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Logan Howlett X Reader - Blog Posts
﹒ ◠ 𝓘𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 ⊹ ﹒
Tw; crack, fluff, slight angst
Mahito, toji, gojo, deadpool (goofy), wolverine
Likes and reblogs are appreciated
debating coming out of my year long writing hiatus just for wolverine, i actually cant stop thinking about him
like that's my man i have to write for him
I went with my mom to the cinema yesterday to watch Deadpool & Wolverine and I can't stop thinking about the movie!! It was sooo goooodddd.
Send requests for Wade and Logan I'm begging-
A Wolverine's Heartache - Part III
Part I Part II
i'm so sorry it took so long for me to post this!! i've been drowning in work :,(
Logan/James Howlett x Reader
She/Her pronouns used!!
Summary: Logan struggles after seeing a person he loves alive. Will he be able to save her?
In the moments leading up to Logan's journey back in time, the Xavier Institute was a hub of frantic activity, a beacon of hope in the face of impending doom. The threat of the Sentinels loomed large, casting a shadow of fear and uncertainty over the mutant community.
Logan, haunted by the memory of Y/N's tragic death and driven by a desperate need to prevent further loss, had become the linchpin in a daring plan to alter the course of history. With the help of Professor Xavier and a handful of trusted allies, Logan prepared to embark on a mission that would defy the very fabric of time itself.
The decision to send Logan back in time was not made lightly. It required sacrifices – sacrifices that weighed heavily on the hearts of those left behind. Yet, in the face of imminent destruction, there was no room for hesitation.
As Logan stood before the makeshift time-travel device, his resolve hardened like steel. The weight of his mission bore down on him, a burden he carried with grim determination. He knew the risks – the possibility of altering the timeline, of facing enemies both old and new – but the chance to rewrite history and save those he loved was a gamble he was willing to take.
Before he could second-guess himself, Logan braced himself for the journey ahead. With a final glance at his comrades, a silent promise etched in his eyes, he stepped into the swirling vortex of energy, disappearing into the unknown depths of the past.
In that pivotal moment, the fate of the world hung in the balance. For Logan, it was a journey fraught with peril and uncertainty, but it was also a journey fueled by hope – hope for redemption, for a chance to right the wrongs of the past, and for a future where Y/N's death would be nothing more than a distant memory.
As Logan's consciousness shifted through time, propelled back to a pivotal moment before the devastation wrought by the Sentinels, a sense of urgency gripped him like a vice. His mission was clear: to prevent the cataclysmic events that had led to Y/N's tragic demise.
Arriving in the past, Logan found himself in a world that was both familiar and yet subtly different. The Xavier Institute bustled with life, its halls alive with the laughter of students and the gentle hum of telepathic conversations. But for Logan, it was a world tinged with sorrow, a reminder of the losses he had endured.
As he navigated the bustling corridors, searching for allies to aid him in his quest, Logan's heart quickened at the thought of encountering Y/N. She existed in this timeline, vibrant and alive, yet unaware of the role she would play in shaping their shared destiny.
When Logan finally came face to face with Y/N, his breath caught in his throat. She was different here – a younger version of the person he had known, her features softened by innocence and untainted by the scars of war. And yet, there was an undeniable familiarity in her presence, a connection that transcended the boundaries of time.
As their eyes met, Logan felt a surge of emotions wash over him – longing, regret, and a fierce determination to protect her at all costs. In that fleeting moment, he saw echoes of the Y/N he had lost, a reminder of the bond they had shared across time and space.
But for Y/N, Logan was a stranger – a mysterious figure with haunted eyes and a sense of purpose that seemed to emanate from his very being. And yet, there was something in his gaze, a depth of emotion that stirred something within her – a feeling she couldn't quite place.
As Logan reached out to Y/N, his hand trembling with the weight of unspoken truths, he knew that convincing her to join him would be no easy task. But for Y/N, Logan's presence ignited a spark of curiosity, a whisper of destiny that beckoned her towards a future she could not yet fathom.
As Logan stood before the younger version of Y/N, his heart clenched with a mixture of emotions – longing, regret, and an urgent sense of purpose. He knew that convincing her of the impending danger would be no easy task, especially considering she had no recollection of their shared history.
Y/N regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice tinged with a hint of defiance.
Logan took a deep breath, steeling himself for the difficult task ahead. "I know this is hard to believe, but you need to listen to me. I'm from the future, and I've seen what happens if we don't act now."
Y/N's eyes widened in disbelief, a scoff escaping her lips. "From the future? That's impossible. Why should I trust you?"
Logan knew he had to choose his words carefully, to break through the wall of skepticism that surrounded her. "I know this is a lot to take in, but I've seen the devastation caused by the Sentinels. They've hunted us down, taken everything from us. If we don't stop them now, there won't be a future for any of us."
Y/N's expression softened slightly, but her hesitation remained palpable. "And why should I believe you? You could be anyone, spinning tales to manipulate me."
Logan's jaw tightened with frustration, but he forced himself to remain calm. He understood her skepticism – after all, he was asking her to believe in the impossible. "I understand your doubts, but you have to trust me. Lives are at stake here, including yours. We need to work together to stop this."
Y/N's gaze flickered with uncertainty, torn between disbelief and a nagging sense of curiosity. She wanted to dismiss Logan's words as the ramblings of a madman, but there was something in his eyes – a depth of sincerity that gave her pause.
As Logan pleaded with her to heed his warning, Y/N felt a surge of conflicting emotions wash over her – fear, anger, and a flicker of hope. In that moment of uncertainty, she grappled with the weight of the decision before her, knowing that the fate of the world rested in her hands – and in the hands of the enigmatic stranger who claimed to hold the key to their salvation.
The moment hung suspended in time, a fragile balance between doubt and determination. Y/N stood before Logan, her gaze locked with his, uncertainty etched into the lines of her face. Logan's plea echoed in the air, a whispered promise of redemption and salvation, and for a fleeting instant, Y/N hesitated.
But then, something shifted within her – a spark of resolve that ignited in the depths of her soul. It was a quiet realization, born from the depths of her own courage and fueled by the unwavering belief that together, they could make a difference.
With a steadying breath, Y/N met Logan's gaze, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging within her. "Alright. I'll help you."
The words hung in the air like a beacon of hope, a testament to the strength of her conviction. In that moment, a weight lifted from Logan's shoulders, replaced by a surge of gratitude and relief. He had expected resistance, perhaps even outright rejection, but Y/N's willingness to trust him filled him with a sense of purpose unlike anything he had ever known.
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As the tension reached its peak in the crowded conference room, Logan and Y/N moved with precision and determination, their eyes locked in silent communication. They had trained for this moment, prepared for the pivotal role they would play in altering the course of history.
Amidst the chaos, Mystique, disguised as a government official, made her move, her gun trained on Trask, the architect of the Sentinel program. But before she could pull the trigger, Logan sprang into action, his instincts honed by years of combat.
With a swift motion, he intercepted Mystique's shot, deflecting the bullet away from its intended target. The room erupted into chaos as panic spread like wildfire, but Logan remained focused, his gaze never wavering from Mystique's determined form.
Beside him, Y/N moved with a grace and precision that belied her years, her powers weaving through the air like a symphony of light and shadow. With a flick of her wrist, she immobilized Mystique, her telekinetic abilities holding her captive in a shimmering cocoon of energy.
As the dust settled and order was restored, Logan and Y/N shared a fleeting glance, a silent acknowledgment of the pivotal role they had played in preventing catastrophe. In that moment, the bond between them deepened, forged in the crucible of adversity.
But as they stood amidst the aftermath of their actions, a sense of uncertainty lingered in the air. The future remains uncertain, and the threat of the Sentinels still loomed large. Yet, for the first time in a long time, Logan allowed himself to feel a glimmer of hope – a hope that with Y/N by his side, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead, together.
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As Logan's consciousness shifted back to the future, his senses reeled from the disorienting transition. The world around him was a blur of chaos and destruction, the aftermath of the battle against the Sentinels evident in the smoldering ruins that surrounded him. But amidst the devastation, one sight stood out like a beacon of light in the darkness.
There, among the ragged survivors, stood Y/N – her presence a ray of hope amidst the despair. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Logan's gaze locked onto her familiar form, his heart swelling with a mixture of relief and gratitude.
Without hesitation, he moved towards her, his steps fueled by an overwhelming urge to reach her side. As he drew closer, their eyes met, and in that instant, a flood of emotions washed over him – longing, regret, and a fierce determination to protect her at all costs.
Unable to resist any longer, Logan closed the distance between them in a single stride, his arms enveloping Y/N in a tight embrace. It was a gesture born from the depths of his soul, a silent vow to never let her go again.
In that poignant moment, as Logan's arms enveloped Y/N in a tight embrace amidst the wreckage of their war-torn world, a whirlwind of emotions stirred within him, threatening to overwhelm his senses.
First and foremost was an overwhelming sense of relief – relief that Y/N was alive and standing before him, a beacon of hope amidst the devastation. The mere sight of her, her presence a comforting reminder of their shared history and the bond they had forged, filled his heart with a profound sense of gratitude.
But alongside relief, there was also a deep-seated longing – a longing for the lost time, for the moments they had shared before the world had descended into chaos. Seeing Y/N again awakened a flood of memories, memories of laughter and camaraderie, of unspoken connections and shared moments that now felt like distant echoes in the wake of tragedy.
Mixed with longing was a potent undercurrent of regret – regret for the pain and suffering they had endured, for the lives lost and the futures stolen. Logan couldn't help but wonder if there was more he could have done, if he could have somehow prevented the devastation that had torn them apart.
Yet, amidst the tumult of emotions, there was also a fierce determination – a determination to protect Y/N at all costs, to ensure that she would never again face the horrors of war alone. In that moment, as he held her close, Logan made a silent vow to do whatever it took to keep her safe, to carve out a future where they could finally find peace.
And underlying it all was a profound sense of love – a love that transcended time and space, a love that had endured despite the odds. In Y/N's arms, Logan found solace amidst the chaos, a glimmer of hope in a world consumed by darkness.
After the embrace had ended, Logan held onto Y/N's hands tightly, his gaze locking with hers with a newfound intensity. In that moment, the weight of his unspoken emotions pressed heavily upon him, urging him to finally lay bare the truth that had long been buried within his heart.
"Y/N," he began, his voice rough with emotion, "I… I need you to know something. I've been a fool, blind to what's been right in front of me all along."
Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her heart fluttering with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. She waited with bated breath as Logan continued, his words carrying the weight of a lifetime's worth of regrets.
"I love you, Y/N," Logan confessed, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with an undeniable sincerity. "I've loved you for longer than I care to admit, but I was too damn stubborn to see it. I let my fears and insecurities cloud my judgment, and for that, I'm sorry."
Tears welled in Y/N's eyes at Logan's confession, her heart swelling with a rush of emotions she could hardly comprehend. In that moment, the walls she had built around her heart crumbled, leaving her vulnerable but unafraid.
"Logan," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion, "I love you too. I've loved you for as long as I can remember, but I was too afraid to say it. Too afraid of what it might mean, of what we might lose."
Their hands tightened around each other's, a silent vow passing between them. In that shared moment of vulnerability, Logan and Y/N laid bare their hearts, their love for each other a beacon of hope in a world shrouded in darkness.
And as they stood together, tears mingling with smiles, they knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as they were together, they would face them with unwavering courage and unyielding love. For in each other's arms, they had found a home – a sanctuary amidst the chaos, where their love could flourish and grow stronger with each passing day.
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again, i'm so sorry it took me so long!!! this term has been so exhausting :,(
i really hope you guys liked the final part!! i hadn't meant to make it this long but i got a little carried away lol. i know it's not fully canon to the movies, sorry bout that.
A Wolverine's Heartache - Part II
Part I Part II
Logan/James Howlett x Reader
She/Her Pronouns
Summary: The Sentinel battle takes a turn for the worst causing Logan to lose someone dear to him.
Before the Sentinels descended upon them, there had been a quiet undercurrent of tension between Logan and Y/N, an unspoken dynamic that lingered beneath the surface of their friendship. The Xavier Institute, a haven for mutants, had become a place where emotions and connections were heightened, but not always openly acknowledged.
Logan and Y/N had shared moments of camaraderie, their friendship deepening over time. Yet, a subtle dance of longing and hesitation played out between them, unnoticed by others but felt in the quiet glances and stolen smiles. Each held a key to the other's heart, but the lock remained unturned.
In the tranquil moments before the storm, Y/N often found herself stealing glances at Logan, a flutter of uncertainty in her chest. She admired his strength, both physical and emotional, and valued the camaraderie they shared. Yet, there was an unspoken desire for something more, a connection that hovered in the uncharted territory between friendship and something deeper.
Logan, too, grappled with his own conflicting emotions. He had always been a lone wolf, accustomed to the solitude of his own thoughts. However, Y/N's presence had become a soothing balm to his restless soul. There were times when he caught himself staring at her, a vulnerability in his gaze that betrayed the unspoken depths of his feelings.
Their interactions were laced with a delicate balance, a dance around unexplored territories. A brush of hands during training, a shared moment of laughter by the fireplace – each encounter left an indelible mark on their hearts, pushing them closer to a truth neither was ready to confront.
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The battle with the Sentinels unfolded in a crescendo of chaos and destruction. The ominous hum of their massive metal bodies echoed through the war-torn landscape as the mutants of the Xavier Institute rallied to fend off the relentless onslaught.
The sky crackled with energy as Storm unleashed her powers, attempting to create a barrier against the relentless advance of the towering machines. Colossus, his metallic form glinting in the harsh light, clashed with the Sentinels in a display of brute strength. Cyclops fired optic blasts with precision, desperately trying to hold the line.
Amidst the chaos, Logan moved like a feral blur, his adamantium claws slicing through the mechanical monstrosities with unmatched ferocity. The air was filled with the acrid scent of burning metal and the distant cries of mutants in peril.
Y/N fought valiantly alongside the team, her powers contributing to the defense, but the fear of being overshadowed by the more powerful mutants gnawed at her. In the midst of the mayhem, she kept glancing towards Logan, seeking reassurance, but his attention was consumed by the battle.
As the Sentinels closed in, a momentary distraction led to a tragic turn of events. Y/N found herself isolated for a brief second, and in that moment of vulnerability, a Sentinel seized the opportunity. A deafening scream pierced the air as Y/N was ensnared in its metallic grip.
Logan, several yards away, sensed the danger too late. His instincts kicked in, and he sprinted towards Y/N with an urgency that defied the chaos around him. With a primal roar, he lunged at the Sentinel, claws slashing through its armored exterior. The metallic giant released its grip, but the damage was done.
Time seemed to slow as Y/N crumpled to the ground, Logan catching her in his arms. The battle raged on, but in that harrowing moment, everything faded into the background. Logan's heart pounded as he held Y/N, the world collapsing around them as her life slipped away.
Logan's world shattered as he held Y/N's lifeless form in his arms. Time seemed to freeze, and the chaos of the battle faded into a distant murmur. The weight of grief pressed down on him like an unrelenting force, threatening to consume him whole.
In that agonizing moment, Logan's senses, normally keen and alert, dulled to the outside world. The smell of burning metal, the distant clashes of mutant powers, and the acrid taste of despair in the air became distant echoes. All that remained was the profound silence that accompanied Y/N's departure from the living.
Logan's heart, usually a steady rhythm amidst the storm, now pounded with a raw, aching intensity. His hands trembled as he cradled Y/N's lifeless body, unable to comprehend the reality of her absence. The world around him blurred, and tears – a rare expression of vulnerability – welled up in his eyes.
Regret and guilt gnawed at Logan's soul. If only he had been quicker, more vigilant. If only he had protected her better. The weight of responsibility bore down on him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed the one person who had silently meant more to him than he had ever admitted.
A guttural, primal scream tore from Logan's throat, reverberating through the battlefield. It was a scream of anguish, of a grief so profound that it echoed the depths of his soul. In that moment, the Wolverine, known for his stoic demeanor and unyielding strength, crumbled under the weight of loss.
As Logan clung to Y/N's lifeless body, the reality of her absence sank in, leaving him stranded in a sea of sorrow. The battlefield continued to rage around him, but in his world, everything had come to a standstill. The connection he had shared with Y/N, the unspoken bond that had grown between them, was now a painful void that threatened to engulf him entirely.
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ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!! this made my heart break :,( i just wanna give him a real big hug now
A Wolverine's Heartache - Part I
Part II Part III
Requested by Anon!!!
Logan Howlett x fem!Reader
She/Her pronouns used
Summary: On two separate occasions, both Y/N and Logan find jealousy within their friendship.
Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of unease that crept up whenever she saw Logan and Jean together. Jean Grey, with her fiery red hair and telepathic abilities, had a magnetic presence that drew people in – including Logan. Y/N had always considered Logan a close friend, but the way he and Jean interacted left her grappling with an unfamiliar emotion: jealousy.
One day, the three of them found themselves in the mansion's kitchen, preparing a meal together. As they chopped vegetables and exchanged banter, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way Logan's eyes lingered on Jean. The easy camaraderie between them felt like a barrier, and Y/N struggled to find her place in their dynamic.
"What do you think, Y/N?" Jean asked, breaking into Y/N's thoughts.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, sounds good," Y/N replied, forcing a smile. She busied herself with the task at hand, trying to push away the irrational feeling of jealousy that clawed at her insides.
Logan noticed her distant expression and furrowed his brow. "Somethin' on your mind, kid?"
Y/N hesitated, then decided to be honest. "It's just… I sometimes feel like I'm the third wheel when you two are together."
Logan glanced at Jean, then back at Y/N, a hint of realization in his eyes. "We're just friends, Y/N. You know that, right?"
Y/N nodded, but the knot of jealousy persisted. It wasn't about doubting their friendship; it was about grappling with a longing she couldn't quite put into words. As days passed, the tension lingered, and Y/N found herself withdrawing, avoiding situations where she might witness Logan and Jean's closeness.
One evening, Y/N sat alone in the garden, contemplating her feelings. Storm, sensing her distress, approached and took a seat beside her. "You seem troubled, Y/N. Care to share?"
Y/N sighed, looking up at the stars. "I don't know, Storm. It's just… Logan and Jean, they have this connection. I can't help feeling like I'm on the outside."
Storm placed a comforting hand on Y/N's shoulder. "Sometimes, we create our own barriers. Have you talked to Logan about how you feel?"
Y/N shook her head. "I don't want to cause any problems. They're happy together, and I'm just the friend."
Storm smiled gently. "Communication is the key. You may be surprised at what you find."
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Logan clenched his jaw as he watched Y/N and Hank engage in a lively conversation across the lab. The two shared a camaraderie that went beyond mere friendship, and it left a bitter taste in Logan's mouth. He had never been one to easily admit his feelings, especially when it came to matters of the heart, but the sight of Y/N and Hank together stirred a deep-seated jealousy within him.
It wasn't that Logan doubted Y/N's friendship or loyalty. Hank was a brilliant scientist, and they often found common ground in their discussions about mutations and experiments. Yet, there was an intimacy in the way Y/N laughed at Hank's jokes and the ease with which they collaborated on various projects that struck a nerve with Logan.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the Xavier Institute, Logan found himself nursing a drink at the mansion's makeshift bar. Y/N and Hank were engrossed in a lively debate in the corner, their laughter rising above the low hum of conversations.
Storm, sensing Logan's unease, joined him at the bar. "Something on your mind, Logan?" she asked, her keen eyes noting the tension in his posture.
Logan grunted, taking a swig of his drink. "Just ain't sittin' right with me, that's all."
Storm followed his gaze to where Y/N and Hank were still deep in conversation. "Y/N values her connections with all of us. Hank is a friend, nothing more."
Logan's gaze hardened, his knuckles white around the glass. "I know that, Storm. It's just…damn it, I can't help feelin' like I'm playin' second fiddle to that furball."
Storm raised an eyebrow, her expression softening. "Jealousy, Logan?"
He scoffed, avoiding eye contact. "Ain't my style."
But Storm saw through the facade. "Maybe it's time to talk to Y/N. Let her know how you feel. Communication can clear the air, my friend."
Logan grunted again, mulling over Storm's words. As the night wore on, the tension between him and Hank remained unspoken, simmering beneath the surface. Little did Logan know that the impending tragedy on the horizon would soon force him to confront his feelings, revealing the depth of his emotions in a way he had never anticipated.
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second part should be out tomorrow!! thank you again to the Anon that requested this 😊 i hope you don't mind that i'm including both of the requests into one fic!
Christmas Masterlist
A Messy Christmas Surprise:
Dean Winchester x Reader
Summary: Dean and the reader are baking Christmas treats at the bunker while Sam is on a hunt. Amidst the festive chaos, Dean cracks an egg on the reader's head, leading to a playful flour fight. Dean then picks the reader up over his shoulder, and they share a laughter-filled moment. Sam returns, finding the kitchen in disarray, and discovers Dean and the reader surrounded by flour and baking ingredients. The messy holiday surprise becomes a memorable Christmas memory for the Winchester trio.
Christmas Tides:
Sam Winchester x Reader
Summary: Sam Winchester surprises the reader with a heartfelt gift and invites them to share a quiet and cozy night together away from hunting. The two exchange stories, laughter, and meaningful glances. As snow falls outside, they find a moment of respite and connection, sealed with a sweet kiss under the mistletoe.
Heavenly Christmas:
Castiel Novak x Reader
Summary: Castiel experiences Christmas traditions for the first time with the Winchester brothers and the reader. As they decorate the tree and exchange gifts, Castiel learns about the holiday spirit. The story culminates in a magical moment under the mistletoe, where Castiel and the reader share a sweet kiss, making it a Christmas to remember for everyone involved.
Mistletoe Moments:
Jack Kline x Reader
Summary: As the holiday season wraps its magic around the bunker, Jack Kline finds himself intrigued by the mysterious allure of mistletoe. Little does he know that this Christmas will bring about more than just festive decorations.
Enchanting Christmas:
Rowena MacLeod x Reader
Summary: Rowena, the enchanting witch, confesses to the reader that the holiday season has awakened new emotions within her. The two share a magical moment, culminating in a kiss that transcends the ordinary. As they celebrate the festive season together, they discover the unexpected joy of love in the midst of holiday magic.
The Grinchy Christmas Surprise:
Logan/James Howlett x Reader
Summary: Y/N buys a gift for Logan, but he isn't too keen on receiving it.
The Grinchy Christmas Surprise
we all know Logan would be a grinch during the holidays! also, i know this one is a bit short but i kinda rushed it-
Logan/James Howlett x Reader
No pronouns used!!
Summary: Y/N buys a gift for Logan, but he isn't too keen on receiving it.
The Grinchy Christmas Surprise
Christmas morning at the X-Mansion was filled with festive decorations, laughter, and the scent of holiday treats wafting through the halls. However, Logan Howlett, known as Wolverine, wasn't a fan of the decorations. He grumbled to himself as he wandered through the festively adorned hallways, muttering about the unnecessary fuss.
Meanwhile, you had just woken up and decided to seek out Logan. Holding a nicely wrapped gift in your hand, you ventured through the mansion until you found him, scowling at a wreath hanging on the wall.
"Hey, Logan," you greeted, a soft smile on your face. "Merry Christmas."
"I told you not to get me anything," Logan grumbled without turning around, continuing his walk down the hallway.
You followed him, hurt by his dismissive tone. "Please, just take it. Whether you open it or not is up to you."
Hesitantly, Logan accepted the gift, looking down at it with a raised eyebrow.
"I know you said not to get you anything, but… no one else got you anything, and I didn't think it was fair," you explained, your voice quiet as you stared at the ground.
After a few moments of contemplation, Logan started tearing the paper. Your excitement grew as he unveiled a black leather jacket with two yellow stripes on each arm, reminiscent of his old one that he had lost a while back.
"I know you loved that jacket, so I—" you began, but Logan unexpectedly cut you off by hugging you. The shock quickly gave way to happiness as you hugged him back.
"You had to be the good one, huh?" Logan said, a rare warmth in his voice as he pulled away slightly.
"What can I say? It's my specialty," you joked, still hugging him with a large smile.
In the end, Logan couldn't resist your enthusiasm about the gift. As you continued excitedly talking about it, he kissed you, a way to shut you up but also an acknowledgment of the gratitude and affection he felt in that moment. The unexpected Christmas gift had managed to thaw the gruff exterior of Wolverine, leaving both of you with a holiday memory to cherish.
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i couldn't resist writing a christmas story for him!
Unforeseen Love
i may be in my logan howlett era right now, but it's fine! just means some nice little fics for my fav X-Man!
Logan/James Howlett x Reader
They/them pronouns used!!
Summary: While on a mission with Logan, Y/N gets seriously hurt, leading to them being in the medical bay for several days as Hank helps them recover. Although Y/N and Logan had never gotten along, Y/N is surprised when Logan sticks by their side throughout their entire recovery. This ends in a heartfelt, sweet and loving kiss shared by the two!
Unforeseen Love
Logan Howlett, better known as Wolverine, grumbled under his breath as he and Y/N made their way through the dense forest. The tension between them was palpable, and it seemed like sparks could fly any moment. They had despised each other from day one, an inexplicable clash of personalities that neither could overcome.
Little did they know, a deeper connection existed beneath the surface. Y/N had a mutant ability akin to Charles Xavier's, but instead of delving into the thoughts of others, they could sense emotions. Logan, however, had mastered the art of keeping his feelings locked away, a shield that even Y/N couldn't penetrate.
The mission they were on required stealth and precision, a trait Logan excelled in. He led the way, his adamantium claws unsheathed, eyes scanning the surroundings with uncanny precision. Y/N followed, their senses alert but wary of the man they begrudgingly worked alongside.
As they moved deeper into the mission, the unexpected happened. A sudden ambush from an unforeseen enemy left Y/N injured and struggling. Logan's fierce protective instincts kicked in, and he fought with a newfound intensity to ensure Y/N's safety. In the midst of the chaos, a blade grazed Y/N's side, leaving them incapacitated.
The pain hit Y/N like a tidal wave, and Logan's gruff voice called out their name in concern. The world around them blurred as consciousness slipped away.
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When Y/N awoke, the sterile scent of the X-Men's medical facility filled their senses. The pain in their side was dulled, thanks to the advanced healing technology. Blinking against the harsh lights, they groggily turned their head to find Logan sitting nearby, his expression etched with worry.
"Finally awake, huh?" Logan's tone was gruff, but Y/N caught a glimmer of concern in his eyes.
"What happened?" Y/N asked, feigning ignorance to the emotions swirling around them.
Logan hesitated, his usual tough exterior momentarily softened. "You got yourself hurt. It was touch and go for a bit, but Hank patched you up."
Despite the pain, Y/N couldn't help but notice the sincerity in Logan's voice. Their ability to sense emotions hinted at something more, something beyond the animosity that had defined their relationship.
"You were worried about me," Y/N stated, almost as if testing the waters.
Logan grunted, looking away as if annoyed by the revelation. "Don't get used to it. I just didn't want to babysit a rookie."
Y/N smirked, realizing that perhaps there was more to Logan Howlett than met the eye. As they lay in the medical bay, recovering from their injuries, the unspoken connection between them began to unravel. Maybe, just maybe, beneath the layers of resentment, there was a flicker of something else—an understanding that transcended words.
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The days in the medical bay blurred together for Y/N. Their injuries were healing, but what surprised them even more was Logan's constant presence. He would leave only to return with food, grumbling about the lack of decent grub around the X-Mansion. As much as Logan tried to maintain his tough exterior, there was an unspoken tenderness in the way he cared for Y/N.
As Y/N lay on the medical bay bed on the third day, a subtle shift in the air caught their attention. It wasn't the usual mix of irritation and restraint that emanated from Logan. Instead, an overwhelming sense of love and concern filled the room. Y/N furrowed their brow, confused by this unexpected surge of emotion.
Logan entered the room, carrying a tray of food. His eyes met Y/N's, and for a moment, the gruff exterior wavered. It was as if a floodgate had opened, allowing Y/N to sense the depth of Logan's emotions.
"What's with the sudden outpouring of affection, Howlett?" Y/N teased, trying to hide the vulnerability that was bubbling up within them.
Logan scowled, seemingly caught off guard by the question. "I ain't showin' affection. Just making sure you don't die on us."
Y/N chuckled, but there was a knowing glint in their eyes. "You can't fool me, Logan. I can feel it, you know. The concern, the… love."
Logan's expression tightened, and he looked away. The barrier he had meticulously built around his emotions had crumbled, and there was no denying the truth anymore.
"I don't do this mushy crap," Logan grumbled, but his voice lacked the usual conviction.
Y/N sat up, a determination in their eyes. "Logan, you can't hide from me anymore. I can feel what you're feeling, and it's okay. More than okay."
Logan sighed, a rare vulnerability surfacing in his gaze. "Damn it, kid. You're messin' with my head."
Y/N reached out, gently cupping Logan's face. "Maybe it's time we stop fighting each other and admit what's been staring us in the face all along."
Logan's defenses crumbled further as Y/N closed the distance between them. Their lips met in a sweet, lingering kiss, a silent acknowledgment of the emotions that had been hidden for too long. In that moment, the unspoken bond between them deepened, transcending the animosity that had defined their relationship.
As they pulled away, Logan's gruff exterior softened, and Y/N couldn't help but smile. Sometimes, it took a brush with vulnerability to uncover the hidden truths. Love had a way of breaking through even the toughest of walls, and for Logan and Y/N, it was the beginning of a new chapter—one filled with understanding, acceptance, and a love that had finally been acknowledged.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i'm pretty sure i'm in love with him.... but that's okay! also, i love how Logan is also an Albertan 😎💪
Marvel Masterlist
Stephen Strange
A Spell Gone Awry:
Summary: In "A Spell Gone Awry," the reader finds themselves at the Sanctum Sanctorum seeking help from Doctor Stephen Strange after a magical mishap. Despite Stephen's initial annoyance, he agrees to assist the reader in fixing the botched spell. As they work together, their relationship deepens, and the initial annoyance transforms into affection. The story is a blend of magical mishaps, romance, and personal growth, culminating in a heartwarming moment that highlights the power of love and support in the face of challenges.
The Bed Argument - Part I:
Summary: Stephen and the reader themselves in Ireland on a mission, where their constant bickering and clashing personalities have become a prominent feature of their interactions. Exhausted and in need of rest, they book a hotel room with only one bed. The story revolves around their argument about who should take the bed, with both of them adamantly refusing to sleep on the floor. After a heated exchange, they reluctantly agree to share the bed but remain distant from each other. As they lie side by side, their tension gradually subsides, and they begin to find a new understanding between them. The story ends with a subtle shift in their relationship, suggesting the possibility of change and a truce.
The Bed Argument - Part II:
Summary: Stephen and the reader wake up in a compromising position with Stephen's arm draped over Y/N. After Stephen apologizes profusely, Y/N becomes fed up with his constant apologies and decides to take matters into their own hands. They share an unexpected and sweet kiss that marks a shift in their relationship.
The Bed Argument - Part III:
Summary : Stephen and Y/N return to the Sanctum Sanctorum in New York after their mission in Ireland. The awkwardness between them has transformed into a newfound understanding, and a deeper connection is forged through shared vulnerabilities and complementary strengths. The rooftop of the Sanctum becomes a sanctuary for shared moments, and Stephen and Y/N find themselves acknowledging the evolving nature of their relationship. As they watch the city below, hand in hand, they recognize the magic in the unexpected, embracing change and the unspoken promises that come with it.
Loki Laufeyson
A Hearts Misunderstanding:
Summary: The reader, accompanied by their best friend Thor, visits the grand realm of Asgard. Little do they know, Loki, the enigmatic prince of Asgard, has always had a not-so-secret crush on the reader, who had been rather rude to him in the past. As Thor shows the reader around and makes them laugh, Loki's jealousy reaches its breaking point, leading to a heated argument. In a burst of anger, Loki confesses his feelings, leaving the reader surprised and speechless.
Logan Howlett
Unforeseen Love:
Summary: While on a mission with Logan, Y/N gets seriously hurt, leading to them being in the medical bay for several days as Hank helps them recover. Although Y/N and Logan had never gotten along, Y/N is surprised when Logan sticks by their side throughout their entire recovery. This ends in a heartfelt, sweet and loving kiss shared by the two!
The Grinchy Christmas Surprise:
Summary: Y/N buys a gift for Logan, but he isn't too keen on receiving it.
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲𝐩𝐨𝐨L 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢e, p2
Deadpool and Wolverine but your Ladypool and an absolute SLUT for Wolverine.
[this is part two to basically what is just my dream. this goes from the last part to the end of the movie and yes there is the car smut scene in the middle. i am not a good smut writer but this is FLITHY, i had to take a step back. enjoy!]
part one
warnings/disclaimer: not proof-read, femreaderxwolverine, sexual content, smut, penetrative sex, oral (m!reciving), spanking, offensive language, cursing, daddy kink, being a whore for the man
The car ride must have gone on for an uncomfortable ten minutes before you broke it.
'So what's with the suit?'
'Drop it,' he warned.
'It's not that bad. It's sexy, in some parts.'
'Stop talking about it.'
'Did you make it yourself?' you asked. 'Did the X-men make you wear it, those fuckers. Friends don't let friends go out looking like they're a godsdamn Wolverine cosplayer.'
'Shut the fuck up about my suit.'
'Watch those frown lines angel baby, personally I'm into the old ragged, sexy, don't get too close to me you'll get hurt, but some miss the 2000's baby they knew.'
'Talk about something else!'
You rolled your eyes, whistling a tune to yourself. When that got boring, you started to mimic Spider-Man. God, what you would give to meet one of him in the void.
'Stop it,' he growled.
You shook your head and gave one last 'thwip'
Then maybe you let slip that it's not a guarantee for him to get his world fixed. And maybe Logan swerves in anger and puts the car in park,
Then maybe Logan gets angry and has a long rant at you about how nobody wants you or loves you and you have to pine over him because you never had a daddy that loved you (you couldn't tell if you were horny or hurt)
'I'm going to fight you now,' you told him.
He snorted. 'oh, are you?' but he wasn't laughing when you punched him square in the nose and a dribble of blood ran down his lips.
He dug his claws into your thigh and you screamed.
He grabbed your hair and slammed your head down on the radio, flicking through some Hugh Jackman hits before you settled on Casual by Chappel Roan.
Honestly, not what you were expecting.
He reached over and strapped you into your seat with the seatbelt and dug his claws deep into your stomach. He smirked in your face as your heavy eyes looked up to him. 'How'd you like that, Bub?'
You had the feeling this was going to take a very different turn. But not without you giving your own back.
He lunged in again for you but you retracted the seat and lifted a leg to his shoulder, kicking him away from you.
'I have to say, this isn't the way I imagined you in between my legs.' Still, you used the power of your thighs to slam him repeatedly into the door, until he stabbed you again.
You kicked him in the chest, sending him flying out the windshield.
You unbuckled the seat belt and smirked, ushering him back with your fingers.
Smut. Smut. Smut. Honda Odyssey smut. Smut. Smut. Smut. Honda.
When he lunged back in and dug his claws into your ribs, you hadn't expected him to kiss you, forcing his lips to mold into yours. His teeth bit down on your lip, opening up your mouth a moan and diving his tongue in.
He took out his knives and you pulled your head back to yell out in pain, even though they were already healing. And even if the yell of pain was more like a moan. 'Oh, you like that bub?'
You roll your head to look at him. 'Is that a claw in your pants or are you just happy to see me?'
He growls. Fucking growls and wraps a hand around your throat, squeezing until you open your mouth wide enough for him to shove his tongue in again. Your legs wrap around his waist, forcing his hips down to yours until you could feel the outline of his cock against your pussy.
When he pulls away, dragging you bottom lip with him, he spits into your mouth. 'All those filthy things you'd been spitting at me, think you can take it, bub?'
'Ha, let's see if you've got it in you, old man.' With the power of your thighs wrapped around him, you spun until you had him pinned under you.
For good measure, you punched him in the face again, blood coming to stain his perfect lips. Logan only grinned. He grabbed a fist full of your hair and pulled until the expanse of your neck was vulnerable to him. He bit down on your neck like a vampire in need for blood. He drew blood and there was nothing more sinful to you than when he pulled back and revealed a slither of your blood from the corner of his lips.
You licked at his lips, taking your blood.
His hands found your breasts under the suit and squeezed, groaning to himself at the feel of them. 'Why have a mouth, when you have these?'
'I'm sure my mouth can come in handy too, handsome.'
He chuckled and lifted your hips enough and then forced you back down on him until you were grinding down on his cock through your suits. His teeth grazed your nipples through the leather, tongue working against it. It was like another layer of skin.
You gripped his hair, moaning as you rocked your hips into him. Slowly, he took the zipper between your breasts and pulled it down until it revealed you in a lacy red bra.
'Of fucking course,' he groaned, lips wrapping around a nipple, teeth pulling on it as his palm reached out to give attention to your other one. All the while your panties (which you couldn't wait for him to see the colour of) grew damper the more you moved against him. Even you could see pre-cum staining his suit.
'Fuck, Wolvie,' you groaned.
'I know, bub. You just needed some attention, ay. Just needed big old me.'
You looked down at him, his saliva running down your breasts. 'Well, is it true? Are you Hugh down under?'
He smirked and pushed you off him just enough so he could un-zip his pants and free his cock. It slapped against the leather of his suit, the tip red and swollen, begging for your attention. 'What do you think?'
'Mama like,' you mumble, falling to your knees in the passenger seat. Yes, the passenger seat.
He wrapped your hair around his hand and pulled until you loomed over his cock. 'Gonna do something useful with that mouth, baby?'
'What? Like recite the opening of deadpool two?'
With enough chatter, Logan forced you down on his cock. He didn't wait for you to adjust and he seemed to not need to as you took control quickly.
He groaned when you swirled your tongue over his tips and then licked up and down like it was a popsicle. When you took him all the way until you were choking around him and hollowing your lips. He was bucking his hips up to you, chuckling and moaning at you.
'Oh, yes, bub, just like that- just like that,' he pulled at your hair as you took all of him in, hands messaging his balls. 'Bet you want me to tell you you've been a good girl, eh? Oh, you'd love that baby, but you haven't. You've- fuck just like that- you're a fucking lair, aren't you. Wanted me so bad you had to use that filthy mouth of yours to lie?'
You moan around him and bobbed the tip in your mouth, using your hands for what you couldn't take.
Logan's head rested back on the car seat as he bucked up into you and into you.
Your thighs squeezed together, your hand itching to help yourself out.
'You touch yourself bub and I'll have to spank you,' he threatened.
You immediately spread your legs and slide your fingers down the band of your panties.
Logan pulled you from his dick and all but forced you back up. The two of you fumbled with the zip of your pants, hitting your head in the process.
He caught sight of your panties once he'd pulled your leather pants down enough. Yellow. 'Oh you're fucking kidding me.'
You laugh. 'Well, when I knew I'd be seeing you I got pretty a little bit.'
His eyes were still trained on the panties that matched his suit. 'A little bit, huh? Shame I'm gonna have to ruin them.'
His claws came out and you shivered as the sharp blade slid down your stomach. 'Does this turn you on, baby? The blade, the pain. Fuck.' He used the tip to slice through your panties. When they fell away, he crumpled them in his palm and brought them to his face, to sniff them.
You moaned, hands on his shoulders. 'Oh you fucking animal.'
'Oh, you don't know the half of it bub.'
He took your hips and slowly- because no matter the heat and sweat between you- you'd need to take him in slowly. Your pussy sunk down on his tip and you both groaned, clutching onto each other. He watched as his tip disappeared into your folds.
'God, we should've done this in the bar,' you groaned. 'Or when I saw you in that patch.'
'What?' he asked.
'Nothing.' You perched yourself on his shoulder and sunk down deeper.
His jaw clenched, trying to keep in his groans as your walls clenched around him. 'Fuck, bub, you're so tight. God, bet that ex back home has never taken you the way you need, huh?'
You pull yourself back up, only to sink back into him. You repeat, until you bottom out on him, thighs to thighs, his balls resting on your ass.
Logan moaned, biting down on your neck as his hands wrapped around and cupped your ass, spreading your ass cheeks to fit in better. Then, he slapped the leather and the sound must have gone through the entire forest. 'This is what you wanted huh?'
You nodded, lifting yourself up and down on his cock, walls fluttering every time. You moan his name.
He slaps your ass one more time. 'Call me Wolverine.'
You moan it out.
'There's my good girl. Count for me, baby.' With each slap he gave your red leather ass, you moaned a number and every time you got it wrong, he slapped you in the face.
You got it wrong many a time.
You rode him like a cowgirl. 'Shit, fuck, Wolvie I'm gonna. I'm gonna.'
He laughed and left your ass alone and played with your clit, sending you over the edge. 'Fuck!' neither of you had anything left to say as you both came, him shooting his seed inside of you while your juice ran down his cock.
The both of you were a sweaty mess, hair sticking to your foreheads. It took you a while of catching your breath before you carefully moved from his cock, your walls clenching to get the last bits of him inside. He groaned.
You fell back in the seat next to him. 'I take it all back, the Honda Odyssey fucks hard,' you turn your head to consider Logan. 'Shame you don't, old man.'
He growled, turning to you. 'Oh, we're just getting started, bub.'
Smut done. Go seek Jesus. Go drink some holy water. Go cool off.
Back to our regular scheduled programme.
Once the two of you were done Logan had you tied up in seat belts, kinky, but also to keep your hands off him. Neither of you had any idea you'd been moved until you woke in a bed, moaning Logan's name.
Logan was over in the corner drinking, the arms of his suit ripped off from your activities.
'Oh, arms out. What's next, tits?'
Then, walked out the 'others' Johnny. Elektra. Blade. Gambit!
You could've sworn you heard boss music somewhere.
'And who's this succulent man? You should've been in the car earlier,'
'My name is Remmy, but you can call me Gambit.'
'I'm so sorry beautiful, I want this to be gentle but who is your dialect coach, the minions? I feel like we're missing critical exposition here.'
'There's four of us,' Elektra told you.
'Four of you? Who's the fourth? Is it Magneto? Dear please god let it be young Magneto!'
'Magneto's dead.'
'Fuck!'
Then the fourth was revealed. Laura. X-23 'Holy shit, Logan, that's her, that's X-23.'
But the man carried on drinking.
'Even our sweet baby angel Johnny Storm went missing two days ago,' the Gambit told you.
'Oh I am so sorry. Whoever this Johnny is I'm sure he's doing well. And looking even better.'
Together, the five of you worked together to work out what to do, how to take Cassandra down, excited by the idea.
'Let's fucking go!' said Laura.
You cheered. 'Let's fucking go!'
'You're all fucking dead.'
You whip around to him. 'My god, Gorgeous, read the room.'
Later that night, you finally had the season three emotional opening act, Logan opening up to Laura about what really happened to the X-men in his world. It was tragic. Really it was.
As Laura left, you replaced her seat.
He grumbled, taking a swig of the bottle as you pulled off your mask, getting a look at him. 'I'm not in the mood, bub.'
So, unlike you, you didn't make any innuendos. Instead, you slowly wrapped an arm around his shoulder and even slower, he rested a head on your shoulder and you settled for that.
