeled back, sharpened points of teeth causing blood to bead along his lower lips. His beard seems scruffier than normal and there’s a golden glow to his eyes.
“What the fuck?” You stutter out, glaring up at him. You’ve seen him angry before. But you’ve never seen him quite so animalistic. “Logan?” You whisper his name hesitantly and it only makes him look more pissed off. You shrink back, though there’s not far to go with him holding you like this.
His hips shift down and you bite down on your lip so a pathetic whimper doesn’t escape you. His head tilts curiously, gaze raking over your heaving chest and then down to the too-short shorts you’d put on earlier.
He gives you a look of astonished disbelief, “You fuckin’ kidding me?”
The hand on your stomach drifts down to the waistband of your shorts. Your eyes widen when you realize what he’s trying to do. “Logan, wait-” Too late. He rips the shorts down your legs and his eyes widen. The sneer of his lips finally melts away as he sees the clear wet spot in the middle of your underwear.
You don’t even get a chance to defend yourself before he’s gripping your hips and flipping you over. Your hands struggle for purchase on the slippery rock in front of you. You try and glance back at him, but he buries a hand in your hair, tugging harshly, and forcing your face forward.
“Logan, please,” you whine, thoroughly humiliated as he sits behind you, silently examining your battered form. You’d tripped more than you thought while you’d been running from him. The adrenaline has just barely waned enough for you to feel the bruises forming. But he has no sympathy for your plight, if anything your tears seem to egg him on.
“What have I told you about taking this path?” You bite your tongue, a sudden refusal to answer raging forth. He’s got you half-naked on your hands and knees after chasing you through the woods. You shouldn’t have to be scolded like an imbecile on top of that.
He leans over you, the weight of his body pushing forward, your arms strain to keep you both up. You grit your teeth, still keeping your mouth clamped shut. He chuckles, the noise so low you feel it rattling through you rather than hear it. “I could hear you.”
His hand drifts down your bicep, wraps around your front, and rests over your breasts. “Could hear how fast your heart was beating. It’s still about to come out of your chest.” You suck in a sharp breath, keeping yourself from arching into his touch.
His nose lingers against the side of your head, dipping towards your neck and inhaling deeply. Your face wrinkles in confusion as he practically smells you. “I can smell how terrified you were.” His hand suddenly jerks your head back and you can’t help but yelp. There’s a smirk on his lips as he finally gets a noise from you.
You can feel the desire practically dripping down your thighs at this point. All you can think about is how powerful he is. How hungry he is for you. You want him to devour you, completely wreck you.
He releases you and without his support, you slump forward, neck bowing awkwardly. You try and right yourself but one of his hands grips your neck so tight you can feel the blood rushing up into your face. He pins you there and the only warning you have of what he’s about to do is the sound of his belt buckle coming undone.
He thrusts into you and your jaw drops. You inhale the dirt beneath you and it tastes remarkably like blood. He pushes your cheek further into the ground and you grunt as tiny little pebbles have their taste of your flesh.
Had you not been so wet, you doubt you would have enjoyed a second of this. But, because his chasing you down like something feral made you more aroused than you have been in months, you let out a pathetic moan beneath him. It borders on the thin line between pain and pleasure. But each rough thrust inside you blurs the line until they’re indiscernible from one another.
Your fists curl up, mud sticking in the lines of your palm as he takes you like you’re nothing more than a toy. You shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t like how used you feel. But you relish it. Relish in how crazy you make him, to the point that he’d lose his mind and use you like this.
He’s like a fucking animal. Taking what he wants from you with no concern or care to whether you like it or not. He’s panting and grunting behind you, you don’t understand the insults spewing from his mouth because there’s blood rushing in your ears and you feel like you might pass out.
The adrenaline and residual terror from earlier are building into one explosive moment inside you. Your fingers tremble with it, your limbs burn from the volatile feeling and you can’t help the noises being forced out of you. It doesn’t take much longer for you to combust.
Pleasure rushes through you, makes you numb to the world around you. A dulled tickling feeling rushes through every part of you. Your arms go limp and he’s quick to wrap a hand around your waist, keeping you upright. He presses into your lower back, arching it until he’s hitting the spot inside you that causes aftershocks of painful pleasure.
Your core throbs as you pulse around him. Sucking him deeper until his hips come to an erratic stop and he spills inside you. You keep your forehead pressed to the cool earth beneath you. You never actually managed to catch your breath before and now it just feels like you’re five seconds away from hyperventilating.
A soothing hand runs up and down your spine, he curls around you and helps you to sit up. His voice is a low whisper, “You alright?”
You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and giving him a shaky nod. He laughs and pulls you to stand up. Your legs were limp from running earlier, now they’re practically boneless. He keeps you propped against him and pulls your shorts back up.
He buttons his jeans and straightens. His eyes narrow as he glares down at you. He cups your chin, tilting your head to examine the scratches on your cheeks and tutting at you. His fingers tighten to the point of pain and he jerks your face up to meet his eyes. “You gonna come down this path again?”
After that, yes. You completely would. He sees the look on your face and rolls his eyes. He leans down, tossing you over his shoulder and groaning. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“You like it,” you taunt, tugging at his shirt for balance.
He shakes his head but you know he’s smiling. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Same time next week?” You tease as he goes back for your groceries and purse.
“Don’t push it,” he snaps.
end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡
Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte
@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allllium @insomniachox @izbelross ♡
big bad wolf
Logan Howlett x fem!reader
a/n: inspired by the fact that Hugh Jackman thought wolverines were just a type of wolf and no one corrected him. Rusty because I haven’t written smut in a while so you guys aren’t allowed to talk any shit. Plus, I’m too much of a wimp to be like extremely explicit, but these prompts ( one, two, three) together were too good to pass up.
SMUT 18+ (my slight monsterfucker tendencies might shine through in this one)
Summary: Logan's told you a million times not to take the path through the woods. You never listen, of course. Now there's a monster on your tail and you're all alone. (part of my Halloween Palooza)
You never should have taken this path. You knew it was going to happen, Logan had warned you, and you still didn’t listen. Now, you’re in the middle of the woods, completely turned around and on the verge of tears. God, why do you never listen?
You put your groceries down and pull out your phone. Through the thick spread of leaves, you get minimal moonlight. You’re surrounded by shifting shadows and rustling undergrowth. Everywhere you turn is a monster waiting to leap out at you.
When you were little you were petrified of the dark. You hated the shapes you saw lurking within it. You’d outgrown that as an adult, but now, you can barely breathe as your eyes dart all around. The childish fear is returned with a vengeance and you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack.
You flip open your phone, squatting on the ground and trying to conserve your body's warmth. The temperature must have dropped twenty degrees since you left the house. Of course, Logan had told you to bring a jacket too. Did you listen? No.
You were only going out to get some chips and dip, you really didn’t think it would take so long. But then you’d got caught up talking to one of your friends and before you knew it, it was pitch black outside. You should have just called Logan at the store, asked him for a ride. Now, you’re staring down at the flickering screen of your flip phone and about to sob as you see the bars disappearing.
“No fucking service, of course,” you hiss and shove the phone back in your pocket. The battery’s nearly dead anyway. You doubt it would have lasted long enough for a phone call. You run a stressed hand over your face, trying to calm your breathing down.
You’re trying to trick yourself into thinking that everything’s okay. That the shadows are just shadows and you’re scared. Then you hear it.
It’s a low noise, something out of your worst nightmares. There’s an immediate spike of adrenaline as an inhuman growl echoes through the night air. You swear you can feel it inside your chest. It rumbles through the animal, bursts through clenched fangs, and makes the hair on your neck stand on end.
You glance over your shoulder, mouth parted in a silent scream. You don’t see anything, you can’t. You just barely make out the branches shifting nearby before you’re leaping to your feet. You almost call out, see whose there, but that feels like the last move every bimbo makes in a horror movie.
So, you do something arguably worse. You abandon your groceries and purse and bolt. Immediately you can hear its pounding footsteps chasing after you. You do scream now, there’s no point in swallowing it down. It’s like the terror is ripping through you, making you stumble over every branch and rock in your path.
You know it's faster than you. You can hear how easily its keeping up its stride behind you. This feels like a game to it. It's just teasing you, dangling freedom in front of its prey before it closes its drooling maw around your neck.
You trip over an enlarged root and go flying forward. Rocks scrape across your arm and you let out a short shriek of pain. The flesh tears easily on the sharp points and the metallic scent of your blood fills the air. It comes to a sudden stop a few feet away from you. There are no thoughts in your head besides the voice screaming at you to RUN!
It tells you to keep running. If you stop it will catch you and it will kill you. This is no longer a product of your imagination. This is real and it is hungry for you. You scramble to your feet, boots slipping along the muddy forest floor. You dig your fingers into the earth, feel the dirt slide under your nails, and launch yourself forward. You nearly flip your feet over your head but you manage to keep yourself steady.
You can’t hear the steps behind you. The beat of your heart pounds through your head, drives you forward, and discombobulates you all the same. Blood rushes so quickly beneath your skin that you can feel your vessels swelling with the warmth of your terror-fueled adrenaline.
You’ve never felt so inferior before, like a rabbit desperately trying to escape the hungry jaws of a wolf. Your legs are moving faster than they ever have, you’re bounding, racing, leaping through the forest. You move through it like you were born in it, anything to escape whatever was following you.
You no longer remember the way home or what home is. You can only focus on right now. You don’t notice the dark shape running alongside you, or how easily it keeps pace. Not until it’s barreling into your side and you go slamming into the ground again. Your head nearly bounces against a rock but something slides underneath it, stopping the impact at the last second.
Something rough grips at your face. You’re still blind, blood rushing so hard beneath your skin, you’re practically blind with panic. You bite down, taste flesh, and hold on until blood rushes into your mouth. The metallic tang of it is like poison against your tongue but you don’t let go.
“Release!” He orders you like a dog. His voice is so thick with anger and hunger that you barely recognize it. But something clicks in your head and you unlock your jaw from his palm. “The fuck have I told you about taking this path?” Again, his voice is so thick with volatile rage that you barely register it.
“Sorry,” you sob out, shoving at his chest and scrambling to sit up. But he keeps you pinned to the ground, one hand clamped tightly around your neck and the other pushing down against your stomach. You can feel something hard against your thigh but you pay it no mind, still struggling to catch your breath.
You take in deep, heaving, gasps of air and the moon shifts overhead. It gives you just enough light to see Logan clearly now. You nearly choke at the sight of his face. His lips are peeled back, sharpened points of teeth causing blood to bead along his lower lips. His beard seems scruffier than normal and there’s a golden glow to his eyes.
“What the fuck?” You stutter out, glaring up at him. You’ve seen him angry before. But you’ve never seen him quite so animalistic. “Logan?” You whisper his name hesitantly and it only makes him look more pissed off. You shrink back, though there’s not far to go with him holding you like this.
His hips shift down and you bite down on your lip so a pathetic whimper doesn’t escape you. His head tilts curiously, gaze raking over your heaving chest and then down to the too-short shorts you’d put on earlier.
He gives you a look of astonished disbelief, “You fuckin’ kidding me?”
The hand on your stomach drifts down to the waistband of your shorts. Your eyes widen when you realize what he’s trying to do. “Logan, wait-” Too late. He rips the shorts down your legs and his eyes widen. The sneer of his lips finally melts away as he sees the clear wet spot in the middle of your underwear.
You don’t even get a chance to defend yourself before he’s gripping your hips and flipping you over. Your hands struggle for purchase on the slippery rock in front of you. You try and glance back at him, but he buries a hand in your hair, tugging harshly, and forcing your face forward.
“Logan, please,” you whine, thoroughly humiliated as he sits behind you, silently examining your battered form. You’d tripped more than you thought while you’d been running from him. The adrenaline has just barely waned enough for you to feel the bruises forming. But he has no sympathy for your plight, if anything your tears seem to egg him on.
“What have I told you about taking this path?” You bite your tongue, a sudden refusal to answer raging forth. He’s got you half-naked on your hands and knees after chasing you through the woods. You shouldn’t have to be scolded like an imbecile on top of that.
He leans over you, the weight of his body pushing forward, your arms strain to keep you both up. You grit your teeth, still keeping your mouth clamped shut. He chuckles, the noise so low you feel it rattling through you rather than hear it. “I could hear you.”
His hand drifts down your bicep, wraps around your front, and rests over your breasts. “Could hear how fast your heart was beating. It’s still about to come out of your chest.” You suck in a sharp breath, keeping yourself from arching into his touch.
His nose lingers against the side of your head, dipping towards your neck and inhaling deeply. Your face wrinkles in confusion as he practically smells you. “I can smell how terrified you were.” His hand suddenly jerks your head back and you can’t help but yelp. There’s a smirk on his lips as he finally gets a noise from you.
You can feel the desire practically dripping down your thighs at this point. All you can think about is how powerful he is. How hungry he is for you. You want him to devour you, completely wreck you.
He releases you and without his support, you slump forward, neck bowing awkwardly. You try and right yourself but one of his hands grips your neck so tight you can feel the blood rushing up into your face. He pins you there and the only warning you have of what he’s about to do is the sound of his belt buckle coming undone.
He thrusts into you and your jaw drops. You inhale the dirt beneath you and it tastes remarkably like blood. He pushes your cheek further into the ground and you grunt as tiny little pebbles have their taste of your flesh.
Had you not been so wet, you doubt you would have enjoyed a second of this. But, because his chasing you down like something feral made you more aroused than you have been in months, you let out a pathetic moan beneath him. It borders on the thin line between pain and pleasure. But each rough thrust inside you blurs the line until they’re indiscernible from one another.
Your fists curl up, mud sticking in the lines of your palm as he takes you like you’re nothing more than a toy. You shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t like how used you feel. But you relish it. Relish in how crazy you make him, to the point that he’d lose his mind and use you like this.
He’s like a fucking animal. Taking what he wants from you with no concern or care to whether you like it or not. He’s panting and grunting behind you, you don’t understand the insults spewing from his mouth because there’s blood rushing in your ears and you feel like you might pass out.
The adrenaline and residual terror from earlier are building into one explosive moment inside you. Your fingers tremble with it, your limbs burn from the volatile feeling and you can’t help the noises being forced out of you. It doesn’t take much longer for you to combust.
Pleasure rushes through you, makes you numb to the world around you. A dulled tickling feeling rushes through every part of you. Your arms go limp and he’s quick to wrap a hand around your waist, keeping you upright. He presses into your lower back, arching it until he’s hitting the spot inside you that causes aftershocks of painful pleasure.
Your core throbs as you pulse around him. Sucking him deeper until his hips come to an erratic stop and he spills inside you. You keep your forehead pressed to the cool earth beneath you. You never actually managed to catch your breath before and now it just feels like you’re five seconds away from hyperventilating.
A soothing hand runs up and down your spine, he curls around you and helps you to sit up. His voice is a low whisper, “You alright?”
You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and giving him a shaky nod. He laughs and pulls you to stand up. Your legs were limp from running earlier, now they’re practically boneless. He keeps you propped against him and pulls your shorts back up.
He buttons his jeans and straightens. His eyes narrow as he glares down at you. He cups your chin, tilting your head to examine the scratches on your cheeks and tutting at you. His fingers tighten to the point of pain and he jerks your face up to meet his eyes. “You gonna come down this path again?”
After that, yes. You completely would. He sees the look on your face and rolls his eyes. He leans down, tossing you over his shoulder and groaning. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“You like it,” you taunt, tugging at his shirt for balance.
He shakes his head but you know he’s smiling. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Same time next week?” You tease as he goes back for your groceries and purse.