So the six of you- yes, including Wolvie from the boot- made your superhero opening.
You and Wolverine made it to the British villain two, were very quickly, she knocked you out.
'Finally, nice to give someone else a chance to talk,' said Cassandra.
'Not my strong suit,' said Logan, who was just as quickly overpowered. Cassandra thrust his claws into the ground, forcing him on all fours.
You woke up just to take a picture of that.
Cassandra looked into Logan's brain; beyond all that pain, there was something else. 'My, my, what did you get up to in that car?'
But she never got to find out as you- who had woken whilst Logan distracted her- and slammed Juggernot's helmet over her.
'Only I'm allowed to mess with his head, bitch,' you said.
'Damn right,' he grumbled.
You blushed like a schoolgirl. 'Finally!'
In the end, Logan had to be noble and take the helmet from her to save her life, only to be the man Charles wanted,
But god was it a powerful speech that left both of you speechless. In the end, your arms dropped but the two of you still got through the portal in time to get back to your universe.
The two of you crashed down onto a car, the kids gasping that it was Ladypool and Wolverine.
'Fox killed him, Disney brought him back. They're gonna make him do this until he's ninety!'
The two of you ran back to the subway base that was really the TVA, but got gate-crashed by both villains.
'Oh, so this is a foursome thing now?'
Cassandra sent you flying through a shop window for that.
When the two of you got back up, the portal was still open and, to your delight, dogpool ran back out, straight to your arms. You caught her and let her lick all over your mask despite the filthy things Logan did to it.
'There's my girl, we never have to be parted ever again,' you told her.
'Sorry!' Nicepool ran out.
'Fuck off! Cafe gratitude. Right, that's it girl, who's it gonna be, Van Wilder here or sexy hot mama?'
'Ha, that's funny, I can gently tap the fourth wall to,' said Nicepool 'Are you Hugh down under part two.'
'Thank you very much, Nicepool,' you said.
'Both of you shut up. I smell a lot of you,' said Logan.
From the portal, walked out a hundred deadpools. Including deadpool prime (whatever that was) kidpool, welshpool, oldpool, greatestshowmanpool.
First, you and Wolvie ran, using Nicepool as a cover, turns out he doesn't regenerate.
Then, you and Wolverine walked out together looking fucking awesome, which only got cooler when Logan pulled up his cowl.
'Woah, wish you'd shown me them in the car. Hey, what's the wind resistance on those blow job handles.'
'Find out later, Bub,'
You were so wet.
When the two of you made it down to the reactor, to stop Cassandra, it was you or him for the final noble sacrifice and to hell if you were gonna let him win.
Before Logan could close the door, you hit him over the head and locked him out.
'No!'
'Sorry babe, I can't hear you over all my noble sacrifice!'
'Why are you fucking doing this?' he yelled.
'Because. I am... Iron man.'
You made some rude gestures to him before you walked away to save the world.
And you were so close, so close to winning it all. You had one reactor, all you needed was the other but you were running out of time.
You would've if it wasn't for Logan grabbing your hand and finishing the chain.
The power ripped his shirts to shred and you stared unashamed of how much you stared.
'Who greased up those delicious hawian rolls?'
'In stopping her, yes, yes I was! But not as much as the man and woman who went down there after her! My man and woman, my friends. I warned them that they'd be obliterated if they went but they went anyway. Like heroes. Because that's who they were, they did what they had to do with no concern for their own safety. The fact we are still standing here is a testament to their bravery. Anyway there's nothing you or I can do to bring them back now,' said Paradox.
'He hath risen, babygirl!'
'Fuck!'
You and Logan walked out. Well, Logan walked out, you were on his back getting a piggy back ride while everyone drooled at the sight of Wolverine,
'And we're doing just fine you piece of shit,' said Logan.
Everyone agreed.
Logan let you down but you dragged your hands dramatically down his abs as he did.
A lady offered him a hoodie but you quickly stole it and cut it up before he had a chance to cover up.
Because of all your good deeds, you were allowed to take Logan home with you, and he was happy to join,
You even got Laura back for him and dogpool so you could all be a family.
You and Logan fucked like rabbits that night.
taglist (thank you!): @allmyn1ghts, @nonamevenus, @pink-jello-fish, @maneskinwh0re, @chaoticcreatorbluebird, @shakysif, @groovycass, @geeksareunique, @gotta-go-now
URGENT HELP SAVE THE LIFE OF MY CHILD
Dear humanity,
Please Help Me – My Son May Die at Any Moment.
I'm Amal, a mother of three children, living under the weight of the genocide taking place in Gaza. 🍉
Here’s my story, and I’m reaching out with a hopeful heart 💔✨, hoping someone will feel what my family and I are going through.
My son is suffering from a severe and life-threatening injury after being shot by Israeli drones. He urgently needs medical treatment outside Gaza.
Time is running out, and we are facing a critical situation. I am asking for your generosity to help us save him either through a donation or by sharing this urgent plea with others
I beg you, i kiss your feet, to help my son. My son may die at any moment
I lost most of my family. I'm afraid to lose my son too 🥺 .
So I humbly ask you to donate even a little or at least reblog my post.
Please Donate now:👇👇 👇
Gofundme.com
paypal.com
Thank you for your compassion and kindness
7
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.
Oh god I’m missing him again….might whip something up tonight
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.
Omfg this is SO GOOD JESUS CHRIST
Cardinal
Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader
Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).
Word count: 16.6k
Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.
Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!
Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.
If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.
THE LOOKOUT
With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this.
Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.
It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.
During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.
Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.
Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.
Today you want it to be your last time here.
You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.
The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–
“Hey, stop!”
A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.
“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind.
After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor.
You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset.
But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.
“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.
“You know–” he begins.
“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”
“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”
Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–
“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”
“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.
“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.
The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”
“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”
Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”
He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”
There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.
“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”
To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.
Understanding.
It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff.
The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.
You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.
“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”
“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.
He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”
– – – – –
Logan.
That’s his name.
It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.
Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.
Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same.
Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”
Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”
He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,
“Quit pitying me, Logan.”
“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”
You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”
Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”
Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?”
He hums.
“And how does that work?”
“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.”
The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–
“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.
“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”
“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”
“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”
Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.
“I should head home,” you say, standing again.
Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”
“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”
“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”
“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”
He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.
THE CRAVING
New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.
You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.
There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it.
It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.
The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.
After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy.
When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.
It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?”
Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand.
“First time’s on the house.”
You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.
A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.
“She isn’t interested, pal.”
It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–
“Logan?” you slur in disbelief.
Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.
“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”
Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”
“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”
“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.
“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.
Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving.”
“And then what, huh?”
“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”
“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”
“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”
It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.
“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.
“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.
Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”
He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle.
You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far…
Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–
“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.
Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”
– – – – –
When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–
“Mornin’, sunshine.”
The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air.
“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”
“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.
“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”
“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.
“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.
Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.
“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.
You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”
“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.
“What–”
“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”
“Oh…,” you say, voice small.
You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.
“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”
You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk.
There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.
“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”
The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.
“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”
“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door.
He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.
THE PUZZLE
It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this.
Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you.
So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.
Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better.
Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.
“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.
He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”
It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.
“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.
“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment.
Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang.
“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”
He nods in acknowledgement.
“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”
Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.
“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”
“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”
– – – – –
You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.
“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.
“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”
You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.
“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”
“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little.
“You’re a quick study.”
Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”
With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”
To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”
“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”
You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,
“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”
The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”
Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”
“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”
Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat–
It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…
There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here.
There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.
“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.
“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”
“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”
At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”
You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.
“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.
“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”
“You can pay next time.”
When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.
– – – – –
You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.
THE PANTRY
“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.
“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.
“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.
You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.
It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared.
There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.
Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.
“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.
“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”
There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.
You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.
An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.
The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.
Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–
You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.
Fuck.
Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”
Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.
“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.”
Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.
“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”
You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.
“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”
“It caught you off guard, it happens–”
“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”
Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.
It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.
“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”
“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”
“What if it wasn’t enough?”
“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”
Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are.
“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”
Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”
– – – – –
Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway.
It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition.
“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile.
You respond in kind.
When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.
A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.
THE MEETING
April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.
With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.
Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed – like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.
You’d answered without saying a word.
“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.
“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.
“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”
You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”
It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago.
“Sounds to me like now might be good.”
“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination.
“Logan?”
“Still here.”
“Thank you for calling.”
“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”
The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.
The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day.
Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week.
“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”
You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...
But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support.
That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters.
Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front.
The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.
“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”
It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand.
“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.
The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.
“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts.
It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.
“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–”
He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after.
“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.”
You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.
“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”
A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.
Your palms hurt after.
– – – – –
“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.
The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.
Logan scoffs in reply.
“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”
You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.
It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.”
“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.
“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”
Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”
“Maybe next time.”
During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.
“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”
Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”
“You went there on your side?”
He hums.
“By yourself?”
He hums again.
“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead.
“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”
It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely.
The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,
“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”
His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.”
“Can you do it?”
“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”
It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”
“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”
“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”
“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”
“Definitely,” you reply.
“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”
You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”
“I like it when I drink it with you.”
It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”
“See you.”
He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.
THE SUMMER
Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.
You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.
It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.
It’s way better than champagne.
– – – – –
You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place…
The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.
“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”
“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”
Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room.
“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”
Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”
“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.
“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.
Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.
Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”
“Wade,” Logan warns.
Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.
You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”
“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”
“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”
It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.
– – – – –
Apartments look weird with nothing in them.
It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.
“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.
You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.
It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.
Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.
It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.
“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”
– – – – –
“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.
Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare.
Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.
“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”
You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan.
Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”
You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze.
“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.”
You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”
– – – – –
“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.
“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.
“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.
“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”
You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”
“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”
THE PARTY
“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.
“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.
“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”
You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”
“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”
“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”
When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”
A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”
“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”
“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.
“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.
“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.
“Yeah,” you smile.
“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”
You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”
The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.
“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.
Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.”
“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”
“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”
– – – – –
The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips.
While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.
It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.
For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.
Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–
“Do you dance?”
You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you–
“Logan,” you breathe.
It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.
It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.
You like him.
All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”
You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes.
Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–
“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.
Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”
“Bye, Logan.”
THE TABLE
Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.
Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…
…broad, handsome.
Shit.
Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.
But he might.
Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.
But it would change everyth–
Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your…
friends.
You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.
The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.
“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.
It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.
The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.
“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor.
“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”
“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.
“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”
“Then what the fuck was that all about?”
The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.
“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.
You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”
The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”
His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.”
Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.
Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction.
Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”
“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”
“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”
“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.
Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.
“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”
He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”
The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him.
His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.
Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own.
“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”
It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit.
“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.
“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.
“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”
All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down.
The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.
“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine.
Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.
The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life.
Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…
“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge.
It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt.
He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.
“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.
“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.
Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel.
With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.
“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”
“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”
“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt.
If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.
He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.
“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin.
It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.
He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”
The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.
“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.
You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.
“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”
He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.
“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.
“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.
“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”
The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–
With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you.
“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.
With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.
The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.”
Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple.
You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall.
Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies.
“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”
You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”
He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come.
The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.
It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions.
Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...
It’ll be a long night.
THE PEARL
It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed.
Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.
In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.
“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”
The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.
“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.
“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”
She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”
“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.
A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.
It takes a lot of string indeed.
Sometimes even interdimensional string.
– – – – –
(THE END)
If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.
And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂
OH MY GOD THIS WAS SO ALDJANDBSBAB
how about old!logan with the filthiest mouth one could ever speak, full with nasty and degrading pet names. just rough and mean logan treating the reader 🫠🫠
note: this takes place in the Honda Odyssey… we can make the man filthier by the way…
———
“Well, you guys are fucking stupid, so, it’s not a surprise we’re lost,” y/n crossed her arms in the back seat as Wade drove through the woods, trying to get to the place Nicepool had me roomed for them to form a team.
“You ain’t the smartest sheep either. Batting your fuckin’ eyelids at Jonny,” Logan scoffed next to her before leaning back in his to rest.
After Wade had told him that there might not be a way to save his world, he’s been in a bad mood. Ever since she met him, he’s been in a bad mood.
“Yeah, but sadly he’s not here with us, right Wade?” Y/n sarcastically asked, making Wade sigh loudly. “He should have said those things about her!” Wade shouted.
“This whole trip is fucking ridiculous. Like seriously, Wade. Why the fuck did you bring me along to save this drunk fuck!?” Y/n complained, making Logan chuckle.
“To save your shitty world,” Logan said under his breath. “Hey! That’s my world too!” Wade argued. “Yeah — That’s why I said that shit,”
“Not like yours is better,” y/n mumbled, making Logan snap his head towards her. Y/n continued looking out of the window, not caring how he felt about her words.
“The fuck you say?” The man asked in a clearly angry tone. “Alright, let’s just cool our dicks and think about a place to eat at after we get out of this shit hole, hm?” Wade asked the two, but they both ignored him.
“Nah, I wanna hear what the little bitch has to say,” Logan called the young lady out of her name, making her snap his own neck at him. “Bitch!? No wonder you could never keep a woman. In every universe!” She shot for his heart.
“That’s something you don’t have to worry about because Ian pickin’ a little brat like you,” Logan tried saying something back in an instant like her comment didn’t hurt. He knew calling her out of her name was shitty, but he’s going through it right now.
The man was pulled from his universe being told he had a chance to save it. Not even two hours later, he was told it was an educated wish.
“Not like you can get in my pants anyways limp dick,” y/n spat, making the man chuckle. He was cocky. He always has been, and his age wasn’t going to throw that away.
“You’re an easy little girl. You would even be able to handle me,” the man looked the girl up and down, giving a look that made her roll her eyes. “You fuckin’ wish,” she said before turning back to the window.
“Oh, honey bun, he does! Maybe y’all can fuck it out in here before we make it home. Got a long way to go,” Wade almost sang.
The two went silent, not declining or accepting. They were just angry, and Wade swore having a small fuck-session would help.
Y/n felt eyes on her through the silence. She told herself not to look back, but she had to. She wanted to see the man’s face, and god, was he fine. She hated admitting to it, but he was.
The way he looked at her legs, made her shift in her seat, growing nervous from the older man’s gaze.
“As I said — Little girl can’t handle it,” Logan finally looked up at the girl with a smirk, smelling the way she grew wet in seconds, and she didn’t know he could. She was clueless which made the situation funnier to him.
“I can handle more than you think. Your dick probably wouldn’t be able to stand up anyway, so stop lookin’ at me like that you perv,” y/n tried covering her legs, but there was no use.
“Oh, go fuck yourself,” the man rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his seat. “Do it yourself, coward,” y/n said under her breath. She thought she was quiet enough until his head snapped back at her and Wade gasped.
“Oh, you nasty little peanut,” Wade giggled. “Oh, you want me to fuck you?” Logan asked, giving that stupid smirk again. “What!? I never said that,” y/n lied, trying to think of something to stop this conversation.
“Oh, but you did, bub,” Logan felt like he was shifting closer, but y/n kept her eyes off of him. “Don’t go silent on me now, bub. If you need a little cock to fix that attitude, I can do it,”
The instant confidence he had, made the girl nervous. What the fuck is she going to do?
“Don’t need cock,” the girl spoke quietly. “I think you do,” the man’s hand was now on the grips thighs, gripping it a bit rough to get a reaction.
Y/n turned and swung, going to hit the man somewhere, but he got her fist and pushed it away before hovering over her body.
“You’re feisty for a girl who’s soaking wet,” the man said, confusing y/n. “You can smell her that bad!?” Wade asked, wanting to know if all. “Oh, yeah, and she smells sweet,” Logan admitted as his hands tugged on her belt.
“Let’s see if I’m right,” Logan ripped y/n’s belt off and shorts down her legs, exposing her pretty lace panties. “Logan! Fuckin’ get off!” Y/n fought back, but he knew she could do better.
“You sure? Kinda looks a little messy down here,” the man laughed at her girl as he spews her legs, seeing the dark spot grow. Before she could say another word, he ripped her panties off, making her yell at him more.
“Pretty little cunt. Maybe if you weren’t so bitchy, I’d eat it, but I have different plans for you today,” Logan wiped a finger across her lips before taking them to his mouth to suck.
“Yep — Sweeter than peach, Wade. Didn’t know you had sluts as friends,” Logan laughed again as he fumbled with his own belt. “Logan!” Y/n still shouted, kicking and slapping but he had his single hand pinning her shoulder down.
“Look on the bright side, peanut — You’ll get some dick and maybe that’ll energize you for our fight?” Wade said about anything to hide the fact he loved hearing Logan get the way he gets.
“Fuck you, Wade!” Y/n yelled at the man. “Nah uh, only I do that to you,” y/n almost forgot about Logan until she looked down, seeing his cock out in his head, stoking and leaking pre cum.
“Got me so fuckin’ hard. You know how good you look fighting? How pretty you are yappin’ that damn mouth? Could only think about you under me -- where you belong,”
Logan struggled but made his way in between her legs. “Fuck you! Fuck you, a-and Wade! You’ll last two seconds,” y/n tried laughing at the man to seem tough as usual, but he shut her right up with a hard thrust into her cunt.
“What was that? Two seconds? If I lasted a short time, it’s because this cunts so fuckin’ soaked, not because I’m old, baby,”
Y/n’s hands pushed at the man’s stomach, trying to slow him down and stop him from pushing hitting the right spot with each thrust he gave.
“S-Stop!” The girl whined already, feeling the knot in her stomach build and her breathing get spotty. He was huge and hard. Harder than she thought a man his age could be.
“Don’t think you want that, baby. No, you want me to fuck this pretty little girl till she cried and leaks on the seat,” Logan whispered in her ear as his own breath became heavy.
“God, you guys are hot. Love the play date you guys are having! Maybe give me a review after the Uber ride. Tell me if the seats felt comfy and if y’all had enough room to fuck like rabbits with rabies,” Wade seemed excited.
“Hear that, babe? Gonna tell Wade how good I fuck this pussy? C’mon, tell him. Tell him how hard your squeeze my cock,”
Y/n hated his cock voice in her ear but loved it at the same time. He knew exactly how she’d like it. Maybe by her attitude, he knew she needed someone with the same energy to pound her.
“No c-chance,” the girl stuttered through her teeth as she tried glaring at the man, but her head instantly fell back after he gave one small pound, telling her to get rid of the attitude.
“You’re gonna do it eventually. Sluts like you can’t forget a good cock,” and he was right. This was going to be the best sed she’s had ever.
“Gonna go beggin’ Wade to come get me to fuck you. Shit, since I have to stay in the bullshit you call your world, I’ll just come over to your place myself. Burry my cock in this cunt till you pass out,”
“L-Logan,” y/n dug her nails into the man’s shoulders, trying to hold tight as her orgasm felt near. “Oh, you like that? Like the thought of a dirty old man fuckin’ this so-called clean pussy, hm? Gonna let me breed this little princess whenever I want? Even if I piss you off?”
“N-No, you fucking suck at this!” Y/n breathed heavily, keeping her orgasm together so she wouldn’t give him what she wanted.
“God, she’s fuckin’ petty,” Wade said as Logan let out a little chuckle. The man shifted in the van, lifting her legs over his shoulders before punching his right claw into the roof of the van.
Y/n jumped, not used to having a mutant like him around. “Don’t worry, princess. I wouldn’t hurt a pretty girl like you. Too valuable and tight,” Logan grabbed between the back of y/n’s head and neck to lift her to, fixing her to lean into him.
“Before I fuck you ass dumb, do you want to take anything you said back?” Logan looked down at the girl whose legs rested on his shoulder and cock grazed her entrance, waiting to be squeezed again.
“You fuck like a dead pig,” y/n spat. Right after, the man took one good slam into her, watching her legs part and scream. Logan pulled her head back up, making her look into his dark eyes.
“Loudmouth for a loud screamer,” the man smirked before moving his hips, thrusting into the girl with all the strength he had. He pulled her back to life whenever she tried pushing away or leaning her head back.
“Good fuckin’ pussy — Fuck! — Maybe I’ll excuse that bitch tone of yours,” the man couldn’t deny his could she felt and sounded.
Before, y/n thought she could hold herself in, but she knew Logan would get what he wanted in this new angle and harder pounding. He knew this from the start.
“C’mon, bub — I know you wanna cum. Keep squeezing around me like I wouldn’t notice,” he laughed at her. Teasing he. “N-Not cumming,” y/n assured the man, but even Wade didn’t believe her.
“I can see how the man has you in a full-on butter-salted pretzel position. You’re cumming, peanut,” Wade said, only egging Logan on knowing anyone who looked at her right now could tell she was close.
“No, I’m not!” Y/n pathetically whined. Logan leaned down to the girl's face, slightly touching her lips as his hot breath burned her nostrils.
“Don’t cum then, bub,” Logan said as he picked up his pace. “Don’t cum, and you win. You win your little bitch fight, and we can move on with our day,” Logan kept increasing.
“Don’t cum, and you’re right about my limp old dick,” Logan now growled. “Don’t cum, and I won’t come into your little home and eat that pussy,” y/n eyes rolled back as his hands dug into the back of her neck.
“Don’t cum, and I won’t fuck you like this every day to satisfy your needs, baby. Don’t cum, and I’ll have to leave this pretty little body alone forever,”
“Can’t breed it. Can’t kiss it. Can’t pound it. Can’t do anything I want to it,” y/n whined loudly at the man’s words, finally releasing the man’s cock.
“That’s what I fuckin’ thought. You need me. You fuckin’ want this old dick,” Logan’s lips crashed into her, kissing her roughly as she cried at the pace he kept ducking her in.
“Goddam, she cums a lot!” Wade said with excitement, loving the animal coming out of Logan. He knew y/n needed something like this in his life. That totally isn’t the reason why he brought her along.
“So fuckin’ good, baby. Best fuckin’ cunt I’ve fucked. So damn tight and sweet. Need you after all this. Needa have you with me forever,”
Y/n didn’t plan for this to happen. She doesn’t plan to let Logan fuck her like this in the back of Nicepools Honda Odyssey. She didn’t plan for Logan to form an attachment issue with her.
“Gonna cum, baby. Gonna fill this girl up. Gonna keep you with me forever. Can’t leave. Don’t care how old I am, you belong with me. You’re made for me. Pussy’s molded to only take my cock,”
Logan’s hips bucked a few times before he pushed all the way into the young girl, spilling into her with a loud animalistic groan.
The top of the roof was ripped with how many times his claws punched in and out of it. Logan’s fingers bruised the back of y/n’s neck. Her lips even have a small scratch from the hard he kissed. She tastes so fucking good.
THIS, IM NOT EVEN LYING, IS THE BEST FANFIC IVE READ IN SUCH A LONG TIME OMFG
HOUSE IN NEBRASKA — Logan "Worst Wolverine" Howlett x Mutant!Reader AO3 version Spotify Playlist
WORD COUNT — 15.4k SUMMARY — Reader gets roped into saving the timeline with ex-best friend Deadpool, coming face-to-face with a variant of Logan that uproots memories she'd long suppressed, only to find that this version of him lost her in his universe, too. TAGS/WARNINGS — she/her pronouns (minimal usage), female anatomy, flashbacks in italics, angst, enemies to lovers, alcoholism, smoking, arguments, canon typical violence, cursing/bad language, Deadpool breaks the fourth wall like twice, canon behaviour worst wolverine, religious trauma, honda odyssey scene self-insert, eventual smut, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, dirty nasty talk (logan has a filthy mouth), mentions of cocaine literally once. smut is marked after last divider if you want to skip plot but i'll kiss you if you don't!
You’re smoking a cigarette on your porch when the snowfall happens. It would be normal, you think, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s dead in the middle of July. A group of nanas, elbow-deep in the community garden soil, glance up to the sky and begin muttering prayers amongst themselves.
You’ve lived in this safe house for a while now, up in the mid-west of the Appalachian mountains, surrounded by thickets of pine and opposite a bubbling creek. You grew up somewhere near here and the locals welcomed you back with open arms and a plateful of hot food when the humans started the culling— when the X-men fell apart.
It has plenty of benefits. The smell of lavender, for one, and your cat, Kevin, loves chasing the pigeons, even if he’s not the most successful hunter. The locally sourced produce means you can avoid the poisoned food they’re distributing in supermarkets.
But, most importantly, the humans can’t find you out here. You’re lucky the gossip of your… genetics, so to speak, doesn’t leave Sunday morning church.
Things have been different, lately. The trees are shedding down to dust, people are disappearing at an exponential rate, and there was a time when you’d be on the front lines helping them. You’re on the edge of your seat waiting for the call — a learned habit — but it’s never coming. Charles is dead. Logan is dead. The X-men are dead.
The snow is warm when it lands on your skin. It feels like rot, and your solitude suddenly feels lonelier and more daunting than ever.
You reach to take a sip of your steaming coffee when you hear movement. A zipping strobe light crosses your vision and you flinch against the intrusion, but you’re not afraid. You’ve surely survived worse.
Stryker worse.
A comical and confused looking figure pops out from an orange portal, scratching the crown of his head over the red and black mask on his face. You sip your coffee as you observe him nonchalantly.
He notices you and approaches with a dainty point of his finger.
“Um, excuse me, ma’am.”
“Well, well well,” you suck on your cigarette with a frown. “Look what the cat dragged in. Got a new suit, Red?”
“What, aren’t you happy to see lil’ old me?”
“You’re on my property,” you say matter-of-factually. You had a shotgun stowed away inside for emergencies, but frankly, you never had to use it. You were enough of a weapon yourself. Consider it insurance, if the corn-syrup they’re poisoning ever finally makes it way to you.
You glance sidelong at the old ladies in their aprons, clutching one another with stern gazes in your direction. The deal was that you didn’t bring trouble their way — but it looks like trouble found you. You narrow your eyes and silently hope that this doesn’t turn messy, as it so usually does where he’s concerned.
He sighs heavily and continues approaching regardless. You analyse his stature and take notes of the weapons on his holsters and back. You reckon you could take him if it came down to it, but he didn’t seem threatening.
You and Wade used to be friends, but after isolating yourself from grief, you don’t necessarily consider yourselves to have a close relationship. More often than not he brought trouble; hence your defensive response.
“Listen, ants in your pants, I’ve done this about a hundred times,” he huffs and places a hand on his hip, waving the device around in his hand. You take another drag of your cigarette and perk your brows before rising to your feet.
“I’ve had my spleen shattered by the Hulk, about eighty stab wounds…”
He rambles on about his collection of injuries and you tilt your head with amusement. Must be another one of his famous mental breakdowns. This might be entertaining, at the very least.
“…You’ve even killed me a few times in different universes!” He claps his hands together. “And frankly, I was just going to let you die here. You’re not even canon, so you won’t be missed, but you appear to be of use to me. So I need you to come with me. Now. Please.”
What on Earth was he talking about? What on Earth was he ever talking about?
You bark a laugh. “I ain’t going anywhere with you, Red and Black.”
“Will it change your mind if I add a cherry on top?” He asks with a dry laugh before nodding enthusiastically. Manically. “You’re coming. Kevin’s life depends on it.”
“What are you talkin’ about? Are you threatenin’ my cat? That’s a new low, Wade.”
“Is it? Is it really? I am certain that I can go unfathomably lower.”
You roll your eyes, half-way through turning your back on him.
“You see this?” He holds out a gloved hand and catches some snowflakes. He rubs them between his fingers and they spark and fizzle before dusting away. “That’s not snow. That’s time death. Our universe is dying, womp womp. Stay here, sure! By all means, but—”
Your cat launches out of the door behind you, chirping and meowing to himself before promptly dashing through the portal and disappearing into the blurry void on the other side.
“Well. Looks like he made his choice.”
He sighs and lets you process. You take the final swig of your coffee and huff a breath.
“You literally have nothing left to lose. Trust me. I know. I’ve seen all kinds of you and, believe me when I say this, even though I love and cherish this version of you, this—” he points two fingers at you and gestures towards you judgmentally. “— isn’t the best look on you, honey.”
You want to dismiss him. You want to turn him away, to tell him to get lost. Grief swallowed your heroism whole, turning it into a barren wasteland of bitter indifference. You used to be bright, full of light, love, and hope.
Fucking hope. It’s the reason Logan left you to help Charles in the first place. You just wanted to settle down and disappear, to live a normal life. You lost an intrinsic part of your being when he died; you remember feeling it before you heard the news. Fucking hope.
Hope, hope, hope. Nana Rose chants on about it when she clasps your hands with her wrinkly ones, dragging you to church in spite of your atheism.
“And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts,” she chants, basket of flowers on her hip. “Romans 5:5. You’d do well to do your readin’, tulip.”
You didn’t and don’t ever usually believe a word she says, but you can feel her faith. It’s solid as steel, pouring out of her like blotting light through the gaps in the trees. Undying. And you’ll be damned if you let anything happen to her.
A flicker remains. You imagine what Charles would say to you now, how you’d hang onto his every word and he’d bring out the better of you. You truly do have nothing left to lose, except maybe your cat. Over your dead body.
“Come ooon,” he pokes his fingers together. “Fancy being a hero? One last time?”
You take the final drag before stubbing the cigarette out on your railing. “Alright, Red. I’ll bite.”
“Then suit up.”
Your friendship with Deadpool was a rocky one. There was a time you told him you’d be there for him through everything, and you technically owed him one for saving your life that one time even though your ego insists that, to this day, you could’ve taken the fight. That’s what heightened cellular control of your body is for, right? Accelerated healing? Empathetic abilities? Faster reactions, enhanced strength— you get the point.
Though you didn’t realise that returning the favour meant following him through space, time and alternate dimensions, you were a person who stayed true to their word, and you hated being indebted to someone.
So, here you were, waking up in the middle of a barren wasteland that was seconded as a cocktail soup of abandoned universal relics and heroes ripped from their worlds, accompanying your ex-best friend to restore your timeline.
But, one thing about paying someone back, it doesn’t technically count if they lie to you about the terms and conditions of the agreement. Only a few mere moments after you come to, dazed by the impact and the blaring wobbly heat of the sun, you rise to watch as Deadpool takes six blades of Wolverine to the chest.
You’re still a little dizzy when you stagger to your feet, head throbbing, as you’re trying to process if, yes, that’s exactly what you were witnessing.
“Let’s see you grow your fuckin’ head back!” Wolverine growls.
Deadpool holds his hands up in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! I can fix it! I can fix it!”
The man in yellow hesitates. “Fix what?”
“Whatever it is that you did, whatever made you so bad—” Wade pants, catching his breath. “Those pricks at the TVA, you heard ‘em. They have the power to end my universe, but they also have the power to change yours. We get back there, and we can fix your world! Together. I promise.”
You stumble from around a pile of debris, clutching your side as a rib pops back into place. Wolverine sniffs the air, face blanching as he snaps to look in your direction.
When you first make eye contact with him, it feels as though you’re resurfacing from water after being on the precipice of drowning. Your heart leaps into your throat, adrenaline boils your veins and your lungs burst with relief of breathing.
“Troubles always gonna find you, baby,” Logan murmurs, kissing his way up from the pulse in your throat as he rocks against you. “But so am I.”
You’ve never loved him more, you think, than when he fucks you slow like this. A snowstorm rages outside the cabin, howling full of glass and needles and rattling the window frames. His skin against yours burns a fire within you, warming you to the bone. He sweeps hair away from your face before capturing your mouth in his, swallowing the sounds of your pants, threading his fingers between yours.
You could stay here forever, you think.
Your fingers shake from the whiplash of the memory. You instinctively reach towards him but you catch yourself. This was the husk of him, not your Logan. The realisation feels akin to ripping open a haphazardly sewn wound right down to the fatty yellow flesh, raw and needling and sore.
He’s broader than you remember. Hair a little darker, wrinkles a little deeper. He smells of alcohol and cigars — that much is familiar. That’s him, flesh and adamantium bone, living, breathing. Alive. The physical shell of him prods alive parts of your inner circuitry that you weren’t aware had fallen asleep, like intrinsic nerves untangling within you.
You can sense that he knows you, too, based on his emotional response. His noise is extremely loud, spilling out of the cracks of whatever wall he thought he’d successfully built up. This version of Logan certainly had a lot of secrets.
“You,” he whisper-growls. It’s almost intangible, leaving him like a breath. He pulls his blades promptly from Deadpool’s chest and kicks him backwards.
You’re starting to understand that faith thing that Nana Rose was knocking on about when he strides towards you, large and tall. You certainly weren’t a believer by any means but you’re sure you’d be the picture of unbridled worship for the way you’d fall to your knees for him.
Your empathetic power lurches for him, seeking him out as you used to — like a flower to the sun — but it physically recoils from the aura that it touches. It was all your Logan but not in a familiar way. It’s tainted, dark, and it tastes like copper and screams.
All colour melts from his face and his body shuffles in a way that indicates discomfort; a dry swallow, tense shoulders and flicking eyes that refuse to meet your gaze. He omits feelings of guilt and shame that linger on the tendrils of your empathetic powers where you connect with him.
You try to zone Wade out, squinting as you attempt to navigate through his cobweb of emotions (seriously, this guy’s aura could do with a cleanup) but it’s like wading through black-tar syrup, feelings negated by years of alcohol-abuse and avoidance. Eventually, you feel something that makes your guts twist and your legs shake: a version of romantic attraction and recognition so carnal and raw that you begin to blush, a warmth that creeps its way up from your belly. A breath escapes you like a punch.
“Well. This feels awkward.” Wade glances between you both and places his hands on his hips. “Why do you both look like you’ve seen a ghost? Do I need to call Egon Splegler and tell him to bring his ghost sucky-sucky vacuum? Oh my god—” He slaps his hands to his face and gasps sharply. “Cross-Universal lovers?”
As inappropriately timed and tone-deaf his one-liners could be, you’d never been more appreciative of an icebreaker. You think you could’ve stood there for an hour, frozen in silence, staring at a reanimated corpse, basking in the noise of his emotional frequency like an addict finally getting another hit.
But then the noise stops, swallowed up like a heaving black hole had split and atomised the tension whole with its unforgiving jaws. He closes himself off from you. Connection severed. You reach out and feel a cold nothingness similar to how, on particularly rough nights, you’d try to reach out to him after his passing. You’d clung onto his plaid shirts until the smell and emotional residue wore off of them.
“You with the mouth? To fix things?”
You nod tightly. You don’t think you can find your voice in front of him.
“Let’s just keep moving. And stay out of my head,” Logan grumbles, crossing you with a cold shoulder and mumbling something incoherent under his breath. When he’s made enough distance, you turn to your old friend with a cold glare.
“Ooh, brr. Anybody else feel a chill?”
“Wade.”
He twists towards you comically slow.
“You. Motherfucker.” You begin approaching him. He backs up slowly and holds his hands up.
“I knew if I told you the plan you wouldn’t have gone along with it!”
“Are you insane? You think multiversally grave-robbing my fucking dead ex-boyfriend is going to save our timelines?!” You yell.
“Technically he’s not dead—”
You push him. “He should be! He- he was— he is!”
“Well, this one isn’t!” He pushes back. “And I’m not sorry for finding a loophole in the plan to fry — not just mine, mind you — but both of our timelines! Did you happen to forget that? No multi-dimensional depressed Logan? Alright then! No more Kevin!”
He’s talking about your cat. Anger flares.
“Don’t you dare bring Kevin into this.”
“You forced my hand!” He yells, mouth moving alien-like behind the mask on his face. “Besides, I’m not doing this for me—”
You blink your eyes closed. You might reach the end of your tether if he said her name one more time. You’ve been in his company for approximately an hour, and he’s already drilled a hole into your brain with his incessant yapping about the “love of his life”.
“Wade, you need to move on. She clearly has.”
“I will not move on from the only people I love in this fucked up dimension. This isn’t just for Vanessa.” He shoves a glossy photograph in your face. “This is for you and blind Al and even that shit-head teenager and her pinkie-pie girlfriend! They deserve their timeline!”
“I literally don’t care about any of those people!”
Even yourself?
“Well, I do! I have people I care about! Aren’t you supposed to be a hero? God, all of you X-men are so depressing. Is it the suits they make you wear? Is that it? Can’t breathe in that thing?” He continues poking at you. “Loosen up a little!”
You straighten your posture and the black leather of your suit crackles. You swat his hands away as he continues poking. “Alright! Cut it out!”
“Think of Nana Rose.” He draws a heart with two fingers. “Little old ladies like her deserve a chance, don’t they?”
And even though humans had done nothing but wage war on your kind for simply existing, you still felt obliged to help them. Besides, the thought of other mutants — kid mutants — dying when you hold the chance to save them in the palm of your hand? You were hardly managing as you were now. You’re not sure you’d be able to live with yourself if you kept going like this.
“Alright, alright!” You huff, heart pounding in your chest. You look over at where Wolverine kicks at rocks in the distance. “Fucking hell, Red. Holy fuck.”
You say it again, only this time you scream it into your hands.
“You should’ve warned me.”
“Are we good?”
“Are we go—” You scoff. You kick his ankle, feel the bones shatter and crunch beneath your foot. He lets out a short, high-pitched yelp. “You deserved that.”
“Motherfuckermotherfucker… oh you’re lucky I feel bad about lying to you or I would’ve twisted your milk bags off for that I swear to God.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”
“Mhm,” you murmur, walking forward. “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”
He limps after you, floppy ankle dragging a line in the sandy dirt. “I’ll be dead before you ever get one of those out of me! And too bad I can’t fucking die!”
The difference between this Logan and your Logan is stark, minus the uncanny resemblance. Your Logan was soft and gentle, but this version is sharper and blade-edged, and your fingers bleed when you try to touch him.
Staring at him feels like throwing up a mirror and analysing yourself, a picture of what happens to a person when they make all of the wrong choices. You’re embarrassed, almost. This isn’t a version of you that you ever want him to know, but at least you can say you’re trying.
Him, on the other hand…
“Are we going to keep up the awkward silence?” You snip, awkwardly adjusting the restraints on your wrist.
You’ve been in Logan’s company for all of an hour, and yet accompanying one another through literal time purgatory didn’t seem to irk any feelings of obligation from his end. He’d been cold-shouldering and ignoring you the entire time, even though you kept catching him staring.
“I have nothing to say to you,” he spits, wriggling uncomfortably against a very unconscious Deadpool. “You got us into this mess.”
You frown, small. You can feel hatred pouring out from him, leaving a sickly bile taste in the back of your throat. You’ve lived through enough hate for being a mutant in your lifetime, enough that you’d become accustomed to tuning it out of your radio channel, so to speak, but something about it coming from the man you loved makes it a little harder to swallow.
You’re quiet when you next speak. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”
He shoots you an indistinguishable look and grunts to himself. Such a Libra.
“So, what’s the story here?” Johnny asks with a sly grin. He turns to you with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. “You two know each other?”
You cringe. “Sort of. Last I remember, he wasn’t this much of a prick.”
“Oh, trouble in paradise, huh?” His grin grows. “That’s a shame. Not often we get girls like you in the void.”
“Seriously?” You say with a side-eye.
He shrugs, all blue-spandex biceps and charming smile. “No harm in trying.”
Your breath hitches as Cassandra approaches, wide eyes and tilted head aiming for you purposefully. Logan swiftly angles his body so that he’s standing in front of you and she halts as a delighted, implicating smile stretches across her face. Your chest constricts, tendrils of yearning coiling tighter. It appeared to be muscle memory: his instinctual, protective flinch. Just like your Logan used to, despite how capable he knew you were.
“Now, I’ve always wanted a Wolverine.” Her finger moves along the crowd. “Knew I’d get one eventually. But I never even dreamed of having you.”
Cassandra zips behind you and her slender fingers delve into the crevices and valleys of your brain, lips intimately close to your neck and ear. Wolverine snarls territoriality, but he’s unable to move. The urge to reach for him is overwhelming.
“Do you know that there are so few universes where you exist?” She whispers, caressing your deepest memories. “I even asked the TVA about you, in exchange for keeping the peace. I was disheartened when I found out one of you died. But you’re here! Now, I don’t believe in fate, but this almost feels like it was meant to be.”
You flinch when she uncovers a particularly fond memory, one you hadn’t been aware was so prominently in the forefront.
In the back of his truck, a cigar between his teeth, hands sliding under your shirt. In another world, he would’ve taken the time to do this properly, but living in a school didn’t exactly grant two consenting adults any privacy.
“Waited long enough for this.”
He kisses up from your bare foot to the sensitive skin of your inner knee, lips scorching against your skin.
“Logan…”
“Easy,” he murmurs, leaning away for a moment to remove his plaid overshirt, leaving himself in that white vest you could eat him alive in. “Still wanna take my time with you.”
You’re desperate, he can tell— can probably smell it, too, but you’re far too humiliated to ask him if he can.
Logan wasn’t your first by any means, but with the way you were near trembling for him truly felt like you’d be losing all of your innocence in the back seat. You’re shy and quiet, everything he isn’t. You’re infatuated with him — have been since he burst out of the lab in his grey hoodie — and have daydreamed about what it would be like to have him. You certainly didn’t let him know that right away, and with whatever shred of composure remained around his relentless flirting and teasing remarks, you tried to play hard to get.
Until you couldn’t. Because you weren’t. He had you, and with every fibre of your being, you wanted him to.
She pulls her hands from your brain with a shlick sound, rubbing her fingers together as if relishing in the produce of your memories. She grabs a rag from her pocket and smirks knowingly.
“You’re thinking of that at a time like this?” She laughs all witch-like. “Worry not; your secret’s safe with me, naughty girl.”
Wade lowers his voice and leans towards Logan. “She was thinking of me.”
“I can read between the lines, darling,” she potters on. “This isn’t about a sexual fantasy. Deep down, you just want to be wanted. To be loved.”
She steps back and extends her arms. “After all, you’ll never amount to anything in your world. It’s such a shame that your Logan left you so abruptly. Did he break your heart?” She giggles. “Why suppress your powers in his name? For a level-five mutant, you certainly don’t act like one. You can do that, here. Freely!”
Your worn thin tether creaks with exhaustion like a dilapidated bridge under pressure. There isn’t a singular fibre of your being that desires to be stuck here, but the small, angry teenage voice in your head would love nothing more than to just let go. You’d been containing your powers for as far as you can remember, and they'd always been as irresistible as the promise of Pandora's box.
But you know how that story ends.
You take a moment’s pause. “I have no interest in livin’ in a garbage dump.”
She tilts her head and neatly clasps her hands behind her back. “Do you forget where you come from? I think we both know who lives in a garbage dump.”
“You motherf—”
You’d just managed to escape Cassandra’s lair with Alioth’s foggy storm fangs nipping at your ankles when you ran across the abandoned diner.
You’re ravenous, wrist aching from how you dig at the freezer-burned ice cream. It’s your least favourite flavour but you’ve been running on fumes for the past day or so, so you’ll take what you can get, though you begin to lose your appetite when you remember Johnny, and how Cassandra had zipped the skin from him like popping a blood-filled water balloon.
Something is rumbling beneath your surface. A distinct, constant buzzing, like two atoms slowly building up radioactive energy. You’d asked for none of this, and would certainly give Wade a talking to when the time called for it, but, for now, you’re trying your hardest to make this as easy a process as possible.
Your male counterpart, however, was doing exactly what men generally do. He was making this fucking unbearable.