“Don’t push it,” he snaps.
end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡
Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte
@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allllium @insomniachox @izbelross ♡
forgotten promises
pt two of broken promises (I know I'm so creative with names)
bodyguard!logan howlett x fem!runaway reader
a/n: SMUT 18+ MDNI they, like, never use protection (don't be silly, sheathe your willy) but I’d like to make it 100% clear now that she has a magic uterus and there will be absolutely NO baby-making. Just rocking unprotected sex 😎👍 If you’re tagged in this, it does not mean that I am permanently adding you to my taglist. It just means I saw you in my comments/reblogs/inbox asking for a part two and this was the easiest way to let you know I made one. If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask. Summary: Life on the road isn't exactly glamorous. Cramped spaces and too many cheap motels have you and Logan at each other's throats. You feel eyes tracking you everywhere you go but you're afraid to tell him, afraid it will be the end of the road for the both of you. One cheap bar and an explosion later and your whole life is flipped upside down.
“What are you doing?”
You glance over Logan’s shoulder at the register. The man behind it isn’t looking at either of you, just disinterestedly scrolling through his phone.
“Isn’t this what you do?” You ask, motioning to the pack of beef jerky you’re stuffing down your jacket.
Logan scoffs and shakes his head. “No, kid.” He takes the bag from you and rolls his eyes.
“Well, then how do you pay for this stuff?”
“Normally, with the money I get from my jobs. But your dad wasn’t too forthcoming with my last paycheck.”
You feel that familiar burning churn of guilt roiling around in your gut. You’ve definitely added another complication to his life and it makes you feel like nothing more than a burden sometimes. “Oh, Logan, I’m sorry.”
Logan glances down at you. He gives you that familiar appeasing look, squeezing you closer, and drags you towards the register. He tosses the snacks and drinks onto the counter. The guy just barely glances up at you both.
“Will that be all?” He asks in a tone that says he could care less.
“Yeah,” you answer, eyes drifting towards the magazine rack. Your face is plastered on the cover of a cheap tabloid.
LOCAL POLITICIANS DAUGHTER STILL MISSING
Exclusive interview with family on PG. 6
Your eyes go wide and you turn your face further into Logan’s chest. He gives you a confused look before his eyes are snagged by the same thing that caught your attention.
“Why don’t you go wait in the truck?” You nod and slip out of his hold, being mindful to keep your face away from the security camera near the front.
That keeps happening. You hadn’t thought you would have made news, but your father was making this a part of his campaign. Claiming you’d been taken by a mutant bodyguard and that he’s been praying for your safe return. “Experts” have been claiming that with no ransom demanded you’re being turned into a message for anyone who goes against mutants.
Now, mutants despise you and everyone else thinks you’re a martyr. In a few years, you’re sure you’ll be turned into some true crime documentary where people you’ve never met before are crying over your disappearance.
You slide into the truck and let out a deep sigh. You’d thought running away would be freeing. But even a hundred miles from him, you can still feel the cold grip of your father’s hand around your throat.
“Twenty on pump seven,” Logan tosses the cash on the counter, eyes drifting to you in the truck. It was instinct at this point, always keeping an eye on you. Especially since one of your father’s more fanatic supporters had spotted you in a shitty diner a week ago. They’d called the cops and tried to bar you and Logan from leaving.
It hadn’t gone over well for him.
He’d been trying to keep you a little more hidden since then, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d gotten you out of that house to show you what real life was like, to give you a taste of freedom.
He felt like he was no better than your father, keeping you cooped up and covered constantly.
When the kid in front of him doesn’t say anything, Logan clears his throat. He gives him a quizzical look but the boy’s eyes are stuck on the door.
“I swear I know her,” he mutters. Logan’s eyes drift towards the TV behind the counter and he sees an old news story of you. They’re using the footage of the acid attack, claiming you’ve always been the mutant movement’s target.
“Can I get twenty on pump seven,” Logan repeats, voice firm. The kid finally looks at him and whatever expression Logan is wearing is enough for him to finally start moving.
The second the receipt is in his hand he’s rushing out the door. He doesn’t know how long it’s going to take that dumbass to piece two and two together but he can’t risk dawdling.
He fills the tank up, eyes scanning the gas station the entire time. He’s had a cloying sense of paranoia ever since the incident in the diner. He knows that at some point this little run of yours is going to come to an end.
He doesn’t know if it’ll end with cops finding the two of you. Or if you’re going to realize the real world isn’t all that fun and leave him behind. He knows that a girl like you, one who's used to the finer things, is never going to be satisfied by the life he can offer.
But he’s hoping that you come to your senses later rather than sooner. He’s enjoying traveling with you a lot more than he wants to admit.
He gets in the truck, starts it up, and glances over at you. You smile, the smile that makes him feel things he doesn’t like admitting to himself or you.
“All good?” You ask.
He nods, driving off without a word because he doesn’t want to tell you the truth. Doesn’t want to admit what you both know to be a fact. The time you have together has an expiration date and he’s worried it’s creeping closer.
Logan’s inside some shitty roadside motel. Whatever he’s talking about with the owner is clearly getting heated. You can see the way the anger’s growing on his face. His body is tensed up and he looks like he’s five seconds away from leaping over the counter and taking the greasy man leering at him down.
There’s a final word exchanged between them and then Logan is storming back towards the truck. He slams the door closed so hard you’re surprised the windows don’t shatter. Normally, you sleep in the trailer. It’s not always the warmest or coziest, but you make it work.
It’s too cold out tonight to do that and Logan doesn’t have a spare tank for the heating. He’d thought he’d had enough for a cheap room for tonight, but clearly, he doesn’t. There’s a tense silence in the truck as you mentally debate saying anything to him.
His fists are wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel you can hear it creaking. You shift, sitting up straighter in your seat and uncurling your legs. There’s a stiffness to your joints that has you groaning. It’s involuntary, ripped out of you simply because you’ve been sitting for too long.
It catches Logan’s attention and he glances over at you. There’s a resigned sort of guilt on his face and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. He’s used to this type of lifestyle, and sometimes you think he’s embarrassed to share it with you.
You’d never judge him for roadside motels or living off cheap gas station meals. You know you were privileged living up with the wealth you did. But there is something infinitely more satisfying about being poor and happy than there ever was being rich and miserable.
“Look, kid,” he lets out a heavy sigh and you mentally prepare yourself for what you’ve been expecting. You were a fun time, a nice ride, but you’re becoming a burden and he can’t deal with it anymore.
You let your nails dig into the thin skin of your palms so you can attempt to ground yourself. “I need to make some money tonight, so I just need you to bear with me for a while.”
Like there is every time he doesn’t boot you to the curb, a relieved rush of air expels from your chest almost violently. “Okay,” you say tentatively, the word dragging out while you try and understand his meaning.
“I just,” he stops and it looks like he’s struggling to find the words to say to you. You wait patiently for him to finish, or try to at least. “There’s a bar nearby. I’ll find some work there,” his words are ominous. They give you nothing and convey so much.
Clearly, he’s hiding something from you. You can tell that much from the way he’s avoiding eye contact with you. He pulls out of the motel’s parking lot and turns the radio on. You’ve learned that's his way of telling you he doesn’t want to talk without being a dick about it.
You want to respect his space because you still feel like an imposter. But it’s hard. He’s being oddly cagey about this.
The drive is short but it feels like you’ve been transported to an entirely different town than the one you were in before. He takes only backroads and middle-class homes turn into shady shops with barbed fences. Caged dogs bark at the truck as it drives by and you get a sinking feeling in your gut.
Perhaps it’s a little classist of you to automatically assume a few low-end homes equate to a bad neighborhood. But instinctually you know something is off about this place.
He parks in front of a run-down bar. Even from here, you can hear loud shouts and jeering coming from inside. You don’t know what’s being said but they’re certainly passionate. Logan turns towards you, the expression on his face so serious you feel like you’re about to be scolded.
“I need you to stay here. I won’t be gone long, just an hour at most. But you need to stay in the truck.”
Your jaw gapes and you scoff at him. “Logan, an hour that’s rid-”
He cuts you off with a stern call of your name. Your mouth snaps shut and you narrow your eyes at him, teeth gritting together to keep your tongue at bay. “Stay here, I mean it. Got it?”
You nod and he repeats your name, sounding aggrieved. “Fine,” you huff. “I got it.” He lingers for a moment. You don’t know if he doesn’t trust you or is just reluctant to leave you alone. You’re reluctant to be left alone, especially in a shady dark parking lot like this. But clearly whatever is going on inside is worse than whatever could happen to you out here.
“I’ll be back soon,” he makes this whole thing sound so grave. It makes your brows furrow and doubt churn in your gut. What could he be doing in there that’s so awful?
He gets out and you watch his form under the flickering street lamps until you can’t see him anymore. You sit quietly in the truck for at least three minutes before you already feel the boredom set in.
You’d thought you’d be able to last longer. You used to go for hours dissociating at your father’s galas. This is different, though. You’re a little afraid to let your guard down here.
You try to listen to music but you feel bad wasting his gas so you just turn the truck off and huddle under a blanket in the trailer. You try and let yourself fall asleep but you don’t last long.
It’s too cold outside to really get a good rest and you can hear people moving around outside the trailer. After about an hour of rolling around and frozen limbs, you figure enough is enough.
As much as you don’t want to provoke Logan or give him any reason to get rid of you, you can’t stay in here all night. Besides, Logan said he wouldn’t be long, you can always just lie and say you were worried about him.
Satisfied with your excuse you leave the comfort of your blanket behind and slip into Logan’s jacket. You tuck the truck keys in your pocket and walk out into the snowy night. It’s less cold outside than it was in the trailer, you can see why he wanted a motel room for the night.
A few people linger by the cars, smoking and muttering to themselves. You slip past them, ignoring the feeling of their eyes burning into your skin. You’re sure it's because you look like you don’t belong here.
The noise in the bar gets louder the closer you get and it reminds you of the night Logan had snuck you out of the house. But you’d had him to lean on, right now, until you find him, you’re on your own. For all the noise coming from the building, the bar is surprisingly empty.
Only a few old men are sitting around, drinking beers in silence. The bartender cleans glasses behind the counter, sparing you an odd look before getting back to work. There’s not very far for you to look before you figure out that Logan isn’t anywhere nearby.
“Excuse me?” The bartender spares you a fleeting glance before barely grunting in greeting.
The floor underneath you tremors and you glance down at it in surprise. You can hear something going on underneath. You figure that has to be where all the noises are coming from. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, mean as hell, he’s got this hair,” you swoop your hands up by the sides of your head, trying to mimic the odd fluff of Logan’s hair.
“Downstairs.” You nod and move around the bar, trying to get to the door behind him. He reaches out, grabbing your bicep and stopping you before you can get far. “It's a forty-dollar entrance fee, sweetheart.”
Your brow furrows in confusion and you frown as you dig around in your jacket pockets. You’ve come too far to be deterred now. Ignoring the moral implications, you slip Logan’s wallet out of his jacket and give the man forty dollars.
He nods towards the door and you give him a weak thank you as you slip past him. Opening the door is like breaking a seal. The noises bombard you almost immediately, so much clearer than they were before.
You still can’t understand what they’re screaming but there’s a violent atmosphere slipping around you as you head down the stairs. The heady smell of cigars and cigarettes threatens to suffocate you. Your eyes water at the smoke in the air.
You’d think you’d have gotten used to secondhand smoking after being around Logan, but he’s less inclined to hotbox the car if you’re beside him. The second your feet hit the floor you’re being jostled to the side violently by the people around you.
It’s nearly impossible to elbow your way through the crowd, but you’re determined to figure out what’s in the middle of the cage that’s got them all excited. You can hear the people around you screaming out bets and numbers you don’t understand.
For one nauseating moment, you think this might be a dog fighting ring, that Logan gambles on it to earn his money. It makes you want to turn around, to shield yourself from the truth. But this is something he tried to keep hidden from you and you need to know the truth about whoever you’re traveling with.
You can hear the announcer, but you can’t get close enough to see anything yet. “Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?” There’s a resounding NO! from the crowd that makes you jump.
A booming voice shouts over the throng of voices, “I’ll take him!”
“Our savior ladies and gentlemen!” You shove through two men, ignoring the way they complain about how their beer sloshes on their sleeves.
“Hey-” You glance over your shoulder as one of them reaches for you. You flick your wrist, sending him and his friend tumbling back into the crowd. You roll your eyes and turn back towards the cage.
Your eyes widen and so do Logan’s as you finally see what exactly is going on. He’s cage fighting, this is what he’d been so secretive about. Honestly, it’s a relief compared to the brutality you were bracing yourself for.
You can see his lips starting to form the shape of your name but the man from before is barrelling into his side as the bell goes off. You wince, jumping away from the cage as you hear the meaty impact of his fist against Logan’s face.
The people near you scream, shouting for Logan’s blood. It’s easy to figure out that he’s been beating everyone he’s gone up against based on some bloody faces in the crowd. It’s smart, easy money. He can always heal, and can never really be beaten, not when he’s literally got fists of steel.
You’re surprised that no one’s ever caught onto this scam of his. You also wonder why he had been so adamant about you not seeing this. Sure, it’s brutal watching blood spray against the mat. But you don’t care. Besides, he’s ridiculously attractive in just his jeans as he pummels into some guy.
Maybe that’s not a normal line of thinking.
You shake your head, shelving that for later as the fight dies down. The man is limp on the mat of the cage and Logan is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigar and pointedly not looking at you.
You feel that familiar twisting feeling in your stomach and wonder if this was a horrible idea. You should have just stayed in the car like he asked. You’re sure it would have only been another hour of tirelessly rolling around before he came back. But you couldn’t help yourself.
He tells you so little about himself. If you get a chance to learn more, you’re going to pounce on the opportunity. Maybe it was a violation of his trust. You sincerely doubt that he would ever willingly have revealed this sort of lifestyle to you, though.
He seems to be under the same misguided intention that you need to be sheltered. It reminds you a little of your father. That might be a cruel comparison but it’s the same suffocating feeling of being kept in the dark to suit their needs.
The guilt you’d been holding unfurls and blossoms into anger. You find yourself retreating away from the cage and rushing back up the stairs of the bar. You don’t want to watch him fight any longer. You don’t want to look at him.
You just want him to treat you like an equal. Not like some little girl who’s going to run at the first sign of things getting hard.
You burst through the door of the bar, ignoring the cold laughter of the bartender behind you. He clearly seemed to think you couldn’t handle a little blood. He wasn’t the only one.
You’re only a couple of feet from the truck when you hear footsteps loudly stomping through the snow behind you. “What the hell were you doing?” You scoff, unbelieving that he would have the gall to shout at you.
You whirl around on him and it catches him off guard. His right foot slides against the slush as he tries to stop himself from ramming into you. “I’m not a little girl, Logan! You don’t need to hide stuff like that from me.”
He crosses his arms and glares down at you. “I wasn’t hiding anything,” he insists. But the tone of his voice gives him away. He doesn’t like that he was caught. “I don’t need to tell you jackshit about what I do for money.”
You can’t believe how he sounds right now. Why is he getting so defensive about this? “I don’t care what you do for money, alright. I just don’t get why you felt like I couldn’t know about this.” You hate the way the hurt is audible in your voice. You wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you try and cover it.
In the same way, he’s masking his feelings with anger, so are you. Just with less success. Something draws across his face, some emotion you can’t discern. His voice goes cold and quiet as he shoves an envelope full of cash into your hands.
“Go back to the motel. Get a room.”
He storms past you and walks towards the trailer. You follow after him, slightly dumbfounded by how he’s behaving. He rips his motorcycle out from the back and rolls it into a parking spot. You watch him do all this with your tongue glued to the roof of your mouth.
It’s only when he starts to head back towards the bar that you realize he’s not coming with you. “Logan!” You call out, trailing after him slightly. He barely turns back to face you. “Are you,” the words die on your tongue and you can’t find it in yourself to finish.
Are you angry?
Are you leaving?
Are you going to ditch me at the next bus stop?
Instead of asking any of your ridiculously pining questions, you turn on your heel and storm towards the truck. You rip the door open with more force than necessary and drive off without looking back at him. But you know he watches, know he keeps an eye on you until he can’t see you anymore.
Your rides with him are normally silent, but this one feels painfully so.
You nearly get a room with two beds. But you feel like if you do it will be a horrendous mistake. Reluctantly, you give the man behind the counter enough for a room with one bed large enough for the both of you.
You’re not exactly excited about sharing a bed with him, not after how he behaved tonight. You grumble to yourself as you drag your bag inside and toss it on the ground. You picture putting up a wall of pillows between the two of you, just to be petty.
It’s as you’re showering that you realize you might not even have to. He might not come to join you tonight. He won’t know what room you’re in. And he’d made it pretty clear how pissed he was at you for sneaking into the bar.
Maybe you’ve finally pushed him too far. You’ve been toying with the boundaries of his patience for a while. Little tests to determine whether he truly wants you around simply to have a warm body ready beside him. Or if he wants you because he genuinely cares for you.
You suppose tonight, whether you want it or not, you’ll finally have the truth.
The thought keeps you awake. You toss and you turn for hours, fighting with yourself. You should be happy, finally figuring out what’s been haunting you. But you’re not. You’re petrified. You’d rather keep living a lie than finally accept that he truly doesn’t want you.
You throw the covers off, the scratchy material only further adding to your irritation. You stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind you. You turn on the sink splashing some cool water over your face to try and rid yourself of the warmth lingering under your skin. You don’t know if this feeling of being uncomfortable in your own body is from pent-up anger or anxiety.
You don’t care. You just want to sleep this night away and pretend it never happened. But, of course, the universe has other plans. The motel door creaks open as you’re hovering over the sink, debating whether or not you’re nauseous enough to throw up.
You tilt your head slightly towards the sound. Growing up in your house, filtering through rooms like an unheard ghost, allowed you to get good at recognizing footsteps. Logan has finally decided to grace you with his presence.
You listen to him as he creeps silently across the room, landing on the squeaky bed. You press your ear against the door and can hear the way the sheets rustle and he cusses under his breath. There’s worry staining his voice and you figure you shouldn’t drag this on much longer.
You open the bathroom door and flip the switch, turning the lamps on like a disappointed mother waiting up for her teenager. You cross your arms mutely and lean against the doorframe as he winces under the sudden light.
He jumps, just slightly, and glares over at you. “Thought you weren’t here,” he accuses. He tries sounding angry, but you have a sudden rush of clarity in that moment. Where you would normally focus only on him being upset with you, you can see the truth of his concern.
Same as you, he doesn’t know where he stands in this whole situation. You doubt he had a clear plan when he rescued you from your tower like some ridiculous storybook knight. He most likely thought that you left, the same way you thought he would.
You remain silent, though, still a little too flustered to speak coherently. Instead, you examine him. There are cuts and blood all over his shirt. Splatters of it on his face. Though, you know if you looked there would be no physical evidence of him ever being hurt.
His brows furrow the longer you stare, a wall building between the two of you. “Kid?” He questions, equal parts worried and defensive. Does he really think you actually give a fuck about him fighting?
You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom. You rustle around in the cabinet underneath the sink until you find a washcloth. Wetting it, you bring it back out to him. You station yourself between his spread legs, holding the cloth between you like a peace offering.
He looks doubtful as he glances between you and it. Finally, he lets out a rough sigh and simply nods his head. But when he reaches for it you snatch it back, much to his chagrin. You offer him a small smile and tilt his chin up towards you, gently wiping some of the dried blood off his cheeks.
He doesn’t flinch or hiss away from the less-than-gentle fabric. He stares at you unblinkingly, like if he closes his eyes for a moment he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream. “You don’t have to do this, kid.”
You roll your eyes and crane your neck to get a better look at him. “Would you shut up?” You whisper teasingly.
His lips quirk slightly and you can see his shoulder slump in relief at the sound of your voice. “So, she can talk.” You can’t help the little laugh that comes out of you. He grins fully at that and his hands come up to rest on your hips.
His thumbs rub soothing circles along the sides of your waist as his hands dip a little lower. “What are you doing?” Your hand drifts down to his neck to wipe some blood off there as well.
He shakes his head and shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You lift your gaze to his and your lips fall flat, “Logan-”
He cuts you off before you can finish. In one smooth motion, his hands drop to wrap around your thighs. He lifts you slightly and drops you onto his lap. He grins at the slight huff of surprise that rushes out of you.
His arms go back to your waist, pulling you closer to him and grinding you a little against him. You bite your lip to stop any noises from escaping. As much as you wouldn’t mind what he’s thinking, you need to talk.
“Logan,” you scold.
He smirks and tilts his head patronizingly, “Something wrong, sweetheart?”
“It’s not happening,” you tell him firmly, hand still working on cleaning him.
He sighs and one of his arms drops away from you. He cups your hand in his, stilling your movements and forcing you to meet his gaze. Gently, he takes the cloth from you and tosses it somewhere you can’t see. “I’m fine,” he whispers, eyes searching yours.
It’s hard meeting his gaze. The worry and anxiety from the night still weigh heavily on your shoulders. He repeats himself, fingers tilting your chin up to face him. “Alright?”
“I don’t care,” the words come rushing out of you before you can stop them. His brows raise in shock and he gives a slight chuckle of amusement. A lump grows in your throat and your eyes grow wide. “Wait, I don’t mean-”
You cut yourself off and rub your hands over your face, trying to get your head on right. Logan’s patient, rubbing your back and clearly trying not to laugh at you. You finally take in a deep breath and face him again.
“I don’t care about the fighting,” you can see his shoulders tense slightly like he doesn’t believe you. “I don’t care, Logan. You do what you have to survive and I’m not gonna judge you for that.”
“What if I enjoy it?” He cuts you off, tone harsh as he glares down at you. There's experience in how quickly he doubts you, how quickly he tries to get you to change your mind about him.
You wonder how many times he’s been rejected just for being a mutant. You’ve only ever been rejected by one person because only he ever knew. Your father. And that hurt enough for one lifetime.
You can’t imagine going for as long as he has and constantly being called a monster for something he can’t control. Your brows furrow and you lean into him until your lips are brushing. He remains stiff beneath you but you don’t let it deter you.
“I don’t care,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his before slowly pulling back. You wait for him to respond, physically or verbally, but he’s still looking at you with that cold unfamiliar gaze.
You wonder if maybe it was a mistake, to bring it up at all. But just as the thought comes he’s surging forward. His lips catch yours, his hands digging so desperately into your shirt you know it rips.
Your arms go to his neck, holding onto him so you don’t slip off his lap. You haven't been this close for a few days. You think it might have made you both feel on edge. There’s a relief that comes from not just having sex with him, but also just being intimate and close to one another.
It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, that there’s someone here beside you to be a partner and a pillar of stability. You’ve never had that before. Someone that you can rely on and trust fully. You don’t think he has either.
He craves you the same way you do him. Each kiss, every shared breath, is treated like it will be your last. You don’t know when your father will finally catch up to the two of you. You don’t know when the police might finally recognize Logan.
There’s no definitive future for either of you. It’s a real possibility that this could be your last night together. And neither of you wants to be upset with each other. Because you were never truly mad. You were always just worried.
Your hands drop to his shirt, dipping to find the holes in it from his fight and ripping at the flimsy fabric until you can just yank it off. He smiles against your lips at the eager way you move atop him. But he can’t tease you, he’s already annoyed with the buttons on your shirt.
He pulls back, glaring down at the fabric like it's insulting him. Without another word, he slices through it, leaving it in tatters on your shoulder. You grin, shrugging the rest of it off. “That was yours.”
He grips your hips tightly and leaves marks where his fingers are as a reminder that he was here. He flips you over, leaves you breathless as he hovers over you. “I really don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.”
You’re addicted to his voice. How breathy and desperate it is when he’s with you. It’s a level of vulnerability you rarely get to see from him. He can’t hide himself when he’s with you like this. He wants you just as badly as you do him.
It gives you a confidence rush like no other, makes your ego grow ten times its size. If you can make a man like this fall to his knees from nothing more than a kiss, then you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for.
But you don’t want that tonight. You reach for him before he can go much further, grabbing him by his hair and tugging until you know it stings. He nearly fucking moans at your rough touch, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. The green of them has been wholly consumed by his desire for you and it makes you ache for him.
“Not tonight,” you tell him. There’s no room for argument in your tone. As much as he might want to taste you, devour you, all you want is to be as close to him as possible. You want to be covered and filled by him in every way you can be.
His head falls against your thigh, a rough groan tumbling from his throat at your words. You drag him towards you, pulling him up your body until you’re face to face. You smile softly up at him, lifting your head so you can meet his lips again.
You’ll never get enough of kissing him, of tasting him. Sometimes you have to stop yourself from reaching across the seats and kissing him while he drives. You’ve nearly made him wreck a few times and forced him to pull over so you could both have some fun in the back.
Addiction isn’t the right word for what you feel for him. It brings along its own negative connotations. The taint of dependency and toxicity. With addiction, it’s a parasitic relationship, hurts you but makes you feel good.
This is just goodness. This is a kind touch for the first time in your life and finally feeling safe in someone elses arms. This is opening yourself up to him fully and not once feeling like you need to mold yourself into something else to make him happy. It’s accepting him as he is, a broken dog who likes to fight to punish himself. You don’t want to change him or make him “better.” You just want him to be happy.
You use your powers to help yourself, flipping him over and straddling his hips. You drag his jeans down his legs and flick your wrist, sending them flying somewhere across the room. He watches you with eyes filled with awe, hands drifting over your curves like something to be worshipped.
You know he’s waiting for it, for you to sink yourself down on him and finally be filled. But you wait, hover over him even as the muscles of your thighs tremor. “You don’t hide things from me anymore,” you warn him. You’re not asking, for once, you’re demanding what you want.
He doesn’t look angry like you’d been expecting. Instead, it only seems to turn him on more. “Ya know,” his hands drift to your hips, dragging you down and over his cock until it’s wet with your want. Your nails dig into his chest until there’s blood beading under them and you’re trying not to let your noises slip out.
“I kinda like it when you’re all bossy like this.”
“Logan,” you grit his name out. It takes everything in you not to look as affected by him as you feel. “No more hiding shit.”
He leans up on his elbows. His hand drifts to the nape of your neck and drags you down until your lips are nearly touching his. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”
Like a taut rope being cut, you sink into him, your hips finally drop and he guides you down every inch of him until you feel like you’re so full you can’t breathe. He lets you linger for a moment, and get used to this feeling while he steals the very air from your lungs.
He’s greedy with the way he touches you. His hands always moving like he’ll never fully be satisfied with how much of you he can feel. He’s always reaching for you like he needs to make sure you’re actually real and not just something he’s dreamt up.
Even with how impatient he is, you’re always the one that moves first. You roll your hips over him, moaning at how he feels inside you. It’s like he’s perfectly molded you around him. He always manages to brush against the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head.
The second your hips begin to roll, he’s wrapping his heavy arms around you, grinding you down into him. He keeps you trapped in place, using you like a toy as he bounces you on his lap. Your mind is fuzzy, every bad thought and feeling shoved out while he makes you go dumb on his dick.
You love how boneless you go. You don’t have to think now, don’t have to worry. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, shifting yourself further on top of him until you're practically burying yourself under his skin.
Not thinking always comes with its own consequences, though. Your powers slip a little out of your grasp. The walls trembling and the drawers and cabinets opening and closing. The both of you have gotten used to the noise, know how to drown it out, and just focus on each other.
One of these days, you’ll need to figure out a way to have sex with him without bringing the room down around you. That’s a problem for later though. His whispered praises and grunts of your name filter through your mind until there’s nothing left inside you but him.
“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, “you’re so fucking tight around me. You close?” He grunts, hand drifting down to rub tight circles on your clit. You dig your nails into his shoulders, nodding your head frantically against his neck. “Words, sweetheart.”
“Shit,” you can barely think of your own damn name. Let alone what you want from him. “Fuck off,” you hiss. He chuckles at the attitude and you almost expect him to stop, just to be a dick because you were a brat.
But he’s just as close as you are and he’s too selfish to tease. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on you as your body shakes against his. He follows quickly after you, warmth shooting up inside you and almost leaking down your thighs. You feel stuffed, like your body’s been pushed to the limit and further.
You both sit together in silence for a while. You ignore the way your skin sticks to his uncomfortably, instead reveling in the warmth he provides you. Anyone else, and you’d be rushing to get away from them.
You’re always extra sensitive after sex, every little thing setting you off. But there’s a comfort to the way his hairy ass chest brushes against your breasts and his arms squeeze around you. It’s a nice grounding feeling.
The tips of your fingers drift over his arms, following the path of his veins and brushing against his fingers lazily. He flips his palm over, encasing your hand in his own wordlessly. Little things like that ease your worries. Makes you feel like something more than just a quick fuck.
He breaks the silence first, which is rare for him. “I’m sorry about tonight.”
You frown and peer up at him. “I told you, I don’t care about the fighting.”
He sighs and shakes his head, “Not that. I shouldn’t have gotten so fucking mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You want to interrupt him, assure him that you both acted pretty childishly.
But you understand it’s difficult for him to express himself verbally. He usually prefers silent acts of apologies and expression, you don’t want to mess him up before he can get out what he wants to say.
“I don’t want to be like your father.” Your face screws up a little and you shift uncomfortably on his lap. He loosens his grip, giving you room to leave if you want to, but you stay put. “I’m trying not to coddle you, sweetheart, or hide you away from the world. But I don’t like you seeing that shit.”
“You’re not my dad, Logan. He wouldn’t give me a choice,” you try and joke but it just seems to make him more irritated. Sighing you straighten up, bracing yourself on his chest and staring down at him.
Your head tilts to the side in contemplation and he almost looks uncomfortable under the attention. “I’m not so fragile or sheltered that I’m going to shatter at the first taste of the real world, Logan. I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve had acid thrown at me and bodyguards since I could walk. I know how dangerous it is. Whatever you want to hide from me, I’ve seen worse.”
You let your words sink in for a moment and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You know that it’s odd for him, to comprehend a girl who was afraid to go into a bar swallowing down an illegal fighting ring like it’s nothing. But you’re not lying. Everyday little things are what you’re unused to. But you’ve lived alongside violence your whole life.
“Look, fighting, sleeping in shitty motels, and your truck, that doesn't bother me. But I don’t like when you hide things and I don’t,” you take in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the worst. This is what you’ve been trying to tell him for weeks.
A few little words have your tongue tied and make you desperate to cover yourself up again. He can see the shift in your expression, and feel how tense you get. He sits up a little more, thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand.
“I don’t want to just be someone to fuck you, Logan. I didn’t come with you so you’d have easy access pussy,” he looks thoroughly amused at your crude words, but there’s something else lingering in his expression. Something like hurt.
“Is that what you think?” He asks, tone distant. You can’t find the words so you simply nod. He sighs and shakes his head. He eases you off his lap and you worry you’ve truly fucked this up somehow.
He goes into the bathroom, returns with a wet washcloth. He still doesn’t speak and you’re on edge the entire time he cleans the both of you up. You can see he’s thinking, biting his tongue, and trying to figure out what it is that he wants to say to you.
You’re impatient, five seconds away from just demanding a response from him. He tosses the cloth and drops into bed beside you. You draw the sheets up to your chest, glaring down at him while he rubs his hands over his face with a tired sigh.
When he opens his eyes again he laughs at how close you are. “Jesus,” he wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you down into his chest even though you fight him. It must be easier for him to speak when you’re not staring at him.
“I didn’t go back for you so I could fuck you, kid. I… care about you,” there’s a long pause before he says the word care. You think it’s funny, that he can’t bring himself to admit what he actually feels. But you’ll take it, you’ll give him the time he needs to come to terms with the truth.