Logan sits across from you, brooding, fingers gripping the medicinal bottle as if it’s anywhere near appropriate to be drinking. He throws you a particularly lingering glare when he notices you staring, but refuses to maintain eye contact when you look back at him
You toss the tub and spoon across the table with a sharp clatter, your patience collapsing.
“What? Can’t even look at me?” You snap. His eyes look exhausted when they finally meet yours. Wade, being the characteristic little fucker he is, pulls a delighted, shit-stirring grin as he glances between the two of you as if watching a tennis match.
Logan gasps as he finishes taking a drink. “Not much to look at,” he says, wiping the back of his mouth.
The words twist like a fist in your gut. For a moment, you’re rendered too stunned to respond, like he’d tossed a flash-bang toward you. His casual cruelty digs deeper than you care to admit— but you’ve had far too much therapy, too much psychological training, to know he’s deflecting.
But you wouldn’t doubt for a second that there was a more beautiful version of you somewhere.
“What, you comparin’ me to someone?” You ask. You can tell you’ve struck a nerve by the way he goes for another sip. “That it?”
He grimaces.
“Do I make you feel sick? Am I making you feel sick?”
He stares at you hard, but silently. He takes a long swig of the rubbing alcohol and you cringe as his throat bobs. His silence and feigned indifference light a fire of indignation.
“You know, you’re not the only person who’s suffered. Who’s lost people.”
He laughs like what you’re saying is funny. “Yeah, right, bub, you have got no idea what loss is.”
“Oh, you are such a fucking cunt,” you spit, slamming your hands on the table as you rise to your feet. “You know what, Wade? You’re right. I can’t do this. So fuck you and fuck his timeline and fuck every timeline that had anything to do with it! I’m done.”
A wave of uncontrolled psionic energy born from your anger blasts from you upon your final words, slamming them back into their seats and sending the cutlery, nearby debris and weapons flying. The neighbouring windows smash, shattering explosively and sprinkling outside of the diner.
The simmering stops, replaced by a stifling emptiness.
“I wasn’t finished with that!” Wade cries, crouching down to scoop up what remains of the gelatinous spam.
You pause for a moment, glance at your hands, and then grab your jacket in an aggressive fit.
Wade whines your name, halfway through gagging down a forkful of cold spam off of the floor (one of which resonates with a particularly distinct crunch, but you don’t stay to find out whether or not he just truly ate glass), and he doesn’t attempt to get up and follow you as you storm off.
You take a heaving breath of hot desert air when you leave the diner. The sandy breeze tousles your hair, and with the prickly energy of an incoming nervous breakdown, your legs kick and you’re running.
“Stryker got you, too?” Logan asks, eyebrows flicking up.
You don’t look him in the eye when you nod. You cross your arms and slouch a little, caging your heart in. Stryker — the ex-militant with a fetish for experimenting on mutants — had held you captive for several years. He’d brainwashed you into using your empathetic abilities for nefarious purposes, like seducing other mutants, and sometimes important political and militant figures.
“You like me?” He questions, quieter this time.
“No… no, not like you,” you reply. “I don’t have the fancy bones. I heal fast, but I wouldn’t survive that kinda procedure.”
“Ah.”
“I don’t remember everything. Just bits and pieces. Feelings, mostly. Nightmares,” you explain. He nods understandingly. “I’m always on edge.”
“You always seem so calm,” he observes. “Nothing seems to phase you.”
“I have to be. It took a lot of pain and damage to get this level-headed,” you respond quickly. “If I don’t manage my emotions, all the emotions that I receive, touch— it all comes out. Explosively. It has to come out somehow. I could hurt people.”
“Funny. School therapist ‘n’ you’ve got the most issues,” he teases light-heartedly.
“You got no idea, lumberjack.”
You hated killing.
You’re on your knees, arms and hands and chest soaked crimson, sobbing. They’d come out of nowhere, the raiders, and they were hungry for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. All you know is that you felt their need, their desperation, their willingness to do anything to get it.
The flash of harrowing horror someone feels before they die isn’t a unique experience. It simply varies in strength — sometimes it’s a feather-like touch that careens over you, a shuddering realisation that they’re taking their last breath, and sometimes it’s like a crack of lightning. Bloodied hands gripping your biceps with fear in a final attempt to survive. They’d rather cling to you than die alone.
You hate killing. Especially this up close.
You don’t cry for them. You don’t even cry for yourself. It’s a small emotional space where they cry vicariously through you.
You were black-out when it happened, you tell yourself, and suddenly regress to the student you used to be, sobbing on your knees in front of Charles as he tries to teach you serenity and control after an outburst had caused you to kill a nest of birds. He’d done it for Magneto, he said— so he could certainly do it for you.
You should have meditated more.
The sound of a car gurgles somewhere behind you, but you haven’t the energy to look or use your powers to seek out who’s approaching and what their intent is. You’re exhausted enough that whatever they wish to do with you — turn you to processed dog kibble, send you back into the jaws of Cassandra’s lair, kill you — whatever. Just let it happen.
A slamming car door and then the crunching of boots on gravel.
“You’re easy to track.” A pause. “You look pathetic. You done throwing your tantrum?”
Logan. Of course, it’s him.
“Leave me alone, prick.”
“As much as I’d like to, you and the Mouth still have to hold up your end of the bargain,” he quips, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Now get up.”
You glare up at him and his arms unfurl as he notices your tear-streaked face. His expression drops, softens, before it quickly ticks back up into an incredulous, irritated look.
“Are you crying?” He asks with a scoff. He pauses before dragging his hand down his face and rubbing his scruffy jaw. “Jesus Christ. Get up. Get in the car.”
“I ain’t fuckin’ around, Logan. Piss. Off.”
He mumbles a string of incoherent curses and turns on his heel. You think, for a moment and a breath of relief, that he’s truly going to give up on you and leave. He could finish this without you. It’s easier this way.
Instead, a thick bicep wraps around your middle and you’re flung over his shoulder with a yelp.
“Quit your squirmin’.”
“Then put me down!” You yell, thrashing in his grasp. He promptly ignores you, unphased by the jabs you strike at his back. You quickly unsheath the small knife from your jacket sleeve, winding up your arm before you drive it into the muscly pocket by his kidneys.
“Ow! Cheap shot, you little fucker!”
Wade sighs and clutches his hands in front of his chest romantically. “Oh, the newlyweds.”
Logan dumps you into the front seat of the car carelessly, grumbling something as he slams the door shut and applies the child locks. Petty motherfucker.
You rub the sore spot on your tailbone where you landed on a seat buckle funny. You want to bite your tongue but you’re flared up.
“We should switch places. I’m a better driver than you are.”
Logan doesn’t bother looking at you as he starts up the ignition. “Just shut up.”
“You can go on ahead and smoke a cat turd in hell, then.”
“So fuckin’ immature. Grow up.”
“Mom and Dad can you please stop fighting!” Deadpool cries out from the backseats.
You just roll your eyes, resigning into your chair and folding your arms.
At some point along the ride, Wade falls asleep, snoring soundly to himself. You’re silent in the front, drumming a beat on your knees, awkwardly thinking of something to say. You have the impulsive need to fill the silence, even if you were trapped in a crappy car with a man who had made it vehemently clear that he irrevocably hated you.
“So, if they can fix your world, what’s the first thing you’ll do?”
Logan rips his eyes towards you. “What did you say?”
“I said when you get back, what’s the first thing—”
“No, no, no— before that.”
You hesitate, wondering if you’d landed yourself in a trap based on the sharpness of his tone and the way that anger crackles off of him like static lightning.
“If… they can fix your world?”
He slams his foot on the brake and you just about catch yourself before your nose goes flying into the dashboard. Wade is thrust out of the front window, smashing through and promptly falling unconscious underneath a tree, neck broken at an awkward angle.
Your eyes widen.
“What do you mean: if?”
“That’s what Wade said—”
“I don’t give a fuck who said what. He promised me he would fix things—”
“Well, I didn’t promise you shit!”
He laughs, low and devoid of humour. “You don’t have a clue if they can fix things, do you?”
Well, no. You’ve been operating on a hunch the entire time and had half come to accept that you might be stuck in the TVA void forever. Who knows how much time has passed elsewhere?
Regardless of the fact you truly had nothing to do with whatever came out of Wade’s mouth, you weren’t about to let Mr. Worst Wolverine shit all over him and his plan to save his friends.
“Is it really that far-fetched? We made an educated wish!”
Something dark flashes across his face. You can feel hate pulsing off of him in dizzying waves, doubling with each passing moment.
“You made… an educated fucking wish?”
“What’s your problem with me, huh? Got a stick up your ass?” You reach for the car door handle, but he snaps up your wrist, holding it high. “You better let go of me right now, old man—”
“Or what, huh? Gonna run away again?” He threatens.
“You geriatric, alcoholic motherfucker. I’ve done nothin’ but try and be civil with you and you treat me like I’m the one who ruined your life! I don’t know what version of me you knew but you need to stop actin’ like I ain’t worthy of being here because of what you did!”
“Listen, I’ll tell you what my problem is with you—” he leans closer, eyes roving over you with a disgusted look on his face. “I mean, you are a ridiculous, emotional, immature crybaby. I have never met a sadder, more attention-seeking, foul-mouthed little bitch in my entire life and that says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than two hundred fuckin’ years.”
“And I’ll tell you, that bald chick was right about one thing: you will never amount to anything. You’ll never save the world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with me. I’d say you should’ve died alone but it’s one of God’s best jokes that in this universe you didn’t seem to fuckin’ die, except that ones on the rest of all of us!”
He breathes heavily when his rant finishes. You’re taken aback, jaw slack, eyes warm with the onset of tears born from shock.
“What, you got nothin’ to say, empath?”
You suck in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you flick the emotional switch off in your head.
“I’m going to hurt you now.”
He snorts. “Oh, are you?”
In a swift manoeuvre, you raise your slap him around the face. You knew better than to punch a metal skull, but you still wanted him to sting. His eyes slit, nostrils flaring in challenge.
“That all you got?”
“Not even close,” you snap back, knuckles whitening from the way you curl your fingers into your palm. “You want to play this game, Logan? Fine— but I’m not gonna sit here and keep on provin’ myself to you. I’ve had enough of your Christ-born-again superiority complex. Did you forget that you’re the worst Wolverine?”
“Oh, yeah? Well, at least I’m honest about who I am. Look at you— you’re a fuckin’ joke, pretending to be some hero in a suit made for a dead team,” he barks back, voice rising with each word. “I don’t need your bullshit “wishes”— you should know, I’ve buried people for less.”
“Yeah, because you’re so perfect, ain’t that right?” You yell, voice cracking from the power of your anger. “The almighty Wolverine— the unkillable bastard who can’t seem to hold onto anythin’ good in his life! You’ve had centuries to get your shit together, and look at you—” You look him up and down with disgust. “—still just a bitter, lonely, broken man, takin’ it out on everyone else and a goddamn bottle.”
His eyes narrow, muscles in his jaw twitching as he appears to fight and keep his temper in check, but there’s an obvious crack forming, the dam of his unbridled rage near overflowing.
“You think you know me, huh?” He murmurs, voice a deadly whisper, the calm before the storm. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I’ve been through. You’re nothing but a lost woman playing make-believe and hiding in the shadow of a fuckin’ merc. You’re pathetic.”
Something inside of you breaks. “I’m pathetic? Look at yourself! You’re so goddamn desperate to feel anythin’ that you’ll lash out at everyone around you for some semblance of warmth. There’s a fine line between hate and love, after all! You think you’re so strong because you can heal, because you’ve lived forever? Yeah, right— you’re the weakest, most cowardly man I’ve met in a loong time.”
The blades between his knuckles shoot out with a shink! For a moment, you think that he’s going to attack you. Hell— you even hope that he will, just to diminish some of the unbearable, stifling tension. Instead, the blades retract with a deep breath, and he grabs you forcefully by the collar of your suit, yanking you so close that you can feel the heat of his breath on your face.
His voice is low and rough, each word dripping with venom. “Go on, keep psychoanalysing me. You wanna talk about cowardice? How about leaving people who need you, just because it’s easier to run? Better yet, how about the fact that you abandoned the X-men to hide away in the mountains, huh?”
Your eyes widen with recognition.
“Yeah… Wade’s got a big mouth. Told me everythin’. You’re no hero. Hell, you’re just a selfish, reckless hillbilly who failed at pretending to be human.”
Your heart palpitates in your chest, each word coiling and slicing like blades in your intestines, but you refuse to let him see how much it hurts. Instead, your lips curl into a cold, bitter smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“And you’re just a sad, angry old man who can’t handle the fact that he’s lost everythin’. Go ahead: keep pushing people away! Keep hidin’ behind that anger o’ yours! It’s got you this far, ain’t it?! I’ve treated kids with trauma worth double yours and they were nothin’ but kind and selfless. I won’t let you project your failures onto me. I’m done with this.”
“Yeah, why don’t you walk away!”
The argument reaches a fever pitch, tension sizzling in the air between you. You’re so close, glaring at each other with so much anger, so much resonating heat, that it feels like something’s going to break. And then, suddenly, it does.
Before either of you can think, you close the gap between you, lips crashing against his. It’s not gentle, it’s not soft— the kiss is rough, violent, a clash of lips and fury. His grip on your collar tightens, and for a moment, you’re both frozen, caught in the shock of what’s happening.
But then something more fiery in nature than anger ignites, and he kisses you back just as fiercely, and maybe a little more desperate— like he’s trying to pour out all of his pain and resentment, into this one moment. Your tongues slide against each other and his teeth catch against yours as he groans into your mouth. Your hands thread through his hair, yanking him closer as if trying to hold onto something real and tangible in the chaos of the kiss, reeling from the sudden spinning in your head. It’s angry, raw, filled with all the things you’re not capable of verbalising: grief, love, yearning, reconciliation.
The result of a painful reunion.
The world falls away and all that’s left is the taste of him, the feel of his lips against yours, rough and demanding. You hate him right now— hate him so much that you can’t help but want him. The sheer intensity of it all overwhelms you and makes your fingers shake against the nape of his neck, but you can’t pull away— not now, not when you’ve tasted the wine. You’re too far gone, caught up in the storm of his intoxication, fantasising about ripping that yellow and blue suit off of him and riding him until there’s nothing left for him to regenerate.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, the bubble of the moment bursts with the sound of slow clapping coming from outside the car. You jerk back from Logan, breath coming in ragged gasps. Logan is equally as stunned, still tight-gripping your collar as if he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.
You both see Wade sitting up, hands together, eyes wide as saucers as he takes in the scene.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did I just wake up in a telenovela?” His voice is laced with amusement. “I mean, I know you two clearly had some unresolved sexual tension— but this? Oh, this is gold. Please don’t stop on my account, just let me get the camcorder first!”
You’re too stun-locked to respond, lips parting and closing as your brain scrambles to formulate a response as you’re still reeling from what just happened. Logan (for once) seems equally as lost for words, his typical scowl replaced with a look of confusion.
“Shut up, Mouth,” Logan barks, but there’s no real heat behind it. There can’t be, really, not when you’ve both been caught red-handed. He releases your collar at once.
Wade, however, is having none of it. “Oh, no, no, no! You don’t just get to brush this off like it’s nothing! That was a full-on makeout session! I only interrupted because I thought you were about to rip each other’s clothes off.” He sighs wistfully and crosses his legs. “Here I was thinking that you two hated each other— but I guess all that anger was just foreplay, huh?”
Your face burns with a mixture of shame and something else you’re not quite ready to admit. “Wade— cut it out.”
He grins, not deterred in the least. “Oh, but I’m loving this. All that pent-up aggression finally coming to fruition. It’s beautiful, truly.”
Logan shoots him a look that could melt iron, but Wade just simply shrugs, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. Everyone being me.”
“Wade,” you warn through gritted teeth.
“Well, unless you want me to watch (which I am not opposed to, by the way) maybe next time the two of you should get a room,” he tilts his head. “Or, you know, a couples therapist.”
He then turns to address Logan directly.
“And I must’ve missed the AO3 tags because I did not peg you for the enemies-to-lovers type, Mister. Who knew all it took was a bit of hate-kissing to get the sparks flying? Don’t look so ashamed! I’m just jealous I didn’t get to you first.”
He stumbles towards the car and collapses into the back seat. “Next time you wanna bump uglies, just ask for some privacy! You can save me the broken neck!” He gets himself comfortable, man-spreading and laying his hands on both of your shoulders as you stare dead-forwards, unable to look at each other.
“Gosh, you’re both so tense.” He begins massaging. “Look— props to you both for not letting all that angst go to waste. This is a safe space, and there’s no shame in a little hormone-induced—”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Logan interrupts, revving the car back to life and shoving his prodding hands away. “Just be quiet back there.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll keep the commentary to myself. But just so you know— got that bad boy playing on repeat, right here.” He says, tapping the side of his head.
You bury your face in your hands. This was going to be a long car ride.
As the car starts moving again, you muster the bravery to risk a glance at Logan. His expression is hard to read but his energy thrums with uncertainty. The boiling hatred seems to have dialled down to a gentle simmer, mostly redirected towards himself rather than you. There’s something else— something that wasn’t there before. You rip your eyes away quickly, mind racing.
For somebody so in tune with emotions and the literal ability to manipulate them if you so desired, you were horrendous at navigating your own. You don’t know what this kiss meant, or if it even meant anything at all.
If there’s anyone you didn’t expect to come across in the void, it’s X-23— Laura. She’s taller, now, with hair down her back, but she’s still got that stern, mean look on her face that intimidated you the first time you met her.
The weak front door squeaks when you open it a crack. A girl, maybe in her small teen years, blinks up at you.
“Can I help you?” You ask, wiping your flour-dusty hands down on the front of your cooking apron.
“Are you—” she says your name.
You attempt to swing the door shut, but she jams it with her boot. You flick your eyes up, glance around for any signs of threats, and then lower your gaze to her. You wrap your cardigan around your mid-section.
“I don’t go by that name anymore. Who the Hell are you, kid, and what do you want?”
“I’m here about Logan,” she says, matter-of-factly.
Logan. A name followed by your own, both of which you hadn’t heard in years.
“He’s not here, kid. He died years ago.”
“I know,” she answers, unwavering. “I was there when it happened. Your name was the last thing he said.”
You’d let her in for a glass of sugary sweet tea that day, but once stories were exchanged you told her not to come back. She respected your wishes— she said she simply wanted to put a name to the face, to get closure, but you’d felt her desperation. Perhaps she was seeking out respite, or family, but you were in no position to be sharing your space with someone who could put another target on your back.
After introductions were made with the others who had been ripped from their timelines (Elektra, Blade and oh my god a Gambit variant with muscles so huge he could pop your head between his biceps) you excused yourself to sit outside. The buzzing emotional energy made your collar feel a little tight around the neck, your head a little fuzzy with noise, so you decided to reignite the small campfire a few yards away from the safe-house and rest there, instead.
You hadn’t realised you were being followed.
“It’s not safe here.”
“It’s not safe anywhere, Logan.”
He looks defeated, raising and clasping his hands behind his head.
“I gotta leave, baby.”
“If you leave, I ain’t lettin’ you back,” you whisper. “You don’t heal the same anymore, Logan, and you promised me—”
“I know what I promised,” he rebuts, but not angrily. You can already see on his face that he’s made his choice. He’s not coming to you to discuss it. “But I owe it to him. To Charles. He gave me everything.”
“So then what did I give you?” You ask. “Not a home, not my love, not everything?” You slam the tea towel down and turn away from him as the tears form. He’s quiet, perhaps processing everything, but you’re too impatient.
“If you’re just gon’ get up and leave, do it now. I won’t beg you to stay, Jimmy.”
“I love you.”
You don’t say it back.
You wake up with a start, damp clinging to your forehead. You immediately sense another presence and glance over to see Logan watching you with a steady gaze. His expression is soft and almost reverent at first, but his facade hardens with a quick tick of his jaw.
“You talk in your sleep.” The bottle in his hand sloshes as he takes a drink. “Nightmare?”
You sigh frustratedly when you realise it’s him. Of course, it’s him — his energy reeks of whiskey and self-loathing. You prop yourself on your elbows, massaging the sore spots on your temples where sleep fog forms.
“I can’t even get some rest without you botherin’ me? You’re leakin’ self-hatred everywhere.”
“Quit hogging the fire then.”
“Fuck you,” you murmur, but it’s without bite.
A moment passes before he fills the silence again. “What are you even doing out here, alone? Trying to get yourself killed? Pretty stupid.”
“Do you know how hard it is to sleep when nobody shuts up?”
His brows knit. “They’re all dead asleep.”
His hand runs up and down your back.
“Can’t settle?” He asks after you sigh.
“No.” You turn so you’re lying on your back, shoulder touching his, staring up at the ceiling. “Everyone is feeling so loud. It’s like a frequency I can’t turn off.”
He hums. “They’re grieving, I s’pose.”
“Even you and you always said you hated the guy.” You shuffle to lie on your side, facing him. You place a hand on his bare chest. “I can feel it, you know.”
“I didn’t hate Scott. Just found him… obnoxiously irritating.”
“Tough guy.” You giggle and stroke his cheek. “You’re turnin’ soft, old man.”
He pulls you flush against him and presses a kiss to your hairline. You lay in verbal silence for a while, soaking up his presence (god, you were so in love), but you’re interrupted when he abruptly sits up and grabs the white vest he discarded somewhere near the bed.
You lean on your elbows. “Where you goin’?”
“Let’s go for a ride.”
“What?”
“You can’t sleep here. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
“But Charles said—”
“Screw Charles. You comin’ or what?”
He hadn’t told you he loved you yet, but at that moment you felt it.
And so you do, clinging to his mid-section on his motorcycle, head stuffed into the helmet he affectionately forces you to wear. It’s a warm night in New York, soupy with heat, but the further you get away from the compound with him by your side the more you feel you can breathe.
“’Course, you don’t understand.”
You reach for the small pouch on your hip and retrieve a cigarette. You light it between your lips, taking a seat a few paces away from him, hands still shaking a little with the aftershocks of the night terror.
“Since when did you start smoking?”
You perk a brow. “I’ve always smoked.”
He seems to realise something and simply shakes his head before returning to the vice in his fist.
“Right.”
You stare at him for a long, passing moment, before pulling out your lighter again and offering it towards him. He perks a brow.
“I know you got a cigar in there somewhere,” you say. He pauses, sighs, and then retrieves a thick cigar from one of the pouches on his suit. You lean closer, flick the lighter, and cup your hand to protect it from the breeze, shamelessly glancing at the dancing glow that bathes his face amid the firelight. You feel the urge to kiss him again, and when his eyes flick up to yours, you think for the briefest second that he wants to kiss you, too.
Swallowing, you collapse your lighter and clear your throat. You sit quietly, smoking and drinking in a silence only negated by the distant sound of chittering bugs around you. Once you’re finished with your cigarette, you toss the butt into the fire.
“We’re infiltrating tomorrow morning.”
He laughs dryly. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
Your lips tighten into a thin line. “We won’t make it without you.”
“Sure you will. I’m not him, you know,” Wolverine grumbles, slugging another shot of alcohol.
You scrutinise him from across the log. You wonder if he feels as pathetic as he looks.
“No— you got that right,” you answer. You pry the liquor from his hands but the grip he releases from the neck of the bottle must have been a mercy on his part because you knew he was extraordinarily stronger than you. “He was much braver than you.”
His eyes flicker from the flames to you as you take a long swig.
“Although probably just as stupid.”
A pause. Crackling and popping firewood fills the silence.
“But, he was a hero. And so are you.”
A beat before he spits a dry laugh, “what gave you that idea?”
You give him a once over and offer a half-smile. “That suit, for starters.”
He looks down at himself like he’d forgotten he was wearing it and wipes away a stray speck of blood from the bright material that you’re sure you might be responsible for.
“What, you like it?” He grunts.
You can’t help but smile. “Yellow suits you.”
“This is all I had left to remember you— them by,” he says, tone turning more sombre as he reminisces.
You decide it’s not the time to make another jab, so, instead, you play back and forth with the bottle for a while until the alcohol stops stinging your throat.
Something small shatters inside of you when you watch him muster the strength to look into your eyes, and his look a little glassy.
“Did you love him?”
Woof, that needed a healthy drink of courage to answer. When you hold his gaze, there’s a hollowness to his expression— an unasked question. Was there truly a version of him worth loving?
“Yeah.” You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth to cover the crack in your voice. “Yeah, I did.”
He’d insisted he hadn’t wanted you around yet he’d kissed you and now followed you to where you’d been sleeping. That had to count for something, so you extend your arm and gesture the bottle towards him— an olive branch in the form of shitty Jack Daniels. Your fingers touch when he accepts it and the brief glimmer of eye contact you share sends shivery energy zipping between you.
“I loved him,” you repeat, as if convincing yourself. A repeated balm to soothe the pain of letting him leave.
“He’s an idiot for leaving you.”
You bite back a sob-laugh, imagination caught somewhere between wondering who you’d rather beat up more: him, or yourself.
“Maybe I’m an idiot for not followin’ him.” You sniff deeply to push back the incoming sob-induced mess. “Not that he woulda let me.”
He hums resignedly.
Clearing your throat, you tuck your hands between your thighs. Swiftly moving on. “What was I— she like?”
He takes a long drink and sighs thickly when he comes up for air. He looks down at his hands when he talks as if choosing his words thoughtfully and carefully.
“Strong, smart. Stubborn. Far too fuckin’ stubborn.”
You force a smile over the flinch of pain in your chest. “Guess we got that in common.”
You reach up and twist the dog tag around your neck, feeling for the ring you’d slipped around the chain. You were never married legally but were in all the ways that mattered. Your heart aches for the brief moment of domesticity you shared with him. You expect him to be finished, but he once laughs, a smile cracking on his face.
“She loved kids— had a soft spot for the weird ones.” He squints and rubs at the flesh between his knuckles where the blades typically protrude. “Put me in my place. Stood up for what was right.”
His words strike a chord in your heart, playing the familiar tune of yearning and guilt and grief. A swelling sensation rises from your stomach and you’re not sure if you’re going to scream, cry or throw up.
“Were you—?”
“In love with her? What, like you can’t tell?” He interrupts, face hardening. Another drink. “It doesn’t matter. We argued one night and I refused to follow her back to the school, ‘bout the same time the humans went mutant hunting.”
Logan takes a moment to catch himself.
“When I came back, shit-faced from the bar, I realised I’d gotten my version of you murdered, along with the rest of them. Laid up like a fucking log pile. That’s what loving me got you.”
The gruesome imagery sours the liquor in your stomach. You push the nausea down with a hard swallow.
“I’m sorry.”
“Wh—” He jolts back, face pinched. “I got you killed, and you’re fuckin’ sorry?”
“There’s a world where you didn’t make that choice. You know, I’m not proud of who I am, either,” you answer, softly. “After you left and I lost you… I got bitter, stopped pulling my punches.”
“You never liked hurting people.”
“I didn’t.” You take a deep breath, willing away the warmth that pools behind your eyes. You quickly regain composure with a short cough. “Whatever woman you’re comparing me to, I stopped being her a long time ago. Like you told me— I’m no hero.”
He grunts, looking like he regrets saying that now. Checkmate. You’re not what either of you expected or yearned for in one another, but maybe you’re exactly what you both need.
“You know, your accents thicker.”
He says it as if to draw a line of separation, but you take it as an invitation. Your head swims from the alcohol, and against what probably is your better judgement, you inch closer to him until your knees bump against each other.
“That’s what I get for hidin’ in the mountains. Got adopted by a scary old lady and her church friends. I reckon she rubbed off on me. You’d like her, I think,” you tell him fondly. There’s something wistful about it, imagining a life with him. You grieve a life you never had but somehow, in his company, the melancholy loosens its grip.
“Maybe we got lucky,” you add flatly.
He lifts the bottle with a dry laugh. “You have a very funny idea of what lucky means, bub.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure. Y’see, they didn’t get lucky. They died, ‘n’ we lost each other,” you explain, glancing up at the stars as if either version of you would ever be in heaven, as if it was as loving enough as a mother’s womb to stretch wide enough to allow space for mutants.
God probably hated you just as much as they did down here.
You lower your head onto his shoulder. “But, we’re still here. Maybe there was always space in my universe for you.”
“You’re drunk,” he observes flatly, but he doesn’t move.
“A little.” You get more comfortable against his tense bicep and close your eyes. “Humour me, why don’t you?”
He sighs, but it’s gentle. “Just for a while.”
“Good, because you’re not very good at keeping your feelings quiet. I know you like this.”
“Keep that to yourself.”
You sigh, eyes remaining closed. “We ain’t gonna talk about it, are we?” You ask, in reference to the kiss.
“Nope.”
A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, vision blurring as if lying underneath a rippling river current. Paradox has just explained the stakes to you — to stop Cassandra, somebody would have to lay down on the wire and make the sacrifice play. This wasn’t a matter of regeneration anymore— it was being ripped apart from the seams, atomised.
It just so happens that your cat, Kevin, has been loving his little journey around the TVA. Cheater.
“You won’t survive it,” is what you say in response to Logan offering himself up for the job. What you really meant was: I don’t think I can survive losing you again.
“I know,” Logan answers. His eyes drip to where you palm at the slow-healing wound on your side, courtesy of the Lady Deadpool variant. You’re winded, running on fumes, and know you’re in no position to start throwing yourself out there as a suicide volunteer. You’d never make the journey, let alone succeed in your venture.
“That’s why it’s gotta be me,” Deadpool interrupts, peeling the mask from his face to address you both. “Neither of you asked for any of this. You were right. I lied. I lied right to both of your faces — just to get you to help me, and you did.”
“You didn’t lie,” Logan replies, throwing you a glance. “You made an educated wish.”
He reaches into his pocket and slaps the bloodied Polaroid of Deadpool’s friends against Wade’s chest. The gesture is a final, silent acknowledgement of why any of you are here in the first place, and everything that’s led to this moment.
“I got nothin’ back in my world,” he explains, the sharp arrow of his words striking a sting straight through your heart. “Let me do this. For you.”
You could see that this meant more to him, that he would only deem himself worthy and die a peaceful death if he could do it knowing he saved at least one variant of you. This is more than just a mission. This is his only chance to redeem himself, and you know you’re in no position to start trying to convince him that you’d have him either way. Fuck redemption.
You’re parallel from one another, standing just outside of touching distance. It was a cruel existence— reaching out and never quite being able to hold on. It’s inevitable, the pull you feel. You’re dictated by his gravity but cursed by the narrative.
Your chest rises and falls with shallow, laboured breaths as you attempt to process what’s happening, what he’s asking you to let him do. The pain in your side ebbs only from the comparative pain of watching another version of the man you love sacrifice himself for you.
His voice is a quiet whisper. “Give me this.”
But I love you. The words are there, hiding behind your clenched teeth, gnawing at the bars like a feral animal caged in the reminder that this isn’t — shouldn’t be — the man that you love.
Something shifts and as you’re running on the delirium of your battery running low, healing resources drained, you decide that you don’t actually care to make the distinction any more.
You’re in no condition to fight; you barely had the energy to argue with him, let alone stop him. But you can’t just let him go.
One wobbly step forward. You poke his chest, mustering whatever energy remains to express your feelings in the only true way you know how. “I…” you stammer, but you suddenly can’t find the words.
His hand reaches up and he splays yours flat against his chest. Faintly, buried deep behind the armoured layer of his suit, you feel the distinct thunk, thunk of his heart. He exhales deeply when your empathetic energy transmission reaches the other side. Your eyes connect, and even through the sharp whites of his mask, you can feel the psionic pulse resonating between you two— strong enough that the wound on your side begins to sew itself together.
“I know,” he whispers.
And you believe that he does.
He nods shortly, releases your hand, and turns on his heel. You collapse against the control centre, eyes needling through the camera footage, desperate to watch the final moments and know that his sacrifice was worth it.
It’s about the same time that Deadpool yanks his mask back on and barrels down the hallway after him.
“Wade!”
You glance back at the party as you creep towards the apartment door to leave. Your consciousness has only recently slipped back into place, having hovered somewhere above your body for the entire time you witnessed your friends atomically ripped apart, only for them to return mere moments later.
You think it might’ve been witnessing Wolverine sweaty and shirtless that was finally the last straw for you. You’re not sure you’ve recovered since.
You thought you were being sneaky about your departure, but a flat hand reaches from out of view, splays and then holds the door closed.
“You sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Logan asks, voice slow and tentative.
“I ain’t runnin’ this time, I promise,” you answer. He rests his arm on the beam above him, making him appear even taller and maybe even more imposing. Your pulse quickens as you look up at him, trying to find the right words, ones that you hope won’t give you away. You nearly squeak. “I um— just—”
He arches a brow, a hint of a micro-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He shifts, getting closer by just a fraction. “Yeah?”
Trying to keep your distance is proving to be immensely hard when he’s gotten himself this deliciously close. His energy tastes of confidence, a stark contrast to the self-loathing only a mere few days prior. It’s magnetic. If you make eye contact now, you’re not sure you’ll be able to control yourself.
The atmosphere crackles with tension, like the static energy right before lightning strikes. His gaze is intense when you look at him, and with the way his eyes glance purposefully down at your parted lips—
Jesus. Pull yourself together.
You gently pull away from him and feel the spell of the moment dissolve. “I just… need time.”
Recognition flashes on his face, as well as a tick of disappointment, but he seems to understand.
A beat, then he taps the door before stepping aside. “Alright. Don’t be a stranger.”
Wade bursts around the corner, arms wide and voice booming. Vanessa hangs off of his arm, white teeth gleaming with mischievous joy.
“Whoa, hey there, lovebirds! What’s going on here— a secret rendezvous? Looking for somewhere to sneak off? Should I cue the romantic music or just give you two some privacy?”
You jump in surprise at his sudden entrance, flinching away from Logan as if you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Logan’s expression shifts from whatever tender moment was brewing, spell broken, to a mix of exasperation and resignation, jaw tightening.
“Wade,” he grumbles, voice sharp, but you can acknowledge there’s a level of begrudging affection beneath the steely surface. “Timing, as usual, is impeccable.”
“Um, actually, I was just leavin’,” you answer, tugging on your bag.
“WHAT!” Wade exclaims, face dropping. “We haven’t even gotten to our favourite part yet!”
You tick a brow. “Our favourite part?”
“The cocaine part,” he says, matter-of-factually.
“Wade, that was one time,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry. Thank you for inviting me. I just can’t miss my flight.”
Dogpool jumps at your ankles, whimpering and chewing on the hem of your jeans. You give her a gentle scratch on her head, deftly avoiding the lick of her impressive tongue. Wade scoops her up, holding her against his shoulder and kissing her affectionately on her wet nose.
“You, ah, need a ride?” Logan offers.
Your heart stutters at his chivalrous attempt. “Oh, um. That’s okay— I called a cab. So.”
That was a lie. You hadn’t— not yet. You just weren’t sure if you were going to make the right decisions if you were alone in his company for an hour. Probably wouldn’t make it to the airport without fighting or crying or making stupid choices.
He rubs his jaw. “Right.”
“I’ll… see you around?”
“I better!” Wade yells, using two fingers to gesture that he’s keeping his eye on you as Vanessa yanks him around the corner gleefully.
A magnetic tether — or red string, whatever you want to call it — seems to strain when you walk away from Logan. You feel the pull in your chest, a fluttering of electricity, but you swallow the urges and ignore the way they scratch like glass on the way down.
You call an Uber, squeezing your bag tightly for a source of comfort as you crowd yourself into the back seat. You spare one last glance at the apartment and think for a brief moment you see a silhouette of someone watching you from the balcony, but they slip away into the light before you can discern it.
You know, though. Of course, you know.
You expected relief when you arrived home, but, instead, the aching, gnawing black hole in your chest seems to grow exponentially. You go through the motions— feed your cat, tend to the garden, eat the food with no appetite, go to Church.
The fixture of Jesus pinned to the cross gives you pause for the first time. You wonder if he was a mutant.
You weren’t sure how much of this “time” thing you were going to need to heal or make a decision on where you and Logan stood after everything, but only after your second night, sleepless and alone, do you start to doubt that this will be an easy process. You communicate like you know what you’re doing, but you haven’t stopped shaking since he kissed you, like a newborn foal traversing ice.
You want to do things right. You’re not trying to replace any missing pieces or live up to any expectations he might have of you. The girl he knew seemed to be a softer, sweeter (less traumatised) version of you, and you worry that you’d be constantly comparing him to a ghost of himself.
The rain lulls you as it patters on the window by your bed, but sleep doesn’t take you.
You hear thunder, you think, and wonder if the chickens are frightened in their coops. However, the distant grumble continues to grow, reverberating through the floorboards of your rickety cabin. As it creeps closer you discern that it’s not a brewing storm— but the growling engine of a motorcycle.
Awash with a deep sense of knowing, you throw yourself out of bed and knot a silk robe around your middle. The sound of the engine dissipates, replaced only by the hammering rain and the rushing pulse in your ears when you tear your door open.
You see him— all leather jacket slick with rainwater and tight jeans, brows pinched against the onslaught of the weather as he dismounts his bike.
Logan.
When your eyes meet, there’s a palpable shift in the air, and the storm, angry as a howling spirit, mirrors the turbulent emotions within you. You don’t speak, you don’t think, you just act.
Barefoot, dressed in your slip of a robe, you race down the short path and meet him halfway.
“Logan? Logan?” You call out. “What are you doin’ here?!”
“Had to see you,” he calls out between strides, voice nonchalant as if what he’s said was obvious.
You’re closing the distance. “That’s a day’s ride, and the weather—”
Instead of letting you finish, he grasps your face, kissing you suddenly and with a reverence so sincere that your knees feel gelatinous and weak. His thumbs brush away the raindrops— tears? —that drip over your crystallised lashes. His touch is both grounding and electrifying; the warmth of him pressed against you is a stark contrast to the chilling downpour.
Your fingers curl against the front of his jacket, clinging with equal fervour as if it’s the only thing keeping you anchored from floating someplace else. The strength of his body crowds over you, arm sliding down to capture you by your waist as you lean into him, syrupy-decadent and entirely reliant on him to keep you upright.
The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding over yours tasting both bittersweet and intoxicating in equal measures, like cigar smoke and peppermint gum. There’s a distinct sharpness of liqour and you wonder if he had a shot (or bottle) of courage before coming here. You breathe deeply against his skin, smelling rainwater, musk and gunpowder; your senses are completely overwhelmed by him and you’re not sure that anything could pull you away.
The red string knots.
When you both eventually take pause, gasping for air as the rain continues to pelt, his eyes lock with yours. He radiates relief, desire, and a raw vulnerability that makes your heart ache.
“You’re freezin’,” he murmurs, peppering kisses against your lips, your cold nose, and pulling one of your hands to his face to peck along your palm. You feel dizzy in his embrace, drunk on his lips.
“You should come inside,” you whisper, “before the neighbours start askin’ questions.”
He quietly nods, kissing your fingers before following you inside and ducking away from the rain.
Once inside, he shakes the rain from his hair with a flick, eyes immediately roaming around the innards of your respectable (tiny) house, the size of him immediately proportionally shrinking the interior. He absorbs your surroundings, chivalrously pretending like he can’t see every curve of you in that wet material.
You lead him towards the heath, lighting a small fire to help dry you both off. You leave, pottering around to gather some towels for your hair, and arrive back to see he’s peeled off the top layer of his clothes, leaving him half-exposed, his back an impressive marvel of rippling muscle. He glances at you over his shoulder.
You’re lost for words, but can’t just stand there ogling him. “Um, I don’t think I have any spare clothes that’ll… fit…”
When he turns to face you, his rain-slick torso shines in the firelight, skin glistening on the taught muscles of his biceps as he accepts a towel from you. Your words lag, entirely distracted by the realisation of one thing when you glance down at his v-line and dark, coiling hair that creeps down into his jeans: you’re absolutely going to have sex with this man.
You might’ve decided that when you watched the way his jeans clung to him when he dismounted his motorcycle, but that’s beside the point.
“That’s alright,” he answers, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes roving shamelessly over the damp, silky robe that clings to your silhouette effortlessly. “Don’t need ‘em.”
Your mouth dries when he steps closer to you, head angled, lips centimetres apart.
“Logan…” you breathe, tone edging toward a warning.
He presses against you, tilting you back. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop. I’ll get back on that bike and I’ll leave.”
You creep further away, trying to catch your breath. “I—”
The words don’t manifest, simply because you don’t have it in you to lie— to deny yourself of this.
He cages you in against the wall, shrinking you underneath his frame, eyes narrowed and dark as they search for yours through lowered lashes. “Tell me you don’t feel somethin’, and I’ll walk away. You won’t see me again.”
His bare-chested proximity was overwhelming you. You’re acutely aware of every inch of his skin that touches yours, pebbled nipples hard against his warm flesh, stubbled jaw nuzzling against your neck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel like a teenager again, anxious and hormonal, a ball of puppy fat and unrequited crushes. The space between your thighs positively aches with heat, throbbing like a second heartbeat.
“I can’t… I can’t tell you that I feel something.”
He leans back, lips quirked with a flash of disappointment.
You blink up at him. “Let me show you instead.”
He ticks an eyebrow.
You use your empathetic influence to decrease his heartbeat, relaxing him down to the bone. He sighs, nosing against your shoulder, arms flexing as he holds himself up against you.
“Just with a little influence…” you stroke your way up from the slow pulse in his neck to his jaw, capturing him swiftly. You use your mutation to increase his heart rate this time, hiking it up to an excitable level. His cheeks begin to flush, pupils dilated, lips parted with the anticipation of your kiss. His eyes darken with something intrinsically primal and hungry.
“Does it excite you?” You ask, innocently.
He shakes his head all dog-like as if to regain control, canine showing as his lips curl into a wolfish grin.
“You’re not the only one with… tricks. I can do that, too— in other ways,” he says, tone low and suggestive. He lifts a hand, tracing a knuckle over your exposed collarbone, shifting the soft material of your robe just an inch. Your breath hitches.
“You know I can hear your heartbeat, right?”
You blush. You hadn’t known that.
You challenge his eye contact, feigning self-control and authority. The stare-down has your pulse spiking, arousal ricocheting down your spine and sitting low and syrupy in your belly.
“Your heart’s beating pretty fast, too.”
Oh, Hell. He’s got you melted like butter in a pan.
You rest your head against the wall, breath quickening. “If we do this, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”
“Good,” he growls. “I don’t like to stop.”
The teasing back-and-forth game of teetering towards nearly touching finally gets the better of you. You’re weak, as malleable as soft dough, so you invite him against your mouth with a sigh-wine and a tug on the nape of his neck.
He positively devours you, a hand palming at your breast as you kiss desperately and feverishly. The shoulder of your robe slips and you’re half-exposed, the slip barely holding itself together by the loose knot on your waist. He pulls you impossibly closer, the skin of his chest flush against yours as he reaches and digs fingers into the globe of your ass, hips twitching together.
You fumble between your bodies, yanking on his belt buckle and zipper impatiently. He pulls backwards, a wet string of spit snapping between your lips as you separate, helping you with steadier fingers to remove his jeans. With equal passion, he swiftly tugs on the waist-tie of your robe and discards it somewhere on the floor.
When you’re both bare, nude silhouettes sharp and soft in the firelight, he stumbles you over to the plush rug in the centre of the room. He nods to the couch.
“Legs up.”
You obey without hesitation, taking your seat and spreading decadently for him. He kneels below you of you, hips between your ankles, and gazes at you like a hungry, stalking animal. You feel impossibly sexy and dangerous.
He peppers kisses along the bone of your ankle first, foot hiked up onto his shoulder, only breaking eye contact to flutter his eyes closed. He moves along the inner length of your leg, pausing keenly against the sensitive parts— the thin stretch behind your knee, the soft plush of your thigh. He lowers himself, scruff tickling between your legs, and then licks a molten stroke between your folds, parting you with his tongue and burying his face deeper.
You clench around his skull, mindfulness of your heightened mutant abilities long forgotten. You can’t crush metal between your thighs. Or can you?
He groans into you, varying suckling and kissing you on your clit with long strokes on the blade of his tongue to your hole, lapping up the nectar of your arousal, fingers digging bruisingly into your hips. The sting of his grip and the relentless lave of his tongue entice moans from you, fingers raking into his hair for some semblance of reality grounding in your pleasure-lapsed consciousness.
Jesus. With as filthy as his mouth was, you should’ve known he would be this good at eating pussy.
You come quick, orgasm pulsing on his lips. The burn of overstimulation seizes your muscles, writhing against his onslaught, but he shoves your hips down.
“Not done with you yet,” he murmurs possessively, leaning back to wipe his chin. “On all fours.”
You bite your lower lip, suppressing the humiliation of the intimacy (vulgarity) of it. You turn, belly still clenching with the aftershocks, arching with the anticipation, whining moments later when his mouth reconnects with you. His hands palm at your ass, spreading you wider, tongue slipping dangerously close to the tight ring of muscle.
He slides a finger knuckle-deep, miming fucking you in a rhythmic pulse. His other hand massages you, thumb sliding down until you jerk sensitively against his nudging intrusion.
You feel impossibly full and tingly, clenching around the burn of his thumb and the velvet of his finger, second orgasm surging and bubbling over with your face pressed against the couch cushion, lips agape. You’re slick, drip-dropping onto his cupping palm, every nerve in your body burning raw as his wrist works you through the pulses.
You turn over, relishing in the sight of his scruff glistening with the aftermath of your orgasm, his eyes dark with lust— a hellish man, seraphic on his knees for you. Your insides clench at the sight as he quite literally shatters and redefines what worship means to you.
“Tired already?” He hums, massaging your hips.
You perk a challenging brow. “That was just the warm-up, old man.”
“Alright,” he seethes, sucking on his lower lip as he lifts himself up to your level. “Show me what you got then, baby.”
When you kiss, his mouth slides against yours, drenched with the taste of yourself. His cock steels against your belly when you pull him close, tip pearl-smooth with precum when you reach down and grasp him with a hollowed fist. The feel of him, heavy and warm in your grip, fans to life the flames of your briefly quenched arousal, and you hungrily pull him down onto the couch beside you.
Moisture pools on your tongue as you rub him. You spit on your hand before stroking him from the base to tip, lathering him silky with your drool. You tuck your hair behind your ears, narrowing your cheeks as you slide your mouth up and down his length, fisting the inches that remain.
“Christ.” He twitches in your mouth as you gently massage the warm weight of his sac, lewd sounds emanating from where your lips and tongue meet him. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl,” he snarls, gripping your hair in a fist at the crown of your head. Your engine purrs with his encouragement, revving with newfound enthusiasm.
You always gave as good as you got, after all, and you’re certainly not one to back away from a challenge.
His head lolls onto the back of the couch, thighs tense beneath you, cock hot and hard on your tongue. He growls when he comes, pulsing strongly in your mouth as you lap up the produce of his orgasm, salty and molten down your throat.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
“Put those regenerative powers to good use, why don’t you?” You ask, working him through the over-sensitivity with your wrist. His eyes don’t once leave yours, even as they glaze over and flinch from the pleasure burn. There’s a sharp look of challenging determination on his face— a grit of his teeth, the furrow in his brow. He remains hard in your hands and you perk an impressed brow. Not bad for an old man.
There’s a sweet moment of vulnerability when you crawl over him, a brief sobering in the cloud of lust, a clarity of two not-quite strangers and their shared grief and yearning.
You’re not sure where this moment will take you, but the love of somebody scraping together the shards of a shattered heart for a brief time, even as it cuts their hands, holds you with a semblance of human connection so sincere that you’ll carry it with you for a lifetime.
His thighs spread to accommodate you. You hold your fingers against the thick chords in his neck for support as you fumble between your bodies, slotting him against the catch in your cunt before lowering yourself entirely.
You hiss against the intrusion and he steadies you with a hand on your hip.
“Easy. Don’t hurt yourself.”
You laugh-moan, laying your palms against the coils of hair on his sweat-shimmering chest.
“I can take it.”
The fire, intended to help dry you off, creates a heated environment that beads sweat on his temple. The only brain cells that remain coherent bounce around on lust in your skull — so you lean forward, lick the salty droplet clean, and sigh-whine as you begin rocking against him.
You fall into sync quickly, a desperate rhythm of desperate bodies. The delicious ache of him inside you is a masochistic thrill, similar to the irresistible press on a day-old bruise. The squelching shlick between your bodies is an animalistic reminder of your flesh and blood as you chase the pleasure, bouncing with vigour.
“Christ— I can feel you…” his jaw clenches with resolve, fingers digging into the meat of your ass. “…dripping all over me. You wanted this bad, huh?”
“Wanted to ride you in that fuckin’ Honda,” you straighten your posture, leaning away from him to hold your breasts, panting words between bated breaths. “Thought it might shut you up.”
His hand snaps up and grabs you roughly by the chin. “Mm… mouthy, aren’t ya?”
You grin. “You got no idea, lumberjack.”
He pulls your face against him, meeting your mouth halfway in a sloppier, fever-driven kiss that shoots arousal to your core like a shot of his favourite whiskey. Something feral stirs within you: a primal, cellular-deep need to connect with him further. Your empathetic power roils off of you like steam on a hot spring, surging into and merging with him until there’s nothing but one feeling, a black hole of unquenchable desire.
You suddenly feel as though you are him: navel-deep, a throbbing muscle with an aching desire to dive further into the serpent-clutch of your cunt, gliding through tingly, honey-silk velvet, blades hanging onto a tether of self-control as they threaten to slide out of your knuckles in ecstasy.
Well. This was certainly new. Add “voodoo sex doll” to your list of mutations.
You gasp, ripping away from the kiss, your powers recoiling back into you at whip-lash speed, dizzying in its ferocity. His eyes meet yours with darkened curiosity.
“Did you—”
“I felt that,” he grunts, tongue darting out to roll over his lips. “It always like that for you? Feelin’ so fuckin’ full?”
You half-laugh blissfully. “Only the good times.”
“I’ll show you a good time, alright.”
He isn’t gentle when he manhandles you, forcing you into an arch as he repositions and aligns himself behind your thighs, one foot planted firmly on the floor, the other bent to accommodate the new angle. He reinserts himself inside of you with ease, hands palming your hips and ass.
You feel him nudging cervix-deep and you reach out, clawing at the couch to hold your jerking body steady against the relentless slap of his hips. There’s no need to tell him faster or harder when you feel the metal plate of his adamantium hips pressing against your ass, pounding and vulgar with the sound of sweat-damp skin-on-skin.
It’s involuntary, the way you pant and cry out, intoxicated by the relentless drag and pull of his cock. He says something to you but you either don’t hear him or have enough conscious space in your sex-drunk fog to process words and respond. He slides a hand down your spine and pulls on your hair until you’re upright, breath hot when it fans against your neck.
“Where’s that mouth gone?”
You lick the drool from your lip, throwing him a glance over your shoulder. “Fuck you.”
The half-lidded up-and-down look he gives you as satisfaction grows slowly on his lips turns your bones to jelly. “There she is,” he growls back, offering a sharp slap of encouragement on your ass as he drops you back onto your front. You involuntarily grip around him, puffy clit throbbing with the almost-but-not-quite-there anticipatory build. “You gonna come for me? Yeah? I can fuckin’ feel it.”
You slide a hand underneath yourself, reaching for the swollen nub with two fingers. You’re overwhelmed with kinetic energy akin to a fizzy champagne bottle— two more shakes until you’re ready to pop.
You hear a Snikt! behind you, accompanied by a throat-caught groan, and then the distinct ripping shred of blades impaling your couch. You finally come, hard, when you feel him throbbing inside of you, followed by the decadent syrupy flood of his orgasm filling you up. He ruts into you one, two three more final times, milking himself dry, before collapsing over your body in a sweaty heap, sparing you the weight of his metal bones with a forearm propped next to you.
Shared fluids drip to the couch when he eventually pulls out of you, blades retreating into his clenched fists. The fluffy innards of the chair spill out beside you, and, while you were in no financial position to afford another, the sight entices a humoured smile from you.
“Sorry,” he says with a wince, helping you sit up when your unreliable legs shake beneath you.
“That’s alright. It’ll make for an interestin’ story,” you retort, fanning yourself with a hand. You both let out a shared laugh, mostly from the relieved delirium of it all. After a beat, you lean into him, massaging a hand across his belly. “So. We really doin’ this?”
His face softens. “If you’ll have me.”
You cup his face and kiss his cheek. “I’d take any version of you I could get.”
divider credits: @/vysleix and @/cafekitsune tag list: @bearwithegg, @uhlunaro, @sseleniaa, @jxssimae, @autumnsymphony
This was so cute I LOVVEEEE
Sleeping, Dancing and Mistletoe
Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Times when people found evidence that you and Logan were possibly a couple, and the one time you both finally confirmed it.
Disclaimer: Mostly fluff, mentions/illusions to sex, Logan checking you out. Couple of swear words here and there. This has been unfinished in my drafts for at least a week so...yeah. This is finished. little Christmas at the end. Not Proof Read.
For what felt like the thirtieth time in the hour, you turned over with a huff and pressed your pillow to your ears, trying to muffle the sounds coming from next door.
And just as it finally died down, you sighed and was just about to thank some ancient being for hearing your prayers when…it started again.
“That’s it.”
Changing out of your longer pyjama bottoms and into some sleep shorts, you made your way out of your room, keeping your footsteps as quiet as you could until the noises faded away and you started to reach your intended room.
Opening up the door, you found exactly what you were looking for.
Shaking his shoulder as he lay on his stomach, you whispered his name, hoping he’d hear you.
“Logan.” You shook him for a third time. “Logan.”
Nothing.
With another sigh, you slapped his face gently and said his name once more, a little louder and firmer.
“Logan.”
Finally, he groaned. “What?”
His voice was muffled by his pillow but you could hear him just well enough. Or maybe you were just used to his grunts that they were starting to become their own language you could understand.
“Move over. I’m sleeping here tonight.”
“What’s wrong with your bed?”
“Nothing.”
“Then go and sleep there.” Logan turned his head away from you and scrunched up his pillow beneath his head.
“I can’t. My neighbours have decided tonight is Valentine’s Day 2.0.”
You pushed half of his body with your hands until he finally got the cue to turn over.
“Too much information.”
You shook your head, “Too much information is what I’ve been hearing for the last hour.”
Finally, Logan rolled onto his back, his covers covering his bottom half, and groaned. “Fine.”
“Thank you.”
Logan straightened himself in his bed, giving you room to get in beside him. And the minute you touched his covers, you were glad you had changed into shorts.
Logan was like a furnace. Just constant heat radiating from his body and for as much as it, at times, got too hot to stand near him, he was also, in your opinion, the best person to fall asleep beside.
“Just shut up and go to sleep.”
Laying on your side, it wasn’t long until you closed your eyes, thankful that you could hear nothing other than Logan’s steady breathing and the distant clock down the hall that was forever ticking.
However, just before you fully drifted off, you felt Logan’s hand take hold of yours and you smiled.
He could be gruff all he liked, but when it came to you, he could be a softie.
By the time morning rolled around, Storm was in search of both yourself and Logan. So, when she found your bed empty and cold, she figured Logan would know where you were.
But he was asleep.
Right beside you.
Storm leaned against the door frame for a while, taking in the picture in front of her.
Logan was fast asleep, something that was a miracle in itself, with you right beside him, your head turned towards the windows in his room, his own looking towards you, all the while, his arm slung over your midsection and one of your own hands, holding his.
“Storm- what are you- Oh.”
Jean looked inside.
“Looks like someone had a good night.” She smiled before looking back at Storm. “Do you think we can finally ask if they’re together?”
“I’d say this is confirmation enough.”
You shifted in your sleep as did Logan, and the two girls hid behind the corner for a moment.
You turned your head and the rest of your body towards Logan, all the while his arm held you in a stronger grip and pulled you towards him.
It took you a moment but you finally opened your eyes, adjusting to the light before your vision finally cleared on a sleeping Logan.
For a moment, you allowed the hand between you both to reach up and brush the stray hairs from his eyes. It was rare you ever got to see Logan this…calm.
Serene.
Rested.
Unknowingly, you started to run your left thumb over Logan’s arm that still held onto you.
Then his fingers twitched, running over the exposed skin at the bottom of your back.
“Are you watching me sleep?” His voice was rough, the first words in the morning.
“Not anymore,” you smiled, brushing the final parts of his hair out of his face.
“Thanks for letting me stay.”
Then a cough came from the door.
Logan groaned. “Is this a new hobby; watching people sleep?”
Jean and Storm laughed from the door. “You two look cosy.”
You lifted your head and glared at Jean. “There is one reason I’m here. Maybe I think it’s time you make an investment in soundproof walls.”
Jean turned a little red and Storm laughed.
“Look, we’ve got a busy day. You can kiss your boyfriend later.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” you called out just as Logan called; “She’s not my girlfriend.”
Storm and Jean nodded and just as Jean snapped a picture, she sent it to both yourself and Logan as they walked away.
“Sure.”
Leaning up, Logan reached for his phone to see the notification pop up before he placed it back down and you climbed out of bed.
“They’re got a point.”
“About us being a couple?”
You threw a t-shirt at Logan. “Having a busy day.”
Logan laughed a little, scrubbing his face as he watched you leave his room before he reached behind him and took hold of his phone once more.
Jean and Storm were right.
From the picture…they did look like a couple.
A couple of days passed and you were sitting in the quiet living room, the fires on both sides roaring.
All classes had been finished for two days and some kids had returned home for the holidays, which meant you had some free time on your hands.
And for you, that meant finally reading.
Until you sensed someone stood behind you.
“If you want to know what happens, you could just ask me.”
Logan plucked the book from your hands and circled around the sofa before coming to sit down beside you.
“Logan! Give it back.”
“I want to see what it’s about.”
You sighed and sat up, “It’s a romance, Logan.”
“A romance?” Logan had a hint of a smirk on his face. “Like the…trashy kind?”
“Like the romantic kind.”
Logan looked at you and smiled. “The trashy kind.”
You rolled your eyes and took the book back from him, leaving him to fix the blanket so it rested over both of you. He placed his arm over the back of the sofa, allowing you to lean into him, whether you noticed you were doing so or not.
“Just because you might not believe in romance, doesn’t mean the rest of us are the same.”
“I believe in romance.”
“Yeah, right.”
Logan couldn’t help but smile. “What?”
“The Wolverine,” you said with a deep voice. “Believes in romance?”
Logan nodded. “Occasionally.”
“Occasionally?”
“Do you just like repeating everything I say?”
You nodded and smiled. “Occasionally.”
Logan rolled his eyes and took the book back from you and read a line out loud.
“People really talk like this?”
You leaned into Logan. “No, but in a book it’s not so bad. Go on, read some more.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
You nodded. “You’re like my own personal audiobook.”
Logan gave a short smile before getting a little cosier and continued reading out loud.
It wasn’t long before Logan found you asleep against him and he shifted in order to avoid you getting a crick in your neck.
“Keep reading.”
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Now I’m awake.”
“Fine, just be quiet.”
You gave a fake salute. “Yes, sir.”
Holding his arm around your body that was pressed between himself and the sofa, Logan quickly kissed the top of your head and went back to reading.
And ten minutes later, you were asleep.
And so was he.
An hour passed before someone found either of you, but this time, it was Scott and Bobby.
“They might be in- oh. What do we have here?”
“Oh my god, Rouge has to see this. I told her they were together.”
Bobby rushed off and soon returned, pulling Rouge with him.
“What is it?” Then she gasped.
“Believe me now?”
And what Rouge saw made her smile.
On the slightly too small sofa for Logan, you lay both between him and the sofa, as well as partly on him with your hand a little over his heart. His head was turned towards you. The blanket had fallen a little, so she reached over and pulled it up both of you before turning around and throwing a log onto the fire.
“Come on, let's leave them.”
“But-”
“No, you are not going to disturb them. Come on.”
Rouge dragged the pair out and closed the door behind her.
The third time people suspected you and Logan were an item was one late evening in October.
Half of the kids were playing outside with all the freshly fallen leaves, whilst some of the older kids helped them find different critters and point them out, and build them habitats. The rest of the kids were either in their rooms or studying.
Save for two.
Bobby and Rouge were hiding outside of the kitchen watching yourself and Logan cook.
“I didn’t even know he knew how to…chop. Let alone cook.”
“You should have more faith in him.”
“Come on, Rouge. You can’t tell me you weren't thinking it, too.”
And she couldn’t. Because she was.
Meanwhile inside the kitchen, Logan was watching you from the kitchen island as he continued chopping the veg.
There was something different about you. From the way you practically danced around the kitchen finding the different items for the recipe, to just…you. Whilst he was (semi) shirtless, just having his zipper hoodie on, along with his jeans and socks. He would have been fully dressed, except you had come and ambushed him in his room – even though you denied the word “ambushed” – to get him to help.
And you were just simply in your pyjamas (of sorts) along with one of his zipper hoodies.
“Bub,”
Logan laid down his knife and walked over to you as you stood by the stove, standing a little higher to see how much water was left in the pot at the back.
You hummed a questioned response, but was met with a question…you didn’t expect.
“Dance with me?”
“What?”
Logan smiled lightly as he pulled the wooden spoon from your hand and pulled you closer to him, despite him walking backwards.
“Come on,” his voice in a light whisper. “Dance with me.”
“Didn’t take you for a dancer.”
Outside the door, Bobby and Rouge mouthed to each other; “They’re dancing.”
And you both were.
Gently swaying to the music for a while, you allowed Logan to lead you around a small space in the centre of the kitchen.
“We’re gonna burn the sauce.”
Logan gave a slight smile at you as he spun you out and back in, “We’re not gonna burn the sauce.”
“Logan.”
“Can’t you ever just enjoy a moment?”
“When that moment doesn’t include burning the house down, yes.”
“Bit of a jump, don’t you think, from burning the sauce.”
“Ha, so you agree. We’re gonna burn the sauce.”
Moving over, Logan turned down the heat on one of the pans before taking your hand back into his. “Now we won’t.”
Bobby and Rouge watched, in shock, the rest.
For one, Logan knew how to dance? Since when? And since when did he…cook and dance in the kitchen? Unless…
Then Logan did something even you didn’t expect.
He dipped you.
You hand tightened its grip on Logan’s arm as you let out a small, if a little nervous, laugh.
Logan had been full of surprises recently. From the impromptu audiobook session in which you woke up in his arms, to him not only dropping off a cup of coffee during your break from teaching but also a freshly baked muffin.
And now he was dancing with you in the kitchen.
And dipping you.
When you had rushed him out of his room to help you cook, you hadn’t expected him to know the recipe for the sauce from the top of his head. Something he just happened to rattle off whilst you were looking for the cooking notebook that should have been in the cupboard beside the oven. Let alone be the one to ask to dance in the kitchen, and dip you.
Bring you back up, both of you gave a slight chuckle as you turned around, the music slowly fading away in the background.
“Logan…”
Looking at him, you forgot what you were going to say.
Had his eyes always had so much green in them?
Logan’s palm became warm against your back as it pressed further into you. Or maybe you pressed further into him and he just held you tighter.
Slowly, your hand left his bicep and trailed towards his chest all the while your eyes studied his face. You’d known him for years and seen him a thousand times or more.
So why did now feel like you were seeing him for the first time? Noticing him? Noticing each particle he was made up of that allowed him to sway with you in the kitchen to the music that had changed on the radio?
Only, before the space between yourself and Logan became any more closer, a noise came from outside the door.
A sneeze.
A sneeze that shocked you and Logan back into reality.
Still holding you, Logan looked towards the door and gave a hint of a smile when he saw the flash of white disappear behind the beam.
Realising what was happening, you lowered yourself back to the ground and slowly stepped out of Logan’s arms. “We should finish up.”
Logan nodded in agreement, however did look back at you when you got back to the stove, not noticing you do the same a few moments later, watching him pick up the rest of the veg and toss it into the collider to be washed.
Time passed and after more music, more conversation - including a burnt tongue from when you had shoved a wooden spoon with fresh sauce on, into Logan’s mouth for him to try - and a lot of scrubbing later, you found Logan sitting inside the library and collapsed next to him.
“Good news, the kids loved the food,” you told Logan. “Double good news; Jean and Scott are on cooking duty tomorrow.”
“Thank fuck.”
“Thank you for helping me.” Turning to look at Logan, you found him already looking.
“You did ambush me.”
“I didn’t ambush you.”
“I wasn’t dressed.” Logan examined himself. “Technically, I’m still not.”
You rolled your eyes with a slight smile. “Fine. Maybe it was a mini, tiny, miniscule ambush.”
You made a small space between your fingers. “Like this big of an ambush.”
Logan looked at you, at your fingers and then back to you in slight disgust before moving your fingers wider with his own.
“That big of an ambush.”
You rolled your eyes and dropped your hand. “And they say us women are dramatic.”
It was Logan’s turn to roll his eyes. However, as he did so, his arm wrapped around you, and pulled you back into him and the sofa.
“Just shut the fuck up for a minute and listen.”
You did so.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s the point.” Logan’s eyes were shut as his head rested on the back of the sofa.
Eventually you gave a shrug and joined him.
An hour later, Storm found you both fast asleep beside one another so with a knowing smile, she found a blanket, covered you both up and closed the door behind her. But not before reminding herself she needed to get verbal confirmation from you both.
She wasn’t handing over any money to Jean and Xavier until she had verbal confirmation of what exactly was going on between you two.
And she didn’t have to wait long…at least in the long run, she didn’t have to wait long.
Until then, there were plenty more incidents of falling asleep next to each other, bringing each other coffee, dancing to music in the kitchen, smiling and laughing – all before she finally got verbal confirmation that the inevitable had finally happened.
Finally, it was acceptable to decorate for Christmas.
Two days prior, Rogue, Logan and Storm had been helping you find all the old decorations in the attic and bring them down. Storm did try then to bribe something out of Rogue, but she apparently was just in the dark as the rest of them.
But the smile she gave when she looked over at Logan, who was placing down another box from the back of the pile for you to take a look at, told Storm something different.
“I can’t believe you leave it this late to decorate.”
Logan looked at you. “We’re still in November.”
“So?”
Taking hold of the garland, you started to climb the ladder. Logan held onto the bottom just to be safe.
“If you had it your way, the decorations would be up all year round.”
“Hey, no.”
“Hey, yes.”
“I’d take them down for…” you tried to think. “Halloween. You’d have a little break.”
Logan didn’t look entirely thrilled. “Halloween is one day.”
“Technically, it’s a month.”
“To you, it’s a month. To the rest of us, it’s a day.”
You looked back at him. “To you it’s a day, to the rest of us it’s a month.”
Then you looked back at the garland. “How does that look?”
“Great from where I’m standing.”
You looked a little confused for a second before quickly looking over your shoulder, realising where Logan was, in fact, looking.
Not at the garland, but at your ass.
You smiled and started to step down the ladder, hitting his shoulder on the way down.
“I meant the garland.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Logan looked up. “Looks great.”
You laughed. “You didn’t even look.”
With a smile as you finally stepped back into his arm, he looked to the side and up. “It looks great.”
“Good. Now,” Logan turned back to look at you and you kissed him quickly. “We have to put up five more.”
“I get to watch you put up five more.”
You smiled. “This is why you’re my favourite person.”
Logan smiled. He could help you with everything else, but when it came to the garland, you had full control on where it went. Which, he didn’t mind. So long as he got to watch you put it up.
You quickly kissed him once more, only to be pulled back when you tried to walk away.
Then Logan gave you a real kiss.
A little dizzy, you smiled and placed a hand on his chest and closed your eyes. “Wow.”
He gave you a quicker, lighter kiss. “You better get going before Rogue comes back with another box of lights.”
“Light?” Then it hit you. “Oh, yeah.”
Logan smirked a little as he watched you walk away and down the hallway.
It was a couple of hours before everyone was in the same room, making the final touches all the while most of the other kids were either playing outside in the snow, were taking naps or decorating their own rooms.
And the others had been watching you and Logan all day.
The stolen glances, the stolen touches, the slightly knowing smiles from both Rogue and Bobby. And then, as Logan was helping you down from the ladder, his hand on your thigh, Bobby went to make the final hammer to hang up the mistletoe.
“Wait, no. Not there.”
“Where then?”
Storm looked around. “I know. Y/n, hang this just above there. We don’t need a remake of Mistletoe Central 1997.”
Logan looked at Storm. “Do I wanna know?”
Storm shook her head. “Here.”
She handed you the mistletoe before Logan passed you the hammer back from his belt.
Three knocks and the nail was set in and the mistletoe was above you on a corner beam, just a little to the side of the christmas tree.
At least this way, those looking for it, would find it.
"Oh, no, wait.” Jean said, looking at you. “Have to kiss someone. It’s tradition. You’re under the mistletoe.”
There was no one else apart from Logan.
Logan looked around at the others. He wondered how long it would take.
Coming up behind you on the ladder, you moved over for him to stand beside you. His palm on your back held you steady and, leaning his other arm on the ledge of the ladder, his hand cupped your face and he kissed you.
Lasting a little longer than the others had expected, you soon heard Rogue giving a little cheer, as well as a couple of whistles from the others.
“Okay, I think they get it.” You whispered to Logan as he finally pulled away, a smile very noticeable on both of your faces.
“Happy now?” Logan asked, turning towards where Jean and Scott were standing.
“That was some kiss.”
You felt yourself blush at the comment. As did Logan.
He helped you back down the ladder before you both turned and really saw the other's expression. As well as the exchanging of money between people.
“Sooo…how long has this been going on?”
You were leaning into Logan, his hand around your back and on your hip.
You looked at Logan, “A couple of months. We’re…what? November now so that would…”
“That would…” Logan counted back in his head. “May…June, July…six months.”
You looked back to the others. “Six months.”
A chorus of shocked faces and loud voices sounded out; “SIX MONTHS?!”
All before a small call from Rogue was made, which made both yourself and Logan smile.
“I knew it!”
Wolverine writers, you are doing such a service but please, please, please please PLEAASSEEE stop making Logan say bub every other sentence and let us think about the CONTEXTTTT in which he uses bub in the movies, it is NOT a cutesy little nickname 😭😭
THIS IS SO FUCKING GOOD I NEED MORE LIKE I NEED OXYGEN OMGG
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲𝐩𝐨𝐨L 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢e
Deadpool and Wolverine but your lady pool and an absolute SLUT for Wolverine.
[this is a complete self insert with just everything I was thinking about during the movie and since then I’ve watched it three times. It gets better every time. Snippets of the movie, will probably do a part two. SPOILERS!]
Warning/disclaimer: femreaderxwolverine, sexual content, sexual language, offensive language, just being a whore the man, cursing, repeat daddy issues, never proof-read.
After digging up Logan and expecting to find a shirtless and oiled-up Hugh Jackman, you were a little more than disappointed to find the bones and metal. 'Damn it! Shit! Fuck! They Les Mis'd him!'
Eventually, you settled down next to the remains, against the same log that had impaled him. 'That was weird,' you chuckled. 'I'm much calmer now. Look, I'm not a woman in stem but you seem incredibly dead to me. Oh, you sexy lump of bones and metal. I would have let you slide them into me any day.'
'But it's good to see you,' you pat his knee. 'I gotta be honest, I've always wanted to ride you, Logan. Oh, whoops, I meant with you. Ha! Who am I kidding, no I didn't. Just you and me, getting into it. And I mean into it. Every style. Doggy. Sixty-nine. On the kitchen counter to the bathroom. Till my back broke. Yea, we'd have been good together.' You ranted, fantasies flying across your mind too quick to focus on one.
With your red-gloved hand, you jerk the chin. 'G'day mate, there's nothing that'll bring me back to life faster than a big bag of Marvel cash. Ha- I hear you, Hugh. But no, no, no, no you had to go and get all noble and die for real. I could really use your help right now. And a massage. Your big manly hands just rubbing all over me-'
Just as you were about to go into further detail about what you want him to do to you, the sound of portals opening and heavy boots stomping closer alerted you.
Quickly, you pulled the skeleton down on top of you.
'There are two hundred and six bones in the body. Two hundred and seven if i'm watching Van Helsing.'
Que the fucking montage.
You have a mission. Find a Logan to take back with you. First up you end up in a bar, catching an axe as it was thrown at you. 'Logan! I'm gonna need you to come with me.'
The Logan sitting at the bar slowly turned to you. 'Who's asking? ' He slipped from the bar stool to reveal a 5'3 Logan.
You coo. 'Well, who's this little ankle biter. Did you stick the landing little guy? Yes you did, comic-accurate short king. Such a cute little Wolvie.'
The little guy started stalking toward you.
'Que the fucking montage.'
You found a Wolverine for the seventies, or eighties, something close enough to that, one hand missing. 'Oh yea, sexy, you have anchor being written all over you.'
You found patch Logan. 'Oh hello, Patch. Should've worn my white suit.'
You found another old man Logan, sitting solemnly on his front porch. 'Howdy! Oh, I see, you're the daddy issues one. Good to see god has answered my prayers. So soldier, do I need to be a bad girl so you put me over your knee, daddy?'
Another was tied to a cross with red bloody skulls acting as a floor.
One was dressed in a tight yellow and brown suit, walking through the woods. 'Hubba hubba. Classic! Now, you fought the Hulk in this suit, right?' as he snicked his claws out, the green of the beast reflected from behind you. 'I am Marvel Jesus you dull creature and I will not be-'
One, your favourite, was working on a bike in a tight white vest and dark pants. You drooled. 'That's the whole goddamn package right there. You know from behind you look a bit- holy Shit!' he turned, and everything about him was Wolverine. Except for the fact he was Henry fucking Cavil. 'The Cavalry has arrived. The prophecy has been fulfilled. Can I say, sir, sorry, daddy- on behalf of all of humanity, this just feels right! We will treat you so much better than those shit fucks down the street!'
He took the cigar from his mouth, stalking to you. You had never been so aroused in your life. 'You were just leaving'
Giggling and twirling your hair, you hold a hand out, ghosting over his chest. 'Can I just, one- one touch. Oh my god! You're like Superman or something.'
He punched you right into the Logan you needed. Thank you Cavil.
'You two gonna fuck or fight?' asked the bartender. 'Both if i'm lucky,' you said.'
'Oh look at those sexy little jammies, that only took twenty fucking years!'
The trash heap was the last place you wanted to end up, but when you woke to Logan looming over you, a snarl on his face, you sighed in relief.
'Well, hello sexiest man alive, 2008. Wanna give me a hand? Or head?'
He sniked his claws out.
'Kinky! That's new for Disney!'
He dug his claws into your ribs and dragged you up with them. 'Where the fuck are we?'
'I dunno, but it looks a bit mad maxxy to me. But that would be IP infringement right?'
'Fucking jokes,' Logan uttered. He threw you over his leg, your back breaking.
'Till my back breaks, Wolvie!' you yelled out, quickly rolling yourself back up and shaking it off. 'Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm a big fan. How about we strip off our suits, take a tumble in the sand, get to know one another you know. Personally, I'm more of a cowgirl fan but I'm willing to do whatever you want baby.'
'You're unbelievable,' he grumbled. It was still sexy. He turned his back to you.
'Oh, I see, is that what you did when your world went to shit!'
He paused, his head slowly turning to you. 'Say again, bub?'
'Oh, I am so horny right now.'
The two of you engaged in a fight, and not the sexy stradling fight that would happen later, but the guns firing, swords slashing kind of fight. that was only interrupted by a familiar voice.
The only other voice that could have you dropping your panties as quick as Wolverine. He was hooded, hidden, but you knew him from your sex dreams.
'Dear god almighty, it's him.'
'Who?' growled Logan.
'Don't be jealous baby, I have two holes for a reason. Don't worry gorgeous, you're gonna encounter some delicate language, a smidge of ass play but we've been prohibited from using cocaine, at least on page.'
He raised a hand. 'They're coming.'
'Who's they?'
The three of you watch cars and trucks drive through the waste, keeping you trapped. There were familiar faces, Pyro, Toad. And Sabertooth.
The mysterious figure jumped down and mastered the superhero landing that had you clapping your hands and jumping up and down.
'Oh my god! Oh my god!' you held onto Logan's shoulder as you jumped while he just glared at you.
'I've got this,' the man takes down his hood, showing the beautiful, hot, strong, handsome, hubba-hubba worthy, Chris Evans.
'Oh yes, you do sexiest man alive, 2022!' you cheer.
'Stay close,' Chris- or Steve- called back to you.
You stalk over to him. 'Aye aye, Captain.' you wrap your arms around his stomach, fingers trailing over his abs. He removes you and you groan, sulking. You walk back to Wolverine and jump onto the side of his hip.
Instinctively he holds your ass which makes you giddy before he realises his mistake and drops you.
'You're not gonna love what happens next,' shouted the captain.
Your jaw dropped from behind the mask. 'Holy shit, omg! No way, he's gonna say it! He's gonna say it!' you flick one of your swords that was still poking out of Wolverine's chest. 'Avengers-'
'Flame on!' Steve- no, Johnny- yelled and took to the skies in a ball of fire.
It was sort of stupid in hind sight as Pyro lifted a hand and extinguished him, causing him to fall from the skies and go crotch first into a billboard.
'No!' you screamed, rushing to him and rolling onto his back to get a look at him. 'No, no baby, stay with me. Let me take a look!' you tried to pull down his pants but Logan literally pulled you off him.
You were tied up with Wolverine on the front side of you and Johnny on the back. When you woke, you giggled. 'Woah, just like my dreams.'
Johnny woke to, lifting his head from your shoulder. 'How long was I out?'
You smirk under the mask, looking back to him. 'Not all of you was asleep, say Cap, is that a Glock in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
'Is that Chuck? Hey Chuck, over here! Hope it's you young, god, we got James Macovy in this?' you yelled as a wheelchair rolled out as you entered the thing that was apparently large Paul Rudd.
'Cassandra Nova. Charles's twin,' the villain introduced herself.
'Holy shit,' said Logan.
'How was anal birth?' you asked.
Cassandra smirked. 'You two are cute. I have a good feeling about this.'
'Right!' you cheered. 'Just wait till this ends, the smut is off the charts!'
She took the chain from around the two of you but you wrapped yourself around Logan's arm, he only grunted at you. He only pushed you off when you started to go off and off about what Johnny said about Cassandra. 'People think i'm a shit talker but this guy-' you chef's kiss. 'Next level!'
Cassandra, with a flick of her hand, shed the skin from him as he fell in a heap of bones and blood and skin,
You cried out, holding onto Logan for dear life. 'My favourite Chris!'
'You silly little bitch, you just got him fucking killed!' yelled Logan.
'Fine, spank me then! P.S. Do you know what he was doing to the budget!'
You were brought to Ultimatum with Cassadra, Oliath or the other British villain, but all you wanted was to save your world, bang Wolvy and go home.
'I didn't want it to come to this, either you help us or my boyfriend here is gonna perform the whole of Greatest Showman as a one-man show,' you warn.
'I'm not her boyfriend,' Logan grumbled.
Cassandra went on a trauma dump that had you groaning. 'Couldn't you just turn into accomplishment like the rest of us?'
But I'm not like the rest of you, except maybe the Wolverine, now we could be truly terrifying together.'
'Sorry lady, he's taken!'
'Not for long,' Cassandra smirked and as Logan attacked, she sent him in the ground and away from you. You only whined at his disappearance, a whine that turned into a groan when Cassandra's fingers entered you in the worst way possible. Through your head.
'What can I see here?' she asked. Cassandra gasped. 'Oh, you are a whore.'
Oh yes, she saw the million filthy things you wanted to do to Logan.
The two of you made it out and to the diner where Logan was intent on finding food and taking rubbing alcohol shots. When he sat across from you, chucking a tin of spam at you, you pulled of your mask.
Logan stilled, looking at you with finally something a little different than anger.
'What?' you asked.
'I thought you'd be ugly under there.'
'No- no, that's the Deadpool. I'm better, and a self-insert.'
The two of you took to walking through the rather nicer side of the waste. You had his hand in yours, swinging it happily like you were a couple before he threatened to chop your hand off.
'You said Logan was a hero, what happened?' he asked.
'You died. Technically you were chest fucked by a tree, but really you just ran out of batteries trying to save this girl- a kid really. Always wanted a man who's good with kids. The shit heels who grew her in a lab called her x-23, but she was just a kid. A smaller, cute and mean version of you. Yep, you saved her, very hero, very demure.'
The two of you were interrupted when a bark sounded over the hill and the BEST DOG EVER ran out to you, ears flapping in the wind, tongue out as it always was. The little boots. The collar. It was Dogpool.
You threw off your mask and picked her up, cuddling her close. 'She's coming with us.'
'No she's not!' he argued.
'Yes, she is!'
'No!'
You pulled out your puppy dog eyes and lifted the dog to your face and slowly the resolve in his face slipped.
'Sorry!' another man ran out, chasing after the dog.
'Fucking shit bag!' you cursed.
It was another dead pool, a good-looking one with long hair.
'What's Ryan Reynolds actually doing here, I thought I replaced him?' you said.
'In here everyone calls me Nicepool.'
'Can we have your dog?' you asked immediately.
He laughed. 'over my dead body!'
You nod, thinking about it but Logan holds out his arm before you can even move.
Whatever Nicepool was saying was you didn't care as you cooed and hugged the dog closer and Logan watched.
Fuck, he was paying attention to you.
'Why are you so nice?' you asked eventually.
'It costs nothing to be kind,' he said.
'Shutting the fuck up is also free,' said Logan.
You bite your lip in his direction. 'God I am so attracted to you right now. This is Logan, he's usually shirtless but he's let himself go since the divorce.'
Finally, the Nicepool took you to his ride to get you and Logan and the dog to the borderlands.
It was a honda fucking odyssey.
Logan wasn't willing to listen to your complaints. 'Get in the fucking car.'
'Make me, Daddy,' you said.
He took one step closer to you and you backed away with the dog. 'No, we're running away!'
Logan forced her from your arms and handed him back to the Nicepool.
'The corn was to dense girl!' you called after her, pouting.
Logan shoves you into the passenger seat while he takes the wheel.
You pull of your mask, hair falling around you like you were in an advert. 'So, what shall we do to pass the time...'
Honda Odyssey coming soon, that my friends, is called edging.
I need a part 2 yesterday THIS IS SO GOOD AJDJAJD
— trouble will find me
bodyguard!logan x mobster’s daughter!reader
rated e - 3k
tags: 70s era, dofp/bonedaddy!logan, bodyguard!logan, reader is the daughter of a mobster, reader is shorter than Logan, club setting, use of alcohol, cigar smoking, mutual pining, flirting, light brat taming!logan, references to violence, competence kink, semi-public vaginal fingering, kissing, forbidden relationship
a/n: I can’t stop thinking about dofp!logan sleeping with the girl he’s guarding, this is inspired by that scene! huge thank you to @pr0ximamidnight who let me chit chat about this little idea. you are amazing! 💖💕
His eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip, “‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”
Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.
“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You hum, “But what if I want a little in me?”
You can feel his eyes follow you.
Which shouldn’t really be surprising. It's his job, of course. Keep an eye on you, keep you safe.
But there’s something in the way he watches.
A curl of smoke from a lit cigar. Fingers tracing the rim of a half-downed whisky, a worn leather jacket thrown over a broad shoulder. The tilt of his chin when your eyes meet his - dark and narrowed, missing nothing. Slipping over you like the soft silk of your dress.
Indulging, almost. Unashamed.
You might have a crush.
You're trying not to think about it too much.
Tonight, you're just trying to enjoy the after-party.
It's all bright lights.
The room is bathed in pinks and yellows and flashing red. Disco club music pumped through the speakers, the panels of the floor flickering to the beat. You've been here for two hours already. Nursing tequila sunrises and pink squirrels. Sweat sticking to the nape of your neck, as the minutes tick by, bleeding past midnight.
He's not going to stop you, just yet. You can have your fun tonight - sway to the beat of the music - as long as you play by the rules.
Logan is so different from the ones before him.
Tripping over their feet to check on you. Breathing down your neck, with their padded-shoulder suits smelling like cigarettes and cheap cologne. Too afraid for themselves, of your father, to actually do a good job of protecting you.
Stifling and all too willing to tell you yes to anything.
It was exhausting.
Logan had come recommended - an acquaintance of a friend. He'd 'get the job done' from what you heard. Motivated. Needed the cash and would listen, no questions asked.
Just the type your father thought he could sway - a half-wild guard dog, his salary a leash. Heeling at the click of a tongue, the snap of fingers.
It's not how you saw him, though.
His silence was not obedience. There was nothing bought about this man - watching you from the line of leather booths along the wall.
You've wondered if maybe - you're just desperate to find some form of kindred spirit in someone. Too used to feeling like an accessory instead of a person. Your appearance at your father's events drove home his image. The good, family man who was oh so generous with his time and money.
Articles were written weekly about how philanthropic he was.
You had no idea if anything ever came from the numerous events you hosted - an attempt at doing something with your education. How much was skimmed off your blood, sweat, and tears, funneled back into what he did best.
Maybe you both saw through the bullshit.
He'll last longer than the others, at least.
More than once you've been halfway out the door, headed off to East Village or SoHo, only for him to catch you by the scruff of your sweater - whisking you back inside or into the Lincoln Town Car before you realized what happened.
An angry fist connecting with the nose of a man who had gotten too close at a gala last week. Cornering you in the coat room. Logan, charging in like a snarling beast when you had whimpered his name - red dripping down to stain the pressed white collar as the man was hauled away.
You’ve been thinking about that for days.
There was no sucking up. No flashing of a holster under his arm, some grandiose promise that you don't need to worry. You've never even seen Logan near a weapon but somehow, you feel more safe with him than you ever have with anyone else.
But this bit of internal tenderness that has sprouted, paired with his competency, has been seriously cramping your style.
It’s been enough that he's been hard to get out of your mind. Two weeks of teasing and poking at the limits set. Never giving you much, with that glare - thick arms crossed over his chest. A little thrill rippling up your spine, when his voice goes low and gruff.
The lights go dim, as the music begins to slow.
With the way your eyes wander, you know he sees you when you pick up a partner.
A man that moves with you, peeling off to crowd your space after your hips swivel with the hustle. His hand dipping low from where it rests on the small of your back.