For now, you let yourself fall asleep, feeling just a little bit better about the road ahead.
Things get easier between the two of you. And somehow harder at the same time. You don’t walk on eggshells around each other, no longer afraid of scaring the other off now. Which also means that you find it easier to bicker with him about little things. Like, not just tossing his trash everywhere in the truck. You’re practically living out of the trailer, the least he could do is help you keep it tidy.
You know it’s weird for him. Suddenly having someone nag at him not to be a slob or to take breaks in between driving so he doesn’t wear himself out. It’s an adjustment you see him struggle with sometimes.
You try not to be too pushy, but there’s only so many times you can flick crumbs from his burgers off your seat before you lose it. “Logan!” You snap, glaring at him as you stand up only to find chip crumbs squished into the fabric of your leggings.
He glances over at you and shrugs, “What?”
You glance between the crumbs and him with a glare but he doesn’t seem to be connecting the dots. “Fucks sake,” you grumble, passive-aggressively wiping the truck seat off before you slam the door and storm towards the diner.
You’re sick of being cramped in the truck. You’re sick of the greasy food. You’ve begun to crave salads lately. Which is beyond weird. But the novelty of shitty food and milkshakes wore off a hundred miles ago.
Logan catches up to you, huffing with irritation as he swings the door open for you. You take a seat in the booth near the corner, snatching up the menu and pointedly staring at it and not him. “Really?” He demands. When you don’t answer he tips the menu down, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What is your problem?” He hisses, trying not to draw attention to you both.
You lean in, voice a harsh whisper. “How hard is it to just not make a mess? We live out of that damn truck, the least you could do is keep your crumbs on your side.”
He rolls his eyes and leans back in the booth. You’re both sick of having the same fight. But there’s really nothing else to do anymore. When you’re stuck together for so long, it’s the small things that get to you.
You’re going to say more but the waitress pops in front of you out of nowhere. “Hi!” She beams and gives you her name, the bows in her hair trembling at how hyper she is. “What can I get you both today?”
You and Logan place your orders, and he shoots you an odd look when you only order the salad. “We’ve got a couple more hours ahead of us, you’re gonna get hungry.”
You cross your arms and shrug, “No, I won’t.”
He licks his lips, sucking on his teeth and leaning against the table. “Yes, you will,” he argues with a stern voice.
You narrow your eyes at him and give him a bitter smile. “Kiss. My. Ass.”
Your stomach grumbles for the third time and you know that Logan can hear it. You’re pointedly not making eye contact with him. It feels like it's louder than the music at this point and you really don’t want to prove him right.
Without a word, he begins to dig around in the center console. You glance towards him, confused, “What’re you doing?”
He doesn’t say anything, just tosses whatever he’s grabbed onto your lap. You glance down at it and frown. It’s somehow cold as you unwrap it. You pull the parchment paper away and let out a relieved sigh.
He ordered you a wrap from the diner without you realizing. You take a bite, your hunger steadily easing away. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, pointedly looking out the window.
He glances over at you and scoffs. “What was that? Couldn’t hear ya, kid.”
You roll your eyes and turn to glare at him. He’s already looking at you, a teasing tilt to his lips. “I said I’m sorry,” you snap. “I shouldn’t have been a bitch.”
He shakes his head and waves you off. “I haven’t exactly been pleasant myself. I’ll,” he huffs lowly and forces the words out, “clean up more.”
“I think we’ve just been stuck on the road too long. We’re gonna end up driving each other insane.”
His eyes glance along the signs on the highway. There’s a notice for food and shopping at the next exit and he nods towards it. “We’ll stop at a motel for a few nights. Take a break.” You want to ask him if he’s sure that’s smart.
It seems risky, to slow down for so long. But you need to walk around, breathe fresh air, and stretch your legs. You’re too selfish to tell him not to stop and keep going. Instead, you nod and smile at him. “That sounds really nice.”
He gives you a slight smile that’s gone as quickly as it came, reaching over and resting his hand on your thigh. You move closer to him and he turns the radio up. You wonder why he doesn’t want to talk anymore but you don’t push it. You’re too excited to finally get out of the truck again.
The town is nice enough. It’s small, with only a few shops where you buy some new shirts to replace one’s that Logan has torn up. The motel you’re staying at doesn’t have a washing machine so you have to use the laundromat to wash your clothes.
Logan says he’s going to see if he can find a quick job nearby. You wonder if that means a real job or a more bloody one. You decide not to ask questions, instead taking the little change you have and figuring you’ll try to get the smell of grease out of all your clothes.
As you load the machine up and put your quarters in you can’t escape the feeling of someone watching you. You’ve been on high alert ever since Logan stole you away from the house. But this is different.
You’ve gotten used to your own paranoia, you know when it’s real or not. You walk away from the machine, glancing out at the glass walls near the front and trying to see if there’s someone out there. This, oddly enough, doesn’t feel like a police stakeout where they’re going to track you back to the motel and bust Logan.
This is something different. There is a deep-seated primal fear in you that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your heart races as your eyes search the dark street outside. What little glow comes from the streetlights isn’t enough for you to clearly make anything out.
But you feel them, tracking your every move. They’re somewhere nearby, you can’t see them but they see you. You feel sick to your stomach. You glance at the door before racing towards it. You turn the lock, slowly backing away and keeping your eyes trained on the street.
You look into the shadows and find shapes and movements where there are none. Your eyes spin as your brain crafts a horrible image of some monster waiting outside for you. When the timer for the washer goes off you let out a sharp scream, spinning around and clutching your chest as you glare at it.
“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, angrily running your hand over your face and trying to catch your breath. You put the clothes in the dryer and by the time you're done, the feeling is gone. You don’t know if they were never there to begin with, or if they got bored and left.
You’d told Logan that you didn’t need a ride, you’d just walk the short distance back to the motel. Now, you use the phone on the front counter and call him, telling him you’ve changed your mind after all.
By the time he picks you up, he looks incredibly concerned. You know you sounded panicked when you called him. You still feel upset about the whole thing. But when he asks what’s wrong you just tell him you got a little scared walking back in the dark.
You don’t tell him someone was watching you because you know he’ll make you pack up and leave again. You want some stability. Even if it's just for a week. So, as stupid as it is, you lie to him and say everything’s fine.
When you try to go to sleep that night you feel like you’re being watched again. Even with the curtains closed their eyes burn into you. You toss and turn under the heavy weight of the sheets, struggling to get comfortable.
There’s a low grumble behind you before Logan throws his arm over your waist and tugs you back into his chest. “Stop movin’ around,” he demands, his voice barely audible. You smile a little at how tired he sounds before forcing yourself to settle down.
He doesn’t give you much choice, using his body as a weight to keep you pinned. You still feel their gaze, even more now, but his proximity brings you enough comfort to get a little bit of restless sleep.
Logan’s up before you, he always is. He comes in with cheap coffee and free breakfast from the lounge. You push the sheets off your legs, your shirt sticking to your back from the cold sweat of your nervous sleeping. You feel a little more at ease this morning.
You wonder if you’re developing some late-in-life fear of the dark. You don’t know why you were so upset last night, you feel perfectly fine now. It’s almost like it was all one bad dream. Logan walks over, handing you the coffee wordlessly and rustling around in your bag for something.
He pulls out the envelope of cash you keep stashed away and frowns at the contents. “Found a job,” he mutters, stuffing the envelope away and turning back towards you. He leans against the desk, face pensive.
You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a bit more so you sound coherent. “What is it?” You take a sip of the coffee and your face screws up at the aftertaste.
“Fighting,” his tone is clipped and you wonder what’s got him up in arms. He walks past you, heading into the bathroom, and closing the door behind him. You tilt your head, gaze following him curiously. He doesn’t normally close the door, he usually likes to invite you to join him.
Something happened and you wonder if he’s hiding the same thing you are. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and closing your mind off to the fear from last night.
By the time Logan is done in the bathroom, you’re feeling more awake. You can’t just dismiss what happened last night. You’ve never gotten scared like that before. You refuse to ignore your instincts, but you’re also not going to let whoever that was terrify you into going back on the road.
You don’t want things between you and Logan to grow more tense than they already are. The time away from each other yesterday helped a lot. You no longer want to strangle him when you hear him breathe. You’ll just stick closer to him today and see if you feel the eyes on you again tonight.
“So,” you start, testing the waters to see if he’s still in a bad mood. He glances over at you, eyebrows quirked in curiosity but you’re tongue-tied as you stare at him. However many weeks you’ve been with him and you’re never gonna get used to seeing him straight out of the shower.
The towel is draped low on his hips, giving you a taunting look at what lies underneath the white cloth. Droplets drip down his abs and you’ve never wanted to be water more than you do right now. It’s unfair, just how attractive he is.
You always forget what you’re going to say. You can’t think when he has a shirt off, it’s infuriating. Scoffing, you turn away from him and shake your head. You hear him chuckle, you know he knows what you’re thinking about.
“What’s wrong?” He creeps up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you back into his chest.
“Logan, dammit,” water soaks into the back of your shirt uncomfortably and you tilt your head to glare at him.
He smirks down at you, “Cat got your tongue, kid?”
You roll your eyes and push away from him. “I can’t even remember what I was going to say.” You snatch a shirt from the dresser and shove it into his hands. “Put this on.”
He scoffs and gives you a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?” You wait for him, gaze expectant. You’re not gonna be able to think when he looks like this. Sighing, he acquieses and tugs the shirt on. His lips fall into a sarcastic line, “Happy?”
Like a switch being flipped you finally remember what you were going to ask him. “The job you told me about. Where is it?”
You can see on his face how little he wants to divulge that information to you. But you know he’s going to tell you. You two made a deal not to hide things, although, you might be breaking your side of that right now.
“Some shitty bar a few miles from here. Listen-”
You’re not gonna like it.
I don’t want you tagging along.
You should just stay here and read or some shit.
You wonder which one he’ll pick today. “You wouldn’t like it, it’s just a shitty little place where I can make some quick cash.” Look at that, it’s rarely ever your first pick excuse. You must be getting better at reading him.
“I’ll come with you,” you tell him because you’re not asking. You’re not staying by yourself tonight and you both need the money. You grin at him even as his face falls in disappointment. “Maybe I’ll fight.”
He doesn’t even say anything and you immediately regret what you said. The look he’s giving you would put you six feet under if it could. “It was just a joke,” you mutter.
“Wasn’t funny, kid,” he tells you, tone clipped as he moves around you to grab his jeans. “I don’t even want you in those places, let alone fuckin’ fighting.”
You purse your lips and take a seat on the bed, handing him his jacket when he begins looking for it. “I have abilities too, you know. Maybe I could win a fight.”
“Don’t,” he snaps. “I win because I can take the hits people deal me. You can’t,” you don’t bother arguing with him that you heal too. You understand what he means. You might be able to recover physically, but there’s a mental aspect to being knocked on the ground. There’s humiliation and fear in cage fights, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle that side of it.
He waits for you to say anything else but when he realizes you’ve dropped the subject he lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ll stay in the truck,” he tries.
You give him a deadpan look, slipping the keys out of your purse and handing them to him. “No way in hell, but I’ll stay by the bar if it makes you feel better.” He stays silent and nods but you know he’ll try and convince you otherwise when you actually get to the place. Tough luck, though, you don’t think it’s safe for either of you to be apart tonight. Even if it’s just staying in the truck.
The setup of these places is always the same. Though, this bar seems to be particularly disgusting in comparison to other ones you’ve been to. You position yourself near the corner, your back to the wall so you’re less likely to be noticed in the crowd.
The fights never last more than a few minutes. And that’s if Logan is feeling generous. Most of the time you only need to be here an hour before people get pissed off and go home. Someone bumps into you and you hear a small, “I’m sorry,” before they rush to claim a stool.
The crowd’s already begun to die out. Most leave while they still have a little money left in their pockets. You duck your head down, catching the eye of the girl who’d bumped into you. She looks young and incredibly skittish. Her eyes keep darting to the tip jar near the bartender.
She quietly asks for water but the bartender just shakes his head, tugging the jar closer to him. You don’t know why you’re drawn to her, maybe it’s because she looks like one of those sad pound puppies, but you take a seat beside her.
“Water,” you order, slipping him some change. When he gives it to you, you pass it off to her, spotting the greedy way she eyes it. You know a runaway when you see one, she clearly needs a little help. But Logan’s got enough on his shoulders, you’re not gonna bug him with adding another person to the mix.
“Thank you,” she gulps it down like she hasn’t drunk anything in days. You feel your stomach twist with empathy. What little cash you have in your wallet, you slip into her bag as you pass by her. Logan will have made enough for it to be spared and it's the least you can do.
Not everyone is as lucky as you to have someone help them navigate a new life.
Logan grabs his jacket, wiping blood off from under his nose and heading towards you. You know he’ll want a drink before you go, he always does. Before he can say anything someone’s shouting the name he uses in the cage. “Hey, Wolverine! I want my fucking money back.”
The big man he’d knocked down earlier takes a step towards him. His friend tries to hold him back, but there’s no stopping him. He’s already had his ass kicked once, what makes him think this is going to be any different?
“Not your money anymore, bub.” Logan scoffs and turns back towards you. You just want to leave now. You don’t want to stay for a drink or go get something to eat. You feel the eyes on you again, but when you turn to find them there’s no one there but the girl.
And she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are wide and staring at something else. “Behind you!” She screeches, and both you and Logan whirl around to find the man barreling towards him with a knife outstretched.
Logan moves so quickly that you stumble back slightly. He grabs the guy's arm, twisting his wrist until the knife drops to the ground. He shoves him back against the wall, claws out and pinning him there.
“Shit,” you whisper, glancing around as the few patrons of the bar stare in horror at Logan. The people counting his money stop and tuck it back into the cash box. You clench your eyes shut in irritation, he’s not gonna be getting paid tonight, that’s for sure.
There’s a strange noise behind you, like someone cocking a gun. You turn around slowly, gasping when you see the bartender pointing the barrel of his shotgun at your chest. He’s not aiming it at Logan, he’s aiming it at you. Like he somehow knows that’s the only way to get him to back off.
It’s not like he was going to kill the guy, besides, he came at him with a knife first. What’s the difference if Logan’s a mutant? He’s defending himself. Why does no one understand that?
“Get out of my bar,” the old man warns lowly, taking a step closer to you. Logan turns around and finally spots what’s going on.
“Pay me and I’ll be on my way.” You know you’d be able to heal from the shotgun blast, but you don’t exactly want to go through it.
The old man laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not getting paid, buddy. Get the fuck out of my bar before I put a hole in your little girlfriend.”
Your eyes narrow in disbelief. You debate with yourself for a moment, if this is smart or not. But the guy’s being a prick and you’re sick of people treating mutants like they’re less than nothing. You flick your wrist and the shotgun goes flying out of his hand.
You glance over at the cashbox and it comes floating towards you, landing easily in your outstretched palm. “Be thankful I’m not blowing a hole in you,” you warn, glaring at the cowering man. You walk forward and he stumbles back and you try not to focus on the sick feeling of satisfaction it brings you. You grab the tip jar and shove it towards the girl at the end of the bar. “Good luck, kid.”
Logan releases the man from the before, taking a step towards you. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and rush towards the exit of the bar. You need to just get the fuck out of this town as quickly as possible, you’re not safe here anymore.
Logan seems to agree with you. He gets into the truck and doesn’t turn back to the motel. Instead, he turns onto the highway while you keep your eyes peeled on the trees outside your window. There’s someone out there, still following you.
“Something’s wrong with the suspension,” you glance up from where you’d been working on breaking open the cashbox and frown. Logan’s glaring down at the steering wheel, it seems like he’s struggling to get it to turn properly.
“What?”
He scoffs and glares at you, “How should I know?” He pulls over to the side of the road, opens his door, and lets in a rush of cool air and snow. You toss the cashbox to the back of the trailer and follow after him.
He goes to where he’s pulling his motorcycle and you feel like you notice an extra bump under the tarp. “What’s that?” You take a step towards it just as Logan pulls it back. You have to bite back a laugh when you see the girl from last night curled up next to his motorcycle.
She gives you both guilty looks and slowly sits up. “I’m sorry,” Logan offers her a hand and she gets out of the trailer. He grabs her bag and drops it at her feet. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Find a different ride,” he growls, already heading back to the truck. You open your mouth, prepared to argue, but you can’t force her on him. As much as you might want to help her. She’s better off away from the two of you.
“You’re just gonna leave me here?” She snaps at him, a little attitude finally showing through.
“Yep!” He gets in the truck and you know he wants to drive off immediately but he has to wait for you. You shoot her an apologetic look as you follow after him, slipping into the seat beside him. He starts the engine, driving off slowly, eyes drifting towards the rearview mirror.
You bite your tongue, trying not to point out how cruel he is leaving her on a snowy highway in the middle of nowhere. He glances over at you, “What?” He snaps.
You shake your head and shrug. “Nothing.” You’ve barely finished speaking before he’s slamming on his brakes.
“God dammit,” he mutters, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw. You can’t help the grin on your face, reaching over to open your door. It doesn’t take long for the girl to catch on, scooping up her bag and chasing after you.
“You’re such a softie,” you tease him.
“Shut the hell up.”
Rogue is nice, if not a little odd. She claims to be a mutant too but doesn’t want to give specifics on her abilities. You don’t want to push her but you are curious about the gloves she wears. “What kind of name is Wolverine?” She asks, spotting Logan’s tags.
He glances over at her and smiles slightly, “What kind of a name is Rogue?”
She goes to say something but you throw your arm out, holding her back as you shout, “Logan, watch out!” He tries to hit his brakes in time but the tree’s already coming down. The truck slams into it and it’s like time slows down, only for a moment.
You can feel the impact of your body against the windshield, the glass dragging along your scalp and skin. It’s like a million razors each slicing into you. And then, you’re flying through the air, head snapping so hard against the ground you can’t see anything.
You hear something happening around you, a roar that doesn’t sound human echoing through the air. There’s the sound of metal crunching and someone is screaming in the distance but you can’t see. It’s not like a total void of darkness, there’s just nothing.
You feel the blood slowly leaking down the back of your skull and something lands harshly against your head. You don’t think much time has passed. When your eyes finally open, however, you’re not lying on the pavement.
The world around you is foreign. It smells like a hospital but it’s not like any you’ve ever seen. X-rays are hanging on the wall and paperwork is scattered on a desk near the bed you’re lying on.
Your mind is blank for a moment. Slowly turning back on while you process the sudden change of scenery. You don’t even remember closing your eyes, you don’t know when your vision came back to you or how long you’ve been here.
The terror sets in quickly. You throw the blankets off your legs, staring down at the pajamas you wear in disgust. Someone had changed you. They’d run tests and done X-rays on you and you don’t remember a second of it.
You rip the needle out of your arm, tossing it to the floor and running towards the door. Your feet slip on the metal floors as you run but you’re afraid to stop. Everything around you looks more and more like a lab.
Did someone from the bar call some government agency? You’ve heard horror stories from your father about the tests the military has run on mutants. You’re starting to worry that’s what's happening to you.
But you doubt the military would make it so easy for you to escape. This has to be something else. You’d heard other voices when you’d been lying on the ground. People who had been trying to help. Could that be who took you?
“You caught on quicker than your friend.” You nearly fall flat on your face, flipping around to see who spoke. But no one’s there. You’re completely alone. “I’m just grateful you didn’t choke out one of my associates.” it’s coming from beside you now.
It’s all around you, the voice floating through the walls until you think he might be in your mind. “Much faster than your friend,” he sounds gleeful and it makes you even more anxious. “I’m a telepath, darling, nothing to fear. If you’d just take that elevator and come up to meet me.”
You’d have to be an idiot to actually listen to the voices in your head. But you don’t see another way out of here. So, reluctantly, you follow the floating voice’s instructions and slip inside the elevator.
When the door opens up again you don’t have a chance to step inside before someone’s pushing you back. Logan stands in front of you, hands clamped tightly around your shoulders while he looks you over.
You sink into his arms, hugging him tightly to you. You’d been terrified you were all alone here. It’s more than a relief to see him again. “You’re okay?” He asks, pulling back to look at you one last time.
You nod, throat too dry to try and form a coherent sentence. You glance over his shoulders brows furrowed at the people awkwardly watching you reunite. There’s a man in a wheelchair smiling at you, “Ah, glad you could make it.” The floating voice, of course. “Logan here was quite worried about you.”
Logan turns to glare at the man and you offer a slight smile. There is something comforting about him. You’re not exactly threatened by an old guy in a wheelchair. The redhead behind him, however, is bugging you. Something about the way she’s looking at Logan doesn’t sit right with you.
“Welcome to my school for the exceptionally gifted,” something about the way he says that makes you tilt your head in confusion. You don’t know what he means until there’s a puff of smoke behind him and some kid is walking by with their hair on fire like it’s nothing.
Mutants. It’s an entire school for mutants. You think you could pass out again.
“It’s the best place we could have ended up, Logan. This is amazing.” You’ve been going back and forth for an hour. He won’t see reason. He keeps saying you need to leave. That you don’t know these people and it could all be one big trap.
You don’t understand him, why he’s so desperate to get away from people like the both of you. You’re rejected in every other corner of society. You could have something real here.
It hits you at once. That’s the problem. He’s not ready for something real. He’s not used to it because he’s never had it before. At least you could pretend at a sense of normalcy living at home. It’s an entirely new concept to him, sticking to one place for so long.
“We don’t know these people,” he hisses, leaning over the bed to argue with you. You narrow your eyes but your conversation is cut off by a knock on the door. You sigh, walking away from him and swinging the door open.
Jean is on the other side, a surprised look on her face when she sees you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to drop these off to Logan.” You glance down at the towels in your hand and give her a strained smile. That’s a flimsy excuse if you’ve ever seen one. “I must have the wrong room.”
You step to the side, opening the door wider so she can see him. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy angrily unmaking the bed. “No, you have the right one.” You hold your hands out expectantly, “I can just take those for you.”
The look on her face is priceless and finally causes a real smile to grow on your lips. She wordlessly hands you the towels, looking disappointed. You don’t know if it's because of what she was trying to do, or because she couldn’t do it.
Before she leaves you call out a quick, “Tell Scott I said thank you again. Wouldn’t be here without him, after all.” Her shoulders tense and she rushes back down the hall. Whatever little crush or interest she has with Logan is going to need to be dealt with on her own.
You’ve got enough shit going on without having to worry about her too. You shake your head and slam the door shut, tossing the towels on the desk. Logan sits on the bed, watching you with an odd look.
“What was that about?”
“She’s into you,” you tell him bluntly, waiting for his reaction. He doesn’t even blink, just glances between the towels and you before shrugging.
“Not interested.” You don’t want to admit that you feel any relief. There was never any real doubt. But it’s still nice to be reassured.
You slip into bed beside him, taking his hand and forcing him to meet your gaze. “I know that this isn’t what either of us was expecting, but this is good, Logan. We don’t have to worry about pretending we’re something we’re not. We don’t have to worry about my dad or anyone finding us.”
He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But he lets out a heavy sigh and drags you closer to him. He tucks your head under his chin, placing a brief kiss against your forehead. “If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But I’m not putting on that fucking costume.”
You laugh a little, peering up at him with a grin, “Deal.”
There’s a place for you here, even if there isn’t in the rest of the world. You can be safe here, you don’t have to worry anymore. You don’t have to fear the eyes on the back of your head because they can’t get you here.
end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡
Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte
@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allilium @insomniachox ♡
Asked for part two: @enchantedbutterflies @strawberrylore @ittoscumdump @enananawoah @wotcherboo
@cali0101 @fluffy-b33z @pcrushinnerd @izbelross @saltwaterburns
@likeficsinthewnd ♡
forgotten promises
pt two of broken promises (I know I'm so creative with names)
bodyguard!logan howlett x fem!runaway reader
a/n: SMUT 18+ MDNI they, like, never use protection (don't be silly, sheathe your willy) but I’d like to make it 100% clear now that she has a magic uterus and there will be absolutely NO baby-making. Just rocking unprotected sex 😎👍 If you’re tagged in this, it does not mean that I am permanently adding you to my taglist. It just means I saw you in my comments/reblogs/inbox asking for a part two and this was the easiest way to let you know I made one. If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask. Summary: Life on the road isn't exactly glamorous. Cramped spaces and too many cheap motels have you and Logan at each other's throats. You feel eyes tracking you everywhere you go but you're afraid to tell him, afraid it will be the end of the road for the both of you. One cheap bar and an explosion later and your whole life is flipped upside down.
“What are you doing?”
You glance over Logan’s shoulder at the register. The man behind it isn’t looking at either of you, just disinterestedly scrolling through his phone.
“Isn’t this what you do?” You ask, motioning to the pack of beef jerky you’re stuffing down your jacket.
Logan scoffs and shakes his head. “No, kid.” He takes the bag from you and rolls his eyes.
“Well, then how do you pay for this stuff?”
“Normally, with the money I get from my jobs. But your dad wasn’t too forthcoming with my last paycheck.”
You feel that familiar burning churn of guilt roiling around in your gut. You’ve definitely added another complication to his life and it makes you feel like nothing more than a burden sometimes. “Oh, Logan, I’m sorry.”
Logan glances down at you. He gives you that familiar appeasing look, squeezing you closer, and drags you towards the register. He tosses the snacks and drinks onto the counter. The guy just barely glances up at you both.
“Will that be all?” He asks in a tone that says he could care less.
“Yeah,” you answer, eyes drifting towards the magazine rack. Your face is plastered on the cover of a cheap tabloid.
LOCAL POLITICIANS DAUGHTER STILL MISSING
Exclusive interview with family on PG. 6
Your eyes go wide and you turn your face further into Logan’s chest. He gives you a confused look before his eyes are snagged by the same thing that caught your attention.
“Why don’t you go wait in the truck?” You nod and slip out of his hold, being mindful to keep your face away from the security camera near the front.
That keeps happening. You hadn’t thought you would have made news, but your father was making this a part of his campaign. Claiming you’d been taken by a mutant bodyguard and that he’s been praying for your safe return. “Experts” have been claiming that with no ransom demanded you’re being turned into a message for anyone who goes against mutants.
Now, mutants despise you and everyone else thinks you’re a martyr. In a few years, you’re sure you’ll be turned into some true crime documentary where people you’ve never met before are crying over your disappearance.
You slide into the truck and let out a deep sigh. You’d thought running away would be freeing. But even a hundred miles from him, you can still feel the cold grip of your father’s hand around your throat.
“Twenty on pump seven,” Logan tosses the cash on the counter, eyes drifting to you in the truck. It was instinct at this point, always keeping an eye on you. Especially since one of your father’s more fanatic supporters had spotted you in a shitty diner a week ago. They’d called the cops and tried to bar you and Logan from leaving.
It hadn’t gone over well for him.
He’d been trying to keep you a little more hidden since then, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d gotten you out of that house to show you what real life was like, to give you a taste of freedom.
He felt like he was no better than your father, keeping you cooped up and covered constantly.
When the kid in front of him doesn’t say anything, Logan clears his throat. He gives him a quizzical look but the boy’s eyes are stuck on the door.
“I swear I know her,” he mutters. Logan’s eyes drift towards the TV behind the counter and he sees an old news story of you. They’re using the footage of the acid attack, claiming you’ve always been the mutant movement’s target.
“Can I get twenty on pump seven,” Logan repeats, voice firm. The kid finally looks at him and whatever expression Logan is wearing is enough for him to finally start moving.
The second the receipt is in his hand he’s rushing out the door. He doesn’t know how long it’s going to take that dumbass to piece two and two together but he can’t risk dawdling.
He fills the tank up, eyes scanning the gas station the entire time. He’s had a cloying sense of paranoia ever since the incident in the diner. He knows that at some point this little run of yours is going to come to an end.
He doesn’t know if it’ll end with cops finding the two of you. Or if you’re going to realize the real world isn’t all that fun and leave him behind. He knows that a girl like you, one who's used to the finer things, is never going to be satisfied by the life he can offer.
But he’s hoping that you come to your senses later rather than sooner. He’s enjoying traveling with you a lot more than he wants to admit.
He gets in the truck, starts it up, and glances over at you. You smile, the smile that makes him feel things he doesn’t like admitting to himself or you.
“All good?” You ask.
He nods, driving off without a word because he doesn’t want to tell you the truth. Doesn’t want to admit what you both know to be a fact. The time you have together has an expiration date and he’s worried it’s creeping closer.
Logan’s inside some shitty roadside motel. Whatever he’s talking about with the owner is clearly getting heated. You can see the way the anger’s growing on his face. His body is tensed up and he looks like he’s five seconds away from leaping over the counter and taking the greasy man leering at him down.
There’s a final word exchanged between them and then Logan is storming back towards the truck. He slams the door closed so hard you’re surprised the windows don’t shatter. Normally, you sleep in the trailer. It’s not always the warmest or coziest, but you make it work.
It’s too cold out tonight to do that and Logan doesn’t have a spare tank for the heating. He’d thought he’d had enough for a cheap room for tonight, but clearly, he doesn’t. There’s a tense silence in the truck as you mentally debate saying anything to him.
His fists are wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel you can hear it creaking. You shift, sitting up straighter in your seat and uncurling your legs. There’s a stiffness to your joints that has you groaning. It’s involuntary, ripped out of you simply because you’ve been sitting for too long.
It catches Logan’s attention and he glances over at you. There’s a resigned sort of guilt on his face and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. He’s used to this type of lifestyle, and sometimes you think he’s embarrassed to share it with you.
You’d never judge him for roadside motels or living off cheap gas station meals. You know you were privileged living up with the wealth you did. But there is something infinitely more satisfying about being poor and happy than there ever was being rich and miserable.
“Look, kid,” he lets out a heavy sigh and you mentally prepare yourself for what you’ve been expecting. You were a fun time, a nice ride, but you’re becoming a burden and he can’t deal with it anymore.
You let your nails dig into the thin skin of your palms so you can attempt to ground yourself. “I need to make some money tonight, so I just need you to bear with me for a while.”
Like there is every time he doesn’t boot you to the curb, a relieved rush of air expels from your chest almost violently. “Okay,” you say tentatively, the word dragging out while you try and understand his meaning.
“I just,” he stops and it looks like he’s struggling to find the words to say to you. You wait patiently for him to finish, or try to at least. “There’s a bar nearby. I’ll find some work there,” his words are ominous. They give you nothing and convey so much.
Clearly, he’s hiding something from you. You can tell that much from the way he’s avoiding eye contact with you. He pulls out of the motel’s parking lot and turns the radio on. You’ve learned that's his way of telling you he doesn’t want to talk without being a dick about it.
You want to respect his space because you still feel like an imposter. But it’s hard. He’s being oddly cagey about this.
The drive is short but it feels like you’ve been transported to an entirely different town than the one you were in before. He takes only backroads and middle-class homes turn into shady shops with barbed fences. Caged dogs bark at the truck as it drives by and you get a sinking feeling in your gut.
Perhaps it’s a little classist of you to automatically assume a few low-end homes equate to a bad neighborhood. But instinctually you know something is off about this place.
He parks in front of a run-down bar. Even from here, you can hear loud shouts and jeering coming from inside. You don’t know what’s being said but they’re certainly passionate. Logan turns towards you, the expression on his face so serious you feel like you’re about to be scolded.
“I need you to stay here. I won’t be gone long, just an hour at most. But you need to stay in the truck.”