Bold, when he bends to ask you 'if you'd like to get out of there'.
You meet Logan's eyes when you tell him yes.
Telling yourself that it's just to forget him. Definitely not because you're desperate to see the look on his face. To hear that tone he takes when he's pissed off.
A way to ascertain if you've taken root in his mind, even for just a moment.
There's zero chance Logan heard you from across the room. But it doesn't stop him from moving. Pushing to his feet, cutting straight through the crowd to wrap a hand around your bicep the second you start peeling off with the stranger - heading towards the side door.
"No fucking chance." It's gritted out, as he yanks you to him. Your shoulder collides against his chest as he steps between you and the man.
A sloppy hand pushes against his arm. The man's eyes are hazy under the neon lights as he makes a grab for you.
"Come on, man. I saw her first."
Logan pivots you away with a snarl, "She ain't leaving with you, bub."
Another sloppy shove, glancing off the brown leather jacket.
"You're really starting to piss me off." Logan's tone drips with warning, with knowing, "Gonna regret starting something in a room full of people like this."
And it's now that he takes in how big Logan is. The flex of splayed-wide fingers, knuckles curling into a clenched fist. A look in his eye that says that punches won't be pulled - not tonight.
The stranger takes a step back. It's enough.
You're already getting hauled away before they can answer. Guided into one of the many VIP rooms. A snarled "get the fuck out of here" to the attendant, before Logan's crowding you against the bar - hands bracing on his hips.
Fuming, you push yourself up to sit on the top - an attempt to get closer to his height.
"What was that about?" Your chin lifts, as your arms cross.
His eyes flash - a curl of his lip, "Can't you make my job easy, kid?"
Kid. It always makes you bristle. So far from that, and it's the way he says it. That dripping edge, like he knows something you don't.
"Maybe he was a friend." You deadpan.
"Yeah. Real friendly," He scoffs, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, "You think your daddy is gonna like you going home with a piece of shit like that?"
That makes your teeth clench - a glare sent his way, "I don't think it's any of your business."
"It's literally my business, sweetheart." Logan huffs. His hands curl around the edge of the bar, braced on either side of your knees.
Your breathing hitches, for just a second. The soft name is ground out between his teeth, but it still shoots straight to your pussy.
You haven't been this close to him before. Enough to see the bleed of brown to green in his hazel eyes. The sharp mark between his brows that you want to press your thumb against.
The shorn-down hair at his chin, before it grows thick across his cheeks. Handsome in a way that makes you ache, your fingers curling into fists to keep from touching him.
There's been moments alone - car rides, lounging in the armchair in the corner of your room when he barks at you to hurry up.
But it hasn't been like this.
Maybe it's the opportunity. Maybe it's the amber glitter of tequila in your veins, but you let your palms press against the shining wood. Your knees inch a little further apart, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs.
"That the only reason you whisked me away?” Your eyebrow lifts, "Kidnapping, if I recall, is one of the things you're supposed to be keeping me safe from."
"You are safe." He deflects, "'s not kidnapping when it's me.”
Those eyes are still on yours. Not dropping to where his hips nearly press against the edge of the bar top.
You break the eye contact first.
“Well, it’s fine.” You sniff - as if his actions had been your idea, “I didn’t want him anyways.”
Logan grunts. There’s the slightest brush - the flex of his thumb at your thigh, where your dress rides up. A long look before he’s pushing back to step away, but your fingers reach out, catching on his white shirt.
“Are you going to ask me what I do want?”
There’s the slightest twitch of his nose. Lips parting to show the peek of a tongue, caught between teeth. The briefest dip of his eyes. Down to the shadow between your breasts, pressed together as you lean forward to catch him.
“I know what you want, sweetheart.” He rasps, “Not gonna happen.”
The rejection stings, and you pout, “What isn’t?”
A sigh, and he’s stepping back into your space. Your hand flattens against his stomach, hard muscles beneath as his head tilts.
“You want a man to take you home. Treat you nice.” Logan’s eyes burn into you. Wide hands curving around your knees, thumbs pressing into flesh, “I’m not that guy.”
You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. How it thunders to the beat of the music muted outside this room. Dropping down to pulse between your thighs.
Wondering if he’s thought about you, the way you have him. How he could both see and miss so much at once.
“You’re wrong,” Your head shakes, “I don’t want that.”
A breath, before you’re confessing, ”I want you.”
Logan's eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip.
“‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”
Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.
“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You echo, “But what if I want a little trouble in me?”
The smile you give him is sweet, a tilt of your head as he catches your hand. Thick fingers curl at your wrist, holding your hand in place. A thumb pressed up against your pulse.
“You wouldn’t know what to do with me.” He rasps, voice low.
You’re undeterred.
“Could get on my knees.” You coo, “You could show me. Would you like that?”
Logan’s jaw grits. His grip loosens just long enough to feel your wrist flex - before he guides your hands, pressing your palms flat against the polished wood.
“It’s not going like that,” He husks. The tone is the same as when he’s ordering you around, one that makes your back go straight, “Those are staying right there. Got that, honey?”
All you can do is nod, as his hands skate up your thighs. Fingers massaging into flesh, soft and smooth as he eases them wider apart. Fitting himself closer between them.
The way he looks at you now is the way he did before.
Focused, as your dress inches higher. The fabric pooling at your hips as they tilt toward him, the pretty lace between your thighs now on display.
“Look at you,” His tongue clucks. A finger tracing the elastic edge, as you clench in anticipation, “Need this, don’t you?”
Drifting across, a thumb pressing against the fabric. It sends a jolt through you, your fingers almost reaching for him before you remember.
“Good girl.” He muses, as your hands flatten again.
The slightest pressure as the pad of his thumb slips up. Nudging against your clothed clit, as you inhale a sharp breath.
Pressing, and circling. It’s agonizingly slow, his eyes flicking up to watch the way you bite back a whimper. Your hips flexing into his touch, aching for more.
It lifts, so he can see how the fabric has dampened. Clinging to your skin, his knuckle tracing your seam.
“Making a mess.”
You can only whine in reply. Afraid that he’ll stop if you make too much noise. If you move - he’s made it clear he’s in charge here, and for once you’re willing to follow.
The pad of his thumb pulling back, a faint shine in the neon-bathed room.
“That for me?”
Your head nods, “Logan, please-”
There’s a sharp flash of teeth. Fingers pressing low, fitting against you, “You want me here?”
“Yes.”
You need him. Need anything he’ll give you, the sharp pinch in your palms where your nails bite into flesh.
“Ask me.” He coos.
“Please put use your fingers,” It comes in a rush, “Want you in me-”
Logan smirks, as his fingers slip beneath the waistband. Air sucked through clenched teeth when he meets slick, soaked skin. A teasing swirl against your clit before he’s parting you.
The tip of his middle finger tracing your hole, before it dips inside. His hips flex against the wooden edge, when you clench around him immediately. Trying to draw him deeper, as he works himself further in.
His fingers are much thicker than yours. A second already tracing where he opens you up. Teasing the tip in as his hand flexes, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.
Your head tips forward. Each breath growing shorter, as you’re stretched around him. That slight ache unfurling into pleasure. Panting, as the pump of his fingers grow louder - the muffled cadence of skin against skin each time his palm collides with your cunt.
The fabric strains against his hand, his knuckles pressed against the soaked fabric.
Something bright burns in your belly, as your knees press into his hips. It makes you break the rules - a hand grasping at his arm. Anchoring yourself with your grip.
“I wanna watch. Let me see you.”
He lets you. A tap against your hip so you can lift. Carefully pulling your underwear down, easing them over the heels of your boots.
The lace disappears into his jacket pocket. His palms against your inner thighs, spreading you open.
You both watch, when his fingers fit inside you this time. Two sinking down to the knuckle, slick and shining.
Unable to bite back the moan this time, though he does not shush you. His eyes fixed on your face instead, watching how your brow pinches when his fingers crook deep inside you. Searching.
The way you go jolt and then go tense when he finds it, a soft cry loosening.
“You been fucked like this before?” Logan growls, his fingers dragging against that soft spot inside you with his emphasis.
Your head shakes, when he does it again. Eyes dropping to watch his how hand looks, how you wrap around his fingers. The slick shine as they pump a little faster.
His other hand taps against your thigh.
“Words, sweetheart.”
“No,” It comes out hushed. Needy. “Never.”
His lips part with his groan, baring his teeth. With the way he touches you - his thumb moving to rub circles against your clit - it’s not long before he has you close.
A swiftly building pressure in your belly. That space between you eases as your knees close around his hips. His head tilting until his nose ghosts against your cheek.
Breath hot against your neck, as he inhales you. The slightest scrape of teeth that makes you bear down on his fingers - so careful not to leave a mark behind.
“Logan,” You pant. “That feels, ah, I think I’m gonna come-”
He groans against your skin, keeping the same pace. Feeling how you forget yourself - grasping at him, arching into his touch. Your muscles going tight as your breath grows short - panting.
“Give it to me,” Logan growls, “Come on my fucking fingers, baby.”
It’s impossible not to listen. You come, with his thumb pressing against your clit. His fingers notched deep inside you, as he feels your pulse racing beneath his lips.
The moan that rips from you pitches up, and then goes silent.
It leaves you breathless. Deep waves throbbing inside you, as you dampen his palm. Washing over and pulling you under, as your vision darkens.
“That’s fucking it. Come on, honey.” He coos, “Just look at you, so fucking pretty.”
The pump of his fingers goes still, the tips still crooking, as the tight pulses wane. The air comes rushing back into your lungs as you come back to yourself, your hands fisted in his jacket.
His chest heaves. Eyes hungry, when he slips from you. Slick clinging to them, webbing between his fingers as he pulls them up to the light.
Before he’s focusing on you again, his other hand thumbing at your lip.
“Open.”
They part automatically. Closing around the fingers he feeds you. The salt of his skin pairing with the sweet tang of your release, too blissed out to do anything but suck them clean.
“Good girl.”
It’s soft, as his fingers press down. Spreading, until you’ve cleaned yourself from them. Only when they slip from you, does his head dip.
A soft sound as his mouth presses against yours. There’s the sweep of his tongue against your lip, needy and insistent. You part for him, swallowing the moan as he tastes you. Teeth and tongue - deepening the kiss as his hands grip at your waist.
Letting your hands grasp at his shoulders. Tug at his hair until you’re pulled flush against him, your tits crushed against his chest.
Hungry, threatening to devour you, until you mumble his name.
Bringing him back to himself. Sharing a breath, Logan’s forehead pressed to yours when he pulls back. Those spit-slick fingers dropping down.
Palming himself roughly, where his cock strains - thick and hard against his jeans. A bitten-back groan, the word “fuck” rumbling deep in his chest as his hips flex into his hand.
“You going to listen now? Get that out of your system?” It comes out ragged, and you’re nodding.
All your sharp edges smoothed down. Blissfully complacent, as his fingers get a better grip on your waist. Bringing you down to the floor with wobbly legs, his hand coming to grasp at your upper arm.
“Good.” He growls, “Come on.”
A sharp tug, and you almost trip over yourself to follow.
“I’m taking you home.”
ahh I had the idea for this and had to jot it down! and I do know he goes by james/jimmy in the 70s because it’s pre-weapon-x, but I'll be keeping it as logan for this. (And I am thinking this will be a two-shot - give her a chance to get what she wants 😏💖)
The influx of Logan content is soooo good and I love it as someone’s who’s been BEGGING for it but it just reminds me people will do ANYYTTHINNG but write a character correctly. Writing Logan as a super intense daddy dom who’s degrading you relentlessly when we see in the movies this man is GENTLLEE he is soft and yes he has an aggressive side but that man just wants to love u. Like some stuff I get and it works, but most of the time y’all are just writing him SOOO out of character
Quality short one shot! As an artist this is something I would love to do with Logan Howlett.
Imagine getting Logan to pose for you
Keep reading
BELLE WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?? You haven’t posted since OCTOBER
Sorry I abandoned you guys I had the worst writers block BUUUUT
I have a new Logan fic in the works
It’s semi AU-ish but not really. I present to you: next door neighbor Logan who just conveniently knows how to fix all the appliances that keep “randomly” breaking in your house.
This one is going to be kind of silly bc I’ve been working on my own writing project that’s a little dark and I need a break from that.
Should be up soon-ish
You struck again!! The newlywed fox was everything!! The fake neighbors reminded me of the Don’t Worry Darling movie and listening to the soundtrack while reading was 10/10!! You’re so incredibly talented!
I'm so glad everyone liked the newlyweds, I was worried that I had rushed the ending for it. Listening to the soundtrack is such a smart move, you could say a movie like that influenced the fic, but I was thinking of the Stepford Wives (with Nicole Kidman) the whole time.
That was my jam as a kid, I was obsessed with that movie.
Thank you so much for such a sweet message ♥️
the newlyweds
Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Logan Howlett x fem!reader (Flux)
a/n: I wrote this at 3 AM and I'm also pretty sure I'm sick, so bare with me. Based on this: ask
You know Logan can't stand you, but it doesn't stop the way you feel about him. Your mind recognizes the hate in his eyes whenever you're in the same room, but your heart can't. Finally, you come to terms with the truth: it's never gonna happen. However, your newfound resolve is flipped on its head when you're forced to go undercover with him as newlyweds. Your new wedding ring is a noose and you don't know how you'll survive it or him.
You stumble forward as someone knocks into you from behind. Their shoulder jams painfully into your ribcage and you trip into the wall in front of you. “Shit,” you hiss, rubbing your back and turning around to glare at whoever it was. You figure it's a kid skipping class, imagine your surprise when it’s a fully grown man practically growling at you.
“Where the hell am I?” He darts forward, grabbing you by the arms and jerking you towards him. “Who are you people?” You’re stunned into silence, eyes wide with shock as he pushes your spine into the wall behind you.
You recognize him now. This is the man who was with Rogue in the truck you, Ororo, and Summers rescued. The only reason you don’t toss him across the room and rip his spine out through his throat is because you know how disoriented he is. Though, with the way his claws threaten to pierce your skin, you are tempted to.
“Ah,” a familiar and welcomed voice sounds out from beside you both. “I see you’ve met Flux.” Charles rarely ever uses your actual name, mainly introducing you through your X-Men persona. It’s a preference of yours.
The man’s eyes dart between you and Charles, and your own turn into slits the longer he keeps his tight grip on you. “Wanna let me go now?” You demand voice practically a growl. Your patience has never been wonderful, but he’s really working on your last nerve.
He blinks, seemingly coming back to himself. With an almost regretful look, he lets you go. You sigh in irritation, straightening your shirt out and shoving past the corner he’s pushed you into. “Who the hell is this?” You snap, moving to stand behind Charles.
He gives you an apologetic look, “I’m not sure. He hasn’t introduced himself yet.” He gives the man an expectant look. Instead of answering he glances around, and scoffs.
“What is this, summer camp? You people don’t need to know me, I don’t need to know you. Just show me how to get the fuck out, alright?” Finding Charles’ school had been heaven on earth. He’d provided you with a home and a haven you never thought you would have the privilege of. You’d never shown anger in the face of his guidance or generosity. But many have.
You can tell, as much as the man in front of you might believe otherwise, he’s going to be enjoying the comfort of Charles’ protection soon. You move to the side, leaving them to their conversation. Instead, you focus on keeping the kids away from the newest form of entertainment. You usher them towards their classes, despite their reluctance.
The other members of the team soon join you all, introducing themselves. “Storm, Cyclops,” he scoffs a little at Scott’s name and you feel a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. He turns towards you, brows furrowed inquisitively, “Flux?”
“Matter manipulation,” you explain bluntly. He shrugs his shoulders giving you a blank look. Sighing you hold out your hand and gesture to Charles’ desk. With a flick of your wrist, it melts into an unnatural form of liquid wood. Logan’s eyes widen and you can’t help but finally let the full smile form on your lips. “Flux was just what fourteen-year-old me thought fit best.”
He nods, turning back towards Charles with a smarmy grin. “And what do they call you, wheels?” Your eyes widen with shock and an unbidden laugh surges forth. Charles sends you a playful glare and you have to turn around to keep from laughing more.
You’d thought you wouldn’t like this one. It’s always bad when there’s a member on the team you don’t get along with. It’s not common, but it has happened. They simply keep you separated if they can. The school is wonderful, but it’s not perfect. Not everyone will like each other. You think you and Logan will get along just fine, though.
It started slow, barely noticeable at first. You didn’t know him well enough to understand that the way he treats you is completely different from how he treats everyone else. Where your greetings are brushed off with cold shoulders or the occasional glare, others at the very least get a brief mumble of hello. When you speak, you can practically feel the irritation wafting off of him in waves. You taste his hatred in every interaction.
There’s no exact moment you can pinpoint where you went wrong. Sure, your introduction to one another was rocky at best. But he’d nearly thrown Jean across the room when they first met and they got along just fine.
You’ve thought about it, for far too long, about what makes you different than the others. Is it your smile? The pitch of your voice? Of course, you understand that sometimes there are just people that you meet and something inside you hates them. There’s never a true explanation behind the feeling, just instinct.
But you can’t place what about you would make someone so guarded, so mean. It feels like such a childish word, like too simple of a way to explain Logan. The very least you know about him is that he can never be summed up with the word simple. There are secrets buried deep within him, some he knows, others he doesn’t. You can’t just slap a label on him and walk away.
More often than not, though, you feel like you’re talking to one of your childhood bullies and not a team member. Because, despite your own feelings towards him, at the end of the day you are team members. There’s no getting around it. From that connection comes, what should be, a base level of respect.
You’re both in charge of protecting one another and looking out for each other on the field. That means when you put on the suit, you’re putting aside petty grievances. But he seems incapable of that as well.
You’ve spent mornings practicing your greetings, trying to tone down your cheeriness or inflect your voice with a more welcoming timbre. You’ve changed how you dress, how you do your hair, even your makeup. And at the end of it all, you still got the same miserable look and distinct feeling of worthlessness. All of the change has been temporary, you are a creature of habit. Inevitably, you slide back into the same habits and styles that make you, you.
You feel stupid, trying to change yourself to better fit someone else's tastes. Especially when it’s someone who so clearly despises you. It’s not how you carry yourself, how you look, it’s the mere fact you exist that bothers him. At least, that’s the conclusion you’ve come to in all your months of experimenting.
It truly shouldn’t bother you so much. There’s always going to be people who don’t like you. There’s nothing you can do about it. And you’ve never had that desire to change other's opinions on you. But something about Logan has dug its claws under your skin and has refused to let go. You can’t get him out of your head, even when you feel like you hate him, he’s all you think about. You’ve considered asking Jean to use her abilities to somehow dig him out of your brain and keep him out. But you don’t think that would work either.
You step into the kitchen and nearly freeze in the doorway. Logan sits at the island, back to you as he reads the newspaper. You find yourself lightening your steps, quieting your breath. You make yourself as inconspicuous and convenient as possible. Every time you catch yourself doing something like this, you hate yourself just a little bit more.
You shouldn’t have to alter parts of yourself to better fit someone else’s needs. You slip along the tiles, your socked feet slamming into the corner of the counter as you pass it. “Shit!” You shout, doubling over as you clutch your throbbing toes.
So much for being inconspicuous.
Logan’s head shoots up in shock as he glares over his paper at you. You let out a strained whimper, reluctantly releasing your foot and hobbling towards the coffee pot. You’ve taken more bullets than you count, and somehow that still hurt worse.
You can’t just ignore him, you feel his stare burning into your back, and it feels too dickish-too much like him, to not say anything. “Morning,” you mutter over your shoulder, barely looking at him. You pour your coffee, trying to ignore how daunting the silence seems. You might as well be alone in the room for all the attention he’ll grant you.
You feel like a beggar, on hands and knees just for a simple hello. Ever since his first night here, he’s been so aloof with you. It’s only devolved since then. You sigh, slamming the mug onto the counter. Something in you has snapped this morning and it’s not just the bones in your foot. You’re sick of this.
You shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around him. He’s not a toddler, he doesn’t deserve to be coddled and catered to. He’s a grown man, an X-Men for fuck’s sake. What he needs, is to learn a little emotional regulation.
You turn, mouth open and sucking in a deep breath as you prepare your speech. The island is empty as you face it, his stool in the same place it had been while he was on it. The paper lies abandoned, even his nearly full mug is still on the granite.
You scoff, snapping your jaw shut and rolling your eyes. “Jesus,” you mutter to yourself. Wonderful, even the same room is too much for him now. Something bitter has been forming in your mind. A rage building from weeks of unprompted cruel behavior.
Yet, somehow, the thing that pushes you over the edge from interest to resentment is the fact that he didn’t say good morning back.
You teach history at the school, but the majority of your role at the mansion is to train children with powers similar to yours. You’ve never met a mutant who had such a broad scope with their abilities as you do. Some can turn water to ice, control the blood running through someone’s veins, or make the air around them a solid block. But you’ve yet to meet one who manipulates anything with matter the way you do.
Still, for training, you deal with the unreliable, untameable, and generally more dangerous abilities. And sometimes for training, you work with other teachers and let your kids practice on each other. It’s a rotating schedule, and unfortunately, the week you’ve decided you hate him, you’re partnered with Logan for training.
You’ve got the entirety of Charles’ backyard, which is essentially the size of a football field. It’s a lot of room for accidents and accidental misfires. You stand in front of the pond, admittedly a risky choice with these kids, and direct them all to their partners.
“Remember, the goal of this isn’t to maim each other,” you give a particularly pointed glare towards Billy. He’s caused a lot of problems lately with his fires. “It’s just to learn how to wield your abilities to your advantage, to protect yourself and your team.”
You look to Logan, seeing if he wants to add anything or contribute to the class in some way. He just keeps his arms crossed, glowering at all the children like he’s imagining skewering them on his claws. Rolling your eyes, you turn back to the kids. “Let's start with the hand-to-hand maneuvers we went over yesterday before we practice with our abilities.”
“Why don’t you show us?” Your head whips towards Billy and you can’t help the sneer on your lips. He’s sat on the ground, legs crossed leisurely over each other. He doesn’t have a care in the world as he taunts you.
“What?” You grit out, glaring at him.
“Show us what a balanced fight should look like between mutants. You and Logan,” he nods to the aforementioned man. Logan just quirks a brow, glancing at you before turning back to Billy.
“I don’t think-”
“Fine.” You gape at Logan as he tugs his jacket off. He shrugs as he looks at you, moving towards the middle of the field. Of course, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to try and pummel you. You’re sure that he’s just been waiting for an excuse to fight you.
“If that’s what you want,” you mutter bitterly. You pull off your sweatshirt and start walking towards him.
“Your cuffs,” Billy calls out from behind you. The other students all watch the interaction with rapt attention. They’re practically salivating at the chance to see you two fight each other. Meanwhile, Billy just seems like he wants to see someone bleed.
The metal cuffs around your wrists are the only thing that stops you from leveling the entire school. Your abilities are so tightly entwined with your emotions that one unlucky bout of anger can lead you to vaporizing everyone around you. They dull your abilities just enough to still be useful but not deadly. You haven’t taken them off in years. And perhaps it’s wrong to lean so heavily on them for protection, but you have. That’s your cross to bear. You don’t even want to picture what will happen if you open that dam.
“What?” Billy shrugs, sending you a sharp smirk. “How are we supposed to trust you, if you can’t even use your own damn abilities?” He snorts and narrows his eyes at you, “How the hell did you even become an X-Men, Flux?” His name rolls off your tongue with a sharpened venom.
He oozes hatred and a burning resentment that catches you off guard. It’s too much to process the insults he’s hurling at you and the sudden one-eighty in his personality. You don’t even hear Logan coming until his fist is wrapped in Billy’s collar and he’s yanking him off his feet.
He dangles him, just a couple of inches, off the ground, teeth practically bared at the kid. “Wanna keep talking, mouth?”
“Log-” You’re cut off as a fireball shoots out of Billy’s palm and explodes against Logan’s gut. You gasp, throwing up a wall in front of the other kids so it can’t hurt them. “All right,” you call out sternly. “Everyone inside,” you demand, pointing the other kids back towards the manor.
You linger with Logan, who still has Billy dangling from his fist, only he looks even more pissed off now. Anyone else, and they’d be dust at Billy’s feet. But Logan isn’t anyone else and the only collateral seems to be his shirt.
Not that you mind the view.
Billy hasn’t been here long enough to know what Logan’s abilities are, though. You don’t think he actually knew he could heal. The thought alone is worrying enough that you don’t force Logan to let him go. “We need to get him to Charles,” when Logan doesn’t move you put more force behind your voice, “now.”
Logan lets out a low huff before placing Billy back on his own two feet. He doesn’t let him go far, though, keeping his hand around the back of his neck and dragging him forward. You follow behind them, making sure he doesn’t rip him to pieces before Charles can speak with him.
You sit outside Charles’ office, fingers tapping restlessly against your thigh as you stare at the mahogany walls in front of you. The red velvet of the seat is too soft and you find yourself slipping to the edge every few seconds. It’s too soft, too luxurious, your back aches the longer you wait.
Charles had instructed both you and Logan to wait for him to finish up with Billy. It’s been nearly an hour, though, and you’re growing restless. You can tell Logan feels the same way. He’s pacing the hall like a caged lion about to rip the arm off its keeper.
“How are you?” You blurt out, desperate for something to fill the silence. He stops abruptly, whipping around to face you. You flinch back slightly at the intense glare he’s sporting. “Your stomach, I mean,” you gesture towards the scorch marks on his shirt, the soot on his abs.
It’s been a practice in self-control to not just be staring at his wonderfully sculpted muscles flexing this whole time. You’re pleasantly surprised with how well you’ve been doing so far. Though, now with him facing you, you’re finding it incredibly hard to meet his eye. He’s such an imposing figure, especially when he’s standing over you like this.
“Fine,” he barks out, turning back around and effectively ending the conversation. Your eyes narrow and you scoff, god, why do you try?
The door swings open and you expect Billy to come running out crying with his tail tucked between his legs. Instead, you hear the familiar whirl of Charles wheels as he rolls into the hall. He faces you and Logan, a strained smile on his face.
“Where’s Billy?” You slowly get to your feet, peering into his office. Your confusion only grows when you find it empty.
“He’s away from the other children for now. He’ll need private lessons before we allow him near them again. And if that doesn’t work, we have no choice but to expel him.” You can tell it hurts Charles to say that.
He does genuinely want the best for these kids. He wants mutants to have a home, a place where they can be themselves without fear of retaliation. Sometimes, though, it doesn’t work out. There’s nothing wrong with that, you all try your best to help the kids. But some of them have been so twisted by the world around them that there’s no undoing the damage. When they pose a risk the way Billy does, the other kids come first.
Logan scoffs with distaste, stalking closer to Charles. “He tried to kill me, fucking tried to get Flux to take her cuffs off.” He gestures towards you, for once, though, you don’t feel like you’re being attacked. Even he can understand the dangers of that demand is idiotic. It’s clear Billy only wanted to watch everyone around him get hurt, he didn’t care about the consequences.
Charles holds up a pacifying hand, nodding his head and dismissing Logan’s concerns. “I’m quite aware of what happened, Logan. But Billy is my responsibility and he’s not the reason I needed to talk to you both.”
He rolls back into his office, expecting you both to follow him. You fall in line behind him, taking a seat at his desk. Logan takes another minute to join you both, a reluctant scowl on his face as he sits beside you. Charles waves his hand, the door closing and providing you all with a little bit more privacy.
He reaches into a drawer on his desk, pulling out a thin manilla folder. He pushes it towards both you and Logan. You share a confused look with Logan before flipping the file open. There are a few pictures of a stereotypical suburban neighborhood. Bright green laws, uniform driveways, each house looks the same as the last.
There are a few more pictures, all of them taken from an awkward distance that makes it hard to determine what you’re looking at. You pass the pictures to Logan and shake your head at Charles. “I don’t understand, what is all this?”
“Your next mission,” he informs you both with a strained smile.
Logan’s head shoots up, eyes narrowing in on Charles. “Excuse me?” He demands, his voice a growl more than anything.
“There have been some disturbing rumors about this neighborhood. Mentions of a possible mutant trafficking ring being conducted behind closed doors. Normally, I would dismiss such claims. Oftentimes these are just ways to bait and snatch mutants. However, my own attempts at telepathic investigation have been thwarted. Even with Cerebro, I can’t seem to breach the neighborhood.”
“Something’s blocking you?” You ask, snatching the pictures back from Logan to get a better look. He tosses the folder back on the desk, muttering something you can’t hear.
“Or someone. I’m worried there might be some truth to these rumors. And since I can’t find a safe way in, I need your help. You only need to do some reconnaissance. The only problem is how gated the community is. They’re not going to let anyone in unless they live there.”
Charles gives you both a cheekily expectant look. The truth is so hard to swallow that you almost can’t process it. “No,” you mutter, shaking your head and smiling, waiting for the punchline. When one doesn’t come you get up from your seat and give him a disbelieving look. “You want us undercover?”
Charles pulls out a key and smiles widely, “Congratulations on your new home, newlyweds.”
Logan shoots up from his seat, it wobbles precariously, nearly toppling to the ground. “You want me to move into a house with her?” He spits out the sentence like it pains him to even have it in his mouth. A disbelieving smile spread across your cheeks, sardonic laughter slipping through parted lips. “Why can’t I do it with Jean? Or better yet you just get some other asshole to play her husband?”
Your heart stutters to a stop and you quickly rip your eyes off the pair. The stung worse than you think it should. Your heart aches, each beat painful. You feel like someone’s punched through your chest and ripped at all the tender bits.
“I have chosen you,” Charles loses all humor from his voice. He is stern, like a father scolding his child, as he speaks to Logan. “And that’s the end of it. Besides, I don’t suppose that Jean’s fiance would appreciate her playing house with another man.” He places heavy emphasis on fiance, enough to get Logan to purse his lips and look away from him.
You speak up, your voice a surprise to them both. You claw through the lump in your throat, ignoring the hot burn behind your eyes. “I’m not doing this. Especially not with him,” you force the words out, wiping roughly at your cheeks. “Shit,” you hiss, looking down and trying to hide the tears that have slowly trickled down.
You don’t allow either of them to argue, running out of the door and ignoring the calls of your name behind you. You can’t do this. Can’t pretend to be in love with Logan, not when he hates you. Not when it’s so close to the truth.
Evidently, Charles didn't feel like giving either of you a choice.
You drum your fingers along the door handle. The cab of the truck rattles as the trailer drags along behind you. The trees have begun to thin out on the road, and more shopping centers pop up than you’ve seen this whole trip. It’s the how you know you’re getting closer, that and the map on Logan’s thigh. You steal glances at it because he refused to let you help him navigate.
Besides the occasional ask for a bathroom break and refuted offer of switching drivers, the four-hour road trip has been quiet. You tried to turn the radio on earlier but he’d shut it off nearly immediately. He claimed that the pop shit they play makes his ears ring.
You were almost tempted to turn it up to full volume if only to torture him a little bit.
Logan’s rough voice jars you out of your head, “I’m going to need to know your real name.”
You frown, brows furrowed in confusion. Had you still not given him your actual name? He’s always referred to you as Flux, but you just assumed that’s because he didn’t want you to be an actual person in his eyes. It’s easier to hate someone if you can distance yourself from the idea of them having actual feelings. Still, you can’t believe he never asked someone for it.
It just shows you how little he cares for you. Reluctantly, you give it to him. He hums, something pensive pinching at his face. “What?” You snap, waiting for him to insult you.
He just shrugs, “It’s pretty,” he mutters, so quiet you almost don’t hear him. You don’t even know how to respond to that, so caught off guard by a genuine compliment that you just choose to ignore it. You doubt he meant it, anyway. He might think the name is pretty, but he doesn’t hold the same opinion of the person connected to it.
You sink back into the silence, finding it more comforting than jarring now. You’d prefer the familiar feeling of him ignoring you than the abrupt turn in character. He glances over at you, something like regret on his face as he sighs.
Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, in what feels like an extension of an olive branch, he turns the radio back on. He keeps the volume low, so it doesn’t bother him so much. But at least there’s something to listen to besides your breathing.
You turn back towards the window, a white sign surrounded by daises coming up as Logan slows the truck down. He flicks on his turn signal, pulling up to Storybrook Walk. He stops in front of a large wrought iron gate and jumps out of the truck. He runs up to a black metal box, flipping the lid open and typing in the code Charles gave you both. As he gets back in the truck, the gate swings open widely.
You pull your rings out of your pocket and slip yours on. “Here,” you urge, holding Logan’s ring out to him. He huffs, glaring down at it before snatching it out of your hand. He balances his hands atop the wheel, slipping the ring on his left hand.
The neighborhood is picture-perfect suburbia. The lawns are bright green and manicured to perfection. You can hear children laughing as they play in their backyards and draw out a hopscotch grid on the sidewalk. Women and men who look like they’re straight from the fifties stop on the sidewalk and wave as you drive through the gated community.
You mouth the numbers on the mailboxes to yourself, sitting up straighter when you’re one house away from your new home for the next few weeks. “Hey,” you frown, noticing a large congregation of people in the driveway of 1220. “This is our house isn’t it?”
Logan frowns, stopping the truck just before pulling in so he doesn’t hit anyway. “Supposed to be.” He glares at the people suspiciously, “Stay here, alright?”
You nod, watching him as he jumps out and rounds the front of the truck. You roll your window down, fingers dancing along the metal of your cuffs. There’s no way you’ve been found out before you’ve even gotten a chance to investigate.
“Hey!” Logan’s voice is scary on a good day, but when he feels threatened, it’s enough to frighten a grown man. You can see the people flinch slightly away from him. That’s when you spot the wrapped cookies in a blonde woman’s hand and see children hiding with balloons on the porch.
“Oh, fuck,” you mutter. You throw the door open, racing after Logan before he does something stupid. “Howdy neighbors!” You shout, speaking over him before he gets a chance to say anything else. You rush up to Logan’s side, nearly out of breath in your haste to get to him. “Is this our welcoming committee?”
You glare up at him and his eyes narrow as he sees the same thing you did. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
“Smile and wave,” you whisper through gritted teeth. His lips peel up into something terrifying and it takes everything in you not to flinch back. “What the fuck is that?” You mutter.
“A smile,” he hisses, glaring down at you in irritation.
A blonde woman steps forward before you can continue your hushed argument. “Welcome!” She calls out in a heavy southern accent, throwing her arms open with a bright smile. She walks as fast as she can in her tight skirt and kitten heels, coming over to embrace you, the casserole in her hand balancing precariously behind you.
She tugs Logan down into a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek and staining the skin red. “Surprise!” The kids on the porch jump out with balloons and flowers and she winces.
“A bit late on the delivery,” she waves it off with a faux chuckle. “But we don’t mind ‘cause they’re so darn cute.” She is very… loud. There’s something about her that is meant to be charming but puts you on edge. She’s got all the familiar characteristics of a woman you’d love to be around, but she’s executing it like someone playing a character. “Shiela,” she holds out her hand, perfectly manicured nails shining bright red.
You take her hand introducing yourself, “And this is my husband, Logan. Forgive him for his tone, we had an accident on the highway earlier. We’re still a little on edge.”
“Oh no,” she gasps, pressing her nails to her chest and even that seems plastic. “What happened?”
Years of bullshitting your way through school presentations are finally coming in handy. You think quickly on your feet, something these people would despise. You need something that endears you to them, “Tire blew out and someone tried to raid the trailer while we were fixing it.”
She lets out a disapproving hum and the throng of people behind her echoes it with disturbing harmony. You find yourself leaning closer towards Logan, feeling like you need to defend yourself against them. You know they’re only an overzealous HOA committee, but there is something uncanny about them.
Sensing your discomfort, Logan wraps his arm around your shoulder, tugging you into his side. You have to school your features into one of neutrality. You’re supposed to be newlyweds, this is normal behavior for you. His touch feels like ice water being tossed over you, though. His willing embrace makes your head swim with distaste and skepticism.
“Well,” a man steps forward. He’s conventionally handsome, with brown hair cropped short, slight stubble on his cheeks, slacks, and a button-up that he fills out nicely. His smile, however, stretches too wide and shows too many teeth. A shiver crawls up your spine as he places his hand on Shiela’s shoulder. “You won’t have to worry about people like that here, that’s for sure. John,” he offers his hand to Logan, bypassing you completely. “Head of the HOA here at Storybrook.”
“Nice to meet you, John” Logan falls just short of sincere. He towers slightly over John and you can see that he’s squeezing his hand just a bit too tight by the wince of Jouhn’s face. You dig your elbow into his side and he drops his hand immediately.
Your gaze drifts over their shoulders and your stomach drops. The people behind them all hold dishes full of food and gift baskets. Their smiles are pinned to their faces, never once flinching out of place. There’s no joy in their eyes, though. They’re glazed over like they’re a million miles away. You would think they were mannequins before you even considered them human.
“Long drive?” Shiela asks, your eyes dart back to hers only to find her intense stare already wholly focused on you.
“Yeah,” you answer, clearing your throat of the panic rising in it. “We’re gonna have a fun time unloading this,” you laugh humorlessly, motioning towards the trailer.
She waves her hands in dismissal. “Don’t you worry about that, hun. That’s what neighbors are for after all.” She looks behind her, snapping her fingers a few times. The other’s start going towards the trailer and you feel Logan tense under your touch.
A kid reaches it first, they manage to unlock it before you shout, “No!” It’s too loud, echoing through the street and making you clench your eyes shut in embarrassment. You turn back towards Shiela and John, both of them wearing shocked expressions. You chuckle awkwardly, “There’s just a lot of family heirlooms. I don’t want to risk them being damaged.” There are no heirlooms, just empty boxes and surveillance equipment that you'll have no chance of explaining away.
Shiela purses her lips into a tight smile, eyes turned to slits as she nods. “Of course,” you know she doesn’t believe you for a second. “Well then, we’ll just take all this inside.” She snaps and the others take their casseroles and gifts and begin flooding towards your front door. Shiela and John walk behind them, herding them all into a straight line.
You let go of Logan immediately, glaring at the door of your home. Shiela holds a key in her hand, unlocking it and letting everyone inside. You scoff and shake your head in disbelief. “What the actual fuck?” You hiss.
Logan just shakes his head. “Fucking bizarre, what the hell is wrong with these people?” He starts back towards the truck and you follow him. “I almost prefer the welcoming committee at the manor.”
You roll your eyes, “I was your welcoming committee,” you grouse.
He shrugs, “I know.” You swat lightly at his shoulder and relatch the trailer’s lock. You linger by the mailbox as Logan pulls the truck into the driveway. He’s getting out just as the others finally leave your house.
Shiela walks back towards you and you gesture towards the keyring in her hand. “Got a key to my house?” You play it off as a joke but it’s incredibly disturbing to know she could walk in at any minute.
“Of course,” she smiles and shrugs it off like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “For the safety of everyone here.” Her smile drops and she takes an imposing step towards you, “Inspections are every Wednesday at noon.” Your jaw drops in astonishment and you choke on your words. She cackles loudly, face breaking out into a smile once more. “I’m just kidding, honey! God, your face, you’re too gullible, sweetheart.”
You force out a chuckle, smiling as much as you can force. “Of course, silly me,” you barely make it sound believable. This is going to be much harder than you thought.
“Well,” John comes up behind her, guiding her away from you. “We’ll get out of your hair now. Welcome, neighbors!” The others around them all call out a Welcome as they drift across your lawn and head back to their own homes.
Logan walks up to your side, the both of you keeping stilted smiles on your faces, waiting for them to just go away. But they pause at their doors, in almost perfect synchronization they turn and wave at you both. You back further into Logan’s chest and his grip on you tightens.
“What. The. Fuck.” They step through their homes at the same moment and you feel sick to your stomach. There is something seriously wrong here, you’re not sure you want to find out the truth of it.
You leave Logan to unload the trailer while you unpack the boxes. You’re forced to do it all by hand while the front door is open. You can’t risk someone stopping by for a visit and seeing you float the couch through the middle of the living room. You’re stumped on how to set up the surveillance equipment. Shiela doesn’t seem like the type to understand boundaries when it comes to popping by for a visit.
You’re just going to have to keep most of it upstairs and set up some cameras on the porch. You don’t doubt that she’ll abuse that key of hers as she sees fit. You can’t imagine how anyone could stand living in this neighborhood. Having no privacy seems like a nightmare. Especially when the commander of the HOA is John and Shiela. They seem like the type to fine you over a rosebush.
Logan grunts, dragging in the couch. He pushes it through the doorway and kicks the door closed behind him. The second it’s closed he drops the act and picks the couch up with one hand. “Where do you want it?”
You point towards the back wall of the living room and he drops it with a small groan. “We’re going to need to put cameras out on the porch,” you inform him, still digging through the box. He walks behind you, heading for the fridge and digging around in it.
“Fuck,” he mutters. You look up, watching as he tosses aside casserole after casserole. “They didn’t bring any beer?”
You laugh a little and get up, heading towards the cooler you’d packed. “They don’t seem the type.” You lean over, digging around through the melted ice until your fingers brush against cool glass. You straighten up, sending him a coquettish smile. “Want a beer after all that hard work, darling?” You taunt, playing the perfect housewife.
He scoffs and holds his hand out, snatching it from the air as you toss it at him. He pulls the cap off with his teeth, spitting it out into the sink. “And a sandwich while you’re at it,” he demands roughly.
If you weren’t a connoisseur of dry humor, you wouldn’t have recognized the joke for what it was. Still, you’re almost too shocked he even bothered to play along with you to laugh. Almost, you can’t help the slight chuckle that slips out.
He throws himself on the couch, taking a deep swig from the bottle, and the moment feels remarkably domestic. You suppose that it should. That is the whole reason you’re here after all. But you hadn’t expected even a singular pleasant moment with Logan.
This, playful banter and a shared joke, that’s all you could ever want from him. You would settle for this if it was all he was willing to give you. But he can’t even grant you that. This is one outlier in a long list of rude remarks and dismissive behavior. You can’t let yourself be so easily swayed.
“I might try and get some cameras on the other houses,” Logan remarks from the couch. He kicks his feet on the coffee table and you click your tongue at him, motioning towards his shoes. With an aggrieved sigh, he undoes the laces of his boots and kicks them off. You glare at the dirt that flings across the carpet but a quick wave of your hand makes it disappear.
“Don’t bother with the cameras. They’ve all got security.” You turn away from the box you’re unpacking with a pensive frown. “They’re all covered by the same company, too. All of them. Isn’t that weird?”
He scoffs and shrugs. “Anywhere else, yeah. But I’m pretty sure they piss at the same time here.” Your nose wrinkles at his crude words and you roll your eyes.
“Take this seriously.”
He huffs out a laugh, “I am. Didn’t you see them earlier? They only breathe because Shiela lets them.” You take a seat at the kitchen table, uncomfortable attempting to take a spot on the couch. He sighs when he sees the expression on your face, finally dropping the dismissive attitude. “I’ll just be smart about how I set up our cameras, alright?”
You just nod, reaching for the box of your essentials on the table. It’s strange to be sitting beside him, talking to him. You’ve never gotten more than two words out of him. This is so far out of your normal comfort zone that you feel like you’re crawling out of your skin trying to escape.