Your jaw gapes and you scoff at him. “Logan, an hour that’s rid-”
He cuts you off with a stern call of your name. Your mouth snaps shut and you narrow your eyes at him, teeth gritting together to keep your tongue at bay. “Stay here, I mean it. Got it?”
You nod and he repeats your name, sounding aggrieved. “Fine,” you huff. “I got it.” He lingers for a moment. You don’t know if he doesn’t trust you or is just reluctant to leave you alone. You’re reluctant to be left alone, especially in a shady dark parking lot like this. But clearly whatever is going on inside is worse than whatever could happen to you out here.
“I’ll be back soon,” he makes this whole thing sound so grave. It makes your brows furrow and doubt churn in your gut. What could he be doing in there that’s so awful?
He gets out and you watch his form under the flickering street lamps until you can’t see him anymore. You sit quietly in the truck for at least three minutes before you already feel the boredom set in.
You’d thought you’d be able to last longer. You used to go for hours dissociating at your father’s galas. This is different, though. You’re a little afraid to let your guard down here.
You try to listen to music but you feel bad wasting his gas so you just turn the truck off and huddle under a blanket in the trailer. You try and let yourself fall asleep but you don’t last long.
It’s too cold outside to really get a good rest and you can hear people moving around outside the trailer. After about an hour of rolling around and frozen limbs, you figure enough is enough.
As much as you don’t want to provoke Logan or give him any reason to get rid of you, you can’t stay in here all night. Besides, Logan said he wouldn’t be long, you can always just lie and say you were worried about him.
Satisfied with your excuse you leave the comfort of your blanket behind and slip into Logan’s jacket. You tuck the truck keys in your pocket and walk out into the snowy night. It’s less cold outside than it was in the trailer, you can see why he wanted a motel room for the night.
A few people linger by the cars, smoking and muttering to themselves. You slip past them, ignoring the feeling of their eyes burning into your skin. You’re sure it's because you look like you don’t belong here.
The noise in the bar gets louder the closer you get and it reminds you of the night Logan had snuck you out of the house. But you’d had him to lean on, right now, until you find him, you’re on your own. For all the noise coming from the building, the bar is surprisingly empty.
Only a few old men are sitting around, drinking beers in silence. The bartender cleans glasses behind the counter, sparing you an odd look before getting back to work. There’s not very far for you to look before you figure out that Logan isn’t anywhere nearby.
“Excuse me?” The bartender spares you a fleeting glance before barely grunting in greeting.
The floor underneath you tremors and you glance down at it in surprise. You can hear something going on underneath. You figure that has to be where all the noises are coming from. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, mean as hell, he’s got this hair,” you swoop your hands up by the sides of your head, trying to mimic the odd fluff of Logan’s hair.
“Downstairs.” You nod and move around the bar, trying to get to the door behind him. He reaches out, grabbing your bicep and stopping you before you can get far. “It's a forty-dollar entrance fee, sweetheart.”
Your brow furrows in confusion and you frown as you dig around in your jacket pockets. You’ve come too far to be deterred now. Ignoring the moral implications, you slip Logan’s wallet out of his jacket and give the man forty dollars.
He nods towards the door and you give him a weak thank you as you slip past him. Opening the door is like breaking a seal. The noises bombard you almost immediately, so much clearer than they were before.
You still can’t understand what they’re screaming but there’s a violent atmosphere slipping around you as you head down the stairs. The heady smell of cigars and cigarettes threatens to suffocate you. Your eyes water at the smoke in the air.
You’d think you’d have gotten used to secondhand smoking after being around Logan, but he’s less inclined to hotbox the car if you’re beside him. The second your feet hit the floor you’re being jostled to the side violently by the people around you.
It’s nearly impossible to elbow your way through the crowd, but you’re determined to figure out what’s in the middle of the cage that’s got them all excited. You can hear the people around you screaming out bets and numbers you don’t understand.
For one nauseating moment, you think this might be a dog fighting ring, that Logan gambles on it to earn his money. It makes you want to turn around, to shield yourself from the truth. But this is something he tried to keep hidden from you and you need to know the truth about whoever you’re traveling with.
You can hear the announcer, but you can’t get close enough to see anything yet. “Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?” There’s a resounding NO! from the crowd that makes you jump.
A booming voice shouts over the throng of voices, “I’ll take him!”
“Our savior ladies and gentlemen!” You shove through two men, ignoring the way they complain about how their beer sloshes on their sleeves.
“Hey-” You glance over your shoulder as one of them reaches for you. You flick your wrist, sending him and his friend tumbling back into the crowd. You roll your eyes and turn back towards the cage.
Your eyes widen and so do Logan’s as you finally see what exactly is going on. He’s cage fighting, this is what he’d been so secretive about. Honestly, it’s a relief compared to the brutality you were bracing yourself for.
You can see his lips starting to form the shape of your name but the man from before is barrelling into his side as the bell goes off. You wince, jumping away from the cage as you hear the meaty impact of his fist against Logan’s face.
The people near you scream, shouting for Logan’s blood. It’s easy to figure out that he’s been beating everyone he’s gone up against based on some bloody faces in the crowd. It’s smart, easy money. He can always heal, and can never really be beaten, not when he’s literally got fists of steel.
You’re surprised that no one’s ever caught onto this scam of his. You also wonder why he had been so adamant about you not seeing this. Sure, it’s brutal watching blood spray against the mat. But you don’t care. Besides, he’s ridiculously attractive in just his jeans as he pummels into some guy.
Maybe that’s not a normal line of thinking.
You shake your head, shelving that for later as the fight dies down. The man is limp on the mat of the cage and Logan is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigar and pointedly not looking at you.
You feel that familiar twisting feeling in your stomach and wonder if this was a horrible idea. You should have just stayed in the car like he asked. You’re sure it would have only been another hour of tirelessly rolling around before he came back. But you couldn’t help yourself.
He tells you so little about himself. If you get a chance to learn more, you’re going to pounce on the opportunity. Maybe it was a violation of his trust. You sincerely doubt that he would ever willingly have revealed this sort of lifestyle to you, though.
He seems to be under the same misguided intention that you need to be sheltered. It reminds you a little of your father. That might be a cruel comparison but it’s the same suffocating feeling of being kept in the dark to suit their needs.
The guilt you’d been holding unfurls and blossoms into anger. You find yourself retreating away from the cage and rushing back up the stairs of the bar. You don’t want to watch him fight any longer. You don’t want to look at him.
You just want him to treat you like an equal. Not like some little girl who’s going to run at the first sign of things getting hard.
You burst through the door of the bar, ignoring the cold laughter of the bartender behind you. He clearly seemed to think you couldn’t handle a little blood. He wasn’t the only one.
You’re only a couple of feet from the truck when you hear footsteps loudly stomping through the snow behind you. “What the hell were you doing?” You scoff, unbelieving that he would have the gall to shout at you.
You whirl around on him and it catches him off guard. His right foot slides against the slush as he tries to stop himself from ramming into you. “I’m not a little girl, Logan! You don’t need to hide stuff like that from me.”
He crosses his arms and glares down at you. “I wasn’t hiding anything,” he insists. But the tone of his voice gives him away. He doesn’t like that he was caught. “I don’t need to tell you jackshit about what I do for money.”
You can’t believe how he sounds right now. Why is he getting so defensive about this? “I don’t care what you do for money, alright. I just don’t get why you felt like I couldn’t know about this.” You hate the way the hurt is audible in your voice. You wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you try and cover it.
In the same way, he’s masking his feelings with anger, so are you. Just with less success. Something draws across his face, some emotion you can’t discern. His voice goes cold and quiet as he shoves an envelope full of cash into your hands.
“Go back to the motel. Get a room.”
He storms past you and walks towards the trailer. You follow after him, slightly dumbfounded by how he’s behaving. He rips his motorcycle out from the back and rolls it into a parking spot. You watch him do all this with your tongue glued to the roof of your mouth.
It’s only when he starts to head back towards the bar that you realize he’s not coming with you. “Logan!” You call out, trailing after him slightly. He barely turns back to face you. “Are you,” the words die on your tongue and you can’t find it in yourself to finish.
Are you angry?
Are you leaving?
Are you going to ditch me at the next bus stop?
Instead of asking any of your ridiculously pining questions, you turn on your heel and storm towards the truck. You rip the door open with more force than necessary and drive off without looking back at him. But you know he watches, know he keeps an eye on you until he can’t see you anymore.
Your rides with him are normally silent, but this one feels painfully so.
You nearly get a room with two beds. But you feel like if you do it will be a horrendous mistake. Reluctantly, you give the man behind the counter enough for a room with one bed large enough for the both of you.
You’re not exactly excited about sharing a bed with him, not after how he behaved tonight. You grumble to yourself as you drag your bag inside and toss it on the ground. You picture putting up a wall of pillows between the two of you, just to be petty.
It’s as you’re showering that you realize you might not even have to. He might not come to join you tonight. He won’t know what room you’re in. And he’d made it pretty clear how pissed he was at you for sneaking into the bar.
Maybe you’ve finally pushed him too far. You’ve been toying with the boundaries of his patience for a while. Little tests to determine whether he truly wants you around simply to have a warm body ready beside him. Or if he wants you because he genuinely cares for you.
You suppose tonight, whether you want it or not, you’ll finally have the truth.
The thought keeps you awake. You toss and you turn for hours, fighting with yourself. You should be happy, finally figuring out what’s been haunting you. But you’re not. You’re petrified. You’d rather keep living a lie than finally accept that he truly doesn’t want you.
You throw the covers off, the scratchy material only further adding to your irritation. You stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind you. You turn on the sink splashing some cool water over your face to try and rid yourself of the warmth lingering under your skin. You don’t know if this feeling of being uncomfortable in your own body is from pent-up anger or anxiety.
You don’t care. You just want to sleep this night away and pretend it never happened. But, of course, the universe has other plans. The motel door creaks open as you’re hovering over the sink, debating whether or not you’re nauseous enough to throw up.
You tilt your head slightly towards the sound. Growing up in your house, filtering through rooms like an unheard ghost, allowed you to get good at recognizing footsteps. Logan has finally decided to grace you with his presence.
You listen to him as he creeps silently across the room, landing on the squeaky bed. You press your ear against the door and can hear the way the sheets rustle and he cusses under his breath. There’s worry staining his voice and you figure you shouldn’t drag this on much longer.
You open the bathroom door and flip the switch, turning the lamps on like a disappointed mother waiting up for her teenager. You cross your arms mutely and lean against the doorframe as he winces under the sudden light.
He jumps, just slightly, and glares over at you. “Thought you weren’t here,” he accuses. He tries sounding angry, but you have a sudden rush of clarity in that moment. Where you would normally focus only on him being upset with you, you can see the truth of his concern.
Same as you, he doesn’t know where he stands in this whole situation. You doubt he had a clear plan when he rescued you from your tower like some ridiculous storybook knight. He most likely thought that you left, the same way you thought he would.
You remain silent, though, still a little too flustered to speak coherently. Instead, you examine him. There are cuts and blood all over his shirt. Splatters of it on his face. Though, you know if you looked there would be no physical evidence of him ever being hurt.
His brows furrow the longer you stare, a wall building between the two of you. “Kid?” He questions, equal parts worried and defensive. Does he really think you actually give a fuck about him fighting?
You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom. You rustle around in the cabinet underneath the sink until you find a washcloth. Wetting it, you bring it back out to him. You station yourself between his spread legs, holding the cloth between you like a peace offering.
He looks doubtful as he glances between you and it. Finally, he lets out a rough sigh and simply nods his head. But when he reaches for it you snatch it back, much to his chagrin. You offer him a small smile and tilt his chin up towards you, gently wiping some of the dried blood off his cheeks.
He doesn’t flinch or hiss away from the less-than-gentle fabric. He stares at you unblinkingly, like if he closes his eyes for a moment he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream. “You don’t have to do this, kid.”
You roll your eyes and crane your neck to get a better look at him. “Would you shut up?” You whisper teasingly.
His lips quirk slightly and you can see his shoulder slump in relief at the sound of your voice. “So, she can talk.” You can’t help the little laugh that comes out of you. He grins fully at that and his hands come up to rest on your hips.
His thumbs rub soothing circles along the sides of your waist as his hands dip a little lower. “What are you doing?” Your hand drifts down to his neck to wipe some blood off there as well.
He shakes his head and shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You lift your gaze to his and your lips fall flat, “Logan-”
He cuts you off before you can finish. In one smooth motion, his hands drop to wrap around your thighs. He lifts you slightly and drops you onto his lap. He grins at the slight huff of surprise that rushes out of you.
His arms go back to your waist, pulling you closer to him and grinding you a little against him. You bite your lip to stop any noises from escaping. As much as you wouldn’t mind what he’s thinking, you need to talk.
“Logan,” you scold.
He smirks and tilts his head patronizingly, “Something wrong, sweetheart?”
“It’s not happening,” you tell him firmly, hand still working on cleaning him.
He sighs and one of his arms drops away from you. He cups your hand in his, stilling your movements and forcing you to meet his gaze. Gently, he takes the cloth from you and tosses it somewhere you can’t see. “I’m fine,” he whispers, eyes searching yours.
It’s hard meeting his gaze. The worry and anxiety from the night still weigh heavily on your shoulders. He repeats himself, fingers tilting your chin up to face him. “Alright?”
“I don’t care,” the words come rushing out of you before you can stop them. His brows raise in shock and he gives a slight chuckle of amusement. A lump grows in your throat and your eyes grow wide. “Wait, I don’t mean-”
You cut yourself off and rub your hands over your face, trying to get your head on right. Logan’s patient, rubbing your back and clearly trying not to laugh at you. You finally take in a deep breath and face him again.
“I don’t care about the fighting,” you can see his shoulders tense slightly like he doesn’t believe you. “I don’t care, Logan. You do what you have to survive and I’m not gonna judge you for that.”
“What if I enjoy it?” He cuts you off, tone harsh as he glares down at you. There's experience in how quickly he doubts you, how quickly he tries to get you to change your mind about him.
You wonder how many times he’s been rejected just for being a mutant. You’ve only ever been rejected by one person because only he ever knew. Your father. And that hurt enough for one lifetime.
You can’t imagine going for as long as he has and constantly being called a monster for something he can’t control. Your brows furrow and you lean into him until your lips are brushing. He remains stiff beneath you but you don’t let it deter you.
“I don’t care,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his before slowly pulling back. You wait for him to respond, physically or verbally, but he’s still looking at you with that cold unfamiliar gaze.
You wonder if maybe it was a mistake, to bring it up at all. But just as the thought comes he’s surging forward. His lips catch yours, his hands digging so desperately into your shirt you know it rips.
Your arms go to his neck, holding onto him so you don’t slip off his lap. You haven't been this close for a few days. You think it might have made you both feel on edge. There’s a relief that comes from not just having sex with him, but also just being intimate and close to one another.
It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, that there’s someone here beside you to be a partner and a pillar of stability. You’ve never had that before. Someone that you can rely on and trust fully. You don’t think he has either.
He craves you the same way you do him. Each kiss, every shared breath, is treated like it will be your last. You don’t know when your father will finally catch up to the two of you. You don’t know when the police might finally recognize Logan.
There’s no definitive future for either of you. It’s a real possibility that this could be your last night together. And neither of you wants to be upset with each other. Because you were never truly mad. You were always just worried.
Your hands drop to his shirt, dipping to find the holes in it from his fight and ripping at the flimsy fabric until you can just yank it off. He smiles against your lips at the eager way you move atop him. But he can’t tease you, he’s already annoyed with the buttons on your shirt.
He pulls back, glaring down at the fabric like it's insulting him. Without another word, he slices through it, leaving it in tatters on your shoulder. You grin, shrugging the rest of it off. “That was yours.”
He grips your hips tightly and leaves marks where his fingers are as a reminder that he was here. He flips you over, leaves you breathless as he hovers over you. “I really don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.”