“I’m going to go to bed,” you announce awkwardly, shooting up from your seat at the table.
The beer pauses halfway to his lips and he gives you an odd look. “Okay?” He responds slowly, not sure why you’re telling him this. You open your mouth, and almost tell him to have a good night, but change your mind at the last second.
You move towards the bedroom near the front door, “Flux,” you turn slightly and he shakes his head. “Take the one upstairs.”
Your brows furrow, “Why?” You demand, an attitude edging its way into your voice.
“So if Shiela busts down our door I can protect us,” you know he’s teasing, but the sentiment is nice. “And so I don’t have to set up the surveillance shit upstairs,” your face drops and you roll your eyes. There it is.
“Dick,” you mutter, storming towards the stairs, your boxes hovering along behind you. His laughter follows you up the stairs, even when you slam the door shut. Although, when you take in the room, you can’t find it in yourself to complain for a second about it.
While Logan is screwed with the teeny guest room downstairs, you get the largest bedroom you’ve ever been in all to yourself. The closet could practically be another bedroom. The bath is more like a jacuzzi than it is a tub.
A four-poster bed sits against the wall, the fluffiest comforter ever becoming you forth like a siren. There’s even a table in the middle of the room, with a chair, perfect for setting up as your desk.
You scoff in astonishment, “Oh, I could get used to this.” You place your boxes on the table and start pulling out your clothes. You toss yourself on the bed, bouncing against the sheets, and throw pillows go flying everywhere. You flick your wrist, all your essentials flying out of the boxes and sorting themselves out.
After a luxurious soak in the tub, you’re spread out along the bed, the limited information from Charles's file spread out before you. There are only a few blurry pictures of the neighborhood and a typed-up page of everything he’s heard about Sotrybrook. There’s nothing even remotely useful here.
You sigh, tossing the file to the floor and looking out the large window of your room. You’ve got a camera placed on the sill, programmed to take a picture anytime there’s movement. You doubt you’re going to get much from that. The secrets of this place seem to be buried deep. You’re gonna have to get real friendly with your neighbors if you want to get out of here fast.
Logan is on the computer, trying to sync all of the cameras up. You clean up the dishes from breakfast and tidy up the kitchen. You’re trying to decide how you should start investigating when there’s a dainty knock on the door.
Your brows furrow and you peer around the cupboards to look at the door. Logan’s head lifts and he shares an odd look with you. He gets up from the couch and glances through the peephole.
You drop the towel on the counter and frown as his shoulders slump forward. Something pinched appears on his face and he sighs. “What?” You hiss at him.
He turns and glares at you, “You’ll see.” You shake your head in confusion as he throws the door open.
His attitude makes a lot more sense when you hear a very happy, “Howdy!” Shiela stands in your doorframe, three women hovering behind her. At least they look awake, unlike the people from last night. A redhead with the most gorgeous waves you’ve ever seen holds beach towels in her arms. A brunette with flawless brown skin carries a jug of lemonade. And a woman with black hair and a perfect figure is carrying a plate of cookies.
All of these women are wearing bathing suits that look like they’ve been snatched out of a fashion magazine from the sixties. Each of them is gorgeous, alarmingly so. They’re beautiful to the point of being flawless. As you walk out of the kitchen and take a step closer, Shiela welcomes herself into your home.
You don’t even think you see pores on their faces. Each of them offers you the same practiced smile that you force yourself to return. “How are you settling in?” Shiela demands, not asks.
“Um,” you look to Logan for help but he’s just as perplexed as you are. “Just fine, Shiela, thanks. What are you all doing?”
The redhead rolls her eyes playfully, “Tanning, sweetheart.” She glances at Logan expectantly and he grabs his duffel from by the couch.
“I think that’s my cue,” he falls easily into the role of a playful husband. But you don’t need him to play along right now. You need him to stay where the fuck he is so you’re not alone with the barbies.
“Ha ha, don’t go,” you whisper, trying to grab at his sleeve. “Logan,” you hiss, making sure the others can’t hear you as they look around your home. “Don’t do this.”
He dips his head down, and for one stupid moment, you think he might kiss you. “Good luck,” he whispers in your ear, backing off with a smug smirk and letting himself out of the house.
Oh, you’re going to fucking kill him.
“Finally,” the brunette breathes out a relieved breath, “I thought he’d never leave.”
Shiela chuckles, “You’re lucky honey. It took us a long while to have ours so well trained.” She motions to the other girls, “This is Madge,” the redhead smiles and gives a cute wave. She introduces the rest quickly and you file the information away for later when you’re writing your report.
Madge- husband is the vendor consultant for the HOA.
Sierra - brunette - husband is secretary of the HOA.
Kimiko - black hair - no husband.
Your brows furrow in confusion as Kimiko nods in greeting. You return it, suspicions running thick in your blood. It’s odd, that their husbands are in charge of the HOA, you figured they would be. Beyond that, the emphasis they put on it is astonishing. You really didn’t think the HOA was so important but it’s practically the government here. And the women only seem to hold importance if their husbands do. Shiela is essentially their leader, she’s the one you need to impress.
This whole thing seems incredibly backward and like a blast from the past. The way they style their hair, do their makeup, dress- it's all fashioned after the fifties and sixties. You feel incredibly out of place in your worn-down pajamas and frizzy braids.
“We’re not really tanning,” Madge tells you. “This is just a way for us ladies to get to know the new kid in the neighborhood and tell you everything you need to know,” she leans in, smiling like she’s sharing a conspiratorial secret with you.
“Don’t let Madge scare you,” Sierra shoots her a glare. “It’s not that big of a deal, it’s just a way for us to escape our husbands for an hour.”
“Well,” you chuckle awkwardly, crossing your arms over your chest as you grow uncomfortable under their tense stares. It feels like their eyes are peeling back your skin, exposing everything underneath as they judge every nook and cranny of your soul. “I haven’t reached that stage yet.”
Shiela’s smile loses some of its humor and she scoffs. “You will,” she assures you, acrid bitterness coating her words. “Give it a few years,” she gives you a bitchy and all-knowing smirk. Your hackles raise, the urge to defend your sham of a marriage rising quickly in you. You bite your tongue, swallowing down your smart retort before you say something you regret.
You’re not even married to Logan, but you don’t like her butting her nose so far into your business. “Sadly, I don’t have a bathing suit.”
“Oh,” Kimiko gives you a blank smile, “We brought you one.” Madge moves the towels aside to reveal a two-piece that matches their own. In your size.
Your cheeks ache with a forced smile as you take the bathing suit from them. “We’ll just set up out back,” Shiela lets you know. She turns to the others with a beaming smile, “Come on ladies.” They follow after her like ducklings, and when you look down you see each of their steps are in sync.
You wait until the back door closes to rush to the front. You throw the door open and Logan jumps from where he’s drilling the camera into the side of the house. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you warn.
He chuckles and smirks, “Don’t keep ‘em waiting too long, sweetheart,” he mocks and you slam the door closed with a loud scoff. He was enjoying your suffering far too much, but you shouldn’t be surprised. You’re sure he’s just been waiting for a moment like this.
You change into the bathing suit and take a deep calming breath. You can do this. You can play pretend for a few hours.
You wished you’d known being an actor was a part of the job description before you joined the X-Men.
You lay on your stomach along the soft beach towel that Madge brought. The sun isn’t too hot on you, but you also bent the tree behind you to provide a bit more shade when the others weren’t looking. So far, you’ve collected nothing but mindless gossip.
Sam never takes in his trash cans on time. Alicia has been getting a little too cozy with the gardener. Some couple you didn’t pay attention to is expecting a kid. You’re struggling to pay attention to all the mindless drivel.
Usually, you wouldn’t mind a little gossip, but none of this feels real. Their words are hollow, smiles empty. Everything they say sounds like they’re reading it from a script. The only person you actually believe cares about any of this bullshit is Shiela. The rest of them seem to just play along, not meaning a word they say.
You’re gaining nothing useful from this. There’s no information you’ve gotten during this conversation that could remotely help you. All you want to do is go out front and strangle Logan for abandoning you.
The only good thing about all this is the lemonade and cookies. Which, you admit, you may have indulged yourself a little too much. But at this point, you’re just eating to stay awake. You reach for another cookie and Shiela lets out a dainty huff.
“I wish I could eat like you,” she laughs and you prepare yourself for the most backhanded insult you’ve ever heard. “But I have to be so careful about watching my figure. Wouldn’t want to lose my waist,” she titters and the other women giggle.
You toss the cookie back on the plate, rolling your eyes. It feels like you’re right back in high school. You love this, this is great. At this point, you’re just trying to stop yourself from tossing them all out.
The backdoor slides open and Logan peeks his head out. The women wave and Shiela calls out a sultry, “Hey, Lo.”
Your jaw drops and you can’t help but scoff as you tilt your head to give her an astonished stare. This woman has absolutely zero shame. She’s not even hiding the way she’s ogling him. She’s literally biting her lip.
You clench your eyes shut, taking a deep breath. There it is, the end of your rope. “Sweetheart, you gonna be done soon?” Logan calls out and you can’t help but smile at the immense satisfaction you feel when Shiela’s face falls. You shouldn’t take so much joy in Logan ignoring her, you know that’s just how he is. But she doesn’t.
“I think so, hon.” You sit up on your knees, clapping your hands and pretending to be upset. “Sorry, girls, I think I’m needed back in the house.” You get to your feet and pick your towel up. As you do, you flick your fingers, and the lemonade tumbles over, spilling all over Shiela’s pristine white bathing suit.
She jumps up with a shrill scream, shaking her arms off at the ice-cold liquid and desperately trying to wipe off her bathing suit. Madge and Sierra flock to her and you roll your eyes at how dramatic she’s being.
Out of the side of your eye, you see someone watching you. You turn slightly, startling when you see the intense glare Kimiko’s sporting. It’s the first genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, but even this seems cold. Her dark eyes are bottomless pits of frigid rage. You find that you can’t look away from her, swaying slightly as her eyes beckon you forward.
You need to go to her, speak with her, be with her. You need-
Your mind falls short of what you need. But you know Kimko will give it to you. Sierra and Madge both straighten up, both blank-faced as you take a step forward.
Logan hollers your name again and you jump, shaking your head and breaking whatever trance you’d fallen in. When you look back, all three of them are still fussing over Shiela. You glance to Logan, to see if he saw what had happened.
His brows are furrowed, face pinched in concern as he looks at you. You think you might have just found Charles’ interference.
“I think we should look into Kimiko,” you scroll through the list of residents you’d managed to hack into. You’ve been on the computer for hours, trying to find any information bout her at all. Even when you ran a background check, nothing came up. If that doesn’t scream mutant, you don’t know what does.
Logan walks over to the table with a steaming pan in his hand. You tug your computer glasses off and slide the laptop to the side. He pours some pasta onto your plate and hands you a glass of water. “Thank you,” he gives you a tense almost-smile and nods.
“Figure out where she lives?” He asks, bringing his own plate to the table. You shake your head and rub your temples, trying to fend off the headache you can already feel forming. You should have taken a break from the research. You can’t stand staring at screens for as long as you did.
“She’s not even a registered resident.”
“Well,” he sighs and shrugs, “at least we know this wasn’t a waste of time.” You nod in acquiesce and take a bite of your food. Your eyes widen in shock and he laughs at the look on your face. “Didn’t think I could cook?”
You shake your head and smile. “I took you as the type to pour beer in your cereal. But this is,” you stumble over your word. You’re afraid of being too nice to him. You’ve reached a sort of impasse, where you’re not openly hostile, but you’re not exactly friendly. You feel like if you do too much, too fast, he’s gonna be closed off again. “It’s really good.”
He purses his lips and nods, dragging his fork along the porcelain plate. The noise grates on you and only further aggravates the growing headache but you don’t snap at him. You swallow down the frustration and just shovel more pasta into your mouth.
“This, uh,” Logan takes in a deep breath and lets all out in one gravely exhale. You give him an expectant look and he shrugs. “It hasn’t been as bad as I thought.” He tells you flippantly.
You narrow your eyes at him, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You demand with a firm tone, placing your fork down and leaning back in your chair.
He lets out an annoyed sigh, “It was just an observation.”
You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s fucking ridiculous. “You know, maybe if you ever tried to get to know me, you wouldn’t have had such a horrible opinion about me.” You try and eat more but the food just tastes like ash in your mouth. You grow antsy, not wanting to sit near him anymore.
You’re surprised that he’s the one who fucked up the peace. You really thought it would be you. But something about what he said is rubbing you the wrong way. Of course, it hasn’t been bad, you’re not a bad person. He just decided he hated you one day and he’s so goddamned stubborn he never considered anything else being the truth.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he defends, watching with a confused expression as you get up and drop your plate loudly in the sink.
“You know,” you ignore his weak defense, leaning on the sink. You grip the rim of it tightly, sucking in a deep breath to try and keep yourself calm. “You didn’t even know my fucking name,” you mutter under your breath, shaking your head to yourself. Why are you even bothering with him? You’ll never win and you don’t even know if you want him to change his opinion about you.
He’s been a dick for so long that you’re not sure you’re even interested in being friends, let alone anything beyond that.
“Well,” he takes an angered tone as you continue to deflect his attempts at restoring the peace. “It’s not like you told me. You just go by your X-Men name, how was I supposed to know better?”
“By fucking asking!” You shout, whirling around on him, nearly ramming into his chest. You hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten while you’d had your back to him. “If you had, ever, at any fucking point tried to get to know me, you wouldn’t be so surprised that I’m nice. I’m a nice person to be around, Logan. And for some reason I tried to change myself, to make you happy. And it never even worked!” You scoff, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in your throat that you quickly swallow down. You shove past him, escaping the corner he’s backed you into. “Your head is so far up your ass that you didn’t even try to know me before you decided you hated me.”
“What?” He scoffs and glares at you. “I don’t fucking hate you. When have I ever said that? And I never wanted you to change.” He keeps focusing on the wrong things. How he feels about you doesn’t matter, it’s how he treated you.
“Never, you’ve never said that because you’ve never said more than two words to me. This,” you motion between the two of you, “is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.” A sudden exhaustion settles over you, it weighs heavy on your bones and drapes across you like a blanket.
You don’t have the energy for this. For him. You don’t want to keep defending yourself to someone who couldn’t care less. There’s no winning with him. He will never listen to you, he’ll just offer half-assed excuses that he thinks absolve him of how horribly he’s treated you.
He calls your name as you slump into the dining room chair. Your real name, not your X-Men name. “I never hated you,” he tells you, voice soft, but the conviction is strong.
You stand up, unable to make eye contact with him. “Goodnight, Logan.” You walk up the stairs quietly, never once looking at him. You can’t stand to face him. As much as you’ve tried to bury how you feel about him, it’s still there.
Being with him like this, having his ring on your finger, it’s a stab in the gut over and over and over. Someone’s taken your most ridiculous and romantic fantasies and turned them into a waking nightmare. You wake up to him every day, eat at the same table, share the same house, and you two couldn’t be further apart.
You have to keep up appearances, Logan is sure that’s the only reason you’ve joined him this morning. He’s working on the truck while you kneel on a foam pad, planting a rose bush by the mailbox. But the way you’re stabbing the shovel into the ground it looks more like murder than it does gardening. You slam the little trowel into the dirt, lips pulled back like a wild animal as dirt flies up around your hair.
Logan turns back to the truck, letting out a low whistle under his breath. Besides the insane display of shrubbery abuse, you blend into the neighborhood better than he ever could. You fit that perfect suburban aesthetic, sun hat, cat-eye sunglasses, and a pretty dress.
You’re good at blending in, better than he ever was. He’s heard you joking about it before. Telling Jean your hidden mutant ability is learning to be a chameleon, fitting yourself wherever you are. He thinks it’s a cute idea, and not too far from the truth.
He only wishes he were a little more like that. He sticks out like a sore thumb with his wifebeater, fraying jeans, and general countenance of misery. He can’t force a smile when John walks by with a shitty joke. He’s not like you. You stomach all of the women’s vapid nonsense with a smile and manage to seem so unaffected by it all.
The only time he’s seen you break was last night. And that, of course, had been his fault. He wishes he was better with his words. He’s always been an action man, but clearly, he’s fucked that up with you too. He really did mean it as a compliment.
He’s just incapable of talking without his foot in his mouth when it comes to you. It’s why he tends to just avoid you and stay quiet. He knows he’ll mess up with you eventually. In the rare chance you ever actually give him a second look, he’d be a shitty boyfriend. And even if you were just friends, he’d still fuck up somehow. He always does.
He’s learned it’s better to just keep a distance between himself and others. Especially you. He’s always just wanted to keep you away from his bullshit. The haunted past he still knows so little about, all the mental baggage he carries, he never wanted to burden you with it. Even though it seems like he still managed to screw up somehow.
Even when he’s trying to be good he’s still the bad guy.
You let out a heavy sigh and his gaze drifts back towards you. The way it always seems to do. You’re his sun, bright, beaming, a golden beacon of hope. But he’s always just too far, eclipsing the light you might bring him with his own stupidity.
You toss the trowel to the ground and stand up. You frown, brushing off all the dirt you’re absolutely caked in. When he peers around you and glances at the spot where the rose bush is supposed to be all he sees is a crater of earth and ripped up grass. He figures it's better not to mention it.
You walk over to him, the same scowl you’ve had for the past few days ever-present on your face. “I’m going to take a shower,” you look at him expectantly and he shrugs. You let out a loud sigh and he can’t possibly imagine how he’s messed up now. “You need one too, the barbecues in an hour.”
He’d forgotten about the fucking barbecue. Some annual thing Shiela and John threw that the whole neighborhood went to. “It doesn’t take me an hour to get ready,” he tells you, intending a little bit of playfulness.
Instead, you just let out an exasperated breath and storm back into the house. How did he keep fucking up with you so badly?
He’s gotten a taste of your personality, your company. He’s tried for so long to avoid getting to know you. He knows that if he truly did, he’d never get over you. He was right. Just one taste of you and he wants more, he wants to consume everything about you that he can. He’s screwed up in so many ways but he can’t just go back to normal after this and act like strangers.
You smooth the wrinkles out of your cotton dress and let out a low breath. “You need another minute?” Logan grumps from beside you, his stare boring into the door. He didn’t want to come to this. Frankly, neither did you, but he needs to suck it up and be a big boy. You two are here for a purpose greater than yourselves.
Maybe if you repeat that enough times you’ll start to believe it.
Kimiko was everywhere that Shiela was. She was her shadow, her loyalist servant. And the only person in this neighborhood who’s shown a sliver of consciousness. You don’t know where she lives, or if she even owns a house here. But you do know she’ll be at this barbecue tonight.
The only reason you’re bothering to bring Logan along is because you need him to distract Shiela. She drools every time she sees him, practically licking her maw at the sight of him in a tight t-shirt. You can’t really blame her, but she’s a married woman and he’s technically a married man. The lack of shame and compassion is genuinely astonishing to you.
“No. Let’s just get this over with.” He needs no further prompting as he knocks heavily on the door. Each pound of his fist sounds like a bell tolling your doom. The intense feeling of nausea and eyes on the back of your head has developed and grown increasingly worse the longer you’re here.
You feel like someone’s pressing against your mind, wiggling their fingers in and squeezing until mush slips through their knuckles. You keep a tight grip on Logan so you don’t tip over. Playing it off as the love-sick newlyweds you’re meant to be.
Even though the feeling of his skin against yours makes you angrier than you can even begin to fathom. You’ve held onto built-up resentment and anger ever since your little tiff. You’ve heard that tumultuous times are common in the beginnings of marriages. Luckily, you’re getting a divorce the second this fucking mission is over.
You resent Charles for ever sending you here. Any minuscule hopes you’ve had of finally building a relationship with Logan have been dashed across your front yard. There’s no hope for him. He’ll never change, and how he treats you will never change.
The door swings open and the music from the backyard drifts through to the front. Shiela smiles widely, greeting you both with a drawn-out Hi! She reaches forward and grabs Logan, tugging him away from you and dragging him into a hug.
You stumble forward as your support is ripped out from under you. She briefly glances over his shoulder at you and you offer her a sardonic smile. Every bit of you wants to dig your nails into her and rip until chunks of her start flying off. The post beside you warps slightly, bending like it’s melting.
You dig your nails into your palm, swallowing down your anger, and force the post upright once more. Logan grabs Shiela by the waist, practically yanking her off of him. He steps back towards you, wrapping his arm around your waist.
You can’t help the smug smile that lifts your lips as you face her. You almost want to rub her face in it. He chose you and he can’t stand you, that says a lot about how he feels about her. You stop yourself, though, it’d be beyond idiotic to let that be the reason your cover is blown.
“Thanks for inviting us,” you tell Shiela, playing oblivious instead of walking into her trap. You pass her the casserole you half-assed and baked in her dish. “We’re so excited to finally have a home to call our own, and with such wonderful neighbors,” you gasp dreamily. “Oh, it’s just a dream come true.”
Shiela runs a manicured nail along the side of her lip, looking wholly unimpressed. “Mhm,” she hums, “I’m sure.” You share a look with Logan, both of you caught off guard by her sudden dip in personality. Her face is blank, devoid of the usual overwrought happiness and charm. It’s like something’s taken control and drained the life from her.
Either Kimiko’s here and you’re right about her, or, Shiela is just a depressed housewife who can’t always control when she smiles. You’re hoping it’s Kimiko and you can just end this once and for all.
“Alright,” she’s back in a second like nothing ever happened. The boom of her voice echoing through the foyer makes you jump. “Let’s get you two outside. And thank you so much for this,” she gestures to the casserole. “You’re just such a sweet little thing aren’t you?”
Everything she says to you feels just a tad patronizing. She’s incapable of complimenting you without minimizing you in some way. You dismiss it, shaking off the funk she always seems to put you in.
Shiela leads you to the backdoor of her porch where the rest of the neighborhood is. She certainly got the best square footage, that’s for sure. She doesn’t just have the biggest house, she’s also got the biggest yard you’ve ever stepped foot on.
People are milling about, John’s flipping hamburgers on the grill, and children are playing happily with one another. It feels like an advert for the Fourth of July.
You scan the yard for the only person you’re looking for. You spot her, pushed back towards the shadow of Shiela’s oak tree. Shiela follows your gaze with a frown and scoffs. “I know, hideous isn’t it?”
You jump, startled out of your stupor. “Sorry?”
She points towards the tree. “I wanted to get rid of it, but apparently it’s historic,” she throws up air quotes, inflecting her voice lazily, “or something stupid.”
“Oh, right,” you nod dismissively and she shrugs, hands slapping against her thighs as she nods to her yard.
“Well, go on, socialize, make yourself at home y’all.” She walks back into the house and you glance back at the yard.
“Shit,” you hiss, “Kimiko’s gone.” You move away from Logan and take a step down the stairs, he begins to follow you but you stop him with a firm hand to his chest. He frowns down at you and you nod towards Shiela. “I need you playing interception. Those two are attached at the hip. The only thing that’s going to distract her is the hunk of meat she’s been drooling over.”
Logan frowns and takes a step back. He sets his face and crosses his arms and you sigh, knowing exactly what he’s about to say. “No.” He tells you firmly, not even bothering to hear you out.
“Well,” you shrug. “Too bad, I need you to do this or we’re never getting out of here.”
He mocks your shrug and nods, “Alright. Fine.” He leans into your space and you feel like you’re being scolded, “I’m not leaving you on your own, okay? And I’m not letting you go after Kimiko alone.”
“I’m not going after her,” you glance around, making sure no one is listening to you talk about their neighbor like she’s on a hit list. “I just need one interrupted conversation with her. Just one,” you’re practically pleading with him at this point.
You feel pathetic. You’re a grown woman and an X-Men. You shouldn’t have to be bartering with Logan. He should just have some faith in your abilities to not only protect yourself but conduct yourself appropriately on a mission.
His face screws up in irritation and you know he’s about to really cause a scene. He’ll start arguing with you, and blow your spot up just to get you out of here. You give him a placating smile, a real one because he’s somehow learned to tell the difference. “Logan, it’s only for an hour. I’m sure you can fend Shiela off,” you joke to try and lighten the mood.
He sucks in a deep breath and you know you’ve got him when his shoulders sink in defeat. “Fine. I’m only agreeing to this because you’re practically a chameleon with this shit,” he gestures vaguely to the barbecue and your face pinches with confusion.
“What?”
“I heard you talking about it with Jean one day. How you’re a chameleon when it comes to blending in with people.”
“Well, that wasn’t exactly a brag. It’s a method of survival, a way to make people like me. It gives me a fighting chance when they find out I’m a mutant.” God, why are you even talking about this? Why had he even been listening to your conversation with Jean?
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but you don’t have time for that. “Look, Logan, just go find Shiela.” You walk away from him before he can drudge up more uncomfortable memories of high school.
You manage to slip through the party relatively unnoticed. You didn’t see where Kimiko had disappeared to. You’re hoping there might be some sort of hint left where she had been. You rush towards the oak tree, using it as a way to scan the party for her again. From here you can’t see anything except the kitchen.
You’ve got a perfect view of Logan trudging towards Shiela. You can’t help but laugh when she wraps her hand around his bicep, eagerly telling him something. You smile and shake your head, the audacity of this woman is amazing.
Something catches your eye, right by your foot. Glancing down you see something silver glinting through the grass. Frowning, you kneel and scoop it up. It’s an oblong device, small, and fits in the palm of your hand. It’s curved oddly, and the lights on it start flashing bright red as you hold it.
“What the hell?” You flip it over, a warped mirrored reflection on the back of it. You just barely spot Kimiko’s twisted face in the reflection before the world goes black.
You groan, slowly blinking the fog of a forced sleep out of your eyes. You reach to swipe at your face, but something is holding your wrists down. You jerk your arms a few times, struggling against whatever restraints are wrapped around you. When nothing happens, you instead focus on the feeling of it against your wrist, trying to get it to dissolve.
“Don’t bother,” a cool voice calls out from the shadows. There’s one bright light shining down on you, like the type you might see above an operating table. The entire room feels sterile. And it’s cold, you can barely feel the tips of your toes or fingers.
“What’d you do?” You demand, trying to sound intimidating but your words come out as a slur. The back of your head radiates pain and it takes everything in you just to keep your eyes open.
“I developed a gas,” the voice circles the room, echoing across the curved walls. You hear footsteps but you can’t tell where they’re coming from. “It halts the neurons in a mutant’s brain that fire when they use their abilities. Temporary, but quite handy when I’m dealing with a mentalist like you.”
Kimiko steps out of the shadows like a bad comic book villain. Her face is blank, no expression on it, somehow, it’s the realest she’s ever looked before. Here, you can see her humanity. Pores across her nose, frizz and oil along her hair, her nose just a little bit crooked. Whatever she’d been doing to herself has been wiped away. And the human woman lurking beneath is finally revealed.
“There you are,” you mutter, your speech slowly coming back to you. “I knew that plastic face wasn’t real.”
“Everything was going just fine until you and Wolverine got here,” she gives you a sharp look, “Flux.”
You sarcastically gasp, “Wow, you know my X-Men name. It’s not like I haven’t been interviewed before. What’s the plan here, Kimiko? Where are the others?”
Her brows pinch, “Others?”
“The mutants you’re trafficking.”
“Oh,” she laughs and it’s so jarring you nearly jump. “Is that what people think?” Hesitantly, you nod, but you’re beginning to feel like you might have gotten something very wrong. “No, that’s not what we’re doing here.”
“We?”
“Shiela and I. We have much simpler plans, much more peaceful. You see, Shiela’s the only person to ever stand beside me after she found out I was a mutant. She gave me a home, a friend, and a sense of belonging.” There’s something devout in her words, like a humble follower kneeling at the feet of their god. “Everything I have, everything I am, I owe to her.”
You’ve seen Shiela’s manipulation firsthand. You have no doubt that she’s never actually done anything for Kimiko. She’s just made her think she had and instilled in her this sense of owing her something.
Then again, Kimiko’s getting this look on her face. She’s like a rabid dog staring down the barrel of their owner’s shotgun. Perhaps she hadn’t needed much prompting to develop such an unhealthy attachment. “Shiela’s parents never loved her the way they should have. They never gave her the perfect life she deserved. So I created one for her.”
She rolls a tray of surgical tools over and a sense of panic finally starts to rouse within you. Yet, for the first time in years, your powers aren’t here to help you. You have nothing to rely on but yourself. But you’ve been trained so intensively in using your abilities as a protector rather than an inhibitor that you’re practically useless without them.
“All these people,” you rush the words out as she picks up a syringe. You don’t know what the yellow liquid inside is, but from the look on her face, you don’t want to. “You’re controlling them?”
Kimiko nods and you’d be staggering if you weren’t strapped down. Not even Charles could control this many people at once. Not without Cerebro. “Kimiko, that’s,” you gasp, flinching away as she brings the needle towards your arms. “It’s incredible!” Your quick rise in volume makes her jolt and the syringe tumbles out of her hands.
She grumbles to herself, leaning over to pick it up. “Does Shiela know?” She pauses at the mention of Shiela’s name, brushing her hair over her shoulder and glaring at you.
“Yes. Of course she does, this is my greatest gift to her.”
“Really?” Your voice drips with contrived empathy. “Then I’m sure she’s done something incredible for you back.” You were hoping a simple manipulation tactic might work, that you could turn Kimiko against an ungrateful Shiela. But this type of obsession isn’t one that can’t be destabilized with a few jumbled words.
No, you only make her angrier. “Back? Back?” she practically screams, her voice raw and feral as she leaps into your face. You flinch as far back as you can as her face hovers over yours, screaming right at you. “I owe her everything! I should thank her for letting me breathe the same air as hers!”
Your jaw drops, a silent scream tripping out of your mouth as you gasp for air. Something squeezes against your brain, the pulsing from before returns with a vengeance. You can feel your mind pulsing and swelling, pushing against your skull.
“Don’t fucking say her name again,” Kimiko glares down at you, her eyes devoid of any remorse or compassion as she makes your brain swell until blood leaks down your ears. Whatever plan she had before has been abandoned, she’s going to just kill you now.
You’re going to die in her basement, no one will ever see you again. Your eyes throb and you feel your brain push to its fullest limits. The pressure builds, builds, and builds until it explodes.
“Then you just pour a little sugar in.” Logan watches as Shiela tips nearly an entire bag of cane sugar into her jug of sweet tea. His stomach shrivels at the sight and he fights down bile. A little bit of sugar drops over the edge. She catches it on her finger and looks over her shoulder, licking the sugar off and practically deepthroating her own finger. All while maintaining a disturbing amount of eye contact with Logan.
“Well,” he knows that he promised you a while with Kimiko, but he can’t handle much more of this. “Thank you so much for this,” he struggles with the word, landing weakly on, “lesson.” He’s not even sure what the point of watching her prepare all this food was.
He’s pretty sure she just wanted him to see her leave a rim of red lipstick at the bottom of her finger as many times as possible. The entire time he’s just wanted to go back to you. There’s a nasty feeling gnawing at him and he knows he needs to get back to you soon.
“Oh,” she seems genuinely disappointed and Logan sighs awkwardly. “Leaving already, huh?”
He points to his ring pointedly reminding her of the reality of their situation. “Gotta get back to the wife.”
She doesn’t even try to hide her sneer as he mentions you. “Of course, just the perfect husband aren’t you?”
Logan doesn’t dignify that with a response, too distracted by what’s happening outside the window. People have begun to wander around aimlessly, some of them stumbling into the fencing. They just keep walking forward, knocking into the wood repeatedly, not once stopping. John’s got a stuck smile on his face as he leans against the grill, Logan can see smoke rising from where the flesh of his palm is melting onto the metal. A few people all run into each other, collapsing on the ground and just lying there.
They’re like robots, suddenly without command and unsure what to do. They’re following their programming without anyone putting a stop to it. Shiela follows his gaze and gasps. “Excuse me,” she mutters, practically running out of the room.
Logan tries to find you amongst all the mess but you’re nowhere to be seen. “Fuck,” he growls out, looking back to where Shiela had run. He should have fucking known not to leave you on your own.
He stalks after Shiela, listening to her racing heart and the slam of a downstairs door. He follows her down the steps leading to her basement. It looks the same as every other one he’s ever been in. Except, for the metal door hidden behind a few shelving units. The only reason he spots it is because Shiela knocked over a can of paint in her rush toward it.
Anger brews hot and putrid in his gut. The claws come out unbidden, and the thought of you being locked away in that room pushes him forward. If you’re not in there, he’ll get an answer from Shiela one way or another. But he’s not going to let you get hurt because he didn’t have your back.
“What the hell are you doing?” A shrill voice interrupts. Your head sinks back against the cool material of the table, brain surging back into place. Your teeth ache, white-hot pain rushing through your bones as Kimiko finally releases her grasp on you.
Kimiko gives Shiela the look of a dog who just got in trouble. “She found my amplifying device. I have to get rid of her.” She holds the device you found earlier out to Shiela.
So, she wasn’t as powerful as she pretended. She did need help. It explains why the entire neighborhood is always in the same area, she needs them close to keep control. “Whatever you’re doing is making my toys malfunction.”
Shiela hisses at Kimiko, she darts forward and slaps her hard across the back of the head. If you weren’t in excruciating and paralyzing pain, you’d flinch at the sound. Being as if your brain was just about to explode, though, you could give less of a shit if she beats her rabid dog up.
These two crazy bitches deserve each other. You just want a Tylenol and a nap at this point. “Well, aren’t you two twisted sisters?” Logan slips through the door, his claws glinting under the light of the room. “Toys?” He demands, eyes roaming the room desperately.
The second he sees you, strapped down and with blood pouring from your orifices, something slips over his face. It’s like a mask being ripped off. The man he pretends to be is ripped apart by the animal truly lurking within him. Neither women have time to even defend themselves. He goes for Kimiko first and all you see his claws plunging down before arterial blood sprays across your face.
You groan, tilting your chin the other way and spitting the metallic liquid out of your mouth. There are a long few minutes of screaming, clothes shredding, and blood splashing against every surface of the room. By the time he’s completely calmed down, you’re drenched in it.
You suck on your teeth, rolling your head limply and finally getting a good look at him. He’s panting, standing over their mutilated corpses with blood dripping down his claws. There’s a wrath on his face you’re happy to have never been on the other end of. But the second he looks at you, you see nothing but stark relief.
He breathes out your name, your real one, and surges towards you. “Claws!” You shout, hurting your head again. But he was a second away from accidentally skewering you. They’re put away in an instant as he undoes the straps holding you down.
You groan in relief as the pressure around your head and limbs is released. He perches himself on the edge of the table and scoops you into his chest.
You’re still loopy from Kimiko messing around in the grooves of your brain. The best you can manage is weakly draping your arms along his sides. He pulls you back and brushes the hair out of your face, laughing a little at the blood covering you. “They do anything to you?”
You shrug, “Besides turn my brain into a pressure cooker? No.”
The smile drops from his face and he glares down at the remains of the women. If you weren’t so tired, you’d think he wants to kill them again. “I should have been here.”
“Logan-” You want to tell him not to be ridiculous. You had insisted you could take care of yourself. Told him it would only be a conversation when you knew that was never going to be true. You’d gotten yourself into this, you were lucky he was there to get you out. But you don’t say anything because he interrupts you as he so often does.
“I can’t keep acting like this is all okay. Like I’m happy with how we treat each other. I thought I was going to lose you, I’m not going to keep pretending I don’t care about you.”
Your face screws up in confusion and you’re not sure you want to hear where he’s going with this. You’ve been used to this dynamic between the two of you for so long. You’re used to him treating you like he can't stand to breathe the same air as you. If this is going where you think it is, you’re not sure you can handle it.
“Logan,” you’re regaining some feeling in your limbs now. You use the returning strength to push away from him, shaking your head in disbelief. “No, you can’t do this. You can’t just change your-”
He’s incapable of letting you finish a single sentence. His hands wrap around your cheeks tugging you forward until your lips are brushing together. It’s enough of a shock to get you to stop talking. You don’t reciprocate, too stunned to even think about moving.
He brushes his lips against yours again, firmer this time. Under the layers of blood coating you both, you’re wholly enveloped by him. His scent, his arms, everything about him drapes over you like a warm blanket. Against your better judgment, you find yourself returning the kiss.
You move further into his lap, one hand holding his face and the other clutching at his hair, needing something to hold to keep you steady in this moment. Logan smiles against your lips, deepening the kiss without wasting another beat. His tongue moves gently across yours at first. A curious caress to see how well you two fit together. He groans when he gets a taste of you, pushing further in and kissing you like he wants to devour you.
There’s warmth blooming in your stomach and spreading all along your body. You’re buzzing with adrenaline and pain and this unidentifiable feeling that Logan is evoking from you. It’s not the sweet mushy, romantic kiss you always imagined with him.
This is desperate. Like a dying man’s last attempt at redemption. He’s tasting you like you’re rare, something to be savored. You feel like you’re the only thing left in existence. The only person left for him to admire. You forget the gore behind you, the tumultuous experiences you’ve had with him.
You let yourself fall into the moment, a blind leap of faith into a pool of all your hopes and desires. He’s better than you ever could have imagined. More desperate than your wildest fantasies. He makes no move to stop, even as the air becomes scarce and you both have to part longer. He just grips you tighter, hands wrapped around you like he’s worried if he lets go he’ll lose you.
He could, he could lose you. This kiss of his is putting you into a trance, distracting you from all he’s trying to make up for. Perhaps if he stops kissing you, you’ll remember it all and want nothing to do with him. But you don’t see that happening, you just see yourself craving more and more for him., You feel the addiction forming already. A deep-seated need in your bones is finally being sated, it will always need more from him.
When you can no longer survive on the shared oxygen between you both, you’re forced to part. Your cheeks tingle from the stubble of his beard and you know your lips are pink and swollen because his are too. You’re both still coated in blood and you share a familiar glean in your eyes.
“I never hated you,” he sounds breathless and you love that you’re the cause of it. “I just didn’t want to lose you.”
You scoff, but there are no cruel intentions behind it. “So you push me away before you ever get a chance to have me?”
He gives you a crooked smile, “I never said I was smart.” You can’t help but laugh at that. Slowly, he helps you to your feet, ignoring the puddles of blood and bits. “We'll have to call Charles. He needs to help the people out there.”
“We also need to let him know there’s no trafficking ring. Just one fucked psyche.” You shoot another glare at the pile that was Kimiko, still bitter about her experiment with your brain. As Logan helps you up the stairs of the basement, you stop him just before you reach the door.
He gives you a concerned look, like he thinks you’ve hurt something somehow. “I want to talk to you. Really talk to you about everything.” Concern gives way to dread and you can’t help but smile at the regretful look on his face. “But first,” his head perks in interest at your tone, “maybe we can finally enjoy that master bed together?”
“You know,” he leans down, swiping his arms under your knees and lifting you. You gasp, through your arms around his neck and squeezing until you worry you might suffocate him. “You really are the smart one of us, aren’t you?”
“Clearly.”
You’re not sure how well this transition to married couple to tentatively something else is going to go. But you have hope and it's kept you going for all these years. What's wrong with letting it linger a little longer?
a/n: Guess who's back, back again? Hint, it's Flux. I missed writing for them, so I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. Although, I worry the ending was too cheesy.
Reblogs, comments, likes, and requests are always appreciated !!
end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies 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 @insomniachox @izbelross @spktrlvr ♡
Can we have Logan and Flux going on a mission but UH OH something goes wrong they get separated from the group and shes like “oh man he hates me this will suck” but then they get into a fight and he protects/saves her and then they have a cutesy heartfelt conversation about how he doesn’t hate her, he just didn’t want to let her in and then for her to leave, and then maybe they smooch a lil bit (a lot a bit)
Screw you guys for turning me into a miscommunication writer. It’s my least favorite trope and I just realized it’s like all I do.
Anyway, enjoy the newlyweds.
the newlyweds
Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Logan Howlett x fem!reader (Flux)
a/n: I wrote this at 3 AM and I'm also pretty sure I'm sick, so bare with me. Based on this: ask
You know Logan can't stand you, but it doesn't stop the way you feel about him. Your mind recognizes the hate in his eyes whenever you're in the same room, but your heart can't. Finally, you come to terms with the truth: it's never gonna happen. However, your newfound resolve is flipped on its head when you're forced to go undercover with him as newlyweds. Your new wedding ring is a noose and you don't know how you'll survive it or him.
You stumble forward as someone knocks into you from behind. Their shoulder jams painfully into your ribcage and you trip into the wall in front of you. “Shit,” you hiss, rubbing your back and turning around to glare at whoever it was. You figure it's a kid skipping class, imagine your surprise when it’s a fully grown man practically growling at you.
“Where the hell am I?” He darts forward, grabbing you by the arms and jerking you towards him. “Who are you people?” You’re stunned into silence, eyes wide with shock as he pushes your spine into the wall behind you.
You recognize him now. This is the man who was with Rogue in the truck you, Ororo, and Summers rescued. The only reason you don’t toss him across the room and rip his spine out through his throat is because you know how disoriented he is. Though, with the way his claws threaten to pierce your skin, you are tempted to.
“Ah,” a familiar and welcomed voice sounds out from beside you both. “I see you’ve met Flux.” Charles rarely ever uses your actual name, mainly introducing you through your X-Men persona. It’s a preference of yours.
The man’s eyes dart between you and Charles, and your own turn into slits the longer he keeps his tight grip on you. “Wanna let me go now?” You demand voice practically a growl. Your patience has never been wonderful, but he’s really working on your last nerve.
He blinks, seemingly coming back to himself. With an almost regretful look, he lets you go. You sigh in irritation, straightening your shirt out and shoving past the corner he’s pushed you into. “Who the hell is this?” You snap, moving to stand behind Charles.
He gives you an apologetic look, “I’m not sure. He hasn’t introduced himself yet.” He gives the man an expectant look. Instead of answering he glances around, and scoffs.
“What is this, summer camp? You people don’t need to know me, I don’t need to know you. Just show me how to get the fuck out, alright?” Finding Charles’ school had been heaven on earth. He’d provided you with a home and a haven you never thought you would have the privilege of. You’d never shown anger in the face of his guidance or generosity. But many have.
You can tell, as much as the man in front of you might believe otherwise, he’s going to be enjoying the comfort of Charles’ protection soon. You move to the side, leaving them to their conversation. Instead, you focus on keeping the kids away from the newest form of entertainment. You usher them towards their classes, despite their reluctance.
The other members of the team soon join you all, introducing themselves. “Storm, Cyclops,” he scoffs a little at Scott’s name and you feel a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. He turns towards you, brows furrowed inquisitively, “Flux?”
“Matter manipulation,” you explain bluntly. He shrugs his shoulders giving you a blank look. Sighing you hold out your hand and gesture to Charles’ desk. With a flick of your wrist, it melts into an unnatural form of liquid wood. Logan’s eyes widen and you can’t help but finally let the full smile form on your lips. “Flux was just what fourteen-year-old me thought fit best.”
He nods, turning back towards Charles with a smarmy grin. “And what do they call you, wheels?” Your eyes widen with shock and an unbidden laugh surges forth. Charles sends you a playful glare and you have to turn around to keep from laughing more.
You’d thought you wouldn’t like this one. It’s always bad when there’s a member on the team you don’t get along with. It’s not common, but it has happened. They simply keep you separated if they can. The school is wonderful, but it’s not perfect. Not everyone will like each other. You think you and Logan will get along just fine, though.
It started slow, barely noticeable at first. You didn’t know him well enough to understand that the way he treats you is completely different from how he treats everyone else. Where your greetings are brushed off with cold shoulders or the occasional glare, others at the very least get a brief mumble of hello. When you speak, you can practically feel the irritation wafting off of him in waves. You taste his hatred in every interaction.
There’s no exact moment you can pinpoint where you went wrong. Sure, your introduction to one another was rocky at best. But he’d nearly thrown Jean across the room when they first met and they got along just fine.
You’ve thought about it, for far too long, about what makes you different than the others. Is it your smile? The pitch of your voice? Of course, you understand that sometimes there are just people that you meet and something inside you hates them. There’s never a true explanation behind the feeling, just instinct.
But you can’t place what about you would make someone so guarded, so mean. It feels like such a childish word, like too simple of a way to explain Logan. The very least you know about him is that he can never be summed up with the word simple. There are secrets buried deep within him, some he knows, others he doesn’t. You can’t just slap a label on him and walk away.
More often than not, though, you feel like you’re talking to one of your childhood bullies and not a team member. Because, despite your own feelings towards him, at the end of the day you are team members. There’s no getting around it. From that connection comes, what should be, a base level of respect.
You’re both in charge of protecting one another and looking out for each other on the field. That means when you put on the suit, you’re putting aside petty grievances. But he seems incapable of that as well.
You’ve spent mornings practicing your greetings, trying to tone down your cheeriness or inflect your voice with a more welcoming timbre. You’ve changed how you dress, how you do your hair, even your makeup. And at the end of it all, you still got the same miserable look and distinct feeling of worthlessness. All of the change has been temporary, you are a creature of habit. Inevitably, you slide back into the same habits and styles that make you, you.
You feel stupid, trying to change yourself to better fit someone else's tastes. Especially when it’s someone who so clearly despises you. It’s not how you carry yourself, how you look, it’s the mere fact you exist that bothers him. At least, that’s the conclusion you’ve come to in all your months of experimenting.
It truly shouldn’t bother you so much. There’s always going to be people who don’t like you. There’s nothing you can do about it. And you’ve never had that desire to change other's opinions on you. But something about Logan has dug its claws under your skin and has refused to let go. You can’t get him out of your head, even when you feel like you hate him, he’s all you think about. You’ve considered asking Jean to use her abilities to somehow dig him out of your brain and keep him out. But you don’t think that would work either.
You step into the kitchen and nearly freeze in the doorway. Logan sits at the island, back to you as he reads the newspaper. You find yourself lightening your steps, quieting your breath. You make yourself as inconspicuous and convenient as possible. Every time you catch yourself doing something like this, you hate yourself just a little bit more.
You shouldn’t have to alter parts of yourself to better fit someone else’s needs. You slip along the tiles, your socked feet slamming into the corner of the counter as you pass it. “Shit!” You shout, doubling over as you clutch your throbbing toes.
So much for being inconspicuous.
Logan’s head shoots up in shock as he glares over his paper at you. You let out a strained whimper, reluctantly releasing your foot and hobbling towards the coffee pot. You’ve taken more bullets than you count, and somehow that still hurt worse.
You can’t just ignore him, you feel his stare burning into your back, and it feels too dickish-too much like him, to not say anything. “Morning,” you mutter over your shoulder, barely looking at him. You pour your coffee, trying to ignore how daunting the silence seems. You might as well be alone in the room for all the attention he’ll grant you.
You feel like a beggar, on hands and knees just for a simple hello. Ever since his first night here, he’s been so aloof with you. It’s only devolved since then. You sigh, slamming the mug onto the counter. Something in you has snapped this morning and it’s not just the bones in your foot. You’re sick of this.
You shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around him. He’s not a toddler, he doesn’t deserve to be coddled and catered to. He’s a grown man, an X-Men for fuck’s sake. What he needs, is to learn a little emotional regulation.
You turn, mouth open and sucking in a deep breath as you prepare your speech. The island is empty as you face it, his stool in the same place it had been while he was on it. The paper lies abandoned, even his nearly full mug is still on the granite.
You scoff, snapping your jaw shut and rolling your eyes. “Jesus,” you mutter to yourself. Wonderful, even the same room is too much for him now. Something bitter has been forming in your mind. A rage building from weeks of unprompted cruel behavior.
Yet, somehow, the thing that pushes you over the edge from interest to resentment is the fact that he didn’t say good morning back.
You teach history at the school, but the majority of your role at the mansion is to train children with powers similar to yours. You’ve never met a mutant who had such a broad scope with their abilities as you do. Some can turn water to ice, control the blood running through someone’s veins, or make the air around them a solid block. But you’ve yet to meet one who manipulates anything with matter the way you do.
Still, for training, you deal with the unreliable, untameable, and generally more dangerous abilities. And sometimes for training, you work with other teachers and let your kids practice on each other. It’s a rotating schedule, and unfortunately, the week you’ve decided you hate him, you’re partnered with Logan for training.
You’ve got the entirety of Charles’ backyard, which is essentially the size of a football field. It’s a lot of room for accidents and accidental misfires. You stand in front of the pond, admittedly a risky choice with these kids, and direct them all to their partners.
“Remember, the goal of this isn’t to maim each other,” you give a particularly pointed glare towards Billy. He’s caused a lot of problems lately with his fires. “It’s just to learn how to wield your abilities to your advantage, to protect yourself and your team.”
You look to Logan, seeing if he wants to add anything or contribute to the class in some way. He just keeps his arms crossed, glowering at all the children like he’s imagining skewering them on his claws. Rolling your eyes, you turn back to the kids. “Let's start with the hand-to-hand maneuvers we went over yesterday before we practice with our abilities.”
“Why don’t you show us?” Your head whips towards Billy and you can’t help the sneer on your lips. He’s sat on the ground, legs crossed leisurely over each other. He doesn’t have a care in the world as he taunts you.
“What?” You grit out, glaring at him.
“Show us what a balanced fight should look like between mutants. You and Logan,” he nods to the aforementioned man. Logan just quirks a brow, glancing at you before turning back to Billy.
“I don’t think-”
“Fine.” You gape at Logan as he tugs his jacket off. He shrugs as he looks at you, moving towards the middle of the field. Of course, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to try and pummel you. You’re sure that he’s just been waiting for an excuse to fight you.
“If that’s what you want,” you mutter bitterly. You pull off your sweatshirt and start walking towards him.
“Your cuffs,” Billy calls out from behind you. The other students all watch the interaction with rapt attention. They’re practically salivating at the chance to see you two fight each other. Meanwhile, Billy just seems like he wants to see someone bleed.
The metal cuffs around your wrists are the only thing that stops you from leveling the entire school. Your abilities are so tightly entwined with your emotions that one unlucky bout of anger can lead you to vaporizing everyone around you. They dull your abilities just enough to still be useful but not deadly. You haven’t taken them off in years. And perhaps it’s wrong to lean so heavily on them for protection, but you have. That’s your cross to bear. You don’t even want to picture what will happen if you open that dam.
“What?” Billy shrugs, sending you a sharp smirk. “How are we supposed to trust you, if you can’t even use your own damn abilities?” He snorts and narrows his eyes at you, “How the hell did you even become an X-Men, Flux?” His name rolls off your tongue with a sharpened venom.
He oozes hatred and a burning resentment that catches you off guard. It’s too much to process the insults he’s hurling at you and the sudden one-eighty in his personality. You don’t even hear Logan coming until his fist is wrapped in Billy’s collar and he’s yanking him off his feet.
He dangles him, just a couple of inches, off the ground, teeth practically bared at the kid. “Wanna keep talking, mouth?”
“Log-” You’re cut off as a fireball shoots out of Billy’s palm and explodes against Logan’s gut. You gasp, throwing up a wall in front of the other kids so it can’t hurt them. “All right,” you call out sternly. “Everyone inside,” you demand, pointing the other kids back towards the manor.
You linger with Logan, who still has Billy dangling from his fist, only he looks even more pissed off now. Anyone else, and they’d be dust at Billy’s feet. But Logan isn’t anyone else and the only collateral seems to be his shirt.
Not that you mind the view.
Billy hasn’t been here long enough to know what Logan’s abilities are, though. You don’t think he actually knew he could heal. The thought alone is worrying enough that you don’t force Logan to let him go. “We need to get him to Charles,” when Logan doesn’t move you put more force behind your voice, “now.”
Logan lets out a low huff before placing Billy back on his own two feet. He doesn’t let him go far, though, keeping his hand around the back of his neck and dragging him forward. You follow behind them, making sure he doesn’t rip him to pieces before Charles can speak with him.
You sit outside Charles’ office, fingers tapping restlessly against your thigh as you stare at the mahogany walls in front of you. The red velvet of the seat is too soft and you find yourself slipping to the edge every few seconds. It’s too soft, too luxurious, your back aches the longer you wait.
Charles had instructed both you and Logan to wait for him to finish up with Billy. It’s been nearly an hour, though, and you’re growing restless. You can tell Logan feels the same way. He’s pacing the hall like a caged lion about to rip the arm off its keeper.
“How are you?” You blurt out, desperate for something to fill the silence. He stops abruptly, whipping around to face you. You flinch back slightly at the intense glare he’s sporting. “Your stomach, I mean,” you gesture towards the scorch marks on his shirt, the soot on his abs.
It’s been a practice in self-control to not just be staring at his wonderfully sculpted muscles flexing this whole time. You’re pleasantly surprised with how well you’ve been doing so far. Though, now with him facing you, you’re finding it incredibly hard to meet his eye. He’s such an imposing figure, especially when he’s standing over you like this.
“Fine,” he barks out, turning back around and effectively ending the conversation. Your eyes narrow and you scoff, god, why do you try?
The door swings open and you expect Billy to come running out crying with his tail tucked between his legs. Instead, you hear the familiar whirl of Charles wheels as he rolls into the hall. He faces you and Logan, a strained smile on his face.
“Where’s Billy?” You slowly get to your feet, peering into his office. Your confusion only grows when you find it empty.
“He’s away from the other children for now. He’ll need private lessons before we allow him near them again. And if that doesn’t work, we have no choice but to expel him.” You can tell it hurts Charles to say that.
He does genuinely want the best for these kids. He wants mutants to have a home, a place where they can be themselves without fear of retaliation. Sometimes, though, it doesn’t work out. There’s nothing wrong with that, you all try your best to help the kids. But some of them have been so twisted by the world around them that there’s no undoing the damage. When they pose a risk the way Billy does, the other kids come first.
Logan scoffs with distaste, stalking closer to Charles. “He tried to kill me, fucking tried to get Flux to take her cuffs off.” He gestures towards you, for once, though, you don’t feel like you’re being attacked. Even he can understand the dangers of that demand is idiotic. It’s clear Billy only wanted to watch everyone around him get hurt, he didn’t care about the consequences.
Charles holds up a pacifying hand, nodding his head and dismissing Logan’s concerns. “I’m quite aware of what happened, Logan. But Billy is my responsibility and he’s not the reason I needed to talk to you both.”
He rolls back into his office, expecting you both to follow him. You fall in line behind him, taking a seat at his desk. Logan takes another minute to join you both, a reluctant scowl on his face as he sits beside you. Charles waves his hand, the door closing and providing you all with a little bit more privacy.
He reaches into a drawer on his desk, pulling out a thin manilla folder. He pushes it towards both you and Logan. You share a confused look with Logan before flipping the file open. There are a few pictures of a stereotypical suburban neighborhood. Bright green laws, uniform driveways, each house looks the same as the last.
There are a few more pictures, all of them taken from an awkward distance that makes it hard to determine what you’re looking at. You pass the pictures to Logan and shake your head at Charles. “I don’t understand, what is all this?”
“Your next mission,” he informs you both with a strained smile.
Logan’s head shoots up, eyes narrowing in on Charles. “Excuse me?” He demands, his voice a growl more than anything.
“There have been some disturbing rumors about this neighborhood. Mentions of a possible mutant trafficking ring being conducted behind closed doors. Normally, I would dismiss such claims. Oftentimes these are just ways to bait and snatch mutants. However, my own attempts at telepathic investigation have been thwarted. Even with Cerebro, I can’t seem to breach the neighborhood.”
“Something’s blocking you?” You ask, snatching the pictures back from Logan to get a better look. He tosses the folder back on the desk, muttering something you can’t hear.
“Or someone. I’m worried there might be some truth to these rumors. And since I can’t find a safe way in, I need your help. You only need to do some reconnaissance. The only problem is how gated the community is. They’re not going to let anyone in unless they live there.”
Charles gives you both a cheekily expectant look. The truth is so hard to swallow that you almost can’t process it. “No,” you mutter, shaking your head and smiling, waiting for the punchline. When one doesn’t come you get up from your seat and give him a disbelieving look. “You want us undercover?”
Charles pulls out a key and smiles widely, “Congratulations on your new home, newlyweds.”
Logan shoots up from his seat, it wobbles precariously, nearly toppling to the ground. “You want me to move into a house with her?” He spits out the sentence like it pains him to even have it in his mouth. A disbelieving smile spread across your cheeks, sardonic laughter slipping through parted lips. “Why can’t I do it with Jean? Or better yet you just get some other asshole to play her husband?”
Your heart stutters to a stop and you quickly rip your eyes off the pair. The stung worse than you think it should. Your heart aches, each beat painful. You feel like someone’s punched through your chest and ripped at all the tender bits.
“I have chosen you,” Charles loses all humor from his voice. He is stern, like a father scolding his child, as he speaks to Logan. “And that’s the end of it. Besides, I don’t suppose that Jean’s fiance would appreciate her playing house with another man.” He places heavy emphasis on fiance, enough to get Logan to purse his lips and look away from him.
You speak up, your voice a surprise to them both. You claw through the lump in your throat, ignoring the hot burn behind your eyes. “I’m not doing this. Especially not with him,” you force the words out, wiping roughly at your cheeks. “Shit,” you hiss, looking down and trying to hide the tears that have slowly trickled down.
You don’t allow either of them to argue, running out of the door and ignoring the calls of your name behind you. You can’t do this. Can’t pretend to be in love with Logan, not when he hates you. Not when it’s so close to the truth.
Evidently, Charles didn't feel like giving either of you a choice.
You drum your fingers along the door handle. The cab of the truck rattles as the trailer drags along behind you. The trees have begun to thin out on the road, and more shopping centers pop up than you’ve seen this whole trip. It’s the how you know you’re getting closer, that and the map on Logan’s thigh. You steal glances at it because he refused to let you help him navigate.
Besides the occasional ask for a bathroom break and refuted offer of switching drivers, the four-hour road trip has been quiet. You tried to turn the radio on earlier but he’d shut it off nearly immediately. He claimed that the pop shit they play makes his ears ring.
You were almost tempted to turn it up to full volume if only to torture him a little bit.
Logan’s rough voice jars you out of your head, “I’m going to need to know your real name.”
You frown, brows furrowed in confusion. Had you still not given him your actual name? He’s always referred to you as Flux, but you just assumed that’s because he didn’t want you to be an actual person in his eyes. It’s easier to hate someone if you can distance yourself from the idea of them having actual feelings. Still, you can’t believe he never asked someone for it.
It just shows you how little he cares for you. Reluctantly, you give it to him. He hums, something pensive pinching at his face. “What?” You snap, waiting for him to insult you.
He just shrugs, “It’s pretty,” he mutters, so quiet you almost don’t hear him. You don’t even know how to respond to that, so caught off guard by a genuine compliment that you just choose to ignore it. You doubt he meant it, anyway. He might think the name is pretty, but he doesn’t hold the same opinion of the person connected to it.
You sink back into the silence, finding it more comforting than jarring now. You’d prefer the familiar feeling of him ignoring you than the abrupt turn in character. He glances over at you, something like regret on his face as he sighs.
Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, in what feels like an extension of an olive branch, he turns the radio back on. He keeps the volume low, so it doesn’t bother him so much. But at least there’s something to listen to besides your breathing.
You turn back towards the window, a white sign surrounded by daises coming up as Logan slows the truck down. He flicks on his turn signal, pulling up to Storybrook Walk. He stops in front of a large wrought iron gate and jumps out of the truck. He runs up to a black metal box, flipping the lid open and typing in the code Charles gave you both. As he gets back in the truck, the gate swings open widely.
You pull your rings out of your pocket and slip yours on. “Here,” you urge, holding Logan’s ring out to him. He huffs, glaring down at it before snatching it out of your hand. He balances his hands atop the wheel, slipping the ring on his left hand.
The neighborhood is picture-perfect suburbia. The lawns are bright green and manicured to perfection. You can hear children laughing as they play in their backyards and draw out a hopscotch grid on the sidewalk. Women and men who look like they’re straight from the fifties stop on the sidewalk and wave as you drive through the gated community.
You mouth the numbers on the mailboxes to yourself, sitting up straighter when you’re one house away from your new home for the next few weeks. “Hey,” you frown, noticing a large congregation of people in the driveway of 1220. “This is our house isn’t it?”
Logan frowns, stopping the truck just before pulling in so he doesn’t hit anyway. “Supposed to be.” He glares at the people suspiciously, “Stay here, alright?”
You nod, watching him as he jumps out and rounds the front of the truck. You roll your window down, fingers dancing along the metal of your cuffs. There’s no way you’ve been found out before you’ve even gotten a chance to investigate.
“Hey!” Logan’s voice is scary on a good day, but when he feels threatened, it’s enough to frighten a grown man. You can see the people flinch slightly away from him. That’s when you spot the wrapped cookies in a blonde woman’s hand and see children hiding with balloons on the porch.
“Oh, fuck,” you mutter. You throw the door open, racing after Logan before he does something stupid. “Howdy neighbors!” You shout, speaking over him before he gets a chance to say anything else. You rush up to Logan’s side, nearly out of breath in your haste to get to him. “Is this our welcoming committee?”
You glare up at him and his eyes narrow as he sees the same thing you did. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
“Smile and wave,” you whisper through gritted teeth. His lips peel up into something terrifying and it takes everything in you not to flinch back. “What the fuck is that?” You mutter.
“A smile,” he hisses, glaring down at you in irritation.
A blonde woman steps forward before you can continue your hushed argument. “Welcome!” She calls out in a heavy southern accent, throwing her arms open with a bright smile. She walks as fast as she can in her tight skirt and kitten heels, coming over to embrace you, the casserole in her hand balancing precariously behind you.
She tugs Logan down into a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek and staining the skin red. “Surprise!” The kids on the porch jump out with balloons and flowers and she winces.
“A bit late on the delivery,” she waves it off with a faux chuckle. “But we don’t mind ‘cause they’re so darn cute.” She is very… loud. There’s something about her that is meant to be charming but puts you on edge. She’s got all the familiar characteristics of a woman you’d love to be around, but she’s executing it like someone playing a character. “Shiela,” she holds out her hand, perfectly manicured nails shining bright red.
You take her hand introducing yourself, “And this is my husband, Logan. Forgive him for his tone, we had an accident on the highway earlier. We’re still a little on edge.”
“Oh no,” she gasps, pressing her nails to her chest and even that seems plastic. “What happened?”
Years of bullshitting your way through school presentations are finally coming in handy. You think quickly on your feet, something these people would despise. You need something that endears you to them, “Tire blew out and someone tried to raid the trailer while we were fixing it.”
She lets out a disapproving hum and the throng of people behind her echoes it with disturbing harmony. You find yourself leaning closer towards Logan, feeling like you need to defend yourself against them. You know they’re only an overzealous HOA committee, but there is something uncanny about them.
Sensing your discomfort, Logan wraps his arm around your shoulder, tugging you into his side. You have to school your features into one of neutrality. You’re supposed to be newlyweds, this is normal behavior for you. His touch feels like ice water being tossed over you, though. His willing embrace makes your head swim with distaste and skepticism.
“Well,” a man steps forward. He’s conventionally handsome, with brown hair cropped short, slight stubble on his cheeks, slacks, and a button-up that he fills out nicely. His smile, however, stretches too wide and shows too many teeth. A shiver crawls up your spine as he places his hand on Shiela’s shoulder. “You won’t have to worry about people like that here, that’s for sure. John,” he offers his hand to Logan, bypassing you completely. “Head of the HOA here at Storybrook.”
“Nice to meet you, John” Logan falls just short of sincere. He towers slightly over John and you can see that he’s squeezing his hand just a bit too tight by the wince of Jouhn’s face. You dig your elbow into his side and he drops his hand immediately.
Your gaze drifts over their shoulders and your stomach drops. The people behind them all hold dishes full of food and gift baskets. Their smiles are pinned to their faces, never once flinching out of place. There’s no joy in their eyes, though. They’re glazed over like they’re a million miles away. You would think they were mannequins before you even considered them human.
“Long drive?” Shiela asks, your eyes dart back to hers only to find her intense stare already wholly focused on you.
“Yeah,” you answer, clearing your throat of the panic rising in it. “We’re gonna have a fun time unloading this,” you laugh humorlessly, motioning towards the trailer.
She waves her hands in dismissal. “Don’t you worry about that, hun. That’s what neighbors are for after all.” She looks behind her, snapping her fingers a few times. The other’s start going towards the trailer and you feel Logan tense under your touch.
A kid reaches it first, they manage to unlock it before you shout, “No!” It’s too loud, echoing through the street and making you clench your eyes shut in embarrassment. You turn back towards Shiela and John, both of them wearing shocked expressions. You chuckle awkwardly, “There’s just a lot of family heirlooms. I don’t want to risk them being damaged.” There are no heirlooms, just empty boxes and surveillance equipment that you'll have no chance of explaining away.
Shiela purses her lips into a tight smile, eyes turned to slits as she nods. “Of course,” you know she doesn’t believe you for a second. “Well then, we’ll just take all this inside.” She snaps and the others take their casseroles and gifts and begin flooding towards your front door. Shiela and John walk behind them, herding them all into a straight line.
You let go of Logan immediately, glaring at the door of your home. Shiela holds a key in her hand, unlocking it and letting everyone inside. You scoff and shake your head in disbelief. “What the actual fuck?” You hiss.
Logan just shakes his head. “Fucking bizarre, what the hell is wrong with these people?” He starts back towards the truck and you follow him. “I almost prefer the welcoming committee at the manor.”
You roll your eyes, “I was your welcoming committee,” you grouse.
He shrugs, “I know.” You swat lightly at his shoulder and relatch the trailer’s lock. You linger by the mailbox as Logan pulls the truck into the driveway. He’s getting out just as the others finally leave your house.
Shiela walks back towards you and you gesture towards the keyring in her hand. “Got a key to my house?” You play it off as a joke but it’s incredibly disturbing to know she could walk in at any minute.
“Of course,” she smiles and shrugs it off like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “For the safety of everyone here.” Her smile drops and she takes an imposing step towards you, “Inspections are every Wednesday at noon.” Your jaw drops in astonishment and you choke on your words. She cackles loudly, face breaking out into a smile once more. “I’m just kidding, honey! God, your face, you’re too gullible, sweetheart.”
You force out a chuckle, smiling as much as you can force. “Of course, silly me,” you barely make it sound believable. This is going to be much harder than you thought.
“Well,” John comes up behind her, guiding her away from you. “We’ll get out of your hair now. Welcome, neighbors!” The others around them all call out a Welcome as they drift across your lawn and head back to their own homes.
Logan walks up to your side, the both of you keeping stilted smiles on your faces, waiting for them to just go away. But they pause at their doors, in almost perfect synchronization they turn and wave at you both. You back further into Logan’s chest and his grip on you tightens.
“What. The. Fuck.” They step through their homes at the same moment and you feel sick to your stomach. There is something seriously wrong here, you’re not sure you want to find out the truth of it.
You leave Logan to unload the trailer while you unpack the boxes. You’re forced to do it all by hand while the front door is open. You can’t risk someone stopping by for a visit and seeing you float the couch through the middle of the living room. You’re stumped on how to set up the surveillance equipment. Shiela doesn’t seem like the type to understand boundaries when it comes to popping by for a visit.
You’re just going to have to keep most of it upstairs and set up some cameras on the porch. You don’t doubt that she’ll abuse that key of hers as she sees fit. You can’t imagine how anyone could stand living in this neighborhood. Having no privacy seems like a nightmare. Especially when the commander of the HOA is John and Shiela. They seem like the type to fine you over a rosebush.
Logan grunts, dragging in the couch. He pushes it through the doorway and kicks the door closed behind him. The second it’s closed he drops the act and picks the couch up with one hand. “Where do you want it?”
You point towards the back wall of the living room and he drops it with a small groan. “We’re going to need to put cameras out on the porch,” you inform him, still digging through the box. He walks behind you, heading for the fridge and digging around in it.
“Fuck,” he mutters. You look up, watching as he tosses aside casserole after casserole. “They didn’t bring any beer?”
You laugh a little and get up, heading towards the cooler you’d packed. “They don’t seem the type.” You lean over, digging around through the melted ice until your fingers brush against cool glass. You straighten up, sending him a coquettish smile. “Want a beer after all that hard work, darling?” You taunt, playing the perfect housewife.
He scoffs and holds his hand out, snatching it from the air as you toss it at him. He pulls the cap off with his teeth, spitting it out into the sink. “And a sandwich while you’re at it,” he demands roughly.
If you weren’t a connoisseur of dry humor, you wouldn’t have recognized the joke for what it was. Still, you’re almost too shocked he even bothered to play along with you to laugh. Almost, you can’t help the slight chuckle that slips out.
He throws himself on the couch, taking a deep swig from the bottle, and the moment feels remarkably domestic. You suppose that it should. That is the whole reason you’re here after all. But you hadn’t expected even a singular pleasant moment with Logan.
This, playful banter and a shared joke, that’s all you could ever want from him. You would settle for this if it was all he was willing to give you. But he can’t even grant you that. This is one outlier in a long list of rude remarks and dismissive behavior. You can’t let yourself be so easily swayed.
“I might try and get some cameras on the other houses,” Logan remarks from the couch. He kicks his feet on the coffee table and you click your tongue at him, motioning towards his shoes. With an aggrieved sigh, he undoes the laces of his boots and kicks them off. You glare at the dirt that flings across the carpet but a quick wave of your hand makes it disappear.
“Don’t bother with the cameras. They’ve all got security.” You turn away from the box you’re unpacking with a pensive frown. “They’re all covered by the same company, too. All of them. Isn’t that weird?”
He scoffs and shrugs. “Anywhere else, yeah. But I’m pretty sure they piss at the same time here.” Your nose wrinkles at his crude words and you roll your eyes.
“Take this seriously.”
He huffs out a laugh, “I am. Didn’t you see them earlier? They only breathe because Shiela lets them.” You take a seat at the kitchen table, uncomfortable attempting to take a spot on the couch. He sighs when he sees the expression on your face, finally dropping the dismissive attitude. “I’ll just be smart about how I set up our cameras, alright?”
You just nod, reaching for the box of your essentials on the table. It’s strange to be sitting beside him, talking to him. You’ve never gotten more than two words out of him. This is so far out of your normal comfort zone that you feel like you’re crawling out of your skin trying to escape.
“I’m going to go to bed,” you announce awkwardly, shooting up from your seat at the table.
The beer pauses halfway to his lips and he gives you an odd look. “Okay?” He responds slowly, not sure why you’re telling him this. You open your mouth, and almost tell him to have a good night, but change your mind at the last second.
You move towards the bedroom near the front door, “Flux,” you turn slightly and he shakes his head. “Take the one upstairs.”
Your brows furrow, “Why?” You demand, an attitude edging its way into your voice.
“So if Shiela busts down our door I can protect us,” you know he’s teasing, but the sentiment is nice. “And so I don’t have to set up the surveillance shit upstairs,” your face drops and you roll your eyes. There it is.
“Dick,” you mutter, storming towards the stairs, your boxes hovering along behind you. His laughter follows you up the stairs, even when you slam the door shut. Although, when you take in the room, you can’t find it in yourself to complain for a second about it.
While Logan is screwed with the teeny guest room downstairs, you get the largest bedroom you’ve ever been in all to yourself. The closet could practically be another bedroom. The bath is more like a jacuzzi than it is a tub.
A four-poster bed sits against the wall, the fluffiest comforter ever becoming you forth like a siren. There’s even a table in the middle of the room, with a chair, perfect for setting up as your desk.
You scoff in astonishment, “Oh, I could get used to this.” You place your boxes on the table and start pulling out your clothes. You toss yourself on the bed, bouncing against the sheets, and throw pillows go flying everywhere. You flick your wrist, all your essentials flying out of the boxes and sorting themselves out.
After a luxurious soak in the tub, you’re spread out along the bed, the limited information from Charles's file spread out before you. There are only a few blurry pictures of the neighborhood and a typed-up page of everything he’s heard about Sotrybrook. There’s nothing even remotely useful here.
You sigh, tossing the file to the floor and looking out the large window of your room. You’ve got a camera placed on the sill, programmed to take a picture anytime there’s movement. You doubt you’re going to get much from that. The secrets of this place seem to be buried deep. You’re gonna have to get real friendly with your neighbors if you want to get out of here fast.
Logan is on the computer, trying to sync all of the cameras up. You clean up the dishes from breakfast and tidy up the kitchen. You’re trying to decide how you should start investigating when there’s a dainty knock on the door.
Your brows furrow and you peer around the cupboards to look at the door. Logan’s head lifts and he shares an odd look with you. He gets up from the couch and glances through the peephole.
You drop the towel on the counter and frown as his shoulders slump forward. Something pinched appears on his face and he sighs. “What?” You hiss at him.
He turns and glares at you, “You’ll see.” You shake your head in confusion as he throws the door open.
His attitude makes a lot more sense when you hear a very happy, “Howdy!” Shiela stands in your doorframe, three women hovering behind her. At least they look awake, unlike the people from last night. A redhead with the most gorgeous waves you’ve ever seen holds beach towels in her arms. A brunette with flawless brown skin carries a jug of lemonade. And a woman with black hair and a perfect figure is carrying a plate of cookies.
All of these women are wearing bathing suits that look like they’ve been snatched out of a fashion magazine from the sixties. Each of them is gorgeous, alarmingly so. They’re beautiful to the point of being flawless. As you walk out of the kitchen and take a step closer, Shiela welcomes herself into your home.
You don’t even think you see pores on their faces. Each of them offers you the same practiced smile that you force yourself to return. “How are you settling in?” Shiela demands, not asks.
“Um,” you look to Logan for help but he’s just as perplexed as you are. “Just fine, Shiela, thanks. What are you all doing?”
The redhead rolls her eyes playfully, “Tanning, sweetheart.” She glances at Logan expectantly and he grabs his duffel from by the couch.
“I think that’s my cue,” he falls easily into the role of a playful husband. But you don’t need him to play along right now. You need him to stay where the fuck he is so you’re not alone with the barbies.
“Ha ha, don’t go,” you whisper, trying to grab at his sleeve. “Logan,” you hiss, making sure the others can’t hear you as they look around your home. “Don’t do this.”
He dips his head down, and for one stupid moment, you think he might kiss you. “Good luck,” he whispers in your ear, backing off with a smug smirk and letting himself out of the house.
Oh, you’re going to fucking kill him.
“Finally,” the brunette breathes out a relieved breath, “I thought he’d never leave.”
Shiela chuckles, “You’re lucky honey. It took us a long while to have ours so well trained.” She motions to the other girls, “This is Madge,” the redhead smiles and gives a cute wave. She introduces the rest quickly and you file the information away for later when you’re writing your report.
Madge- husband is the vendor consultant for the HOA.
Sierra - brunette - husband is secretary of the HOA.
Kimiko - black hair - no husband.
Your brows furrow in confusion as Kimiko nods in greeting. You return it, suspicions running thick in your blood. It’s odd, that their husbands are in charge of the HOA, you figured they would be. Beyond that, the emphasis they put on it is astonishing. You really didn’t think the HOA was so important but it’s practically the government here. And the women only seem to hold importance if their husbands do. Shiela is essentially their leader, she’s the one you need to impress.
This whole thing seems incredibly backward and like a blast from the past. The way they style their hair, do their makeup, dress- it's all fashioned after the fifties and sixties. You feel incredibly out of place in your worn-down pajamas and frizzy braids.
“We’re not really tanning,” Madge tells you. “This is just a way for us ladies to get to know the new kid in the neighborhood and tell you everything you need to know,” she leans in, smiling like she’s sharing a conspiratorial secret with you.
“Don’t let Madge scare you,” Sierra shoots her a glare. “It’s not that big of a deal, it’s just a way for us to escape our husbands for an hour.”
“Well,” you chuckle awkwardly, crossing your arms over your chest as you grow uncomfortable under their tense stares. It feels like their eyes are peeling back your skin, exposing everything underneath as they judge every nook and cranny of your soul. “I haven’t reached that stage yet.”
Shiela’s smile loses some of its humor and she scoffs. “You will,” she assures you, acrid bitterness coating her words. “Give it a few years,” she gives you a bitchy and all-knowing smirk. Your hackles raise, the urge to defend your sham of a marriage rising quickly in you. You bite your tongue, swallowing down your smart retort before you say something you regret.
You’re not even married to Logan, but you don’t like her butting her nose so far into your business. “Sadly, I don’t have a bathing suit.”
“Oh,” Kimiko gives you a blank smile, “We brought you one.” Madge moves the towels aside to reveal a two-piece that matches their own. In your size.
Your cheeks ache with a forced smile as you take the bathing suit from them. “We’ll just set up out back,” Shiela lets you know. She turns to the others with a beaming smile, “Come on ladies.” They follow after her like ducklings, and when you look down you see each of their steps are in sync.
You wait until the back door closes to rush to the front. You throw the door open and Logan jumps from where he’s drilling the camera into the side of the house. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you warn.
He chuckles and smirks, “Don’t keep ‘em waiting too long, sweetheart,” he mocks and you slam the door closed with a loud scoff. He was enjoying your suffering far too much, but you shouldn’t be surprised. You’re sure he’s just been waiting for a moment like this.
You change into the bathing suit and take a deep calming breath. You can do this. You can play pretend for a few hours.
You wished you’d known being an actor was a part of the job description before you joined the X-Men.
You lay on your stomach along the soft beach towel that Madge brought. The sun isn’t too hot on you, but you also bent the tree behind you to provide a bit more shade when the others weren’t looking. So far, you’ve collected nothing but mindless gossip.
Sam never takes in his trash cans on time. Alicia has been getting a little too cozy with the gardener. Some couple you didn’t pay attention to is expecting a kid. You’re struggling to pay attention to all the mindless drivel.
Usually, you wouldn’t mind a little gossip, but none of this feels real. Their words are hollow, smiles empty. Everything they say sounds like they’re reading it from a script. The only person you actually believe cares about any of this bullshit is Shiela. The rest of them seem to just play along, not meaning a word they say.
You’re gaining nothing useful from this. There’s no information you’ve gotten during this conversation that could remotely help you. All you want to do is go out front and strangle Logan for abandoning you.
The only good thing about all this is the lemonade and cookies. Which, you admit, you may have indulged yourself a little too much. But at this point, you’re just eating to stay awake. You reach for another cookie and Shiela lets out a dainty huff.
“I wish I could eat like you,” she laughs and you prepare yourself for the most backhanded insult you’ve ever heard. “But I have to be so careful about watching my figure. Wouldn’t want to lose my waist,” she titters and the other women giggle.
You toss the cookie back on the plate, rolling your eyes. It feels like you’re right back in high school. You love this, this is great. At this point, you’re just trying to stop yourself from tossing them all out.
The backdoor slides open and Logan peeks his head out. The women wave and Shiela calls out a sultry, “Hey, Lo.”
Your jaw drops and you can’t help but scoff as you tilt your head to give her an astonished stare. This woman has absolutely zero shame. She’s not even hiding the way she’s ogling him. She’s literally biting her lip.
You clench your eyes shut, taking a deep breath. There it is, the end of your rope. “Sweetheart, you gonna be done soon?” Logan calls out and you can’t help but smile at the immense satisfaction you feel when Shiela’s face falls. You shouldn’t take so much joy in Logan ignoring her, you know that’s just how he is. But she doesn’t.
“I think so, hon.” You sit up on your knees, clapping your hands and pretending to be upset. “Sorry, girls, I think I’m needed back in the house.” You get to your feet and pick your towel up. As you do, you flick your fingers, and the lemonade tumbles over, spilling all over Shiela’s pristine white bathing suit.
She jumps up with a shrill scream, shaking her arms off at the ice-cold liquid and desperately trying to wipe off her bathing suit. Madge and Sierra flock to her and you roll your eyes at how dramatic she’s being.
Out of the side of your eye, you see someone watching you. You turn slightly, startling when you see the intense glare Kimiko’s sporting. It’s the first genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, but even this seems cold. Her dark eyes are bottomless pits of frigid rage. You find that you can’t look away from her, swaying slightly as her eyes beckon you forward.
You need to go to her, speak with her, be with her. You need-
Your mind falls short of what you need. But you know Kimko will give it to you. Sierra and Madge both straighten up, both blank-faced as you take a step forward.
Logan hollers your name again and you jump, shaking your head and breaking whatever trance you’d fallen in. When you look back, all three of them are still fussing over Shiela. You glance to Logan, to see if he saw what had happened.
His brows are furrowed, face pinched in concern as he looks at you. You think you might have just found Charles’ interference.
“I think we should look into Kimiko,” you scroll through the list of residents you’d managed to hack into. You’ve been on the computer for hours, trying to find any information bout her at all. Even when you ran a background check, nothing came up. If that doesn’t scream mutant, you don’t know what does.
Logan walks over to the table with a steaming pan in his hand. You tug your computer glasses off and slide the laptop to the side. He pours some pasta onto your plate and hands you a glass of water. “Thank you,” he gives you a tense almost-smile and nods.
“Figure out where she lives?” He asks, bringing his own plate to the table. You shake your head and rub your temples, trying to fend off the headache you can already feel forming. You should have taken a break from the research. You can’t stand staring at screens for as long as you did.
“She’s not even a registered resident.”
“Well,” he sighs and shrugs, “at least we know this wasn’t a waste of time.” You nod in acquiesce and take a bite of your food. Your eyes widen in shock and he laughs at the look on your face. “Didn’t think I could cook?”
You shake your head and smile. “I took you as the type to pour beer in your cereal. But this is,” you stumble over your word. You’re afraid of being too nice to him. You’ve reached a sort of impasse, where you’re not openly hostile, but you’re not exactly friendly. You feel like if you do too much, too fast, he’s gonna be closed off again. “It’s really good.”
He purses his lips and nods, dragging his fork along the porcelain plate. The noise grates on you and only further aggravates the growing headache but you don’t snap at him. You swallow down the frustration and just shovel more pasta into your mouth.
“This, uh,” Logan takes in a deep breath and lets all out in one gravely exhale. You give him an expectant look and he shrugs. “It hasn’t been as bad as I thought.” He tells you flippantly.
You narrow your eyes at him, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You demand with a firm tone, placing your fork down and leaning back in your chair.
He lets out an annoyed sigh, “It was just an observation.”
You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s fucking ridiculous. “You know, maybe if you ever tried to get to know me, you wouldn’t have had such a horrible opinion about me.” You try and eat more but the food just tastes like ash in your mouth. You grow antsy, not wanting to sit near him anymore.
You’re surprised that he’s the one who fucked up the peace. You really thought it would be you. But something about what he said is rubbing you the wrong way. Of course, it hasn’t been bad, you’re not a bad person. He just decided he hated you one day and he’s so goddamned stubborn he never considered anything else being the truth.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he defends, watching with a confused expression as you get up and drop your plate loudly in the sink.
“You know,” you ignore his weak defense, leaning on the sink. You grip the rim of it tightly, sucking in a deep breath to try and keep yourself calm. “You didn’t even know my fucking name,” you mutter under your breath, shaking your head to yourself. Why are you even bothering with him? You’ll never win and you don’t even know if you want him to change his opinion about you.
He’s been a dick for so long that you’re not sure you’re even interested in being friends, let alone anything beyond that.
“Well,” he takes an angered tone as you continue to deflect his attempts at restoring the peace. “It’s not like you told me. You just go by your X-Men name, how was I supposed to know better?”
“By fucking asking!” You shout, whirling around on him, nearly ramming into his chest. You hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten while you’d had your back to him. “If you had, ever, at any fucking point tried to get to know me, you wouldn’t be so surprised that I’m nice. I’m a nice person to be around, Logan. And for some reason I tried to change myself, to make you happy. And it never even worked!” You scoff, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in your throat that you quickly swallow down. You shove past him, escaping the corner he’s backed you into. “Your head is so far up your ass that you didn’t even try to know me before you decided you hated me.”
“What?” He scoffs and glares at you. “I don’t fucking hate you. When have I ever said that? And I never wanted you to change.” He keeps focusing on the wrong things. How he feels about you doesn’t matter, it’s how he treated you.
“Never, you’ve never said that because you’ve never said more than two words to me. This,” you motion between the two of you, “is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.” A sudden exhaustion settles over you, it weighs heavy on your bones and drapes across you like a blanket.
You don’t have the energy for this. For him. You don’t want to keep defending yourself to someone who couldn’t care less. There’s no winning with him. He will never listen to you, he’ll just offer half-assed excuses that he thinks absolve him of how horribly he’s treated you.
He calls your name as you slump into the dining room chair. Your real name, not your X-Men name. “I never hated you,” he tells you, voice soft, but the conviction is strong.
You stand up, unable to make eye contact with him. “Goodnight, Logan.” You walk up the stairs quietly, never once looking at him. You can’t stand to face him. As much as you’ve tried to bury how you feel about him, it’s still there.
Being with him like this, having his ring on your finger, it’s a stab in the gut over and over and over. Someone’s taken your most ridiculous and romantic fantasies and turned them into a waking nightmare. You wake up to him every day, eat at the same table, share the same house, and you two couldn’t be further apart.
You have to keep up appearances, Logan is sure that’s the only reason you’ve joined him this morning. He’s working on the truck while you kneel on a foam pad, planting a rose bush by the mailbox. But the way you’re stabbing the shovel into the ground it looks more like murder than it does gardening. You slam the little trowel into the dirt, lips pulled back like a wild animal as dirt flies up around your hair.
Logan turns back to the truck, letting out a low whistle under his breath. Besides the insane display of shrubbery abuse, you blend into the neighborhood better than he ever could. You fit that perfect suburban aesthetic, sun hat, cat-eye sunglasses, and a pretty dress.
You’re good at blending in, better than he ever was. He’s heard you joking about it before. Telling Jean your hidden mutant ability is learning to be a chameleon, fitting yourself wherever you are. He thinks it’s a cute idea, and not too far from the truth.
He only wishes he were a little more like that. He sticks out like a sore thumb with his wifebeater, fraying jeans, and general countenance of misery. He can’t force a smile when John walks by with a shitty joke. He’s not like you. You stomach all of the women’s vapid nonsense with a smile and manage to seem so unaffected by it all.
The only time he’s seen you break was last night. And that, of course, had been his fault. He wishes he was better with his words. He’s always been an action man, but clearly, he’s fucked that up with you too. He really did mean it as a compliment.