You’re addicted to his voice. How breathy and desperate it is when he’s with you. It’s a level of vulnerability you rarely get to see from him. He can’t hide himself when he’s with you like this. He wants you just as badly as you do him.
It gives you a confidence rush like no other, makes your ego grow ten times its size. If you can make a man like this fall to his knees from nothing more than a kiss, then you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for.
But you don’t want that tonight. You reach for him before he can go much further, grabbing him by his hair and tugging until you know it stings. He nearly fucking moans at your rough touch, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. The green of them has been wholly consumed by his desire for you and it makes you ache for him.
“Not tonight,” you tell him. There’s no room for argument in your tone. As much as he might want to taste you, devour you, all you want is to be as close to him as possible. You want to be covered and filled by him in every way you can be.
His head falls against your thigh, a rough groan tumbling from his throat at your words. You drag him towards you, pulling him up your body until you’re face to face. You smile softly up at him, lifting your head so you can meet his lips again.
You’ll never get enough of kissing him, of tasting him. Sometimes you have to stop yourself from reaching across the seats and kissing him while he drives. You’ve nearly made him wreck a few times and forced him to pull over so you could both have some fun in the back.
Addiction isn’t the right word for what you feel for him. It brings along its own negative connotations. The taint of dependency and toxicity. With addiction, it’s a parasitic relationship, hurts you but makes you feel good.
This is just goodness. This is a kind touch for the first time in your life and finally feeling safe in someone elses arms. This is opening yourself up to him fully and not once feeling like you need to mold yourself into something else to make him happy. It’s accepting him as he is, a broken dog who likes to fight to punish himself. You don’t want to change him or make him “better.” You just want him to be happy.
You use your powers to help yourself, flipping him over and straddling his hips. You drag his jeans down his legs and flick your wrist, sending them flying somewhere across the room. He watches you with eyes filled with awe, hands drifting over your curves like something to be worshipped.
You know he’s waiting for it, for you to sink yourself down on him and finally be filled. But you wait, hover over him even as the muscles of your thighs tremor. “You don’t hide things from me anymore,” you warn him. You’re not asking, for once, you’re demanding what you want.
He doesn’t look angry like you’d been expecting. Instead, it only seems to turn him on more. “Ya know,” his hands drift to your hips, dragging you down and over his cock until it’s wet with your want. Your nails dig into his chest until there’s blood beading under them and you’re trying not to let your noises slip out.
“I kinda like it when you’re all bossy like this.”
“Logan,” you grit his name out. It takes everything in you not to look as affected by him as you feel. “No more hiding shit.”
He leans up on his elbows. His hand drifts to the nape of your neck and drags you down until your lips are nearly touching his. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”
Like a taut rope being cut, you sink into him, your hips finally drop and he guides you down every inch of him until you feel like you’re so full you can’t breathe. He lets you linger for a moment, and get used to this feeling while he steals the very air from your lungs.
He’s greedy with the way he touches you. His hands always moving like he’ll never fully be satisfied with how much of you he can feel. He’s always reaching for you like he needs to make sure you’re actually real and not just something he’s dreamt up.
Even with how impatient he is, you’re always the one that moves first. You roll your hips over him, moaning at how he feels inside you. It’s like he’s perfectly molded you around him. He always manages to brush against the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head.
The second your hips begin to roll, he’s wrapping his heavy arms around you, grinding you down into him. He keeps you trapped in place, using you like a toy as he bounces you on his lap. Your mind is fuzzy, every bad thought and feeling shoved out while he makes you go dumb on his dick.
You love how boneless you go. You don’t have to think now, don’t have to worry. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, shifting yourself further on top of him until you're practically burying yourself under his skin.
Not thinking always comes with its own consequences, though. Your powers slip a little out of your grasp. The walls trembling and the drawers and cabinets opening and closing. The both of you have gotten used to the noise, know how to drown it out, and just focus on each other.
One of these days, you’ll need to figure out a way to have sex with him without bringing the room down around you. That’s a problem for later though. His whispered praises and grunts of your name filter through your mind until there’s nothing left inside you but him.
“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, “you’re so fucking tight around me. You close?” He grunts, hand drifting down to rub tight circles on your clit. You dig your nails into his shoulders, nodding your head frantically against his neck. “Words, sweetheart.”
“Shit,” you can barely think of your own damn name. Let alone what you want from him. “Fuck off,” you hiss. He chuckles at the attitude and you almost expect him to stop, just to be a dick because you were a brat.
But he’s just as close as you are and he’s too selfish to tease. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on you as your body shakes against his. He follows quickly after you, warmth shooting up inside you and almost leaking down your thighs. You feel stuffed, like your body’s been pushed to the limit and further.
You both sit together in silence for a while. You ignore the way your skin sticks to his uncomfortably, instead reveling in the warmth he provides you. Anyone else, and you’d be rushing to get away from them.
You’re always extra sensitive after sex, every little thing setting you off. But there’s a comfort to the way his hairy ass chest brushes against your breasts and his arms squeeze around you. It’s a nice grounding feeling.
The tips of your fingers drift over his arms, following the path of his veins and brushing against his fingers lazily. He flips his palm over, encasing your hand in his own wordlessly. Little things like that ease your worries. Makes you feel like something more than just a quick fuck.
He breaks the silence first, which is rare for him. “I’m sorry about tonight.”
You frown and peer up at him. “I told you, I don’t care about the fighting.”
He sighs and shakes his head, “Not that. I shouldn’t have gotten so fucking mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You want to interrupt him, assure him that you both acted pretty childishly.
But you understand it’s difficult for him to express himself verbally. He usually prefers silent acts of apologies and expression, you don’t want to mess him up before he can get out what he wants to say.
“I don’t want to be like your father.” Your face screws up a little and you shift uncomfortably on his lap. He loosens his grip, giving you room to leave if you want to, but you stay put. “I’m trying not to coddle you, sweetheart, or hide you away from the world. But I don’t like you seeing that shit.”
“You’re not my dad, Logan. He wouldn’t give me a choice,” you try and joke but it just seems to make him more irritated. Sighing you straighten up, bracing yourself on his chest and staring down at him.
Your head tilts to the side in contemplation and he almost looks uncomfortable under the attention. “I’m not so fragile or sheltered that I’m going to shatter at the first taste of the real world, Logan. I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve had acid thrown at me and bodyguards since I could walk. I know how dangerous it is. Whatever you want to hide from me, I’ve seen worse.”
You let your words sink in for a moment and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You know that it’s odd for him, to comprehend a girl who was afraid to go into a bar swallowing down an illegal fighting ring like it’s nothing. But you’re not lying. Everyday little things are what you’re unused to. But you’ve lived alongside violence your whole life.
“Look, fighting, sleeping in shitty motels, and your truck, that doesn't bother me. But I don’t like when you hide things and I don’t,” you take in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the worst. This is what you’ve been trying to tell him for weeks.
A few little words have your tongue tied and make you desperate to cover yourself up again. He can see the shift in your expression, and feel how tense you get. He sits up a little more, thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand.
“I don’t want to just be someone to fuck you, Logan. I didn’t come with you so you’d have easy access pussy,” he looks thoroughly amused at your crude words, but there’s something else lingering in his expression. Something like hurt.
“Is that what you think?” He asks, tone distant. You can’t find the words so you simply nod. He sighs and shakes his head. He eases you off his lap and you worry you’ve truly fucked this up somehow.
He goes into the bathroom, returns with a wet washcloth. He still doesn’t speak and you’re on edge the entire time he cleans the both of you up. You can see he’s thinking, biting his tongue, and trying to figure out what it is that he wants to say to you.
You’re impatient, five seconds away from just demanding a response from him. He tosses the cloth and drops into bed beside you. You draw the sheets up to your chest, glaring down at him while he rubs his hands over his face with a tired sigh.
When he opens his eyes again he laughs at how close you are. “Jesus,” he wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you down into his chest even though you fight him. It must be easier for him to speak when you’re not staring at him.
“I didn’t go back for you so I could fuck you, kid. I… care about you,” there’s a long pause before he says the word care. You think it’s funny, that he can’t bring himself to admit what he actually feels. But you’ll take it, you’ll give him the time he needs to come to terms with the truth.
For now, you let yourself fall asleep, feeling just a little bit better about the road ahead.
Things get easier between the two of you. And somehow harder at the same time. You don’t walk on eggshells around each other, no longer afraid of scaring the other off now. Which also means that you find it easier to bicker with him about little things. Like, not just tossing his trash everywhere in the truck. You’re practically living out of the trailer, the least he could do is help you keep it tidy.
You know it’s weird for him. Suddenly having someone nag at him not to be a slob or to take breaks in between driving so he doesn’t wear himself out. It’s an adjustment you see him struggle with sometimes.
You try not to be too pushy, but there’s only so many times you can flick crumbs from his burgers off your seat before you lose it. “Logan!” You snap, glaring at him as you stand up only to find chip crumbs squished into the fabric of your leggings.
He glances over at you and shrugs, “What?”
You glance between the crumbs and him with a glare but he doesn’t seem to be connecting the dots. “Fucks sake,” you grumble, passive-aggressively wiping the truck seat off before you slam the door and storm towards the diner.
You’re sick of being cramped in the truck. You’re sick of the greasy food. You’ve begun to crave salads lately. Which is beyond weird. But the novelty of shitty food and milkshakes wore off a hundred miles ago.
Logan catches up to you, huffing with irritation as he swings the door open for you. You take a seat in the booth near the corner, snatching up the menu and pointedly staring at it and not him. “Really?” He demands. When you don’t answer he tips the menu down, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What is your problem?” He hisses, trying not to draw attention to you both.
You lean in, voice a harsh whisper. “How hard is it to just not make a mess? We live out of that damn truck, the least you could do is keep your crumbs on your side.”
He rolls his eyes and leans back in the booth. You’re both sick of having the same fight. But there’s really nothing else to do anymore. When you’re stuck together for so long, it’s the small things that get to you.
You’re going to say more but the waitress pops in front of you out of nowhere. “Hi!” She beams and gives you her name, the bows in her hair trembling at how hyper she is. “What can I get you both today?”
You and Logan place your orders, and he shoots you an odd look when you only order the salad. “We’ve got a couple more hours ahead of us, you’re gonna get hungry.”
You cross your arms and shrug, “No, I won’t.”
He licks his lips, sucking on his teeth and leaning against the table. “Yes, you will,” he argues with a stern voice.
You narrow your eyes at him and give him a bitter smile. “Kiss. My. Ass.”
Your stomach grumbles for the third time and you know that Logan can hear it. You’re pointedly not making eye contact with him. It feels like it's louder than the music at this point and you really don’t want to prove him right.
Without a word, he begins to dig around in the center console. You glance towards him, confused, “What’re you doing?”
He doesn’t say anything, just tosses whatever he’s grabbed onto your lap. You glance down at it and frown. It’s somehow cold as you unwrap it. You pull the parchment paper away and let out a relieved sigh.
He ordered you a wrap from the diner without you realizing. You take a bite, your hunger steadily easing away. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, pointedly looking out the window.
He glances over at you and scoffs. “What was that? Couldn’t hear ya, kid.”
You roll your eyes and turn to glare at him. He’s already looking at you, a teasing tilt to his lips. “I said I’m sorry,” you snap. “I shouldn’t have been a bitch.”
He shakes his head and waves you off. “I haven’t exactly been pleasant myself. I’ll,” he huffs lowly and forces the words out, “clean up more.”
“I think we’ve just been stuck on the road too long. We’re gonna end up driving each other insane.”
His eyes glance along the signs on the highway. There’s a notice for food and shopping at the next exit and he nods towards it. “We’ll stop at a motel for a few nights. Take a break.” You want to ask him if he’s sure that’s smart.
It seems risky, to slow down for so long. But you need to walk around, breathe fresh air, and stretch your legs. You’re too selfish to tell him not to stop and keep going. Instead, you nod and smile at him. “That sounds really nice.”
He gives you a slight smile that’s gone as quickly as it came, reaching over and resting his hand on your thigh. You move closer to him and he turns the radio up. You wonder why he doesn’t want to talk anymore but you don’t push it. You’re too excited to finally get out of the truck again.
The town is nice enough. It’s small, with only a few shops where you buy some new shirts to replace one’s that Logan has torn up. The motel you’re staying at doesn’t have a washing machine so you have to use the laundromat to wash your clothes.
Logan says he’s going to see if he can find a quick job nearby. You wonder if that means a real job or a more bloody one. You decide not to ask questions, instead taking the little change you have and figuring you’ll try to get the smell of grease out of all your clothes.
As you load the machine up and put your quarters in you can’t escape the feeling of someone watching you. You’ve been on high alert ever since Logan stole you away from the house. But this is different.
You’ve gotten used to your own paranoia, you know when it’s real or not. You walk away from the machine, glancing out at the glass walls near the front and trying to see if there’s someone out there. This, oddly enough, doesn’t feel like a police stakeout where they’re going to track you back to the motel and bust Logan.
This is something different. There is a deep-seated primal fear in you that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your heart races as your eyes search the dark street outside. What little glow comes from the streetlights isn’t enough for you to clearly make anything out.
But you feel them, tracking your every move. They’re somewhere nearby, you can’t see them but they see you. You feel sick to your stomach. You glance at the door before racing towards it. You turn the lock, slowly backing away and keeping your eyes trained on the street.
You look into the shadows and find shapes and movements where there are none. Your eyes spin as your brain crafts a horrible image of some monster waiting outside for you. When the timer for the washer goes off you let out a sharp scream, spinning around and clutching your chest as you glare at it.
“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, angrily running your hand over your face and trying to catch your breath. You put the clothes in the dryer and by the time you're done, the feeling is gone. You don’t know if they were never there to begin with, or if they got bored and left.
You’d told Logan that you didn’t need a ride, you’d just walk the short distance back to the motel. Now, you use the phone on the front counter and call him, telling him you’ve changed your mind after all.
By the time he picks you up, he looks incredibly concerned. You know you sounded panicked when you called him. You still feel upset about the whole thing. But when he asks what’s wrong you just tell him you got a little scared walking back in the dark.
You don’t tell him someone was watching you because you know he’ll make you pack up and leave again. You want some stability. Even if it's just for a week. So, as stupid as it is, you lie to him and say everything’s fine.
When you try to go to sleep that night you feel like you’re being watched again. Even with the curtains closed their eyes burn into you. You toss and turn under the heavy weight of the sheets, struggling to get comfortable.
There’s a low grumble behind you before Logan throws his arm over your waist and tugs you back into his chest. “Stop movin’ around,” he demands, his voice barely audible. You smile a little at how tired he sounds before forcing yourself to settle down.
He doesn’t give you much choice, using his body as a weight to keep you pinned. You still feel their gaze, even more now, but his proximity brings you enough comfort to get a little bit of restless sleep.
Logan’s up before you, he always is. He comes in with cheap coffee and free breakfast from the lounge. You push the sheets off your legs, your shirt sticking to your back from the cold sweat of your nervous sleeping. You feel a little more at ease this morning.
You wonder if you’re developing some late-in-life fear of the dark. You don’t know why you were so upset last night, you feel perfectly fine now. It’s almost like it was all one bad dream. Logan walks over, handing you the coffee wordlessly and rustling around in your bag for something.
He pulls out the envelope of cash you keep stashed away and frowns at the contents. “Found a job,” he mutters, stuffing the envelope away and turning back towards you. He leans against the desk, face pensive.
You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a bit more so you sound coherent. “What is it?” You take a sip of the coffee and your face screws up at the aftertaste.
“Fighting,” his tone is clipped and you wonder what’s got him up in arms. He walks past you, heading into the bathroom, and closing the door behind him. You tilt your head, gaze following him curiously. He doesn’t normally close the door, he usually likes to invite you to join him.
Something happened and you wonder if he’s hiding the same thing you are. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and closing your mind off to the fear from last night.
By the time Logan is done in the bathroom, you’re feeling more awake. You can’t just dismiss what happened last night. You’ve never gotten scared like that before. You refuse to ignore your instincts, but you’re also not going to let whoever that was terrify you into going back on the road.
You don’t want things between you and Logan to grow more tense than they already are. The time away from each other yesterday helped a lot. You no longer want to strangle him when you hear him breathe. You’ll just stick closer to him today and see if you feel the eyes on you again tonight.
“So,” you start, testing the waters to see if he’s still in a bad mood. He glances over at you, eyebrows quirked in curiosity but you’re tongue-tied as you stare at him. However many weeks you’ve been with him and you’re never gonna get used to seeing him straight out of the shower.
The towel is draped low on his hips, giving you a taunting look at what lies underneath the white cloth. Droplets drip down his abs and you’ve never wanted to be water more than you do right now. It’s unfair, just how attractive he is.
You always forget what you’re going to say. You can’t think when he has a shirt off, it’s infuriating. Scoffing, you turn away from him and shake your head. You hear him chuckle, you know he knows what you’re thinking about.
“What’s wrong?” He creeps up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you back into his chest.
“Logan, dammit,” water soaks into the back of your shirt uncomfortably and you tilt your head to glare at him.
He smirks down at you, “Cat got your tongue, kid?”
You roll your eyes and push away from him. “I can’t even remember what I was going to say.” You snatch a shirt from the dresser and shove it into his hands. “Put this on.”
He scoffs and gives you a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?” You wait for him, gaze expectant. You’re not gonna be able to think when he looks like this. Sighing, he acquieses and tugs the shirt on. His lips fall into a sarcastic line, “Happy?”
Like a switch being flipped you finally remember what you were going to ask him. “The job you told me about. Where is it?”
You can see on his face how little he wants to divulge that information to you. But you know he’s going to tell you. You two made a deal not to hide things, although, you might be breaking your side of that right now.
“Some shitty bar a few miles from here. Listen-”
You’re not gonna like it.
I don’t want you tagging along.
You should just stay here and read or some shit.
You wonder which one he’ll pick today. “You wouldn’t like it, it’s just a shitty little place where I can make some quick cash.” Look at that, it’s rarely ever your first pick excuse. You must be getting better at reading him.
“I’ll come with you,” you tell him because you’re not asking. You’re not staying by yourself tonight and you both need the money. You grin at him even as his face falls in disappointment. “Maybe I’ll fight.”
He doesn’t even say anything and you immediately regret what you said. The look he’s giving you would put you six feet under if it could. “It was just a joke,” you mutter.
“Wasn’t funny, kid,” he tells you, tone clipped as he moves around you to grab his jeans. “I don’t even want you in those places, let alone fuckin’ fighting.”
You purse your lips and take a seat on the bed, handing him his jacket when he begins looking for it. “I have abilities too, you know. Maybe I could win a fight.”
“Don’t,” he snaps. “I win because I can take the hits people deal me. You can’t,” you don’t bother arguing with him that you heal too. You understand what he means. You might be able to recover physically, but there’s a mental aspect to being knocked on the ground. There’s humiliation and fear in cage fights, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle that side of it.
He waits for you to say anything else but when he realizes you’ve dropped the subject he lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ll stay in the truck,” he tries.
You give him a deadpan look, slipping the keys out of your purse and handing them to him. “No way in hell, but I’ll stay by the bar if it makes you feel better.” He stays silent and nods but you know he’ll try and convince you otherwise when you actually get to the place. Tough luck, though, you don’t think it’s safe for either of you to be apart tonight. Even if it’s just staying in the truck.
The setup of these places is always the same. Though, this bar seems to be particularly disgusting in comparison to other ones you’ve been to. You position yourself near the corner, your back to the wall so you’re less likely to be noticed in the crowd.
The fights never last more than a few minutes. And that’s if Logan is feeling generous. Most of the time you only need to be here an hour before people get pissed off and go home. Someone bumps into you and you hear a small, “I’m sorry,” before they rush to claim a stool.
The crowd’s already begun to die out. Most leave while they still have a little money left in their pockets. You duck your head down, catching the eye of the girl who’d bumped into you. She looks young and incredibly skittish. Her eyes keep darting to the tip jar near the bartender.
She quietly asks for water but the bartender just shakes his head, tugging the jar closer to him. You don’t know why you’re drawn to her, maybe it’s because she looks like one of those sad pound puppies, but you take a seat beside her.
“Water,” you order, slipping him some change. When he gives it to you, you pass it off to her, spotting the greedy way she eyes it. You know a runaway when you see one, she clearly needs a little help. But Logan’s got enough on his shoulders, you’re not gonna bug him with adding another person to the mix.
“Thank you,” she gulps it down like she hasn’t drunk anything in days. You feel your stomach twist with empathy. What little cash you have in your wallet, you slip into her bag as you pass by her. Logan will have made enough for it to be spared and it's the least you can do.
Not everyone is as lucky as you to have someone help them navigate a new life.
Logan grabs his jacket, wiping blood off from under his nose and heading towards you. You know he’ll want a drink before you go, he always does. Before he can say anything someone’s shouting the name he uses in the cage. “Hey, Wolverine! I want my fucking money back.”
The big man he’d knocked down earlier takes a step towards him. His friend tries to hold him back, but there’s no stopping him. He’s already had his ass kicked once, what makes him think this is going to be any different?
“Not your money anymore, bub.” Logan scoffs and turns back towards you. You just want to leave now. You don’t want to stay for a drink or go get something to eat. You feel the eyes on you again, but when you turn to find them there’s no one there but the girl.
And she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are wide and staring at something else. “Behind you!” She screeches, and both you and Logan whirl around to find the man barreling towards him with a knife outstretched.
Logan moves so quickly that you stumble back slightly. He grabs the guy's arm, twisting his wrist until the knife drops to the ground. He shoves him back against the wall, claws out and pinning him there.
“Shit,” you whisper, glancing around as the few patrons of the bar stare in horror at Logan. The people counting his money stop and tuck it back into the cash box. You clench your eyes shut in irritation, he’s not gonna be getting paid tonight, that’s for sure.
There’s a strange noise behind you, like someone cocking a gun. You turn around slowly, gasping when you see the bartender pointing the barrel of his shotgun at your chest. He’s not aiming it at Logan, he’s aiming it at you. Like he somehow knows that’s the only way to get him to back off.
It’s not like he was going to kill the guy, besides, he came at him with a knife first. What’s the difference if Logan’s a mutant? He’s defending himself. Why does no one understand that?
“Get out of my bar,” the old man warns lowly, taking a step closer to you. Logan turns around and finally spots what’s going on.
“Pay me and I’ll be on my way.” You know you’d be able to heal from the shotgun blast, but you don’t exactly want to go through it.
The old man laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not getting paid, buddy. Get the fuck out of my bar before I put a hole in your little girlfriend.”
Your eyes narrow in disbelief. You debate with yourself for a moment, if this is smart or not. But the guy’s being a prick and you’re sick of people treating mutants like they’re less than nothing. You flick your wrist and the shotgun goes flying out of his hand.
You glance over at the cashbox and it comes floating towards you, landing easily in your outstretched palm. “Be thankful I’m not blowing a hole in you,” you warn, glaring at the cowering man. You walk forward and he stumbles back and you try not to focus on the sick feeling of satisfaction it brings you. You grab the tip jar and shove it towards the girl at the end of the bar. “Good luck, kid.”
Logan releases the man from the before, taking a step towards you. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and rush towards the exit of the bar. You need to just get the fuck out of this town as quickly as possible, you’re not safe here anymore.
Logan seems to agree with you. He gets into the truck and doesn’t turn back to the motel. Instead, he turns onto the highway while you keep your eyes peeled on the trees outside your window. There’s someone out there, still following you.
“Something’s wrong with the suspension,” you glance up from where you’d been working on breaking open the cashbox and frown. Logan’s glaring down at the steering wheel, it seems like he’s struggling to get it to turn properly.
“What?”
He scoffs and glares at you, “How should I know?” He pulls over to the side of the road, opens his door, and lets in a rush of cool air and snow. You toss the cashbox to the back of the trailer and follow after him.
He goes to where he’s pulling his motorcycle and you feel like you notice an extra bump under the tarp. “What’s that?” You take a step towards it just as Logan pulls it back. You have to bite back a laugh when you see the girl from last night curled up next to his motorcycle.
She gives you both guilty looks and slowly sits up. “I’m sorry,” Logan offers her a hand and she gets out of the trailer. He grabs her bag and drops it at her feet. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Find a different ride,” he growls, already heading back to the truck. You open your mouth, prepared to argue, but you can’t force her on him. As much as you might want to help her. She’s better off away from the two of you.
“You’re just gonna leave me here?” She snaps at him, a little attitude finally showing through.
“Yep!” He gets in the truck and you know he wants to drive off immediately but he has to wait for you. You shoot her an apologetic look as you follow after him, slipping into the seat beside him. He starts the engine, driving off slowly, eyes drifting towards the rearview mirror.
You bite your tongue, trying not to point out how cruel he is leaving her on a snowy highway in the middle of nowhere. He glances over at you, “What?” He snaps.
You shake your head and shrug. “Nothing.” You’ve barely finished speaking before he’s slamming on his brakes.
“God dammit,” he mutters, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw. You can’t help the grin on your face, reaching over to open your door. It doesn’t take long for the girl to catch on, scooping up her bag and chasing after you.
“You’re such a softie,” you tease him.
“Shut the hell up.”
Rogue is nice, if not a little odd. She claims to be a mutant too but doesn’t want to give specifics on her abilities. You don’t want to push her but you are curious about the gloves she wears. “What kind of name is Wolverine?” She asks, spotting Logan’s tags.
He glances over at her and smiles slightly, “What kind of a name is Rogue?”
She goes to say something but you throw your arm out, holding her back as you shout, “Logan, watch out!” He tries to hit his brakes in time but the tree’s already coming down. The truck slams into it and it’s like time slows down, only for a moment.
You can feel the impact of your body against the windshield, the glass dragging along your scalp and skin. It’s like a million razors each slicing into you. And then, you’re flying through the air, head snapping so hard against the ground you can’t see anything.
You hear something happening around you, a roar that doesn’t sound human echoing through the air. There’s the sound of metal crunching and someone is screaming in the distance but you can’t see. It’s not like a total void of darkness, there’s just nothing.
You feel the blood slowly leaking down the back of your skull and something lands harshly against your head. You don’t think much time has passed. When your eyes finally open, however, you’re not lying on the pavement.
The world around you is foreign. It smells like a hospital but it’s not like any you’ve ever seen. X-rays are hanging on the wall and paperwork is scattered on a desk near the bed you’re lying on.
Your mind is blank for a moment. Slowly turning back on while you process the sudden change of scenery. You don’t even remember closing your eyes, you don’t know when your vision came back to you or how long you’ve been here.
The terror sets in quickly. You throw the blankets off your legs, staring down at the pajamas you wear in disgust. Someone had changed you. They’d run tests and done X-rays on you and you don’t remember a second of it.
You rip the needle out of your arm, tossing it to the floor and running towards the door. Your feet slip on the metal floors as you run but you’re afraid to stop. Everything around you looks more and more like a lab.
Did someone from the bar call some government agency? You’ve heard horror stories from your father about the tests the military has run on mutants. You’re starting to worry that’s what's happening to you.
But you doubt the military would make it so easy for you to escape. This has to be something else. You’d heard other voices when you’d been lying on the ground. People who had been trying to help. Could that be who took you?
“You caught on quicker than your friend.” You nearly fall flat on your face, flipping around to see who spoke. But no one’s there. You’re completely alone. “I’m just grateful you didn’t choke out one of my associates.” it’s coming from beside you now.
It’s all around you, the voice floating through the walls until you think he might be in your mind. “Much faster than your friend,” he sounds gleeful and it makes you even more anxious. “I’m a telepath, darling, nothing to fear. If you’d just take that elevator and come up to meet me.”
You’d have to be an idiot to actually listen to the voices in your head. But you don’t see another way out of here. So, reluctantly, you follow the floating voice’s instructions and slip inside the elevator.
When the door opens up again you don’t have a chance to step inside before someone’s pushing you back. Logan stands in front of you, hands clamped tightly around your shoulders while he looks you over.
You sink into his arms, hugging him tightly to you. You’d been terrified you were all alone here. It’s more than a relief to see him again. “You’re okay?” He asks, pulling back to look at you one last time.
You nod, throat too dry to try and form a coherent sentence. You glance over his shoulders brows furrowed at the people awkwardly watching you reunite. There’s a man in a wheelchair smiling at you, “Ah, glad you could make it.” The floating voice, of course. “Logan here was quite worried about you.”
Logan turns to glare at the man and you offer a slight smile. There is something comforting about him. You’re not exactly threatened by an old guy in a wheelchair. The redhead behind him, however, is bugging you. Something about the way she’s looking at Logan doesn’t sit right with you.
“Welcome to my school for the exceptionally gifted,” something about the way he says that makes you tilt your head in confusion. You don’t know what he means until there’s a puff of smoke behind him and some kid is walking by with their hair on fire like it’s nothing.
Mutants. It’s an entire school for mutants. You think you could pass out again.
“It’s the best place we could have ended up, Logan. This is amazing.” You’ve been going back and forth for an hour. He won’t see reason. He keeps saying you need to leave. That you don’t know these people and it could all be one big trap.
You don’t understand him, why he’s so desperate to get away from people like the both of you. You’re rejected in every other corner of society. You could have something real here.
It hits you at once. That’s the problem. He’s not ready for something real. He’s not used to it because he’s never had it before. At least you could pretend at a sense of normalcy living at home. It’s an entirely new concept to him, sticking to one place for so long.
“We don’t know these people,” he hisses, leaning over the bed to argue with you. You narrow your eyes but your conversation is cut off by a knock on the door. You sigh, walking away from him and swinging the door open.
Jean is on the other side, a surprised look on her face when she sees you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to drop these off to Logan.” You glance down at the towels in your hand and give her a strained smile. That’s a flimsy excuse if you’ve ever seen one. “I must have the wrong room.”
You step to the side, opening the door wider so she can see him. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy angrily unmaking the bed. “No, you have the right one.” You hold your hands out expectantly, “I can just take those for you.”
The look on her face is priceless and finally causes a real smile to grow on your lips. She wordlessly hands you the towels, looking disappointed. You don’t know if it's because of what she was trying to do, or because she couldn’t do it.
Before she leaves you call out a quick, “Tell Scott I said thank you again. Wouldn’t be here without him, after all.” Her shoulders tense and she rushes back down the hall. Whatever little crush or interest she has with Logan is going to need to be dealt with on her own.
You’ve got enough shit going on without having to worry about her too. You shake your head and slam the door shut, tossing the towels on the desk. Logan sits on the bed, watching you with an odd look.
“What was that about?”
“She’s into you,” you tell him bluntly, waiting for his reaction. He doesn’t even blink, just glances between the towels and you before shrugging.
“Not interested.” You don’t want to admit that you feel any relief. There was never any real doubt. But it’s still nice to be reassured.
You slip into bed beside him, taking his hand and forcing him to meet your gaze. “I know that this isn’t what either of us was expecting, but this is good, Logan. We don’t have to worry about pretending we’re something we’re not. We don’t have to worry about my dad or anyone finding us.”
He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But he lets out a heavy sigh and drags you closer to him. He tucks your head under his chin, placing a brief kiss against your forehead. “If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But I’m not putting on that fucking costume.”
You laugh a little, peering up at him with a grin, “Deal.”
There’s a place for you here, even if there isn’t in the rest of the world. You can be safe here, you don’t have to worry anymore. You don’t have to fear the eyes on the back of your head because they can’t get you here.
end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
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