He’s just incapable of talking without his foot in his mouth when it comes to you. It’s why he tends to just avoid you and stay quiet. He knows he’ll mess up with you eventually. In the rare chance you ever actually give him a second look, he’d be a shitty boyfriend. And even if you were just friends, he’d still fuck up somehow. He always does.
He’s learned it’s better to just keep a distance between himself and others. Especially you. He’s always just wanted to keep you away from his bullshit. The haunted past he still knows so little about, all the mental baggage he carries, he never wanted to burden you with it. Even though it seems like he still managed to screw up somehow.
Even when he’s trying to be good he’s still the bad guy.
You let out a heavy sigh and his gaze drifts back towards you. The way it always seems to do. You’re his sun, bright, beaming, a golden beacon of hope. But he’s always just too far, eclipsing the light you might bring him with his own stupidity.
You toss the trowel to the ground and stand up. You frown, brushing off all the dirt you’re absolutely caked in. When he peers around you and glances at the spot where the rose bush is supposed to be all he sees is a crater of earth and ripped up grass. He figures it's better not to mention it.
You walk over to him, the same scowl you’ve had for the past few days ever-present on your face. “I’m going to take a shower,” you look at him expectantly and he shrugs. You let out a loud sigh and he can’t possibly imagine how he’s messed up now. “You need one too, the barbecues in an hour.”
He’d forgotten about the fucking barbecue. Some annual thing Shiela and John threw that the whole neighborhood went to. “It doesn’t take me an hour to get ready,” he tells you, intending a little bit of playfulness.
Instead, you just let out an exasperated breath and storm back into the house. How did he keep fucking up with you so badly?
He’s gotten a taste of your personality, your company. He’s tried for so long to avoid getting to know you. He knows that if he truly did, he’d never get over you. He was right. Just one taste of you and he wants more, he wants to consume everything about you that he can. He’s screwed up in so many ways but he can’t just go back to normal after this and act like strangers.
You smooth the wrinkles out of your cotton dress and let out a low breath. “You need another minute?” Logan grumps from beside you, his stare boring into the door. He didn’t want to come to this. Frankly, neither did you, but he needs to suck it up and be a big boy. You two are here for a purpose greater than yourselves.
Maybe if you repeat that enough times you’ll start to believe it.
Kimiko was everywhere that Shiela was. She was her shadow, her loyalist servant. And the only person in this neighborhood who’s shown a sliver of consciousness. You don’t know where she lives, or if she even owns a house here. But you do know she’ll be at this barbecue tonight.
The only reason you’re bothering to bring Logan along is because you need him to distract Shiela. She drools every time she sees him, practically licking her maw at the sight of him in a tight t-shirt. You can’t really blame her, but she’s a married woman and he’s technically a married man. The lack of shame and compassion is genuinely astonishing to you.
“No. Let’s just get this over with.” He needs no further prompting as he knocks heavily on the door. Each pound of his fist sounds like a bell tolling your doom. The intense feeling of nausea and eyes on the back of your head has developed and grown increasingly worse the longer you’re here.
You feel like someone’s pressing against your mind, wiggling their fingers in and squeezing until mush slips through their knuckles. You keep a tight grip on Logan so you don’t tip over. Playing it off as the love-sick newlyweds you’re meant to be.
Even though the feeling of his skin against yours makes you angrier than you can even begin to fathom. You’ve held onto built-up resentment and anger ever since your little tiff. You’ve heard that tumultuous times are common in the beginnings of marriages. Luckily, you’re getting a divorce the second this fucking mission is over.
You resent Charles for ever sending you here. Any minuscule hopes you’ve had of finally building a relationship with Logan have been dashed across your front yard. There’s no hope for him. He’ll never change, and how he treats you will never change.
The door swings open and the music from the backyard drifts through to the front. Shiela smiles widely, greeting you both with a drawn-out Hi! She reaches forward and grabs Logan, tugging him away from you and dragging him into a hug.
You stumble forward as your support is ripped out from under you. She briefly glances over his shoulder at you and you offer her a sardonic smile. Every bit of you wants to dig your nails into her and rip until chunks of her start flying off. The post beside you warps slightly, bending like it’s melting.
You dig your nails into your palm, swallowing down your anger, and force the post upright once more. Logan grabs Shiela by the waist, practically yanking her off of him. He steps back towards you, wrapping his arm around your waist.
You can’t help the smug smile that lifts your lips as you face her. You almost want to rub her face in it. He chose you and he can’t stand you, that says a lot about how he feels about her. You stop yourself, though, it’d be beyond idiotic to let that be the reason your cover is blown.
“Thanks for inviting us,” you tell Shiela, playing oblivious instead of walking into her trap. You pass her the casserole you half-assed and baked in her dish. “We’re so excited to finally have a home to call our own, and with such wonderful neighbors,” you gasp dreamily. “Oh, it’s just a dream come true.”
Shiela runs a manicured nail along the side of her lip, looking wholly unimpressed. “Mhm,” she hums, “I’m sure.” You share a look with Logan, both of you caught off guard by her sudden dip in personality. Her face is blank, devoid of the usual overwrought happiness and charm. It’s like something’s taken control and drained the life from her.
Either Kimiko’s here and you’re right about her, or, Shiela is just a depressed housewife who can’t always control when she smiles. You’re hoping it’s Kimiko and you can just end this once and for all.
“Alright,” she’s back in a second like nothing ever happened. The boom of her voice echoing through the foyer makes you jump. “Let’s get you two outside. And thank you so much for this,” she gestures to the casserole. “You’re just such a sweet little thing aren’t you?”
Everything she says to you feels just a tad patronizing. She’s incapable of complimenting you without minimizing you in some way. You dismiss it, shaking off the funk she always seems to put you in.
Shiela leads you to the backdoor of her porch where the rest of the neighborhood is. She certainly got the best square footage, that’s for sure. She doesn’t just have the biggest house, she’s also got the biggest yard you’ve ever stepped foot on.
People are milling about, John’s flipping hamburgers on the grill, and children are playing happily with one another. It feels like an advert for the Fourth of July.
You scan the yard for the only person you’re looking for. You spot her, pushed back towards the shadow of Shiela’s oak tree. Shiela follows your gaze with a frown and scoffs. “I know, hideous isn’t it?”
You jump, startled out of your stupor. “Sorry?”
She points towards the tree. “I wanted to get rid of it, but apparently it’s historic,” she throws up air quotes, inflecting her voice lazily, “or something stupid.”
“Oh, right,” you nod dismissively and she shrugs, hands slapping against her thighs as she nods to her yard.
“Well, go on, socialize, make yourself at home y’all.” She walks back into the house and you glance back at the yard.
“Shit,” you hiss, “Kimiko’s gone.” You move away from Logan and take a step down the stairs, he begins to follow you but you stop him with a firm hand to his chest. He frowns down at you and you nod towards Shiela. “I need you playing interception. Those two are attached at the hip. The only thing that’s going to distract her is the hunk of meat she’s been drooling over.”
Logan frowns and takes a step back. He sets his face and crosses his arms and you sigh, knowing exactly what he’s about to say. “No.” He tells you firmly, not even bothering to hear you out.
“Well,” you shrug. “Too bad, I need you to do this or we’re never getting out of here.”
He mocks your shrug and nods, “Alright. Fine.” He leans into your space and you feel like you’re being scolded, “I’m not leaving you on your own, okay? And I’m not letting you go after Kimiko alone.”
“I’m not going after her,” you glance around, making sure no one is listening to you talk about their neighbor like she’s on a hit list. “I just need one interrupted conversation with her. Just one,” you’re practically pleading with him at this point.
You feel pathetic. You’re a grown woman and an X-Men. You shouldn’t have to be bartering with Logan. He should just have some faith in your abilities to not only protect yourself but conduct yourself appropriately on a mission.
His face screws up in irritation and you know he’s about to really cause a scene. He’ll start arguing with you, and blow your spot up just to get you out of here. You give him a placating smile, a real one because he’s somehow learned to tell the difference. “Logan, it’s only for an hour. I’m sure you can fend Shiela off,” you joke to try and lighten the mood.
He sucks in a deep breath and you know you’ve got him when his shoulders sink in defeat. “Fine. I’m only agreeing to this because you’re practically a chameleon with this shit,” he gestures vaguely to the barbecue and your face pinches with confusion.
“What?”
“I heard you talking about it with Jean one day. How you’re a chameleon when it comes to blending in with people.”
“Well, that wasn’t exactly a brag. It’s a method of survival, a way to make people like me. It gives me a fighting chance when they find out I’m a mutant.” God, why are you even talking about this? Why had he even been listening to your conversation with Jean?
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but you don’t have time for that. “Look, Logan, just go find Shiela.” You walk away from him before he can drudge up more uncomfortable memories of high school.
You manage to slip through the party relatively unnoticed. You didn’t see where Kimiko had disappeared to. You’re hoping there might be some sort of hint left where she had been. You rush towards the oak tree, using it as a way to scan the party for her again. From here you can’t see anything except the kitchen.
You’ve got a perfect view of Logan trudging towards Shiela. You can’t help but laugh when she wraps her hand around his bicep, eagerly telling him something. You smile and shake your head, the audacity of this woman is amazing.
Something catches your eye, right by your foot. Glancing down you see something silver glinting through the grass. Frowning, you kneel and scoop it up. It’s an oblong device, small, and fits in the palm of your hand. It’s curved oddly, and the lights on it start flashing bright red as you hold it.
“What the hell?” You flip it over, a warped mirrored reflection on the back of it. You just barely spot Kimiko’s twisted face in the reflection before the world goes black.
You groan, slowly blinking the fog of a forced sleep out of your eyes. You reach to swipe at your face, but something is holding your wrists down. You jerk your arms a few times, struggling against whatever restraints are wrapped around you. When nothing happens, you instead focus on the feeling of it against your wrist, trying to get it to dissolve.
“Don’t bother,” a cool voice calls out from the shadows. There’s one bright light shining down on you, like the type you might see above an operating table. The entire room feels sterile. And it’s cold, you can barely feel the tips of your toes or fingers.
“What’d you do?” You demand, trying to sound intimidating but your words come out as a slur. The back of your head radiates pain and it takes everything in you just to keep your eyes open.
“I developed a gas,” the voice circles the room, echoing across the curved walls. You hear footsteps but you can’t tell where they’re coming from. “It halts the neurons in a mutant’s brain that fire when they use their abilities. Temporary, but quite handy when I’m dealing with a mentalist like you.”
Kimiko steps out of the shadows like a bad comic book villain. Her face is blank, no expression on it, somehow, it’s the realest she’s ever looked before. Here, you can see her humanity. Pores across her nose, frizz and oil along her hair, her nose just a little bit crooked. Whatever she’d been doing to herself has been wiped away. And the human woman lurking beneath is finally revealed.
“There you are,” you mutter, your speech slowly coming back to you. “I knew that plastic face wasn’t real.”
“Everything was going just fine until you and Wolverine got here,” she gives you a sharp look, “Flux.”
You sarcastically gasp, “Wow, you know my X-Men name. It’s not like I haven’t been interviewed before. What’s the plan here, Kimiko? Where are the others?”
Her brows pinch, “Others?”
“The mutants you’re trafficking.”
“Oh,” she laughs and it’s so jarring you nearly jump. “Is that what people think?” Hesitantly, you nod, but you’re beginning to feel like you might have gotten something very wrong. “No, that’s not what we’re doing here.”
“We?”
“Shiela and I. We have much simpler plans, much more peaceful. You see, Shiela’s the only person to ever stand beside me after she found out I was a mutant. She gave me a home, a friend, and a sense of belonging.” There’s something devout in her words, like a humble follower kneeling at the feet of their god. “Everything I have, everything I am, I owe to her.”
You’ve seen Shiela’s manipulation firsthand. You have no doubt that she’s never actually done anything for Kimiko. She’s just made her think she had and instilled in her this sense of owing her something.
Then again, Kimiko’s getting this look on her face. She’s like a rabid dog staring down the barrel of their owner’s shotgun. Perhaps she hadn’t needed much prompting to develop such an unhealthy attachment. “Shiela’s parents never loved her the way they should have. They never gave her the perfect life she deserved. So I created one for her.”
She rolls a tray of surgical tools over and a sense of panic finally starts to rouse within you. Yet, for the first time in years, your powers aren’t here to help you. You have nothing to rely on but yourself. But you’ve been trained so intensively in using your abilities as a protector rather than an inhibitor that you’re practically useless without them.
“All these people,” you rush the words out as she picks up a syringe. You don’t know what the yellow liquid inside is, but from the look on her face, you don’t want to. “You’re controlling them?”
Kimiko nods and you’d be staggering if you weren’t strapped down. Not even Charles could control this many people at once. Not without Cerebro. “Kimiko, that’s,” you gasp, flinching away as she brings the needle towards your arms. “It’s incredible!” Your quick rise in volume makes her jolt and the syringe tumbles out of her hands.
She grumbles to herself, leaning over to pick it up. “Does Shiela know?” She pauses at the mention of Shiela’s name, brushing her hair over her shoulder and glaring at you.
“Yes. Of course she does, this is my greatest gift to her.”
“Really?” Your voice drips with contrived empathy. “Then I’m sure she’s done something incredible for you back.” You were hoping a simple manipulation tactic might work, that you could turn Kimiko against an ungrateful Shiela. But this type of obsession isn’t one that can’t be destabilized with a few jumbled words.
No, you only make her angrier. “Back? Back?” she practically screams, her voice raw and feral as she leaps into your face. You flinch as far back as you can as her face hovers over yours, screaming right at you. “I owe her everything! I should thank her for letting me breathe the same air as hers!”
Your jaw drops, a silent scream tripping out of your mouth as you gasp for air. Something squeezes against your brain, the pulsing from before returns with a vengeance. You can feel your mind pulsing and swelling, pushing against your skull.
“Don’t fucking say her name again,” Kimiko glares down at you, her eyes devoid of any remorse or compassion as she makes your brain swell until blood leaks down your ears. Whatever plan she had before has been abandoned, she’s going to just kill you now.
You’re going to die in her basement, no one will ever see you again. Your eyes throb and you feel your brain push to its fullest limits. The pressure builds, builds, and builds until it explodes.
“Then you just pour a little sugar in.” Logan watches as Shiela tips nearly an entire bag of cane sugar into her jug of sweet tea. His stomach shrivels at the sight and he fights down bile. A little bit of sugar drops over the edge. She catches it on her finger and looks over her shoulder, licking the sugar off and practically deepthroating her own finger. All while maintaining a disturbing amount of eye contact with Logan.
“Well,” he knows that he promised you a while with Kimiko, but he can’t handle much more of this. “Thank you so much for this,” he struggles with the word, landing weakly on, “lesson.” He’s not even sure what the point of watching her prepare all this food was.
He’s pretty sure she just wanted him to see her leave a rim of red lipstick at the bottom of her finger as many times as possible. The entire time he’s just wanted to go back to you. There’s a nasty feeling gnawing at him and he knows he needs to get back to you soon.
“Oh,” she seems genuinely disappointed and Logan sighs awkwardly. “Leaving already, huh?”
He points to his ring pointedly reminding her of the reality of their situation. “Gotta get back to the wife.”
She doesn’t even try to hide her sneer as he mentions you. “Of course, just the perfect husband aren’t you?”
Logan doesn’t dignify that with a response, too distracted by what’s happening outside the window. People have begun to wander around aimlessly, some of them stumbling into the fencing. They just keep walking forward, knocking into the wood repeatedly, not once stopping. John’s got a stuck smile on his face as he leans against the grill, Logan can see smoke rising from where the flesh of his palm is melting onto the metal. A few people all run into each other, collapsing on the ground and just lying there.
They’re like robots, suddenly without command and unsure what to do. They’re following their programming without anyone putting a stop to it. Shiela follows his gaze and gasps. “Excuse me,” she mutters, practically running out of the room.
Logan tries to find you amongst all the mess but you’re nowhere to be seen. “Fuck,” he growls out, looking back to where Shiela had run. He should have fucking known not to leave you on your own.
He stalks after Shiela, listening to her racing heart and the slam of a downstairs door. He follows her down the steps leading to her basement. It looks the same as every other one he’s ever been in. Except, for the metal door hidden behind a few shelving units. The only reason he spots it is because Shiela knocked over a can of paint in her rush toward it.
Anger brews hot and putrid in his gut. The claws come out unbidden, and the thought of you being locked away in that room pushes him forward. If you’re not in there, he’ll get an answer from Shiela one way or another. But he’s not going to let you get hurt because he didn’t have your back.
“What the hell are you doing?” A shrill voice interrupts. Your head sinks back against the cool material of the table, brain surging back into place. Your teeth ache, white-hot pain rushing through your bones as Kimiko finally releases her grasp on you.
Kimiko gives Shiela the look of a dog who just got in trouble. “She found my amplifying device. I have to get rid of her.” She holds the device you found earlier out to Shiela.
So, she wasn’t as powerful as she pretended. She did need help. It explains why the entire neighborhood is always in the same area, she needs them close to keep control. “Whatever you’re doing is making my toys malfunction.”
Shiela hisses at Kimiko, she darts forward and slaps her hard across the back of the head. If you weren’t in excruciating and paralyzing pain, you’d flinch at the sound. Being as if your brain was just about to explode, though, you could give less of a shit if she beats her rabid dog up.
These two crazy bitches deserve each other. You just want a Tylenol and a nap at this point. “Well, aren’t you two twisted sisters?” Logan slips through the door, his claws glinting under the light of the room. “Toys?” He demands, eyes roaming the room desperately.
The second he sees you, strapped down and with blood pouring from your orifices, something slips over his face. It’s like a mask being ripped off. The man he pretends to be is ripped apart by the animal truly lurking within him. Neither women have time to even defend themselves. He goes for Kimiko first and all you see his claws plunging down before arterial blood sprays across your face.
You groan, tilting your chin the other way and spitting the metallic liquid out of your mouth. There are a long few minutes of screaming, clothes shredding, and blood splashing against every surface of the room. By the time he’s completely calmed down, you’re drenched in it.
You suck on your teeth, rolling your head limply and finally getting a good look at him. He’s panting, standing over their mutilated corpses with blood dripping down his claws. There’s a wrath on his face you’re happy to have never been on the other end of. But the second he looks at you, you see nothing but stark relief.
He breathes out your name, your real one, and surges towards you. “Claws!” You shout, hurting your head again. But he was a second away from accidentally skewering you. They’re put away in an instant as he undoes the straps holding you down.
You groan in relief as the pressure around your head and limbs is released. He perches himself on the edge of the table and scoops you into his chest.
You’re still loopy from Kimiko messing around in the grooves of your brain. The best you can manage is weakly draping your arms along his sides. He pulls you back and brushes the hair out of your face, laughing a little at the blood covering you. “They do anything to you?”
You shrug, “Besides turn my brain into a pressure cooker? No.”
The smile drops from his face and he glares down at the remains of the women. If you weren’t so tired, you’d think he wants to kill them again. “I should have been here.”
“Logan-” You want to tell him not to be ridiculous. You had insisted you could take care of yourself. Told him it would only be a conversation when you knew that was never going to be true. You’d gotten yourself into this, you were lucky he was there to get you out. But you don’t say anything because he interrupts you as he so often does.
“I can’t keep acting like this is all okay. Like I’m happy with how we treat each other. I thought I was going to lose you, I’m not going to keep pretending I don’t care about you.”
Your face screws up in confusion and you’re not sure you want to hear where he’s going with this. You’ve been used to this dynamic between the two of you for so long. You’re used to him treating you like he can't stand to breathe the same air as you. If this is going where you think it is, you’re not sure you can handle it.
“Logan,” you’re regaining some feeling in your limbs now. You use the returning strength to push away from him, shaking your head in disbelief. “No, you can’t do this. You can’t just change your-”
He’s incapable of letting you finish a single sentence. His hands wrap around your cheeks tugging you forward until your lips are brushing together. It’s enough of a shock to get you to stop talking. You don’t reciprocate, too stunned to even think about moving.
He brushes his lips against yours again, firmer this time. Under the layers of blood coating you both, you’re wholly enveloped by him. His scent, his arms, everything about him drapes over you like a warm blanket. Against your better judgment, you find yourself returning the kiss.
You move further into his lap, one hand holding his face and the other clutching at his hair, needing something to hold to keep you steady in this moment. Logan smiles against your lips, deepening the kiss without wasting another beat. His tongue moves gently across yours at first. A curious caress to see how well you two fit together. He groans when he gets a taste of you, pushing further in and kissing you like he wants to devour you.
There’s warmth blooming in your stomach and spreading all along your body. You’re buzzing with adrenaline and pain and this unidentifiable feeling that Logan is evoking from you. It’s not the sweet mushy, romantic kiss you always imagined with him.
This is desperate. Like a dying man’s last attempt at redemption. He’s tasting you like you’re rare, something to be savored. You feel like you’re the only thing left in existence. The only person left for him to admire. You forget the gore behind you, the tumultuous experiences you’ve had with him.
You let yourself fall into the moment, a blind leap of faith into a pool of all your hopes and desires. He’s better than you ever could have imagined. More desperate than your wildest fantasies. He makes no move to stop, even as the air becomes scarce and you both have to part longer. He just grips you tighter, hands wrapped around you like he’s worried if he lets go he’ll lose you.
He could, he could lose you. This kiss of his is putting you into a trance, distracting you from all he’s trying to make up for. Perhaps if he stops kissing you, you’ll remember it all and want nothing to do with him. But you don’t see that happening, you just see yourself craving more and more for him., You feel the addiction forming already. A deep-seated need in your bones is finally being sated, it will always need more from him.
When you can no longer survive on the shared oxygen between you both, you’re forced to part. Your cheeks tingle from the stubble of his beard and you know your lips are pink and swollen because his are too. You’re both still coated in blood and you share a familiar glean in your eyes.
“I never hated you,” he sounds breathless and you love that you’re the cause of it. “I just didn’t want to lose you.”
You scoff, but there are no cruel intentions behind it. “So you push me away before you ever get a chance to have me?”
He gives you a crooked smile, “I never said I was smart.” You can’t help but laugh at that. Slowly, he helps you to your feet, ignoring the puddles of blood and bits. “We'll have to call Charles. He needs to help the people out there.”
“We also need to let him know there’s no trafficking ring. Just one fucked psyche.” You shoot another glare at the pile that was Kimiko, still bitter about her experiment with your brain. As Logan helps you up the stairs of the basement, you stop him just before you reach the door.
He gives you a concerned look, like he thinks you’ve hurt something somehow. “I want to talk to you. Really talk to you about everything.” Concern gives way to dread and you can’t help but smile at the regretful look on his face. “But first,” his head perks in interest at your tone, “maybe we can finally enjoy that master bed together?”
“You know,” he leans down, swiping his arms under your knees and lifting you. You gasp, through your arms around his neck and squeezing until you worry you might suffocate him. “You really are the smart one of us, aren’t you?”
“Clearly.”
You’re not sure how well this transition to married couple to tentatively something else is going to go. But you have hope and it's kept you going for all these years. What's wrong with letting it linger a little longer?
a/n: Guess who's back, back again? Hint, it's Flux. I missed writing for them, so I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. Although, I worry the ending was too cheesy.
Reblogs, comments, likes, and requests are always appreciated !!
end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies 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 @insomniachox @izbelross @spktrlvr ♡
𖤓 - completed series
ʚɞ - smut
જ⁀➴ - personal favorite
✬ - series
𝕯 - dark
ׂ╰┈➤ WOLVERINE
ೃ⁀➷ Logan Howlett
kid?
nasty dog ʚɞ
we’re dating?
broken promises - forgotten promises ʚɞ
SFW & NSFW alphabets ʚɞ
i don’t know why i bite
not your priority
big bad wolf ʚɞ
chameleon
the newlyweds જ⁀➴
ೃ⁀➷ The Worst Logan
you’re not her જ⁀➴ ʚɞ
mistake
ׂ╰┈➤ KATE & LEOPOLD
ೃ⁀➷ Leopold
timeless
Hii ! I was hoping you could do Logan x Reader where all the teachers go to a club, and the Reader starts dancing with Storm and Jean while Logan is sitting on a couch, looking at her. They both have a crush on each other, but they don't know it, so when the Reader notices Logan staring at her, she gets shy and decides to go get a drink. When she got her drink, a guy starts flirting with her, and Logan obviously sees it. he gets jealous and walks up to the guy telling him to leave her alone. After they talk for a bit, the Reader accidentally confesses and Logan kisses her. this ends up in a private room with Logan fucking her as he always wanted. I know this is a long request and I'm sorry for that, bue I'm a writer myself, so I already had develop this bit of the story in my head. I completely understand if you don't want to do it. Hope you have an awesome day !!🤗❤️ Love your writing btw
a/n: I loved this prompt so much, did switch it up a bit bc I faced a bit of writer's block trying to flesh this out!! (and if I said I was listening to Thong Song while writing this, what then?)
18+ MDNI (fucking in a club bathroom, if that's not your thing, move on out)
Logan rummages around somewhere behind you, digging through the cabinets and moving everything around. The longer he searches, the more confused you grow. Your brows furrow as he cusses to himself.
There’s a low grunt of frustration as Logan rounds the kitchen island to glare at you. His face is screwed up in anger that seems to be misdirected towards you. You give him an awkward look, “Uh, hi?”
“He stole my booze,” he responds shortly and without explanation. You shake your head in confusion as the dots slowly connect. A small smile curls up on your lips but the glare he gives you makes it quickly drop.
“Well, you know Charles' rules about it,” you tell him flippantly. Logan huffs and shoves away from the counter. He turns back to the fridge, destroying the organizational system as he continues his search. You roll your eyes, eating your food and watching him with a bored expression.
Jean walks just as he really begins to work himself up. Her face pinches in distaste, catching on to the root of his anger quicker than you had. She looks at you with a small smirk. “Charles?”
“Yep," You answer, eyes still trained on him. He finally gives up the futile search, moving to stand beside you. Your eyes widen and you try not to physically react to his proximity. It’s an everyday struggle to remain calm around him. You’re desperately trying to keep a cool girl persona but you don’t think it's working.
You’re pretty sure he sees right through your pathetic attempts at nonchalance every time you two are paired on a mission. Jean notices the look on your face and smiles slightly. “The rest of us are thinking of going out tonight.”
It's not an offer with her, more of a demand for the two least sociable members of the team. She gives you both expectant looks, ignoring the way you minutely shake your head in disapproval at the idea of going out.
“Pass,” Logan grunts. He steps away from you, making for the kitchen door. Jean quickly steps in front of him, firmly placing her hand on his chest and giving him a stern look.
You feel like you're missing something as they silently converse with tense looks and aggressive eye motions towards you. You might be worried they're flirting if it weren't for how fed up they both look right now with one another.
Your brows furrow in confusion and it only worsens when Logan lets out an aggrieved huff. “Fine. I’ll come.” He gives Jean a thin smile, “Happy?”
She releases him and moves out of the way with a smug look. “Very. You’ll thank me, by the way.” She says to his retreating back, ignoring whatever he mutters back to her.
You’re completely lost about what that was but don't have much time to process it before Jean turns her attention to you. You already know what she wants and you immediately shake your head. “No, nope, you know I don’t like going out.” Jean smiles at you, but you know she’s just pretending to agree with you.
“Jean,” your voice is sharp as you glare at her. “Not happening.”
You really regret ever befriending her. She’s either ridiculously persuasive or she's used her mind-warping abilities on you.
You're squished between Ororo and Logan on a sticky club booth. The smell of booze and cheap perfume soaks through your senses. You feel the beginnings of a headache forming as the music pounds.
While you love the feeling of Logan's biceps pushed up against you, you hate the club more. Storm catches the tense look on your face and sighs in disappointment.
"We need to get some more alcohol in you," she tells you with a faux sense of authority. "Come on," she nods her head and for a moment you think she's talking to you. But, with a move that seems practiced, Scott and Jean both follow her out of the booth and head toward the bar.
You watch them go with a suspicious glint in your eye, not trusting how smoothly they all just conveniently slipped away. That leaves just you and Logan behind at the table and you doubt that's coincidental.
They've been a little pushy about this crush of yours ever since they found out. They insist that he feels the same way about you as you do him. But you sincerely doubt he's fantasizing about going on romantic picnics with you and thinking of mushy dates.
He seems like the kind of guy to value silence over a girlfriend and you doubt you're his type. You don't tend to stray from the rules, ever. You don't think there's much you two have in common, as much as the others insist the opposite.
You give him a subtle look over. He hasn't moved away from you, which seems like a good sign. There's plenty of space for him to go now, but he keeps himself pressed up against you.
But, he's also not looking at you. His thumb is idly tracing the rim of his glass and he's refusing to take his eyes off the stained wood of the table. You know he can feel the way you're staring at him, but he's stubbornly refusing to acknowledge your presence. It almost feels petty and that makes you scoff and roll your eyes at the thought. You doubt Logan cares enough to be petty.
Practically in love with me, you think sarcastically.
You know your friends are taking longer than necessary at the bar, trying to give the two of you some privacy. You feel like a high school girl, trying to get the cool guy to like her when he literally couldn’t give two shits.
Your friends being pushy about the two of you really isn't helping anything. It only gives you false hope, and when he's inevitably a jerk again, it just makes all your little fantasies come crashing down.
You pick up your glass, tipping your head back and letting the alcohol warm you from the inside out. You've done your hair, spent forever doing your makeup, and you put on your favorite slutty dress. You don't feel like sitting here all night sulking alongside your unrequited crush.
More often than not, Logan is nothing more than a wet blanket. You've put in the effort and dragged yourself outside for once, you'd like to enjoy the experience. He could come find you when he felt like pulling the stick out of his ass. You slide out of the booth with a huff, uncaring as the hem of your dress rolls up your thighs.
“Where’re you going?” Logan demands, voice gruff. Now he wants to pay attention, figures.
You turn around and glare down at him. His eyes rove slowly over you, the way they should have been all night. His gaze is a physical caress and his stare lingers along your body. You can practically feel his touch on the curves of your hips. Slowly, he looks back up to meet your eye, something like a challenge on his face.
You assess him, raising a brow and shrugging. “I’m gonna dance.” Something has possessed you or there’s a very talented telepath manipulating you right now. In a rare display of confidence you lean over the table, breasts pushed out towards him. “Wanna join me?” You ask, breath barely above a whisper.
He scoffs and goes back to glaring at the table. Whatever confidence you had settles coldly in the bottom of your gut. “Not my thing, kid,” he gripes, every bit the crotchety old man.
You roll your eyes, playing off the sting of rejection as an annoyance. “Of course, you’re not. You’re not having fun unless everyone else is miserable,” you snap. His eyes shoot up to meet yours, something like shock playing on his face.
You don’t let him respond, already turning on your heel and walking off. As much as you like Logan, sometimes this attitude of his becomes tiring. What’s wrong with wanting to have fun for a night?
You’re not usually a huge fan of clubs. But when you’re out with your friends, you’re not going to actively ruin their night. As rude as that was, it’s right. He’s the “cool” kid in high school who thought everything was lame and never wanted to enjoy anything.
So, what? You like to get a little drunk and sloppy sometimes, maybe if he ever tried it he might be less miserable. You head towards the bar, spotting Ororo’s hair easily through the crowd. You slide behind her, slipping your arm over her shoulder, “Hey pretty,” you whisper in her ear, laughing as she jumps.
She turns and glares at you, swatting at your shoulder. “You’re lucky I didn’t hurt you.”
“Ooh, save it for later.” She rolls her eyes and passes you a shot. You take it with a smile, wincing at the burn of the tequila. “You wanna dance?” You have to shout to be heard over the music but you know she hears you when her eyes widen in surprise.
She glances behind you and you don’t have to look to know Logan is glaring daggers at your back. You can feel him and it's pissing you off. “What happened?” You know she can tell something is up, you’re never this outgoing when you go out. But you don’t want to talk about finally coming to terms with the fact that you and Logan aren’t going to work out.
Instead, you hold your hand out and wink. “Wanna dance or not?” She laughs a little, slipping her palm into yours and letting you drag her out onto the dance floor. It’s been a while since you’ve actually been sober dancing. You usually like to be near blackout drunk, but you just don’t have the energy for that tonight.
Ororo is a little tipsier than you, clearly having been drinking while she was waiting at the bar. Her inhibitions are looser and she’s giggling as you move your hips against hers. Neither of you is dancing to impress, you’re messily moving around each other to the beat of the music. You don’t pay attention to the people around you, just having fun by yourselves.
Ororo takes your hand, spinning you a little and pulling you back into her arms. You laugh, swaying your hips to the same rhythm she is, chests pressed tightly together while you smile at each other.
She only lasts a few songs before she pulls back. “I need a drink,” she yells before stumbling back towards the bar. You feel yourself deflate, not sure what to do with yourself now that your favorite dancing partner has ditched you.
You look through the mass of grinding bodies and try and spot your table. You can’t see much through the brightly colored lights spinning all around you. Everything’s a little disorienting and the shots you’ve had aren’t helping.
Someone’s hand slips around your waist, “Your friend left you all alone?” Normally, you’d push whoever it was off and tell them to back off. But he’s got an attractive voice and you can feel how fit he is against your back.
“You gonna keep me company?” You tease, voice a low purr as you push back against him. Your hands drift down to his arms, pulling them a little tighter around your waist. He chuckles, the noise reverberating through your back.
You barely even get a chance to dance before your back is cold and you can feel his arms forcibly ripped off you. It doesn’t take much digging to find the culprit. Logan is behind you, hand fisted in the guy’s collar, “Why don’t you back off, bub?” He shoves him back and you roll your eyes as the guy scrambles off.
“What the hell was that?” You demand arms crossed as you glare at Logan.
He turns around and you’re surprised at the intensity of his glare. Something about it has you heated for an entirely different reason. He’s staring down at you like he’s gonna pounce on you. Your heart races, thighs clenching the longer he’s glowering at you.
He shouldn’t be allowed to be so attractive when he’s pissed off. He reaches forward, grabbing your bicep and jerking you into his chest. He leans down until his lips are brushing against your ear. “You wanna dance, let’s dance, kid.”
“What-”
He cuts you off, flipping you around and pulling your back flush against him. You can feel just how much your little show with Storm got him going. You truly weren’t doing anything too alluring, but it seems to be enough for him.
When you don’t move his hands drop to your hips and he grinds them down against him. “Logan,” you gasp his name out, caught off guard by how brazen he’s being in the middle of the club. There are people around you doing much worse but you’ve never known him to be this bold before.
“You trying to make me jealous?” It’s hard to pay attention to what he’s saying, to focus on anything at all when his hand is drifting steadily down your body. The tips of his fingers just barely brush the skin of your thigh while his thumb lets the hem of your dress curl up.
He flips you around, taking his hands off of you and instead tilting your chin up to face him. “I said,” he repeats in a condescending tone, “were you trying to make me jealous?” He doesn’t sound like he’s taking you seriously. Even if that was your intention, he thinks it’s just your petty way of lashing out at him for not dancing.
You narrow your eyes at him and swat his hands off of you. “No. I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. I was trying to have some fun since you’re clearly not interested at all.”
That insufferable smirk of his doesn’t go away for a minute. If anything, he’s more incensed by your anger. “Who said I wasn’t interested?” Your lips part, another dumb little noise about to slip out when he dips down and stops you.
He’s not trying to be subtle at all, gripping your dress and tugging you up against him while your lips lock. His tongue dips briefly into your mouth, savoring the taste of tequila on your gums before he pulls back.
“I’m interested in you, kid, just not this shitty little club.” Your mouth is gaping and you feel like a fool, standing there and just staring at him. Your brain is completely scrambled, bits and pieces forming together to scream that he kissed you. Too many things are happening at once. The music is making the floor beneath you vibrate, liquor is warming you from the inside out and tilting you closer to him. And he kissed you. Your lips are still tingling from it.
He chuckles a little under his breath, keeping you moving steadily against him. You’re simply something to be puppeteered by your desire for him. No thoughts linger inside your brain except his name. “You’re interested in me?” You repeat dumbly.
He leans down, tilting his lips closer towards your ear. “You can’t feel how much I want you?” One of your thighs is practically draped over his leg and he’s grinding his hips against you. The only thing you can feel is him. The smell of his cologne overpowers all the bodies surrounding you both, his voice drones out the loud music around you. You’re completely consumed by him.
“Logan,” your tone is scandalized, you can’t believe he’s bold enough to have you nearly half-naked on his lap right now. Your butt is one wrong move away from being the club’s newest attraction. Yet, despite every protest lingering on your tongue, you can’t do anything except kiss him again.
You don’t know if the moment is all one vivid wet dream your brain has conjured up at three am and you don’t feel like finding out. You want to enjoy being risky for once. You always play everything so safely. You don’t confess your feelings to Logan so you aren’t rejected. You never break the rules, you never act out. Just once, you want to do something bad and enjoy it.
Your arms twine around his neck and you tilt your head to deepen the kiss further. You feel his reaction more than you hear it. A low grumble in his chest that has you practically vibrating with want. He pulls away from you first and it takes a moment for your eyes to flutter back open.
When you finally do meet his gaze again, he’s got nothing but a smoldering desire in his eyes that makes you want to melt. He’s staring you down like you’re prey to be chased and consumed. “Can’t do this here,” he mutters.
You’re almost shocked that he’s the first one to cut this off. You knew it was going to happen, you can’t exactly fuck in the middle of the dance floor. As much as you might want to. But you thought you would be the one to chicken out.
He grabs your hand and shoves through the throng of grinding bodies. You grab the back of his shirt, stumbling after him and trying to stay close. “As much as I’d like to make that poor son of a bitch watch me fuck you, we need a little more privacy.”
It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about the man you’d danced with earlier. If you could even qualify that as dancing. He’d barely put his hand on your waist before Logan had appeared out of nowhere.
Your eyes narrow in suspicion and you glare at his back. How had he even gotten to you so quickly? He must have been watching you like a creep the whole time. You almost want to laugh at the thought. But you’re distracted by him nudging you through a door and locking it behind you.
You glance around, spotting three sinks and some cracked mirrors. Toilet stalls linger to your right and your nose wrinkles in disgust. You turn around to complain but he’s already stalking toward you. Whatever sanitary complaints were lingering in the back of your throat are thrown out the sealed bathroom window.
He buries his hands in your hair, ruining the meticulously placed style. You arch into his hold, opening your mouth for him to explore and gasping as his hand drops to your hips. He tugs you closer, ripping your dress up and yanking your underwear down in one smooth move.
You barely have a second to process half of what’s happening before he’s got you bent over the sink. It’s all happening so fast, so many different desires of yours surging to the surface in one dingy club bathroom.
You’re slick with months of fantasies and sleepless nights where not even your vibrator could curb your desire for him. You hear his belt clink behind you and your back arches like a cat in heat. You practically present yourself to him, so desperate to feel him that you don’t care how much of a slut you’re being.
You know, if this was anyone else, you’d slap them for even suggesting the bathroom as the first place you have sex. But you’d have let Logan take you in the alley behind the club. You don’t care where you are, just so long as it's with him. And you know that desire runs a bit deeper than just a surface-level crush.
He doesn’t give you much warning as he thrusts into you. The breath is practically punched out of you as he fills you. Everything about it feels right. You’re so full of him you feel like you could explode. You know it’s going to take a pathetically short time for you to come. It’s just too much, too fast, you’re so overwhelmed by him.
“Oh god, Logan,” the porcelain creaks under your palms before you feel it splintering off into your skin. You can’t pay attention to it, though, jaw agape, capable of nothing more than slutty moans of his name.
He’s relentless behind you, thrusting so hard inside you that it feels like a punishment. He fists his hand in your hair and forces you to look in the mirror. “Come on, want you to see how wrecked you are. What a fucking slut you’re being for me, letting me fuck you like this in this bar.”
Your mascara is completely ruined, streaked down your face with your lipstick smeared across your chin. You look like a fucking mess and you couldn’t care less. You feel yourself fluttering around him the tighter his grip on you is. His hand slips from your hair, latching around your neck and tugging you into his chest.
He grips your chin and keeps your eyes on where the two of you are joined in the mirror. It only makes you clench tighter around him, watching as he moves in and out of you. You can see just how much of an effect you're having on him and it’s the biggest ego boost you’ve ever had in your life.
You’ve reduced him to a mess in a dirty club bathroom, so desperate for you he couldn’t even wait to take you home. He tilts his hips, hitting the spot inside you that has your eyes nearly rolling in the back of your head.
You whisper his name in warning, letting go of the sink to clutch tightly at his wrist. He wraps his arm around your waist, keeping you secured against him. His hips start to stutter, losing some of their rhythm the tighter you are around him. The feeling builds in your fingers, tingles down to the tips of your toes, and explodes in a nearly blinding pleasure. His hips are still against you, warmth filling you a moment later.
You would slump forward into the sink if it weren’t for his protective hold around your stomach. He keeps you tight against his chest for a minute, waiting for you to catch your bearings again. It takes an embarrassingly long time for the feeling in your legs to come back. You’ve never had such an intense experience like that.
You don’t know if it's from the thrill of possibly getting caught or just because you were with him. You’ve longed and lusted after Logan for so long, and finally having the real thing is a bit of shock. Especially when he exceeded your fantasies, you didn’t even know that was possible.
He props you against the sink, tugging your dress down and pulling your underwear back up. You watch him with dulled interest, still reeling from what you’ve just done. You’ve never been so bold before, it almost feels liberating to just say ‘fuck it’ and do what you want.
He pulls his own pants back up, fixing his belt and grabbing a wet paper towel for you. He’s silent as he wipes the mascara of your cheeks and you give him a questioning look. “You want the others to know what happened?”
You scoff and glance away from him, looking towards the door of the bathroom. “I’m sure they already know. Weren’t exactly subtle,” you tell him with a small smile.
He smirks, tossing the towel away and walking back towards you. He keeps his arms on either side of you, bracketing you against the sink and grinning down at you. “No, we weren’t, were we?”
You shake your head silently, lips curled up in amusement. Your eyes briefly dart to his lips before meeting his eyes once more. He catches the look with a sly smile, dipping his head down and giving you a brief kiss.
It’s short and sweet, more loving than the passionate, rip-my-clothes-off kisses from before. It feels like the type of kiss a married couple would share in the early morning when they only want to remind the other they love each other. Your proximity and the look he’s giving you feel more intimate than anything that just happened.
“You really meant it?” You muse, voice barely above a whisper as you smile at him.
“Meant what?” He mutters.
“You like me,” you tease, entangling your hand with his and tugging him even closer to you.
He gives you a confused look, glancing at the sink behind you and then back at your disheveled form. “Did I not make that clear enough, kid?”
You shake your head, “No, I think I might need another reminder,” you tell him. It takes a moment for your words to click for him. You can see when it does, he gives you a small smile and shakes his head with an aggrieved sigh like you’re bugging him.
“Really making me work for it, huh?” You nod your head playfully, dragging him down towards you and bringing him into another kiss. You can deal with the line forming outside in a minute. You can push off your nosy friends’ questions for another day. Right now, it’s just you and him, finally doing what you’ve wanted since the moment you saw him.
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 ♡